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Sharpes Battle :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 27 из 244She had watched her family slaughtered, then had been used by God knows how many men. Now, with her rag-like clothes held tight about her thin body, she was staring intently at the two dead soldiers. She spat at them, then buried her head in Perkins's shoulder. "She'll have to come with us, Perkins," Sharpe said. "If she stays here she'll be slaughtered by those bastards."
"Yes, sir."
"So look after her, lad. Do you know her name?"
"Miranda, sir."
"Look after Miranda then," Sharpe said, then he crossed to where Harper was organizing the men who would demolish the houses on top of the dead bodies. The smell of blood was as thick as the mass of flies buzzing inside the charnel houses. "The bastards will chase us," Sharpe said, nodding towards the lurking French.
"They will too, sir," the Sergeant agreed.
"So we'll keep to the hill tops," Sharpe said. Cavalry could not get to the tops of steep hills, at least not in good order, and certainly not before their leaders had been picked off by Sharpe's best marksmen.
Harper glanced at the two dead Frenchmen. "Were you supposed to do that, sir?"
"You mean, am I allowed to execute prisoners of war under the King's Regulations? No, of course I'm not. So don't tell anyone."
"Not a word, sir. Never saw a thing, sir, and I'll make sure the lads say the same."
"And one day," Sharpe said as he stared at the distant figure of Brigadier General Loup, "I'll put him against a wall and shoot him."
"Amen," Harper said, "amen." He turned and looked at the French horse that was still picketed in the settlement. "What do we do with the beast?"
"We can't take it with us," Sharpe said. The hills were too steep, and he planned to keep to the rocky heights where dragoon horses could not follow. "But I'll be damned before I give a serviceable cavalry horse back to the enemy." He cocked his rifle. "I hate to do it."
"You want me to do it, sir?"
"No," Sharpe said, though he meant yes for he really did not want to shoot the horse. He did it anyway. The shot echoed back from the hills, fading and crackling while the horse thrashed in its bloody death throes.
The riflemen covered the Spanish dead with stones and thatch, but left the two French soldiers for their own comrades to bury. Then they climbed high into the misty heights to work their way westwards. By nightfall, when they came down into the valley of the River Turones, there was no sign of any pursuit.
"Yes, sir."
"So look after her, lad. Do you know her name?"
"Miranda, sir."
"Look after Miranda then," Sharpe said, then he crossed to where Harper was organizing the men who would demolish the houses on top of the dead bodies. The smell of blood was as thick as the mass of flies buzzing inside the charnel houses. "The bastards will chase us," Sharpe said, nodding towards the lurking French.
"They will too, sir," the Sergeant agreed.
"So we'll keep to the hill tops," Sharpe said. Cavalry could not get to the tops of steep hills, at least not in good order, and certainly not before their leaders had been picked off by Sharpe's best marksmen.
Harper glanced at the two dead Frenchmen. "Were you supposed to do that, sir?"
"You mean, am I allowed to execute prisoners of war under the King's Regulations? No, of course I'm not. So don't tell anyone."
"Not a word, sir. Never saw a thing, sir, and I'll make sure the lads say the same."
"And one day," Sharpe said as he stared at the distant figure of Brigadier General Loup, "I'll put him against a wall and shoot him."
"Amen," Harper said, "amen." He turned and looked at the French horse that was still picketed in the settlement. "What do we do with the beast?"
"We can't take it with us," Sharpe said. The hills were too steep, and he planned to keep to the rocky heights where dragoon horses could not follow. "But I'll be damned before I give a serviceable cavalry horse back to the enemy." He cocked his rifle. "I hate to do it."
"You want me to do it, sir?"
"No," Sharpe said, though he meant yes for he really did not want to shoot the horse. He did it anyway. The shot echoed back from the hills, fading and crackling while the horse thrashed in its bloody death throes.
The riflemen covered the Spanish dead with stones and thatch, but left the two French soldiers for their own comrades to bury. Then they climbed high into the misty heights to work their way westwards. By nightfall, when they came down into the valley of the River Turones, there was no sign of any pursuit.