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Sharpes Siege :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 20 из 223Nowhe smiled. “We should be grateful it’s not a tenaille trace.”
Elphinstone frowned, realizing that Bampfylde had understood all that had been said. “Indeed.”
“No lunettes?” Bampfylde’s expression was seraphic. “Caponiers?”
Elphinstone’s frown deepened. “Citadels at the corners, but hardly more than guerites.”
Bampfylde looked to Sharpe. “Surprise and speed, Major! They can’t defend the complete enceinte, and the frigate will distract them!” So much, it seemed, for the problems of capturing a fortress. The talk moved on to the proposed naval operations inside the Bassin d’Arcachon, where more chasse-marees awaited capture, but Sharpe, uninterested in that part of the discussion, let his thoughts drift.
He did not see Bampfylde’s plush, shining cabin, instead he imagined a rising grass slope, scythed smooth, called a glacis. Beyond the glacis was an eight foot drop into a granite faced, sheer-sided ditch twenty feet wide.
At the far side of the ditch his men would be faced with a ten foot climb that would lead to a gentle, inward-facing slope; the counterguard. The counterguard was like a broad target displayed to the marksman on the inner wall, the enceinte. Men would cross the counterguard, screaming and twisting as the balls thumped home, only to face a twelve foot drop into a flooded ditch that was sixteen feet wide.
By now the enemy would be dropping shells or even stones. A boulder, dropped from the twenty foot high inner wall, would crush a man’s skull like an eggshell, yet still the wall would have to be climbed with ladders if the men were to penetrate into the Teste de Buch. Given a month, and a train of siege artillery, Sharpe could have blasted a broad path through the whole trace of ditches and walls, but he did not have a month. He had a few moments only in which he must save a frigate from the terrible battering of the fort’s heavy guns.
“Major?” Abruptly the image of the twenty foot wall vanished to be replaced by Bampfylde’s quizzically mocking smile. “Major?”
“Sir?”
“We are talking, Major, of how many men would be needed to defend the captured fortress while we await reinforcements from the south?”
“How long will the garrison have to hold?” Sharpe asked.
Wigram chose to answer. “A few days at the most. If we do find that Bordeaux’s ripe for rebellion, then we can bring an Army corps north inside ten days.”
Sharpe shrugged.
Elphinstone frowned, realizing that Bampfylde had understood all that had been said. “Indeed.”
“No lunettes?” Bampfylde’s expression was seraphic. “Caponiers?”
Elphinstone’s frown deepened. “Citadels at the corners, but hardly more than guerites.”
Bampfylde looked to Sharpe. “Surprise and speed, Major! They can’t defend the complete enceinte, and the frigate will distract them!” So much, it seemed, for the problems of capturing a fortress. The talk moved on to the proposed naval operations inside the Bassin d’Arcachon, where more chasse-marees awaited capture, but Sharpe, uninterested in that part of the discussion, let his thoughts drift.
He did not see Bampfylde’s plush, shining cabin, instead he imagined a rising grass slope, scythed smooth, called a glacis. Beyond the glacis was an eight foot drop into a granite faced, sheer-sided ditch twenty feet wide.
At the far side of the ditch his men would be faced with a ten foot climb that would lead to a gentle, inward-facing slope; the counterguard. The counterguard was like a broad target displayed to the marksman on the inner wall, the enceinte. Men would cross the counterguard, screaming and twisting as the balls thumped home, only to face a twelve foot drop into a flooded ditch that was sixteen feet wide.
By now the enemy would be dropping shells or even stones. A boulder, dropped from the twenty foot high inner wall, would crush a man’s skull like an eggshell, yet still the wall would have to be climbed with ladders if the men were to penetrate into the Teste de Buch. Given a month, and a train of siege artillery, Sharpe could have blasted a broad path through the whole trace of ditches and walls, but he did not have a month. He had a few moments only in which he must save a frigate from the terrible battering of the fort’s heavy guns.
“Major?” Abruptly the image of the twenty foot wall vanished to be replaced by Bampfylde’s quizzically mocking smile. “Major?”
“Sir?”
“We are talking, Major, of how many men would be needed to defend the captured fortress while we await reinforcements from the south?”
“How long will the garrison have to hold?” Sharpe asked.
Wigram chose to answer. “A few days at the most. If we do find that Bordeaux’s ripe for rebellion, then we can bring an Army corps north inside ten days.”
Sharpe shrugged.