JК
Sharpes Havoc :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 26 из 242They were dragoons, schooled to fight with big swords from horseback, and they were not ready for this bloody brawl on foot with riflemen hardened by years of tavern fights and barrack-room conflicts. The men in rifle-green jackets were murderous in close combat and the surviving dragoons fled back to a grassy space on the river bank where their horses were picketed and Sharpe roared at his men to keep going eastward. „Let them go!” he shouted. „Drop ‘em! Drop ‘em!” The last four words were those used in the rat pit, the instruction shouted to a terrier trying to kill a rat that was already dead. „Drop ‘em! Keep going!” There was French infantry close behind, there were more cavalrymen in Oporto and Sharpe’s priority now was to get as far away from the city as he possibly could. „Sergeant!”
„I hear you, sir!” Harper shouted and he waded down the alley and hauled Rifleman Tongue away from a Frenchman. „Come on, Isaiah! Move your bloody bones!”
„I’m killing the bastard, Sergeant, I’m killing the bastard!”
„The bastard’s already dead! Now move!” A brace of carbine bullets rattled in the alleyway. A woman screamed incessantly in one of the nearby houses. A fleeing dragoon stumbled over a pile of woven wicker fish traps and sprawled in the house’s backyard where another Frenchman was lying among a pile of drying washing that he had pulled from a line as he died. The white sheets were red with his blood. Gataker aimed at a dragoon officer who had managed to mount his horse, but Harper pulled him away. „Keep running! Keep running!”
Then there was a swarm of blue uniforms to Sharpe’s left and he turned, sword raised, and saw they were Portuguese. „Friends!” he shouted for the benefit of his riflemen. „Watch out for the Portuguese!” The Portuguese soldiers were the ones who had saved him from an ignominious surrender, and now, having ambushed the French from behind, they joined Sharpe’s men in their headlong flight to the east.
„Keep going!” Harper bawled. Some of the riflemen were panting and they slowed to a walk until a flurry of carbine shots from the surviving dragoons made them hurry again. Most of the shots went high, one banged into the road beside Sharpe and ricocheted up into a poplar, and another struck Tarrant in the hip. The rifleman went down, screaming, and Sharpe grabbed his collar and kept running, dragging Tarrant with him. The road and river curved leftwards and there were trees and bushes on its bank. That woodland was not far away, too close to the city for comfort, but it would provide cover while Sharpe reorganized his men.
„Get to the trees!” Sharpe yelled.
„I hear you, sir!” Harper shouted and he waded down the alley and hauled Rifleman Tongue away from a Frenchman. „Come on, Isaiah! Move your bloody bones!”
„I’m killing the bastard, Sergeant, I’m killing the bastard!”
„The bastard’s already dead! Now move!” A brace of carbine bullets rattled in the alleyway. A woman screamed incessantly in one of the nearby houses. A fleeing dragoon stumbled over a pile of woven wicker fish traps and sprawled in the house’s backyard where another Frenchman was lying among a pile of drying washing that he had pulled from a line as he died. The white sheets were red with his blood. Gataker aimed at a dragoon officer who had managed to mount his horse, but Harper pulled him away. „Keep running! Keep running!”
Then there was a swarm of blue uniforms to Sharpe’s left and he turned, sword raised, and saw they were Portuguese. „Friends!” he shouted for the benefit of his riflemen. „Watch out for the Portuguese!” The Portuguese soldiers were the ones who had saved him from an ignominious surrender, and now, having ambushed the French from behind, they joined Sharpe’s men in their headlong flight to the east.
„Keep going!” Harper bawled. Some of the riflemen were panting and they slowed to a walk until a flurry of carbine shots from the surviving dragoons made them hurry again. Most of the shots went high, one banged into the road beside Sharpe and ricocheted up into a poplar, and another struck Tarrant in the hip. The rifleman went down, screaming, and Sharpe grabbed his collar and kept running, dragging Tarrant with him. The road and river curved leftwards and there were trees and bushes on its bank. That woodland was not far away, too close to the city for comfort, but it would provide cover while Sharpe reorganized his men.
„Get to the trees!” Sharpe yelled.