JК
Sharpes Siege :: Корнуэлл Бернард
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“I insist,” Ducos said, “that Major Sharpe is handed over to my department.”
“You can have the bastard.” Calvet looked back at the map and, with a sudden gesture, extended the larger arrow straight into the courtyard. “Tell the men that the enemy is low on ammunition. Tell them we killed half the bastards today, tell them there’s women and wine inside. Tell them there’s a medal each for the first ten men inside.” Calvet looked at his scribbled arrow and remembered the sheer volume of fire that the goddamns had poured into his column. He remembered men screaming, clawing at their eyes, and he remembered the trails of blood across the fort’s esplanade.
His men would remember just as clearly, and defeated men would be nervous about a renewed attack. Calvet needed something else, some new factor to change the second assault, and, with sudden energy, he scribbled marks in the sand-dunes by the channel. “If we put two twelves there,” he asked the artillery colonel, “they can rake the breach till the last minute?”
The artillery colonel was already doubtful of his guns’ ability to bring down an archway in just a few hours. Even huge siege guns, twice the size of his twelve-pounders, could take weeks to shatter a well-built rampart, and now Calvet wanted to take two of the guns away from the breaching battery. “And even if I moved two guns, sir, how do we protect the crews from the Riflemen?” Calvet wanted the two guns placed within two hundred yards of the ramparts.
Calvet grunted an acknowledgement. The closest howitzer fired, thumping the hovel with a punch of sound and air, and the beat of the great gun’s firing jarred a scrap of reed from the thatched roof. It fell on to Calvet’s map, landing on the channel. “If I had a ship there,” Calvet mused aloud, “it would win the day. But I don’t have a ship, so your two gun-crews will have to take their dead and keep firing.” He stared belligerently at the artilleryman.
“But you can have a ship.” Ducos spoke softly from his place beside the fire.
Calvet swung round to face the small major. “A ship?”
“There is an American,” Ducos said, “and he has a ship.”
“Then fetch him!” Calvet crossed out his new gun positions and drew the outline of a ship around the fleck of straw. “Fetch him, Ducos! And tell our ally he has to fight! Fetch him!”
Killick, summoned from Gujan, leaned over the General’s map table. He saw that Calvet wanted the southern wall bombarded.
“I insist,” Ducos said, “that Major Sharpe is handed over to my department.”
“You can have the bastard.” Calvet looked back at the map and, with a sudden gesture, extended the larger arrow straight into the courtyard. “Tell the men that the enemy is low on ammunition. Tell them we killed half the bastards today, tell them there’s women and wine inside. Tell them there’s a medal each for the first ten men inside.” Calvet looked at his scribbled arrow and remembered the sheer volume of fire that the goddamns had poured into his column. He remembered men screaming, clawing at their eyes, and he remembered the trails of blood across the fort’s esplanade.
His men would remember just as clearly, and defeated men would be nervous about a renewed attack. Calvet needed something else, some new factor to change the second assault, and, with sudden energy, he scribbled marks in the sand-dunes by the channel. “If we put two twelves there,” he asked the artillery colonel, “they can rake the breach till the last minute?”
The artillery colonel was already doubtful of his guns’ ability to bring down an archway in just a few hours. Even huge siege guns, twice the size of his twelve-pounders, could take weeks to shatter a well-built rampart, and now Calvet wanted to take two of the guns away from the breaching battery. “And even if I moved two guns, sir, how do we protect the crews from the Riflemen?” Calvet wanted the two guns placed within two hundred yards of the ramparts.
Calvet grunted an acknowledgement. The closest howitzer fired, thumping the hovel with a punch of sound and air, and the beat of the great gun’s firing jarred a scrap of reed from the thatched roof. It fell on to Calvet’s map, landing on the channel. “If I had a ship there,” Calvet mused aloud, “it would win the day. But I don’t have a ship, so your two gun-crews will have to take their dead and keep firing.” He stared belligerently at the artilleryman.
“But you can have a ship.” Ducos spoke softly from his place beside the fire.
Calvet swung round to face the small major. “A ship?”
“There is an American,” Ducos said, “and he has a ship.”
“Then fetch him!” Calvet crossed out his new gun positions and drew the outline of a ship around the fleck of straw. “Fetch him, Ducos! And tell our ally he has to fight! Fetch him!”
Killick, summoned from Gujan, leaned over the General’s map table. He saw that Calvet wanted the southern wall bombarded.