The coordinated Celtic offensive following the fall of Pisa devastated the Viking empire.
The northwest peninsula fell entirely under new ownership, freeing Hedeby Island from any fear of retaliation. Larne and Askrigg retained sizable defensive forces, but lacked the capability to field any credible offense. A single strong defender in Cunaxa, Jarlshof, and Bergen satisfied the Comrade's desire to protect the nation's gains. The central holdings; Westness, Cremona, Ravning Edge, Lisht, and Pisa, bearing similar countermeasures, neatly bisected the remaining mainland regions. In the south, a scattering of tiny, poorly defended Viking outposts lay, their forces already spent in useless strikes against the Celtic decoy battleships and yearly attempts to reclaim Lindholm. In the north and east, the larger fortresses sat untouched, too expensive for spies to sway, and too well defended for the exhausted howitzer crews to assail. The most decisive progress happened farther to the east, where Risby Island fell entirely under the jurisdiction of the Celts, leaving only tiny Cannae to represent the formerly numerous Viking offshore colonies. In a mere two years, the new commander seemed to have broken the enemy beyond repair.
Such feats of arms come at a price, however. The Celts had emptied their treasury to dangerous levels, funding unprecedented infrastructure improvements, training of spies and howitzer crews, and outright purchasing the loyalty of Viking peasants. Artillery crews, sick from traversing the radioactive wastes and wounded in action, required time to recuperate. This translated into a chance for the Vikings to counterattack, and they did not disappoint. Battleships in the south were struck again by many missiles. Every border city encountered some resistance, but the fighting centered on Lindholm and Lunde, where defenses once again failed to hold.
In the desperation of the moment, the Vikings proposed an alliance with America. The Comrade, unready to battle that more formidable opponent, watched in horror (through video relay, naturally) as the peace treaty was signed at UN HQ in Jarlshof. The direction of American scientific advancement was demonstrated forthwith. As the ambassadors shook hands, the Viking envoy fell to the ground, dead. A plume of smoke curled from his outstretched hand, bursting into open flame that consumed the body before it could be extinguished. And at the same time, chemicals in the air interacted with the ink of the document, and it also flared with a sudden searing heat. Perhaps this treachery was in response to an ill-fated invasion of the American homeland, as the bodies of a squad of marines in Viking uniform were later unearthed near Albuquerque, preserved by the swamp into which they were interred. We can never know for certain, as retainers for both ambassadors immediately opened fire upon one another, and the survivors were executed on the spot by overzealous Celts, who were subsequently punished with permanent assignments to the diplomatic corps. The message was received clearly: The Vikings are finished, and will not be missed.
In response to the Viking counteroffensive, spies were ordered to incite revolts. Sixty gold pieces in Lindholm bought a cruise missile, a howitzer, and a troop of marines. Another sixty in Lunde bought a paratrooper, an AEGIS cruiser, and two stealth bombers. The expensive pieces were disassembled to build harbors and offshore platforms. The ground troops joined the next offensive maneuvers, occupying positions likely to support partisan uprisings. Battles in the third year of open conflict were few and directed more toward consolidation than expansion, as damaged equipment and wounded troops alike were hammered back into fighting shape. The lingering menace in the northwest succumbed to withering cannon fire, as did the eastern strongholds of Salzburg and Nonnebakken. The smaller cities surrounding the eastward wedge defected with modest incentives, largely reimbursed by sale of redundant or outdated city improvements.
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The student tucked a strand of red hair behind her ear again, revealing THE LAST THREE YEARS across the top of the magazine page. Her family, clustered around a crackling radio, raised a commotion rendering reading comprehension impossible. A diplomatic crew, the newsman related, had finally stumbled into the last known Sioux village, nestled deep in the swamps of their homeland, their dwellings indistinguishable from the surrounding marshland. While discovering the village had taken years, in a matter of hours the locals were convinced of our peaceful intentions. Gifts of money and medicine, contact with the crew's native guides, and video conferencing with the thriving cities of their kin won them easily, and the last bastion of the Sioux nation resisted no longer. A short fanfare concluded the story, and the well known voice of the Comrade quieted the crowd.
"We joyfully welcome the Sioux to our glorious empire. May the olive branch of peace be forever extended between us. I would not wish to belittle such an event as the joining of our civilizations. But even on this momentous occasion, news from the north must be shared. The guns have quieted. The last Viking stronghold has fallen, their last nuclear weapon has been dismantled. In the relentless and bloodthirsty north, peace has at last been bought by force of arms. We owe this tremendous victory to our wise diplomats, our fearless howitzer crews and their support staff, and the military leaders who have guided us so well, nearly all of our forces can be brought home and trained in the peaceful trades to which we will now turn our attention, equipment manufacture [more howitzers] and engineering [pollution control, road building, eventual irrigation and city creation]. Let this be a year of celebration, for after two thousand years of pain, the entire world is finally at peace."
Amid the resulting festivities, little attention came to the comedy sketch "The Germans and Indians declare war," featuring rival squads of clowns armed with swamp pies.