JК
Sharpes Siege :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 188 из 223The body, Sharpe saw, was young Moore, the boy from Devon, who had been shot in the forehead and who must have died instantly.
Sharpe felt a thickening in his throat and the prick of tears at his eyes, but he swore instead. Moore was luckier than the wounded who, in the foul stone gallery, waited for the surgeon’s butchery. Sharpe went to give small, bleak comfort to men who were beyond consolation and whose future was nothing but pain and poverty.
The shells still fell, the blood stank, and Sharpe’s men waited for the next assault.
The remnants of Captain Briquet’s force returned to the village. Their faces were bleak, exhausted and bloodied. A wounded man, using his musket as a crutch, collapsed on the sand. A drummer boy, who had survived the attack on the main gate and who was not yet twelve years old, wept because his father, a sergeant, had died with Captain Briquet on the fort’s western wall. The survivors of Briquet’s force told stories of blades and blood, of faces screaming hatred, of a Rifleman swinging an axe, of a cannon blasting men into bloody scraps on the ramp, of soldiers gouging and cutting and dying.
Surgeons used sea-water to wash lime from the eyes of defeated men. No man had been blinded; for reflex had made attackers close their stinging eyes and stumble away from the white cloud, but the use of the quicklime infuriated General Calvet. “They’re savages! Savages! Worse than the Russians!”
The senior French officers were gathered in the hovel that was Calvet’s command post. They stared at the map, avoiding each other’s eyes, and were glad when Calvet, seeking a target for his anger, chose Pierre Ducos.
„Tell me,“ Calvet said to Ducos, ”exactly why men died today?“
“They died,” Ducos was quite unmoved by the general’s fury, “for a victory that France needs.”
“Victory over what?” Calvet asked scathingly. “A huddle of goddamn refugees who use quicklime?” He stared belligerently at Ducos. “We agree their plans for a landing are foiled, so why don’t I let this Sharpe moulder behind his walls?” No one in the room thought it odd that a general should seek permission from a major, not when the major was Pierre Ducos with his odd power over the Emperor’s affections.
“Because,” Ducos said, “if Sharpe escapes, he will take evidence with him that would betray the Comte de Maquerre.”
“Then warn de Maquerre!” Calvet snapped. “Why should men die here for lack of a letter?” Ducos did not reply, implying that Calvet trespassed on forbidden territory.
Sharpe felt a thickening in his throat and the prick of tears at his eyes, but he swore instead. Moore was luckier than the wounded who, in the foul stone gallery, waited for the surgeon’s butchery. Sharpe went to give small, bleak comfort to men who were beyond consolation and whose future was nothing but pain and poverty.
The shells still fell, the blood stank, and Sharpe’s men waited for the next assault.
The remnants of Captain Briquet’s force returned to the village. Their faces were bleak, exhausted and bloodied. A wounded man, using his musket as a crutch, collapsed on the sand. A drummer boy, who had survived the attack on the main gate and who was not yet twelve years old, wept because his father, a sergeant, had died with Captain Briquet on the fort’s western wall. The survivors of Briquet’s force told stories of blades and blood, of faces screaming hatred, of a Rifleman swinging an axe, of a cannon blasting men into bloody scraps on the ramp, of soldiers gouging and cutting and dying.
Surgeons used sea-water to wash lime from the eyes of defeated men. No man had been blinded; for reflex had made attackers close their stinging eyes and stumble away from the white cloud, but the use of the quicklime infuriated General Calvet. “They’re savages! Savages! Worse than the Russians!”
The senior French officers were gathered in the hovel that was Calvet’s command post. They stared at the map, avoiding each other’s eyes, and were glad when Calvet, seeking a target for his anger, chose Pierre Ducos.
„Tell me,“ Calvet said to Ducos, ”exactly why men died today?“
“They died,” Ducos was quite unmoved by the general’s fury, “for a victory that France needs.”
“Victory over what?” Calvet asked scathingly. “A huddle of goddamn refugees who use quicklime?” He stared belligerently at Ducos. “We agree their plans for a landing are foiled, so why don’t I let this Sharpe moulder behind his walls?” No one in the room thought it odd that a general should seek permission from a major, not when the major was Pierre Ducos with his odd power over the Emperor’s affections.
“Because,” Ducos said, “if Sharpe escapes, he will take evidence with him that would betray the Comte de Maquerre.”
“Then warn de Maquerre!” Calvet snapped. “Why should men die here for lack of a letter?” Ducos did not reply, implying that Calvet trespassed on forbidden territory.