Chapter 358: Roasting the Ironborn
The few jars of wildfire that smashed into the crowd had been thrown by hand by the sailors aboard the Direwolf.
Clearly, a weapon like a wildfire incendiary bomb was completely unsuitable for close-quarters combat—especially a boarding action. The wildfire splashing onto the enemy and the raging flames ignited at the bulwarks of the enemy vessel could easily spread to one's own ship and soldiers as the two vessels locked together, resulting in a "kill a thousand enemies at the cost of eight hundred of your own" scenario.
But at this moment, with four ships closing in on one, and with one already alongside while two longships—previously hiding out of range—swarmed in, the odds were high that the enemy would use the chaos to scale the Direwolf from other directions. In this life-or-death moment, if they didn't strike the enemy decisively and instead worried about whether the fire would touch them—well, very soon, the men of the Direwolf wouldn't even have the chance to worry about firefighting!
Amidst the ping-pong of shattering glass, the wildfire jars struck the Ironborn. The splashing liquid instantly doused their heads, shoulders, and the decks beneath their feet. Those hit were left dazed and bleeding, not yet understanding what the liquid on them was for... until blossoms of cyan flame erupted one after another within the crowd. Human body heat and dry, loose winter clothing allowed the wildfire to spread even faster than it did on the damp, cold hull. In an instant, over a dozen warriors were engulfed, and a live "Ironborn Roast" was served on the spot!
Heart-wrenching screams immediately replaced the pre-battle war cries. The faith and culture of the Ironborn made them naturally terrified of fire, let alone the searing green flames that burned into their very marrow. The Iron Island soldiers, who moments ago had been gathered at the rail with all their might to cut down their foes, scattered like a nest of rats doused in boiling oil amidst shrieks of various pitches. Wary of the fire spreading to their own ship, the Night's Watchmen throwing the jars had aimed as far toward the center of the enemy deck as possible; ironically, the front row of Ironborn closest to the bulwark remained unburnt... but the fire spread rapidly. Combined with the jar that had previously hit the stern sail, the flames threatened to consume the entire ship in an instant.
The crowd exploded under the pressure of the green flames. Those engulfed in fire leapt into the sea wailing, while the remaining soldiers, after a moment of confusion and panic, jumped across the gap between the two ships onto the Direwolf in a desperate, suicidal charge.
Maege wiped a spark that had splashed onto her breastplate with her glove and struck the rail heavily with her mace. "Good lads of the North, today is the moment to prove your courage!"
"For the North!"
In the distance, the other Ironborn sailing ship providing cover ceased fire for fear of hitting its own men. Close by, three ships—two small and one large—surrounded the Direwolf, launching a boarding action from three directions simultaneously.
"For the Iron Islands!"
"Kill them—"
Amidst the heat radiating from the wooden ship and the burning wildfire, the shouts of battle resumed after a brief interruption. The first soldier to leap onto the Direwolf forced back the nearest Northman with a blade, only to be met by a short, elderly-looking woman. He opened his mouth to mock the North for sending women to the battlefield, but the woman swung her arm without mercy. Her mace flew toward his chest with impeccable speed and power. Too late to block, he was knocked backward by a massive force. With no one behind to catch him, he flipped over the gap between the ships and plunged into the water.
The difference between a boarding action and a field battle is that one steps on a deck rather than the ground. However, it differs from land combat in that the cramped space leaves no room for retreat; battles are usually more intense and chaotic, and individual martial skill does not matter as much as in a typical small skirmish. When attacking, the Ironborn would crowd together in lines and heaps to board at the same time, using a formation where "men push men, men protect men, serving as each other's flanks and rear." In this state, from the moment they boarded until they established superiority, the Ironborn would have their own men to their left, right, and rear—or at least two of those directions.
But this time... those few jars of wildfire smashed into the middle of the crowd had completely shattered the boarding party's formation. Those consumed by fire and forced to jump overboard were a small minority, yet the lucky ones who hadn't been touched by a single drop of wildfire were fewer than one in ten. Most of the raiders held their weapons with one hand to watch for attacks while frantically slapping at the smoldering flames on their armor with the other, to little effect. In such a state, how could they win?
Meanwhile, the long-waiting Northern soldiers surged forward like a wall, shouting their war cries. Flesh flew alongside the glint of blades. The smell of charred meat and oily smoke was soon joined by the scent of blood, excrement, and urine. The Ironborn warriors who had just jumped aboard were either hacked into mincemeat or driven back into the sea.
"Don't lose order! One squad on fire duty, another to the oars—push the enemy ship away! Those uninjured, follow me to the other side and return fire!"
