JК
Sharpes Battle :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 123 из 244"Well, I am the bull, seсor, and I confessto being wounded, but Loup's back is turned. So tonight, when he thinks we're too weak to move, we march."
"But only to watch him," the partisan said cautiously. He had been scorched by Loup too often to risk a fight.
"To watch," Sharpe lied, "just to watch."
He was truthful with Harper. He took his friend to the top of the gatehouse tower from where the two riflemen stared across the eastern valley towards the hazed country where the village of San Cristobal was hidden. "I don't honestly know why I'm going," Sharpe confessed, "and we've got no orders to go and I'm not even sure we can do a damned thing when we get there. But there's a reason for going." He paused, suddenly feeling awkward. Sharpe found it hard to articulate his more private thoughts, perhaps because to do so exposed a vulnerability and few soldiers were good at doing that, and what he wanted to say was that a soldier was only as good as his last battle and Sharpe's last battle had been this disaster that had left San Isidro smoking and bloody. And there were plenty of carping fools in the army who would be glad that the upstart from the ranks had at last got his comeuppance, all of which meant that Sharpe must strike back at Loup or else lose his reputation as a lucky and victorious soldier.
"You have to beat the blood out of Loup?" Harper broke the silence with his suggestion.
"I don't have enough men to do that," Sharpe said. "The riflemen will come with me, but I can't order Donaju's men to San Cristobal. The whole idea's probably a waste of time, Pat, but there's a chance, a half-chance, that I can get that one-eyed bastard in my rifle sight."
"You'd be surprised," Harper said. "There's more than a few of the Real Companпa Irlandesa who'd love to come with us. I don't know about the officers, but Sergeant Major Noonan will come, and that fellow Rourke, and there's a wild bugger called Leon O'Reilly who wants nothing more than to kill Crapauds and there's plenty more like him. They've got something to prove, you see. That they're not all as yellow as Kiely."
Sharpe smiled, then shrugged. "It probably is all a waste of time, Pat," he repeated.
"So what else were you planning on doing tonight?"
"Nothing," Sharpe said, "nothing at all." Yet he knew that if he marched to another defeat he would risk everything he had ever earned, but he also knew that not to go, however hopeless the prospect of revenge, was to accept the beating Loup had administered and Sharpe was too proud to accept that licking. He would most likely achieve nothing by marching to San Cristobal, yet march he must.
"But only to watch him," the partisan said cautiously. He had been scorched by Loup too often to risk a fight.
"To watch," Sharpe lied, "just to watch."
He was truthful with Harper. He took his friend to the top of the gatehouse tower from where the two riflemen stared across the eastern valley towards the hazed country where the village of San Cristobal was hidden. "I don't honestly know why I'm going," Sharpe confessed, "and we've got no orders to go and I'm not even sure we can do a damned thing when we get there. But there's a reason for going." He paused, suddenly feeling awkward. Sharpe found it hard to articulate his more private thoughts, perhaps because to do so exposed a vulnerability and few soldiers were good at doing that, and what he wanted to say was that a soldier was only as good as his last battle and Sharpe's last battle had been this disaster that had left San Isidro smoking and bloody. And there were plenty of carping fools in the army who would be glad that the upstart from the ranks had at last got his comeuppance, all of which meant that Sharpe must strike back at Loup or else lose his reputation as a lucky and victorious soldier.
"You have to beat the blood out of Loup?" Harper broke the silence with his suggestion.
"I don't have enough men to do that," Sharpe said. "The riflemen will come with me, but I can't order Donaju's men to San Cristobal. The whole idea's probably a waste of time, Pat, but there's a chance, a half-chance, that I can get that one-eyed bastard in my rifle sight."
"You'd be surprised," Harper said. "There's more than a few of the Real Companпa Irlandesa who'd love to come with us. I don't know about the officers, but Sergeant Major Noonan will come, and that fellow Rourke, and there's a wild bugger called Leon O'Reilly who wants nothing more than to kill Crapauds and there's plenty more like him. They've got something to prove, you see. That they're not all as yellow as Kiely."
Sharpe smiled, then shrugged. "It probably is all a waste of time, Pat," he repeated.
"So what else were you planning on doing tonight?"
"Nothing," Sharpe said, "nothing at all." Yet he knew that if he marched to another defeat he would risk everything he had ever earned, but he also knew that not to go, however hopeless the prospect of revenge, was to accept the beating Loup had administered and Sharpe was too proud to accept that licking. He would most likely achieve nothing by marching to San Cristobal, yet march he must.