JК
Sharpes Escape :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 262 из 283"Second rank," Harper shouted, "fire!" and Sharpe twisted the blade out of the dying man's belly, pulled him into the house and slammed the door shut again. Sarah was watching the men reload and copying them. The door was shaking, dust flying from its bracing timbers with every bullet strike, but no one was trying to open it now, and the French musketry that had kept Sharpe's men away from the windows died down as the frustrated French retreated to the flanks of the house where they were safe from the fire. "We're winning," Sharpe said, and men grinned through the powder stains on their faces. And it was almost true.
Two of General Sarrut's aides completed the reconnaissance and, if sense had prevailed, their bravery would have finished the morning's excitement. The two men, both mounted on fit horses, had risked the cannon fire to gallop into the mouth of the valley that twisted behind the bastion the British called Work Number 119. Shells, rifle fire and even a few musket balls struck all around the two horses as they raced into the shadow of the eastern hill, then both riders slewed their beasts around in a flurry of turf and spurred back the way they had come. A shell banged close behind, spurting blood from the haunch of one horse, but the two exhilarated officers made their escape safely, galloped through the foremost skirmishers, jumped the small stream and reined in beside the General. "The valley's blocked, sir," one of them reported. "There are trees, bushes and palisades blocking the valley. No way through."
"And there's a bastion with cannon above the blockage," the second aide reported, "just waiting for an attempt on the valley."
Sarrut swore. His job was done now. He could report to General Reynier, who in turn would report to Marshal Massena, that none of the guns was a fake and that the small valley, far from offering a passage through the enemy's line, was an integral part of the defenses. All he needed to do now was sound the recall and the skirmishers would retreat, the gun smoke dissipate and the morning would revert to silence, but as the two horsemen had returned from their excursion, Sarrut had seen brown-uniformed Portuguese cazadores coming from the blocked valley. The enemy, it seemed, wanted a fight, and no French general became a marshal by refusing such an invitation. "How do they get out of their lines?" he wanted to know, pointing at the Portuguese skirmishers.
"Narrow path down the backside of the hill, sir," the more observant of the aides answered, "protected by gates and the forts."
Sarrut grunted. That answer suggested he could not hope to assail the forts by the path used by the Portuguese, but he would be damned before he just retreated when the enemy was offering a fight.
Two of General Sarrut's aides completed the reconnaissance and, if sense had prevailed, their bravery would have finished the morning's excitement. The two men, both mounted on fit horses, had risked the cannon fire to gallop into the mouth of the valley that twisted behind the bastion the British called Work Number 119. Shells, rifle fire and even a few musket balls struck all around the two horses as they raced into the shadow of the eastern hill, then both riders slewed their beasts around in a flurry of turf and spurred back the way they had come. A shell banged close behind, spurting blood from the haunch of one horse, but the two exhilarated officers made their escape safely, galloped through the foremost skirmishers, jumped the small stream and reined in beside the General. "The valley's blocked, sir," one of them reported. "There are trees, bushes and palisades blocking the valley. No way through."
"And there's a bastion with cannon above the blockage," the second aide reported, "just waiting for an attempt on the valley."
Sarrut swore. His job was done now. He could report to General Reynier, who in turn would report to Marshal Massena, that none of the guns was a fake and that the small valley, far from offering a passage through the enemy's line, was an integral part of the defenses. All he needed to do now was sound the recall and the skirmishers would retreat, the gun smoke dissipate and the morning would revert to silence, but as the two horsemen had returned from their excursion, Sarrut had seen brown-uniformed Portuguese cazadores coming from the blocked valley. The enemy, it seemed, wanted a fight, and no French general became a marshal by refusing such an invitation. "How do they get out of their lines?" he wanted to know, pointing at the Portuguese skirmishers.
"Narrow path down the backside of the hill, sir," the more observant of the aides answered, "protected by gates and the forts."
Sarrut grunted. That answer suggested he could not hope to assail the forts by the path used by the Portuguese, but he would be damned before he just retreated when the enemy was offering a fight.