JК
Sharpes Battle :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 200 из 244The creamof France would march against a raddled army of half-broken men.
"Well, Ducos?" Massйna challenged the Major for his verdict.
"I must congratulate Your Majesty," Ducos said.
"Which means, I suppose, that you approve of my humble plan?" Massйna asked sarcastically.
"All France will approve, Your Majesty, when it brings victory."
"Bugger the victory," Massйna said, "so long as it brings me Wellington's whores. I'm tired of my present bunch. Half of them are poxed, the other half are pregnant and the fat one bawls her eyes out every time you strip the bitch for duty."
"Wellington has no whores," Ducos said icily. "He controls his passions."
The one-eyed Massйna burst into laughter. "Controls his passions! God on his cross, Ducos, but you'd make smiling a crime. Controls his passions, does he? Then he's a fool, and a defeated fool at that." The Marshal wheeled his horse away from the Major and snapped his fingers at a nearby aide. "Let the eagles go, Jean, let them go!"
The drums called for the muster and three divisions stirred themselves for action. Men drained coffee dregs, stowed knives and tin plates in haversacks, checked their cartridge pouches and plucked their muskets from the pyramid stacks. It was two hours after a Sunday dawn and time to close the battle's jaws as all along the Marshal's line, from south in the plain to north where the village smoked under its numbing cannonade, the French smelt victory.
"Pon my soul, Sharpe, but it's unfair. Unfair! You and me both to stand trial?" Colonel Runciman had been unable to resist the lure of witnessing the day's high drama and so he had come to the plateau, though he had taken care not to step too close to the ridge's crest which was occasionally churned by a high French roundshot. A pyre of smoke marked where the village endured its bombardment while further south, way down on the plain, a second smudge of musket smoke betrayed where the French flank attack was driving across the low ground.
"Waste of time complaining about unfairness, General," Sharpe said. "Only the wealthy can afford to preach about fairness. The rest of us take what we can and try hard not to miss what we can't take."
"Even so, Sharpe, it's unfair!" Runciman said reprovingly. The Colonel looked pale and unhappy. "It's the disgrace, you see. A man goes home to England and expects to be decently treated, but instead I'll be vilified." He ducked as a French roundshot rumbled far overhead.
"Well, Ducos?" Massйna challenged the Major for his verdict.
"I must congratulate Your Majesty," Ducos said.
"Which means, I suppose, that you approve of my humble plan?" Massйna asked sarcastically.
"All France will approve, Your Majesty, when it brings victory."
"Bugger the victory," Massйna said, "so long as it brings me Wellington's whores. I'm tired of my present bunch. Half of them are poxed, the other half are pregnant and the fat one bawls her eyes out every time you strip the bitch for duty."
"Wellington has no whores," Ducos said icily. "He controls his passions."
The one-eyed Massйna burst into laughter. "Controls his passions! God on his cross, Ducos, but you'd make smiling a crime. Controls his passions, does he? Then he's a fool, and a defeated fool at that." The Marshal wheeled his horse away from the Major and snapped his fingers at a nearby aide. "Let the eagles go, Jean, let them go!"
The drums called for the muster and three divisions stirred themselves for action. Men drained coffee dregs, stowed knives and tin plates in haversacks, checked their cartridge pouches and plucked their muskets from the pyramid stacks. It was two hours after a Sunday dawn and time to close the battle's jaws as all along the Marshal's line, from south in the plain to north where the village smoked under its numbing cannonade, the French smelt victory.
"Pon my soul, Sharpe, but it's unfair. Unfair! You and me both to stand trial?" Colonel Runciman had been unable to resist the lure of witnessing the day's high drama and so he had come to the plateau, though he had taken care not to step too close to the ridge's crest which was occasionally churned by a high French roundshot. A pyre of smoke marked where the village endured its bombardment while further south, way down on the plain, a second smudge of musket smoke betrayed where the French flank attack was driving across the low ground.
"Waste of time complaining about unfairness, General," Sharpe said. "Only the wealthy can afford to preach about fairness. The rest of us take what we can and try hard not to miss what we can't take."
"Even so, Sharpe, it's unfair!" Runciman said reprovingly. The Colonel looked pale and unhappy. "It's the disgrace, you see. A man goes home to England and expects to be decently treated, but instead I'll be vilified." He ducked as a French roundshot rumbled far overhead.