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Sharpes Gold :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 50 из 179He saw the trigger pulled, the cock fall forward, and nothing happened. In his haste and panic the Frenchman had forgotten to prime the pan. It was a death sentence. The sword slammed down, cutting skull and brain, and Sharpe had seized the mattresses, thrown them aside, and the sword was beating at the slim sabres of the two men who had survived the seven-barrelled gun.
'Rifles! Harper had shouted, was pounding up the stairs. Sharpe lunged, wounded a man, stepped aside as the other swung wildly, and then Harper was beside him, sword-bayonet stabbing upwards, and the landing was clear.
‘KKkkkKearsey’ Sharpe yelled, forgetting niceties of rank. For God's sake, where was the bastard? 'Kearsey!
'Sharpe? The Major was standing in a doorway, buckling his trousers. 'Sharpe?
'Get out of here, Major!
'My parole!
'You're rescued! Damn his parole.
A door opened at the end of the passage, a rifle fired, the door shut. Kearsey suddenly seemed to wake up. 'That way! He pointed at closed doors across the passage. 'You drop outside the house.
Sharpe nodded. The landing seemed safe. An officer had opened a door at the end of the passage, but a rifle bullet had dissuaded him from further risk. The Green Jackets were reloading, waiting for orders, and Sharpe went to the stairhead. Downstairs was chaos. The room was filled with musket smoke that was lanced, second by second, with flames as the Redcoats fired at windows, doors and passageways. Knowles had long stopped controlling the volleys. Now each man fired as fast as he could and the burning paper wads, spat after the musket balls, were setting fire to rush mats and hanging curtains. Sharpe cupped his hands. 'Lieutenant! Up here!
Knowles nodded and turned back to his men. Sharpe found Kearsey at his side, hopping on one leg as he pulled on a boot. 'The rifles will cover them, Major! Take over!
Kearsey nodded, showed no surprise at Sharpe's peremptory commands, and the tall Rifleman turned to the closed doors. The first was not locked. The room was empty, the window invitingly open, and Harper went through to knock out the remaining glass and frame. Sharpe tried the other door, it resisted, and he hit it with his shoulder, the wood round the lock splintering easily, and he stopped.
On the bed, hands and feet tied to the four stubby posts, was a girl. Dark hair on a pillow, a white dress, a reminder of Josefina, and eyes that glared at him over a gag. She was jerking and writhing, struggling to free herself, and Sharpe was struck by the sudden beauty, the fierceness of the face.
'Rifles! Harper had shouted, was pounding up the stairs. Sharpe lunged, wounded a man, stepped aside as the other swung wildly, and then Harper was beside him, sword-bayonet stabbing upwards, and the landing was clear.
‘KKkkkKearsey’ Sharpe yelled, forgetting niceties of rank. For God's sake, where was the bastard? 'Kearsey!
'Sharpe? The Major was standing in a doorway, buckling his trousers. 'Sharpe?
'Get out of here, Major!
'My parole!
'You're rescued! Damn his parole.
A door opened at the end of the passage, a rifle fired, the door shut. Kearsey suddenly seemed to wake up. 'That way! He pointed at closed doors across the passage. 'You drop outside the house.
Sharpe nodded. The landing seemed safe. An officer had opened a door at the end of the passage, but a rifle bullet had dissuaded him from further risk. The Green Jackets were reloading, waiting for orders, and Sharpe went to the stairhead. Downstairs was chaos. The room was filled with musket smoke that was lanced, second by second, with flames as the Redcoats fired at windows, doors and passageways. Knowles had long stopped controlling the volleys. Now each man fired as fast as he could and the burning paper wads, spat after the musket balls, were setting fire to rush mats and hanging curtains. Sharpe cupped his hands. 'Lieutenant! Up here!
Knowles nodded and turned back to his men. Sharpe found Kearsey at his side, hopping on one leg as he pulled on a boot. 'The rifles will cover them, Major! Take over!
Kearsey nodded, showed no surprise at Sharpe's peremptory commands, and the tall Rifleman turned to the closed doors. The first was not locked. The room was empty, the window invitingly open, and Harper went through to knock out the remaining glass and frame. Sharpe tried the other door, it resisted, and he hit it with his shoulder, the wood round the lock splintering easily, and he stopped.
On the bed, hands and feet tied to the four stubby posts, was a girl. Dark hair on a pillow, a white dress, a reminder of Josefina, and eyes that glared at him over a gag. She was jerking and writhing, struggling to free herself, and Sharpe was struck by the sudden beauty, the fierceness of the face.