JК
Sharpes Siege :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 189 из 223The general banged a big, splayed hand on the map in a gesture of irritated frustration. “We should be down south, thumping Wellington, not pissing about with a bloody major! I’ll leave a Battalion here to pen the bugger in, then we can go south where we’re needed.“
Pierre Ducos smiled thinly. The general spoke good military sense, but Pierre Ducos wanted Richard Sharpe in his power, and thus Ducos now played his final, winning card. “Can you suggest, General, the manner in which I explain to the Emperor how a British major, with less than two hundred men, defeated the great Calvet?”
Those icy words stung. For a moment it seemed as if Ducos had said too much, but then Calvet gave a shrug of surrender. “I hope you’re right, Ducos. I hope the goddamns aren’t pouring men ashore at the Adour while we’re pissing about.” He growled with impotent menace, then slapped a hand on the map. “So if it must be done,” Calvet said, “then how do we prise this bastard out from his walls? I need a breach!”
“You can have one, sir.” To everyone’s surprise it was Commandant Lassan, returned safely from the failed northern attack, who spoke, and who now told Calvet that he had written no less, than twelve times in the last eight years to the Minister of Marine, responsible for the coastal forts, complaining that the Teste de Buch’s main gateway was in danger of collapse. The stones had shifted so much that the gate pintles were a full inch out of true, and cracks had appeared in the guardroom walls. The Ministry, after the fashion of government departments, had done nothing. “The whole gateway can be collapsed,” Lassan said.
General Calvet believed him. He ordered the twelve-pounders to concentrate their fire on the archway; artillery fire to make an avalanche of stone that would spill into the ditch and provide a slope up which attackers could scramble. “That’s where our main attack goes in the morning.” Calvet took a lump of charcoal and scrawled a thick arrow on the fortress plan. The arrow pointed at the gateway. “I shall lead that attack,” Calvet growled, “while you,” he gestured at an infantry colonel, “will make a demonstration here.” He scored another arrow that aimed itself at the northern wall. “That’ll split their defenders.” Calvet stared at his broad arrow and imagined the archway tumbling its stones into the ditch to make a bridge; he saw his men flooding over that barricade and taking their bayonets to this so-called ‘elite’ of Riflemen and Marines. “We’ll parade the prisoners through Bordeaux to show what happens to scum who think they can defy France.
Pierre Ducos smiled thinly. The general spoke good military sense, but Pierre Ducos wanted Richard Sharpe in his power, and thus Ducos now played his final, winning card. “Can you suggest, General, the manner in which I explain to the Emperor how a British major, with less than two hundred men, defeated the great Calvet?”
Those icy words stung. For a moment it seemed as if Ducos had said too much, but then Calvet gave a shrug of surrender. “I hope you’re right, Ducos. I hope the goddamns aren’t pouring men ashore at the Adour while we’re pissing about.” He growled with impotent menace, then slapped a hand on the map. “So if it must be done,” Calvet said, “then how do we prise this bastard out from his walls? I need a breach!”
“You can have one, sir.” To everyone’s surprise it was Commandant Lassan, returned safely from the failed northern attack, who spoke, and who now told Calvet that he had written no less, than twelve times in the last eight years to the Minister of Marine, responsible for the coastal forts, complaining that the Teste de Buch’s main gateway was in danger of collapse. The stones had shifted so much that the gate pintles were a full inch out of true, and cracks had appeared in the guardroom walls. The Ministry, after the fashion of government departments, had done nothing. “The whole gateway can be collapsed,” Lassan said.
General Calvet believed him. He ordered the twelve-pounders to concentrate their fire on the archway; artillery fire to make an avalanche of stone that would spill into the ditch and provide a slope up which attackers could scramble. “That’s where our main attack goes in the morning.” Calvet took a lump of charcoal and scrawled a thick arrow on the fortress plan. The arrow pointed at the gateway. “I shall lead that attack,” Calvet growled, “while you,” he gestured at an infantry colonel, “will make a demonstration here.” He scored another arrow that aimed itself at the northern wall. “That’ll split their defenders.” Calvet stared at his broad arrow and imagined the archway tumbling its stones into the ditch to make a bridge; he saw his men flooding over that barricade and taking their bayonets to this so-called ‘elite’ of Riflemen and Marines. “We’ll parade the prisoners through Bordeaux to show what happens to scum who think they can defy France.