Sharpes Sword   ::   Корнуэлл Бернард

“Fire!” Lieutenant Price’s voice shouted. The Company pulled their triggers and the column jerked spasmodically away from the balls. Sharpe was glad to see the man who had shrugged at him was still alive. He turned round. “Stop firing!”

There was no point in firing now. They might kill a few men on the column’s flanks, but their job had been to push the ponderous column a few yards to its right, and they had done it. They could save their loaded muskets for the column’s retreat, if it did retreat, and Sharpe nodded to Price. “The Company can retire, Lieutenant, as far as the hill.”

The rear of the column was marching past now and Sharpe saw the wounded limping behind, trying to catch up with their comrades, and some of them fell to add to the droppings of the great attack. He looked south, into the smoke, and he could see no cavalry yet, no guns, but they could come. He turned and walked towards his Company and the men grinned at him, called out to him, and he was ashamed because he had feared that one might aim for him. He nodded to them. “How are you?”

They pounded his back, shouted at him, and they all seemed to have inane grins on their faces as though they had won a great victory. He pushed through them, noticing how foul was their breath after his month away from troops, but it was good to be back. Lieutenant Price saluted. “Welcome back, sir.”

“It’s nice to be back. How is it?”

Price glanced at the closest men, then grinned at Sharpe. “Still the best Company in the Battalion, sir.”

“Without me?”

“They had me, sir.” They both laughed to cover a mutual pleasure. Price glanced at Sharpe’s stomach. “And you, sir?”

“The doctors say another month.”

“Harps said it was a miracle.”

Sharpe smiled. “He performed it, then.” He turned to watch the column go on. It was like some mindless machine that was grinding its way northwards, aiming at the city, and he knew that soon the valley would fill with French guns and cavalry unless the column could be stopped. One of his men shouted over the swell of drums and French cheers.

“Harps says you was living in a palace with Duchess!”

“Harps is a bloody liar!” Sharpe pushed through the knot of men and grinned at the big Sergeant. “How are you?”

“I’m doing all right. Yourself, sir?”

“It’s fine.” Sharpe looked north to where the valley was littered with bodies. “ Casualties?”

Harper shook his head. He sounded disgusted. “Two wounded. We went back too bloody fast.