JК
Sharpes Gold :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 49 из 179Hisown men, sweating in the firelight, advanced step by step, scouring the walls and windows, and it occurred to the Lieutenant that this was only his third real fight. He was pushing down the panic, the impulse to run for shelter, but his voice was calm and in the noise he hardly heard the carbine bullets that struck near him. He saw Redcoats falling, struck by enemy fire, saw Sergeant Read tending to them and then, with a ghastly realization, suddenly identified the bubbling and screaming noise that had been nagging at his eardrums for the last minute. He had stepped to one side, to avoid a fire, and saw, kicking in the flames, a French officer. The man seemed to be reaching for the Lieutenant, blackened hands curled like claws, and from his throat came the terrible noise. Knowles suddenly remembered the sword in his hand, the blade bought by his father, and with a grimace he stepped close to the man and shut his eyes as he pushed the tip at the dying man's throat. He had stopped his orders, but the men neither noticed nor missed them. They fired their volleys into the shadows, and Knowles opened his eyes to see he had killed his first man with a sword, and then the voice of Sergeant Harper was dominating the courtyard. 'In here, sir!
Sharpe guessed a minute and a half had gone by since the Riflemen had first cleared the gate. He had counted, unconsciously, the volleys from the courtyard, reckoning that in this light the men would fire a shot every fifteen seconds. Now, in the main hallway of Moreno's house, there was trouble. Officers at the top of the stairs had seen what was happening, found mattresses and the furniture they'd kept for their own use and thrown up a barricade. Sharpe needed firepower, quick and overpowering, to clear the stair's top.
'Sergeant!
It would be suicide on the stairs. The huge Irishman took a pace towards the steps, but Sharpe stopped him. 'Give me the gun!
Harper looked at the seven-barrelled gun, grinned, and shook his head. Before Sharpe could stop him the Sergeant had leapt to the bottom step, pointed the fearful weapon upwards, and pulled the trigger. It was as if a small cannon had gone off in the room. It belched smoke and flame, stunned the eardrums, and to Sharpe's horror the Sergeant fell backwards, thrown back, and he ran to him, fearing the worst.
Harper grinned. 'Bloody kick!
Sharpe took the stairs two at a time, the sword ahead, seeing where the blast had thrown back the barrier, smeared blood on a wall, and then an officer was aiming a pistol. There was nothing Sharpe could do.
Sharpe guessed a minute and a half had gone by since the Riflemen had first cleared the gate. He had counted, unconsciously, the volleys from the courtyard, reckoning that in this light the men would fire a shot every fifteen seconds. Now, in the main hallway of Moreno's house, there was trouble. Officers at the top of the stairs had seen what was happening, found mattresses and the furniture they'd kept for their own use and thrown up a barricade. Sharpe needed firepower, quick and overpowering, to clear the stair's top.
'Sergeant!
It would be suicide on the stairs. The huge Irishman took a pace towards the steps, but Sharpe stopped him. 'Give me the gun!
Harper looked at the seven-barrelled gun, grinned, and shook his head. Before Sharpe could stop him the Sergeant had leapt to the bottom step, pointed the fearful weapon upwards, and pulled the trigger. It was as if a small cannon had gone off in the room. It belched smoke and flame, stunned the eardrums, and to Sharpe's horror the Sergeant fell backwards, thrown back, and he ran to him, fearing the worst.
Harper grinned. 'Bloody kick!
Sharpe took the stairs two at a time, the sword ahead, seeing where the blast had thrown back the barrier, smeared blood on a wall, and then an officer was aiming a pistol. There was nothing Sharpe could do.