JК
Sharpes Sword :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 102 из 213They lookedin every room that could be entered and tried to look even in those where no human could stay alive. Once Sharpe teetered on the brink of a broken floor, staring hopelessly into a roaring fire that swept upwards, white hot, and he heard the fall of great timbers and knew that no man could live in that. He put a hand on his ammunition pouch and the leather was almost too hot to touch and he went back, suddenly fearing that the rifle ammunition would explode, and he felt the first stirrings of doubt, of frustration. He was soaked with sweat, begrimed, and still the sun burned down on the furnace building, the prisoners milled outside and Sharpe cursed Leroux.
Price panted in the heat. “I haven’t seen him, sir.”
Sharpe pointed at a separate group. “Who are they?”
“Wounded, sir.”
He looked at the wounded. He even made one man take off a dirty bandage from his head, and wished he had not. The man was terribly burned and he was not Leroux. Sharpe looked at the scene on the glacis. “How many prisoners?”
“Four hundred here, sir. At least.”
“Search them again!” They marched up the ranks, stopping at each man, and the French prisoners looked at them dully. Some were tall, and those were pushed out of the ranks into a separate group, but it was hopeless. Some had no teeth, others were the wrong age, some were similar but not Leroux.
“Patrick!”
“Sir?”
“Find that officer who spoke French. Ask him to see me.”
The officer came and gladly helped. He asked prisoners if they knew of the tall Colonel Leroux or else of Captain Delmas, and most shrugged, but one or two volunteered help and said they remembered a Captain Delmas who had fought so well at Austerlitz, and one remembered a Leroux who had been in the town guard at Pau, and the sun smashed down, bounced off the broken stones, and the sweat trickled into Sharpe’s eyes, stinging them, and it was as if Leroux had vanished from the face of the earth.
“Sir?” Harper pointed across the ravine. “The little one’s surrendered.”
They crossed the ravine again and, now that the third fort had surrendered, the wounded who had been taken from the San Cayetano and the San Vincente were allowed up the trench. Sharpe wondered how many had died as they waited in the burning sun.
Price panted in the heat. “I haven’t seen him, sir.”
Sharpe pointed at a separate group. “Who are they?”
“Wounded, sir.”
He looked at the wounded. He even made one man take off a dirty bandage from his head, and wished he had not. The man was terribly burned and he was not Leroux. Sharpe looked at the scene on the glacis. “How many prisoners?”
“Four hundred here, sir. At least.”
“Search them again!” They marched up the ranks, stopping at each man, and the French prisoners looked at them dully. Some were tall, and those were pushed out of the ranks into a separate group, but it was hopeless. Some had no teeth, others were the wrong age, some were similar but not Leroux.
“Patrick!”
“Sir?”
“Find that officer who spoke French. Ask him to see me.”
The officer came and gladly helped. He asked prisoners if they knew of the tall Colonel Leroux or else of Captain Delmas, and most shrugged, but one or two volunteered help and said they remembered a Captain Delmas who had fought so well at Austerlitz, and one remembered a Leroux who had been in the town guard at Pau, and the sun smashed down, bounced off the broken stones, and the sweat trickled into Sharpe’s eyes, stinging them, and it was as if Leroux had vanished from the face of the earth.
“Sir?” Harper pointed across the ravine. “The little one’s surrendered.”
They crossed the ravine again and, now that the third fort had surrendered, the wounded who had been taken from the San Cayetano and the San Vincente were allowed up the trench. Sharpe wondered how many had died as they waited in the burning sun.