JК
Sharpes Battle :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 152 из 244"Lying, whoring, thieving, two-faced, leprous bitch!" Tears poured down his cheeks as he aimed the pistol.
"No!" the priest implored as the women's shrieks filled the church. "Please! No! Think of the blessed Virgin, please!"
Kiely turned on the man. "Call her a virgin, do you? You think she'd be a virgin after the Legions had hammered through Galilee?" He laughed wildly, then turned back to the statue. "You whore bitch!" he shouted as he trained the pistol again. "You filthy whore bitch!"
"No!" the priest cried despairingly.
Kiely pulled the trigger.
The heavy bullet smashed through his palate and punched out a palm-sized patch of his skull as it exited. Blood and brain splashed as high as the Virgin's diadem of stars, but none landed on Our Lady. Instead the gore spattered across the sanctuary steps, doused a handful of candles, then trickled down to the nave. Kiely's dead body fell back, his head a mangled horror of blood, brain and bone.
The screams in the church slowly died to be replaced by the rumble of wheels in the street as more guns were dragged towards the east.
And towards the French. Who were coming to reclaim Portugal and break the insolent British at a narrow bridge across the Coa.
PART TWO
CHAPTER VII
The Real Companпa Irlandesa bivouacked on the plateau north and west of Fuentes de Onoro. The village lay astride the southernmost road leading from Ciudad Rodrigo to Almeida and in the night Wellington's army had closed about the village that now threatened to become a battlefield. The dawn mist hid the eastern countryside where the French army readied itself, while up on the plateau Wellington's forces were a smoke-obscured chaos of troops, horses and wagons. Guns were parked on the plateau's eastern crest, their barrels pointing across the Dos Casas stream that marked the army's forward line.
Donaju discovered Sharpe squinting sideways into a scrap of mirror in an attempt to cut his own hair. The sides and the front were easy enough to trim, the difficulty always lay in the rear. "Just like soldiering," Sharpe said.
"You've heard about Kiely?" Donaju, suddenly in command of the Real Companпa Irlandesa , ignored Sharpe's gnomic comment.
Sharpe snipped, frowned, then tried to repair the damage by snipping again, but it only made things worse. "Blew his head off, I heard."
Donaju flinched at Sharpe's callousness, but made no protest. "I can't believe he would do such a thing," he said instead.
"Too much pride, not enough sense. Sounds like most bloody aristocrats to me. These damn scissors are blunt."
Donaju frowned.
"No!" the priest implored as the women's shrieks filled the church. "Please! No! Think of the blessed Virgin, please!"
Kiely turned on the man. "Call her a virgin, do you? You think she'd be a virgin after the Legions had hammered through Galilee?" He laughed wildly, then turned back to the statue. "You whore bitch!" he shouted as he trained the pistol again. "You filthy whore bitch!"
"No!" the priest cried despairingly.
Kiely pulled the trigger.
The heavy bullet smashed through his palate and punched out a palm-sized patch of his skull as it exited. Blood and brain splashed as high as the Virgin's diadem of stars, but none landed on Our Lady. Instead the gore spattered across the sanctuary steps, doused a handful of candles, then trickled down to the nave. Kiely's dead body fell back, his head a mangled horror of blood, brain and bone.
The screams in the church slowly died to be replaced by the rumble of wheels in the street as more guns were dragged towards the east.
And towards the French. Who were coming to reclaim Portugal and break the insolent British at a narrow bridge across the Coa.
PART TWO
CHAPTER VII
The Real Companпa Irlandesa bivouacked on the plateau north and west of Fuentes de Onoro. The village lay astride the southernmost road leading from Ciudad Rodrigo to Almeida and in the night Wellington's army had closed about the village that now threatened to become a battlefield. The dawn mist hid the eastern countryside where the French army readied itself, while up on the plateau Wellington's forces were a smoke-obscured chaos of troops, horses and wagons. Guns were parked on the plateau's eastern crest, their barrels pointing across the Dos Casas stream that marked the army's forward line.
Donaju discovered Sharpe squinting sideways into a scrap of mirror in an attempt to cut his own hair. The sides and the front were easy enough to trim, the difficulty always lay in the rear. "Just like soldiering," Sharpe said.
"You've heard about Kiely?" Donaju, suddenly in command of the Real Companпa Irlandesa , ignored Sharpe's gnomic comment.
Sharpe snipped, frowned, then tried to repair the damage by snipping again, but it only made things worse. "Blew his head off, I heard."
Donaju flinched at Sharpe's callousness, but made no protest. "I can't believe he would do such a thing," he said instead.
"Too much pride, not enough sense. Sounds like most bloody aristocrats to me. These damn scissors are blunt."
Donaju frowned.