Amidst two slightly weaker impacts from the front and rear, the two longships took advantage of the timing to come alongside the Direwolf, throwing grappling hooks and ropes up in a tangled mess. Being a deck lower, the longships sat a full man's height below the Direwolf. Experienced Ironborn captains would usually wait for their medium-to-large vessels to tie up and distract the enemy deck crew before climbing up leisurely to minimize the disadvantage of fighting from low to high...
This tactic usually worked, and this time was no exception. The deck of the Direwolf was a mess of wounded, corpses, enemy incendiaries, and stray flames from the boarding party. In the chaos, men had to be diverted to the oars to push away the burning enemy sailing ship to avoid being dragged down with it. In the end, only seven or eight men were free—to face two entire ships' worth of new enemies.
The rowers of a longship are warriors themselves; there were over fifty men on the two longships. If they could climb onto the deck, they could completely turn the tide of battle!
But the battle did not follow the script—because the two longships were met by several more ruthless and reckless wildfire bombs.
A small longship didn't have as much space as a sailing warship to dodge or escape. When the two newly arrived Ironborn vessels were engulfed in similar green flames, few of the sailors aboard were spared. The height difference between the ships cut off any chance for the rowers to leap aboard for a final desperate fight while on fire. Amidst a chorus of collective screams that mirrored the previous scene, these dozens of Ironborn warriors—who could have decided the outcome—chose to jump overboard to extinguish the flames, preferring to die in the sea so their souls might reach the Drowned God's Watery Halls...
The human threat vanished temporarily, leaving only three masses of blazing fire on the water surrounding the Direwolf.
A few Northern soldiers used bows to pick off Iron Island sailors soaking in the water who were still swimming toward the ship attempting to climb, while most of the crew dragged oars and long poles from the cabins, sweating profusely as they pushed the three flaming enemy vessels as far from the Direwolf as possible.
In the distance, the captain of the fourth sailing ship—who had been waiting for his allies to win—could hardly believe his eyes. After confirming several times that his sister ships had all been destroyed, he ordered his crew to resume fire on the Direwolf. After a few exchanges of catapult fire where no one hit anything, and fearful of the terrifying power of wildfire, he eventually chose to retreat. Using his massive mobility advantage, he quickly disappeared from sight—allowing the crew of the Direwolf, whose incendiary bombs were nearly exhausted, to breathe a massive sigh of relief.
The first naval battle of the Bay of Ice began suddenly and ended just as fast. The only ship involved on the Northern side suffered one death and over twenty wounded—more than half of whom were burned or scalded while fighting fires after the battle had ended. After the last enemy ship fled, they spent over an hour using prepared sand and stone to extinguish the fires on their own deck caused by the liberal use of wildfire. It took a great deal of effort just to ensure the ship stayed afloat.
The hull was riddled with scorched patches and dents from collisions. The main mast had lost its reliability after being hit by a stone-core shot, and no one dared raise the sail... Ultimately, the Direwolf picked up a few high-born Iron Island prisoners, leaving the common soldiers to die in the freezing water. Relying on six oars in rotation, they rowed the battered and listing flagship of the Northern fleet all the way back to Westwatch-by-the-Bridge.
News of this naval battle reached the ears of the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch in Queenscrown the next day. The Ironborn ships cruising the Bay of Ice had finally discovered the existence of Westwatch... Egger's response was to maintain the original reinforcement plan while sending the Gift's most capable unit—the Queenscrown Rangers (essentially the gang of Westermen led by Jaime Lannister)—to Westwatch to bolster the defenses of the westernmost fortress.
Although the conflict in the Bay of Ice involved the Night's Watch, it was essentially an extension of the war between the North and the Iron Islands. Arriving almost simultaneously with the naval report was a patrol report from the commander of the Shadow Tower.
Sending rangers from the Bridge of Skulls to scout the weirwood forest to the north was a reaction Egger had made following the milestone of Bran's return" aimed at being prepared and providing early warning.
Since the Others awoke in the Land of Always Winter, they had been active beyond the Wall for a full four years without launching a general offensive against the realms of men. This long wait inevitably brought an atmosphere of slackness to the Night's Watch. Rationally, everyone knew the Others could strike at any moment, and thus prepared for war; but intuitively, not just the common soldiers but even Egger—who prided himself on being a clear-headed commander—couldn't help but feel: It probably won't be today.
But this time, the speed with which Qhorin Halfhand sent news back from Westwatch caught everyone by surprise.
The first patrol to cross the Bridge of Skulls had prepared for a grand adventure, but they hadn't gone far before easily discovering the traces they sought—and they were traces so obvious they could not be ignored: a sea of wights, hundreds and thousands strong, stretching beyond the horizon, using rusted blades, rotted bodies... in short, every possible means, to destroy that magnificent weirwood forest.
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