JК
Sharpes Eagle :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 173 из 203”
“When will we see you?” Hogan dreaded that Sharpe would walk into Josefina’s room and find Hardy there.
“I don’t know.” Sharpe indicated the waiting French army. “There’s a hell of a fight still to come and I suspect we’ll all have to stay on the field till one side goes home. Maybe tonight. Probably tomorrow. I don’t know.”
Bugles split the valley, calling the troops back to their positions, and Hogan gathered his reins in his hand. The two men watched as British and French soldiers shook hands and slapped each other’s backs before the killing restarted. Hogan heaved himself into the saddle. “I’ll tell her about Berry, Richard. Be careful, we don’t want to lose you.” He put spurs to his horse and cantered beside the stream, back towards Talavera.
Sharpe walked up the slope of the Medellin with his men as they counted the spoils they had collected from the dead. He himself had found nothing but as he walked up the hill he knew that there would be richer pickings on the field before the sun fell; there was an Eagle to be plucked.
The morning crept on. The two armies faced each other, the cavalry chafing that there were no broken infantry to slaughter, the artillery piling their ammunition to break the infantry, while the infantry sat on the grass and made up their ammunition and cleaned the locks of their muskets. No-one seemed to be in a hurry. The first attack had been repulsed, and now the French were doubly determined to break the small British army in front of them. Through his telescope Sharpe watched the blue Battalions moving sluggishly into place, Regiment after Regiment, Brigade after Brigade, until between the Pajar and the Cascajal he could see more than thirty Eagles gathering for the attack. Forrest joined him and smiled nervously as he took the proffered telescope.
“Are they getting ready, Sharpe?”
Forrest scanned the French line. It was obvious what was about to happen. On the Cascajal the gunners were levering the pieces round so that they could fire at the troops to the right of the South Essex, at the Legion and at the Guards. Opposite those Regiments was gathering a vast horde of enemy Battalions. The French had failed to take the Medellin, by night or day, so now they were planning a hammer blow of such weight that no troops in the world could withstand the fury and intensity of their attack. Behind the French infantry Sharpe could see impatient cavalry waiting to pour through the gap and slaughter the defeated British.
“When will we see you?” Hogan dreaded that Sharpe would walk into Josefina’s room and find Hardy there.
“I don’t know.” Sharpe indicated the waiting French army. “There’s a hell of a fight still to come and I suspect we’ll all have to stay on the field till one side goes home. Maybe tonight. Probably tomorrow. I don’t know.”
Bugles split the valley, calling the troops back to their positions, and Hogan gathered his reins in his hand. The two men watched as British and French soldiers shook hands and slapped each other’s backs before the killing restarted. Hogan heaved himself into the saddle. “I’ll tell her about Berry, Richard. Be careful, we don’t want to lose you.” He put spurs to his horse and cantered beside the stream, back towards Talavera.
Sharpe walked up the slope of the Medellin with his men as they counted the spoils they had collected from the dead. He himself had found nothing but as he walked up the hill he knew that there would be richer pickings on the field before the sun fell; there was an Eagle to be plucked.
The morning crept on. The two armies faced each other, the cavalry chafing that there were no broken infantry to slaughter, the artillery piling their ammunition to break the infantry, while the infantry sat on the grass and made up their ammunition and cleaned the locks of their muskets. No-one seemed to be in a hurry. The first attack had been repulsed, and now the French were doubly determined to break the small British army in front of them. Through his telescope Sharpe watched the blue Battalions moving sluggishly into place, Regiment after Regiment, Brigade after Brigade, until between the Pajar and the Cascajal he could see more than thirty Eagles gathering for the attack. Forrest joined him and smiled nervously as he took the proffered telescope.
“Are they getting ready, Sharpe?”
Forrest scanned the French line. It was obvious what was about to happen. On the Cascajal the gunners were levering the pieces round so that they could fire at the troops to the right of the South Essex, at the Legion and at the Guards. Opposite those Regiments was gathering a vast horde of enemy Battalions. The French had failed to take the Medellin, by night or day, so now they were planning a hammer blow of such weight that no troops in the world could withstand the fury and intensity of their attack. Behind the French infantry Sharpe could see impatient cavalry waiting to pour through the gap and slaughter the defeated British.