JК
Sharpes Havoc :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 125 из 242”
„Denmark! Why were you fighting in Denmark?”
„God knows,” Sharpe said. „Something about their fleet. We wanted it, they didn’t want us to have it, so we went and took it.” He was gazing down the northern slope at a group of a dozen Frenchmen who had stripped to the waist and now began to shovel at a patch of ferns a hundred yards from the edge of the wood. He took out the replacement telescope Luis had brought him. It was little more than a toy and the outer lens was loose which meant it kept blurring, and it was only half as powerful as his own glass, but he supposed it was better than nothing. He focused the glass, steadied the outer lens with a fingertip and stared at the French work party. „Shit,” he said.
„What?”
„Bastards have got a cannon,” Sharpe said. „Just pray it isn’t a bloody mortar.”
Vicente, looking bewildered, was trying and failing to see a gun. „What happens if it’s a mortar?”
„We all die,” Sharpe said, imagining the pot-like gun lobbing its shells into the sky so that they would drop almost vertically onto his position. „We all die,” he said again, „or else we run away and get captured.”
Vicente made the sign of the cross again. He had not made that gesture at all in the first weeks Sharpe had known him, but the further Vicente traveled from his life as a lawyer the more the old imperatives returned to him. Life, he was beginning to learn, was not controlled by law or reason, but by luck and savagery and blind unfeeling fate. „I can’t see a cannon,” he finally admitted.
Sharpe pointed to the French working party. „Those buggers are making a nice flat patch so they can aim properly,” he explained. „You can’t fire a gun on a slope, not if you want to be accurate.” He took a few steps down the northern path. „Dan!”
„Sir?“
„See where the bastards are going to put a cannon? How far away is it?”
Hagman, ensconced in a crevice of stone, peered down. „Bit under seven hundred paces, sir. Too far.”
„We can try?”
Hagman shrugged. „I can try, but maybe save it for later?”
Sharpe nodded. Better to reveal the rifle’s range to the French when things were more desperate.
Vicente again looked bewildered so Sharpe explained. „A rifle bullet can carry that far, but it would take a genius to be accurate. Dan’s close to genius.
„Denmark! Why were you fighting in Denmark?”
„God knows,” Sharpe said. „Something about their fleet. We wanted it, they didn’t want us to have it, so we went and took it.” He was gazing down the northern slope at a group of a dozen Frenchmen who had stripped to the waist and now began to shovel at a patch of ferns a hundred yards from the edge of the wood. He took out the replacement telescope Luis had brought him. It was little more than a toy and the outer lens was loose which meant it kept blurring, and it was only half as powerful as his own glass, but he supposed it was better than nothing. He focused the glass, steadied the outer lens with a fingertip and stared at the French work party. „Shit,” he said.
„What?”
„Bastards have got a cannon,” Sharpe said. „Just pray it isn’t a bloody mortar.”
Vicente, looking bewildered, was trying and failing to see a gun. „What happens if it’s a mortar?”
„We all die,” Sharpe said, imagining the pot-like gun lobbing its shells into the sky so that they would drop almost vertically onto his position. „We all die,” he said again, „or else we run away and get captured.”
Vicente made the sign of the cross again. He had not made that gesture at all in the first weeks Sharpe had known him, but the further Vicente traveled from his life as a lawyer the more the old imperatives returned to him. Life, he was beginning to learn, was not controlled by law or reason, but by luck and savagery and blind unfeeling fate. „I can’t see a cannon,” he finally admitted.
Sharpe pointed to the French working party. „Those buggers are making a nice flat patch so they can aim properly,” he explained. „You can’t fire a gun on a slope, not if you want to be accurate.” He took a few steps down the northern path. „Dan!”
„Sir?“
„See where the bastards are going to put a cannon? How far away is it?”
Hagman, ensconced in a crevice of stone, peered down. „Bit under seven hundred paces, sir. Too far.”
„We can try?”
Hagman shrugged. „I can try, but maybe save it for later?”
Sharpe nodded. Better to reveal the rifle’s range to the French when things were more desperate.
Vicente again looked bewildered so Sharpe explained. „A rifle bullet can carry that far, but it would take a genius to be accurate. Dan’s close to genius.