JК
Sharpes Escape :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 61 из 283Major Forrest! Call in skirmishers."
The bugle sounded and the light company, panting from their near escape, formed at the left of the line. The voltigeurs who had chased the light company off the column's flank were firing at the South Essex now and the bullets hissed close to Sharpe, for most of the Frenchmen were aiming at the colors and at the group of mounted officers clustered beside the two flags. A man went down in number four company. "Close ranks!" a sergeant shouted, and a corporal, appointed as a file closer, dragged the wounded man back from the ranks.
"Take him to the surgeon, Corporal," Lawford said, then watched as the great mass of Frenchmen, thousands of them now visible at the swirling margins of the fog, turned towards his ranks. "Make ready!"
Close to six hundred men cocked their muskets. The voltigeurs knew what was coming and fired at the battalion. Bullets twitched the heavy yellow silk of the regimental color. Two more men were hit in front of Sharpe and one was screaming in pain. "Close up! Close up!" a corporal shouted.
"Stop your bleeding noise, boy!" Sergeant Willetts of five company growled.
The column was two hundred paces away, still ragged, but in sight of the crest now. The voltigeurs were closer, just a hundred paces away, kneeling and firing, standing to reload and then firing again. Slingsby had let his riflemen go a few paces forward of the line and those men were hurting the voltigeurs, taking out their officers and sergeants, but a score of rifles could not blunt this attack. That would be a job for the redcoats. "When you fire," Lawford called, "aim low! Don't waste His Majesty's lead! You will aim low!" He rode along the right of his line, repeating the message. "Aim low! Remember your training! Aim low!"
The column was coalescing, the ranks shuffling together as if for protection. A nine-pounder round shot seared through it, sending up a long fast spray of blood. The drummers were beating frantically. Sharpe glanced left and saw the Connaught Rangers were closing on the South Essex, coming to add their volleys, then a voltigeur's bullet slapped off the top of his horse's left ear and twitched at the sleeve of his jacket. He could see the faces of the men in the column's front rank, see their mustaches, see their mouths opening to cheer their Emperor. A canister from a nine-pounder tore into them, twitching files red and ragged, but they closed up, stepped over the dead and dying, and came on with their long bayonets gleaming. The Eagles were bright in the new sunlight.
The bugle sounded and the light company, panting from their near escape, formed at the left of the line. The voltigeurs who had chased the light company off the column's flank were firing at the South Essex now and the bullets hissed close to Sharpe, for most of the Frenchmen were aiming at the colors and at the group of mounted officers clustered beside the two flags. A man went down in number four company. "Close ranks!" a sergeant shouted, and a corporal, appointed as a file closer, dragged the wounded man back from the ranks.
"Take him to the surgeon, Corporal," Lawford said, then watched as the great mass of Frenchmen, thousands of them now visible at the swirling margins of the fog, turned towards his ranks. "Make ready!"
Close to six hundred men cocked their muskets. The voltigeurs knew what was coming and fired at the battalion. Bullets twitched the heavy yellow silk of the regimental color. Two more men were hit in front of Sharpe and one was screaming in pain. "Close up! Close up!" a corporal shouted.
"Stop your bleeding noise, boy!" Sergeant Willetts of five company growled.
The column was two hundred paces away, still ragged, but in sight of the crest now. The voltigeurs were closer, just a hundred paces away, kneeling and firing, standing to reload and then firing again. Slingsby had let his riflemen go a few paces forward of the line and those men were hurting the voltigeurs, taking out their officers and sergeants, but a score of rifles could not blunt this attack. That would be a job for the redcoats. "When you fire," Lawford called, "aim low! Don't waste His Majesty's lead! You will aim low!" He rode along the right of his line, repeating the message. "Aim low! Remember your training! Aim low!"
The column was coalescing, the ranks shuffling together as if for protection. A nine-pounder round shot seared through it, sending up a long fast spray of blood. The drummers were beating frantically. Sharpe glanced left and saw the Connaught Rangers were closing on the South Essex, coming to add their volleys, then a voltigeur's bullet slapped off the top of his horse's left ear and twitched at the sleeve of his jacket. He could see the faces of the men in the column's front rank, see their mustaches, see their mouths opening to cheer their Emperor. A canister from a nine-pounder tore into them, twitching files red and ragged, but they closed up, stepped over the dead and dying, and came on with their long bayonets gleaming. The Eagles were bright in the new sunlight.