JК
Sharpes Sword :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 41 из 213La Marquesawore white and had her filmy parasol raised against the sun.
Lord Spears tugged at his sling to make it comfortable. “No, my dear. It’s just a redeployment.”
“I do believe you’re wrong, Jack.”
“Ten guineas says I’m not.”
“You owe me twice that already.” La Marquesa had taken out a small, silver telescope that she trained on the two British Battalions. They were marching towards the crest. “Still, I’ll take you, Jack. Ten guineas.” She put the telescope in her lap and picked up a folding ivory fan with which she cooled her face. “Everyone ought to see a battle, Jack. It’s part of a woman’s education.”
“Quite right, my dear. Front row for the slaughter. Lord Spears’ Academy for Young Ladies, battles arranged, mutilations our speciality.”
The fan cracked shut. “What a bore you are, Jack, and just a tiny bit amusing. Oh look! Some of them are running! Do I cheer?”
Lord Spears was realising that he had just lost another ten guineas that he did not have, but he showed no regret. “Why not? Hip, hip…“
“Hooray!” said La Marquesa.
Sharpe blew his whistle that sent his men scattering into the loose skirmish chain. The other nine companies would fight in their ranks, held by discipline, but his men fought in pairs, picking their ground and being the first to meet the enemy. He was on the crest now, the grass long beneath his boots, and his skirmish line was going down towards the enemy. Once again he forgot Leroux, forgot Hogan’s concern, for now he was doing the job for which the army paid him. He was a skirmisher, a fighter of battles between the armies, and the love of combat was rising in him, that curious emotion that diluted fear and drove him to impose his will on the enemy. He was excited, eager, and he led his men at a swift pace down the hillside to where the enemy skirmishers, the Voltigeurs, were coming out to meet him. This was his world now, this small saddle of land between the escarpment and the knoll, a tiny piece of grassland that was warm in the sun and pretty with flowers. There he would meet his enemy and there he would win. “Spread out! Keep moving!” Sharpe was going to war.
CHAPTER 5
Wellington did not want to attack. He saw little sense in sending his army down into the plain, but he was frustrated by the French reluctance to attack him. He had sent two Battalions against the two enemy Battalions on the knoll in the hope that he could provoke Marmont into a response.
Lord Spears tugged at his sling to make it comfortable. “No, my dear. It’s just a redeployment.”
“I do believe you’re wrong, Jack.”
“Ten guineas says I’m not.”
“You owe me twice that already.” La Marquesa had taken out a small, silver telescope that she trained on the two British Battalions. They were marching towards the crest. “Still, I’ll take you, Jack. Ten guineas.” She put the telescope in her lap and picked up a folding ivory fan with which she cooled her face. “Everyone ought to see a battle, Jack. It’s part of a woman’s education.”
“Quite right, my dear. Front row for the slaughter. Lord Spears’ Academy for Young Ladies, battles arranged, mutilations our speciality.”
The fan cracked shut. “What a bore you are, Jack, and just a tiny bit amusing. Oh look! Some of them are running! Do I cheer?”
Lord Spears was realising that he had just lost another ten guineas that he did not have, but he showed no regret. “Why not? Hip, hip…“
“Hooray!” said La Marquesa.
Sharpe blew his whistle that sent his men scattering into the loose skirmish chain. The other nine companies would fight in their ranks, held by discipline, but his men fought in pairs, picking their ground and being the first to meet the enemy. He was on the crest now, the grass long beneath his boots, and his skirmish line was going down towards the enemy. Once again he forgot Leroux, forgot Hogan’s concern, for now he was doing the job for which the army paid him. He was a skirmisher, a fighter of battles between the armies, and the love of combat was rising in him, that curious emotion that diluted fear and drove him to impose his will on the enemy. He was excited, eager, and he led his men at a swift pace down the hillside to where the enemy skirmishers, the Voltigeurs, were coming out to meet him. This was his world now, this small saddle of land between the escarpment and the knoll, a tiny piece of grassland that was warm in the sun and pretty with flowers. There he would meet his enemy and there he would win. “Spread out! Keep moving!” Sharpe was going to war.
CHAPTER 5
Wellington did not want to attack. He saw little sense in sending his army down into the plain, but he was frustrated by the French reluctance to attack him. He had sent two Battalions against the two enemy Battalions on the knoll in the hope that he could provoke Marmont into a response.