JК
Sharpes Eagle :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 177 из 203This attack was not only vaster than the first but this time the French were sending their field artillery with the columns, and Sharpe could see the horses and guns waiting to begin their journey to the stream. And the
South Essex were retreating! Sharpe ran clumsily along the swinging line.
“Sir!”
Simmerson looked down on him. “Captain Sharpe?”
“For God’s sake, sir! There’s a column aimed for us… „He was interrupted by a Dragoon Lieutenant, one of Hill’s staff, who slid his horse to a stop in a spray of earth. Simmerson looked at the newcomer. ”Lieutenant?“
“General Hill’s compliments, sir, and would you stay in position and deploy skirmishers.”
Simmerson nodded benignly. “My compliments to General Hill, but he will find out I am doing the right thing. Carry on!”
Sharpe thought of arguing but knew it was hopeless. He ran back to the company. Harper stood behind it, keeping the dressing, and he looked woefully at his Captain.
“What’s happening, sir?”
“We’re going forward, that’s what’s happening.” Sharpe pushed through the ranks. “Light Company! Skirmish order. Follow me!”
He ran down the hill, his men following. Damn Simmerson! The Voltigeurs from the white-jacketed Battalion were already over the stream and outflanking the King’s Germans, and Sharpe could see too many men lying dead or injured where the Legion was fighting against twice their number. It was a lung-bursting run, hampered by packs, pouches, haversacks and weapons, but the men forced themselves on towards the Dutchmen who had crossed the stream. Shells burst among the Light Company and Harper, driving them from the back, watched two men fall, but there was no time to look after them. He watched Sharpe drag his sword clumsily from the scabbard and realised the Captain planned to charge right into the Voltigeurs and push them back across the stream. Harper took a deep breath. “Bayonets! Bayonets!”
The men with muskets had little chance of fixing their bayonets in time, but the Riflemen had no need to try. The Baker’s bayonet was long and equipped with a handle, and Sharpe’s Riflemen held them like swords; the French saw them coming, turned, and fumbled with their ammuni-tion. A first bullet passed Sharpe, singing in his ear, a second struck the ground and ricocheted up to hit his canteen, and then he was swinging the sword at the nearest man; the rest of the company were stabbing and shouting, and the white-coated Voltigeurs were scrambling back to the far side of the Portina.
South Essex were retreating! Sharpe ran clumsily along the swinging line.
“Sir!”
Simmerson looked down on him. “Captain Sharpe?”
“For God’s sake, sir! There’s a column aimed for us… „He was interrupted by a Dragoon Lieutenant, one of Hill’s staff, who slid his horse to a stop in a spray of earth. Simmerson looked at the newcomer. ”Lieutenant?“
“General Hill’s compliments, sir, and would you stay in position and deploy skirmishers.”
Simmerson nodded benignly. “My compliments to General Hill, but he will find out I am doing the right thing. Carry on!”
Sharpe thought of arguing but knew it was hopeless. He ran back to the company. Harper stood behind it, keeping the dressing, and he looked woefully at his Captain.
“What’s happening, sir?”
“We’re going forward, that’s what’s happening.” Sharpe pushed through the ranks. “Light Company! Skirmish order. Follow me!”
He ran down the hill, his men following. Damn Simmerson! The Voltigeurs from the white-jacketed Battalion were already over the stream and outflanking the King’s Germans, and Sharpe could see too many men lying dead or injured where the Legion was fighting against twice their number. It was a lung-bursting run, hampered by packs, pouches, haversacks and weapons, but the men forced themselves on towards the Dutchmen who had crossed the stream. Shells burst among the Light Company and Harper, driving them from the back, watched two men fall, but there was no time to look after them. He watched Sharpe drag his sword clumsily from the scabbard and realised the Captain planned to charge right into the Voltigeurs and push them back across the stream. Harper took a deep breath. “Bayonets! Bayonets!”
The men with muskets had little chance of fixing their bayonets in time, but the Riflemen had no need to try. The Baker’s bayonet was long and equipped with a handle, and Sharpe’s Riflemen held them like swords; the French saw them coming, turned, and fumbled with their ammuni-tion. A first bullet passed Sharpe, singing in his ear, a second struck the ground and ricocheted up to hit his canteen, and then he was swinging the sword at the nearest man; the rest of the company were stabbing and shouting, and the white-coated Voltigeurs were scrambling back to the far side of the Portina.