JК
Sharpes Eagle :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 18 из 203His words checked Simmerson in full flow but the Captain gave the Colonel no time to recover. He unleashed all his Irish charm, starting with a smile of such sweet reasonableness that it would have charmed a fish out of the water. “You see, Sir Henry, Sharpe is under my orders. The General is quite specific. As I understand it, Sir Henry, we accompany each other to Valdelacasa but Sharpe is with me.”
“But… “ Hogan raised a hand to Simmerson’s protest.
“You are right, sir, so right. But of course you would understand that conditions in the field may not be all that we would want, and it may be as well, sir, I need hardly tell you, that I should have the dispositions of the Riflemen.”
Simmerson stared at Hogan. The Colonel had not understood a word of Hogan’s nonsense but it had all been stated in such a matter-of-fact way, and in such a soldier-to-soldier way, that Simmerson was desperately trying to find an answer that did not make him sound foolish. He looked at Hogan for a moment. “But that would be my decision!”
“How right you are, sir, how true!” Hogan spoke emphatically and warmly. “Normally, that is. But I think the General had it in his mind, sir, that you would be so burdened with the problems of our Spanish allies and then, sir, there are the exigencies of engineering that Lieutenant Sharpe understands.” He leaned forward con-spiratorially. “I need men to fetch and carry, sir. You understand.”
Simmerson smiled, then gave a bray of a laugh. Hogan had taken him off the hook. He pointed at Sharpe. “He dresses like a common labourer, eh Forrest? A labourer!” He was delighted with his joke and repeated it to himself as he pulled on his vast scarlet and yellow jacket. “A labourer! Eh, Forrest?” The Major smiled dutifully. He resembled a long-suffering vicar continually assailed by the sins of an unrepentant flock, and when Simmerson’s back was turned he gave Sharpe an apologetic look. Simmerson buckled his belt and turned back to Sharpe. “Done much soldiering then, Sharpe? Apart from fetching and carrying?”
“A little, sir.”
Simmerson chuckled. “How old are you?”
“Thirty-two, sir.” Sharpe stared rigidly ahead.
“Thirty-two, eh? And still only a Lieutenant? What’s the matter, Sharpe? Incompetence?”
Sharpe saw Forrest signalling to the Colonel but he ignored the movements. “I joined in the ranks, sir.”
Forrest dropped his hand. The Colonel dropped his mouth. There were not many men who made the jump from Sergeant to Ensign, and those who did could rarely be accused of incompetence.
“But… “ Hogan raised a hand to Simmerson’s protest.
“You are right, sir, so right. But of course you would understand that conditions in the field may not be all that we would want, and it may be as well, sir, I need hardly tell you, that I should have the dispositions of the Riflemen.”
Simmerson stared at Hogan. The Colonel had not understood a word of Hogan’s nonsense but it had all been stated in such a matter-of-fact way, and in such a soldier-to-soldier way, that Simmerson was desperately trying to find an answer that did not make him sound foolish. He looked at Hogan for a moment. “But that would be my decision!”
“How right you are, sir, how true!” Hogan spoke emphatically and warmly. “Normally, that is. But I think the General had it in his mind, sir, that you would be so burdened with the problems of our Spanish allies and then, sir, there are the exigencies of engineering that Lieutenant Sharpe understands.” He leaned forward con-spiratorially. “I need men to fetch and carry, sir. You understand.”
Simmerson smiled, then gave a bray of a laugh. Hogan had taken him off the hook. He pointed at Sharpe. “He dresses like a common labourer, eh Forrest? A labourer!” He was delighted with his joke and repeated it to himself as he pulled on his vast scarlet and yellow jacket. “A labourer! Eh, Forrest?” The Major smiled dutifully. He resembled a long-suffering vicar continually assailed by the sins of an unrepentant flock, and when Simmerson’s back was turned he gave Sharpe an apologetic look. Simmerson buckled his belt and turned back to Sharpe. “Done much soldiering then, Sharpe? Apart from fetching and carrying?”
“A little, sir.”
Simmerson chuckled. “How old are you?”
“Thirty-two, sir.” Sharpe stared rigidly ahead.
“Thirty-two, eh? And still only a Lieutenant? What’s the matter, Sharpe? Incompetence?”
Sharpe saw Forrest signalling to the Colonel but he ignored the movements. “I joined in the ranks, sir.”
Forrest dropped his hand. The Colonel dropped his mouth. There were not many men who made the jump from Sergeant to Ensign, and those who did could rarely be accused of incompetence.