JК
Sharpes Battle :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 127 из 244"
Captain Donaju was still unhappy at being excluded from Sharpe's patrol, yet he did not like to contradict Sharpe's plans. Sharpe, after all, was a fighting soldier and Donaju had only one night's experience of battle. "What do I tell the British if you die?" he asked Sharpe chidingly.
"To take my boots off before they bury me," Sharpe said. "I don't want blisters through eternity." He turned to see Harper leading a file of riflemen up the slope. "Ready, Pat?"
"Aye, sir."
"You'll stay here," Sharpe said to El Castrador, not quite as a question, but not quite a direct order either.
"I shall wait here, seсor ." The partisan's tone betrayed that he had no wish to get any closer to the wolf's lair.
Sharpe led his men southwards behind the crest until a broken stretch of rocks offered a patch of shadow that took them safe down to the nearest stone wall. They moved fast, despite having to go at a crouch, for the shadows of the stone walls offered black lanes of invisibility that angled towards the village. Halfway across the valley floor Sharpe stopped and made a cautious reconnaissance with his telescope. He could see now that all the lower windows in the village had been blocked with stone, leaving only the inaccessible upper windows free for lookouts. He could also see the foundations of houses that had been demolished outside the village's defensive perimeter so that no attacker would have shelter close to San Cristobal. Loup had taken the additional precaution of knocking down the drystone walls that lay within close musket range of the village. Sharpe could get as near as sixty or seventy paces, but after that he would be as visible as a blowfly on a limewashed wall.
"Bugger's taking no chances," Harper said.
"Can you blame him?" Sharpe answered. "I'd knock down a few walls to stop El Castrador practising his technique on me."
"So what do we do?" Harper asked.
"Don't know yet."
Nor did Sharpe know. He had come to within rifle range of his enemy's stronghold and he could feel no prickle of fear. Indeed, he could feel no apprehension at all. Maybe, he thought, Loup was not here. Or maybe, more worryingly, Sharpe's instincts were out of kilter. Maybe Loup was the puppetmaster here and he was enticing Sharpe ever closer, lulling his victim into a fatal sense of security.
"Someone's there," Harper said, anticipating Sharpe's thoughts, "else there'd be no smoke."
"Sensible thing to do," Sharpe said, "is for us to bugger off out of here and go to bed.
Captain Donaju was still unhappy at being excluded from Sharpe's patrol, yet he did not like to contradict Sharpe's plans. Sharpe, after all, was a fighting soldier and Donaju had only one night's experience of battle. "What do I tell the British if you die?" he asked Sharpe chidingly.
"To take my boots off before they bury me," Sharpe said. "I don't want blisters through eternity." He turned to see Harper leading a file of riflemen up the slope. "Ready, Pat?"
"Aye, sir."
"You'll stay here," Sharpe said to El Castrador, not quite as a question, but not quite a direct order either.
"I shall wait here, seсor ." The partisan's tone betrayed that he had no wish to get any closer to the wolf's lair.
Sharpe led his men southwards behind the crest until a broken stretch of rocks offered a patch of shadow that took them safe down to the nearest stone wall. They moved fast, despite having to go at a crouch, for the shadows of the stone walls offered black lanes of invisibility that angled towards the village. Halfway across the valley floor Sharpe stopped and made a cautious reconnaissance with his telescope. He could see now that all the lower windows in the village had been blocked with stone, leaving only the inaccessible upper windows free for lookouts. He could also see the foundations of houses that had been demolished outside the village's defensive perimeter so that no attacker would have shelter close to San Cristobal. Loup had taken the additional precaution of knocking down the drystone walls that lay within close musket range of the village. Sharpe could get as near as sixty or seventy paces, but after that he would be as visible as a blowfly on a limewashed wall.
"Bugger's taking no chances," Harper said.
"Can you blame him?" Sharpe answered. "I'd knock down a few walls to stop El Castrador practising his technique on me."
"So what do we do?" Harper asked.
"Don't know yet."
Nor did Sharpe know. He had come to within rifle range of his enemy's stronghold and he could feel no prickle of fear. Indeed, he could feel no apprehension at all. Maybe, he thought, Loup was not here. Or maybe, more worryingly, Sharpe's instincts were out of kilter. Maybe Loup was the puppetmaster here and he was enticing Sharpe ever closer, lulling his victim into a fatal sense of security.
"Someone's there," Harper said, anticipating Sharpe's thoughts, "else there'd be no smoke."
"Sensible thing to do," Sharpe said, "is for us to bugger off out of here and go to bed.