JК
Sharpes Battle :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 208 из 244Two surgeons had spread their knives and saws on tarpaulins laid under holm oaks, while a regimental bandplayed a few yards away. Sharpe told his riflemen to stay with the wagon while he sought orders.
The Light Division was arrayed in squares on the plain between the trees and the smoking villages. The French cavalry trotted across the faces of the squares trying to provoke wasteful volleys at too long a range. The British cavalry was being held in reserve, waiting until the French horse came too close. Six guns of the horse artillery were firing at the French cannon while groups of riflemen were occupying the rocky outcrops that studded the fields. General Craufurd, the Light Division's irascible commander, had brought three and a half thousand men to the rescue of the Seventh Division and now those three and half thousand were faced by four thousand French cavalry and twelve thousand French infantrymen. That infantry was advancing in its attack columns from Poco Velha.
"Sharpe? What the hell are you doing here? Thought you'd deserted us, gone to join the bumboys in Picton's division." Brigadier General Robert Craufurd, fierce-faced and scowling, had spotted Sharpe.
Sharpe explained he had brought a wagonload of ammunition that was now waiting among the trees.
"Waste of time bringing us ammunition," Craufurd snapped. "We've got plenty. And what the hell are you doing delivering ammunition? Been demoted, have you? I heard you were in disgrace."
"I'm on administrative duties, sir," Sharpe said. He had known Craufurd ever since India and, like every other skirmisher in Britain's army, Sharpe had a mixed regard for 'Black Bob', sometimes resenting the man's hard, unforgiving discipline, but also recognizing that in Craufurd the army had a soldier almost as talented as Wellington himself.
"They're going to sacrifice you, Sharpe," Craufurd said with unholy relish. He was not looking at Sharpe, but instead watched the great horde of French cavalry that was preparing for a concerted charge against his newly arrived battalions. "You shot a pair of Frogs, ain't that right?"
"Yes, sir."
"No wonder you're in disgrace," Craufurd said, then gave a bark of laughter. His aides sat their horses in a tight group behind the General. "Come alone, Sharpe, did you?" Craufurd asked.
"I've got my greenjackets here, sir."
"And the buggers can remember how to fight?"
"I think they can, sir."
"Then skirmish for me. Those are your new administrative duties, Mister Sharpe.
The Light Division was arrayed in squares on the plain between the trees and the smoking villages. The French cavalry trotted across the faces of the squares trying to provoke wasteful volleys at too long a range. The British cavalry was being held in reserve, waiting until the French horse came too close. Six guns of the horse artillery were firing at the French cannon while groups of riflemen were occupying the rocky outcrops that studded the fields. General Craufurd, the Light Division's irascible commander, had brought three and a half thousand men to the rescue of the Seventh Division and now those three and half thousand were faced by four thousand French cavalry and twelve thousand French infantrymen. That infantry was advancing in its attack columns from Poco Velha.
"Sharpe? What the hell are you doing here? Thought you'd deserted us, gone to join the bumboys in Picton's division." Brigadier General Robert Craufurd, fierce-faced and scowling, had spotted Sharpe.
Sharpe explained he had brought a wagonload of ammunition that was now waiting among the trees.
"Waste of time bringing us ammunition," Craufurd snapped. "We've got plenty. And what the hell are you doing delivering ammunition? Been demoted, have you? I heard you were in disgrace."
"I'm on administrative duties, sir," Sharpe said. He had known Craufurd ever since India and, like every other skirmisher in Britain's army, Sharpe had a mixed regard for 'Black Bob', sometimes resenting the man's hard, unforgiving discipline, but also recognizing that in Craufurd the army had a soldier almost as talented as Wellington himself.
"They're going to sacrifice you, Sharpe," Craufurd said with unholy relish. He was not looking at Sharpe, but instead watched the great horde of French cavalry that was preparing for a concerted charge against his newly arrived battalions. "You shot a pair of Frogs, ain't that right?"
"Yes, sir."
"No wonder you're in disgrace," Craufurd said, then gave a bark of laughter. His aides sat their horses in a tight group behind the General. "Come alone, Sharpe, did you?" Craufurd asked.
"I've got my greenjackets here, sir."
"And the buggers can remember how to fight?"
"I think they can, sir."
"Then skirmish for me. Those are your new administrative duties, Mister Sharpe.