JК
Sharpes Siege :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 205 из 223As they did, so therenewed fire of the twelve-pounders struck the breach’s outer face. A chip of stone whistled over Harper’s head, but he heaved at his end of the beam, bellowed at the Riflemen to push, and the great spiked bulwark was slammed into place.
Sharpe was on the west wall. Minver’s men were climbing down ladders to the sand, while the first of Killick’s longboats was pushing away from the Thuella. Sharpe guessed it would take ten minutes to board Minver’s company safely, and another five before the longboats would return for the last of the Teste de Buch’s defenders. The tide in the channel swept far too strongly to risk swimming to the safety of the schooner, so Sharpe must fight until the boats could carry all his men away. Killick, carrying his American flag to safety, paused by Sharpe and stared at the French horde. “Do I wish you luck, Major?”
“No.”
Killick seemed torn by his desire to stay and witness what promised to be a rare fight, and his need to hasten the longboats in the rain-flecked channel. „I’ll have a bottle of brandy waiting in my cabin, Major.“
“I’ll look forward to it.” Sharpe was unable to express his emotions, instead, awkwardly, he thanked the American for keeping their pact.
Killick shrugged. “Why thank me? Hell, I get a chance to fight you bastards again!”
“But your government. They’ll make trouble because you helped me?”
“As long as I make money,” Killick said, “the American government won’t give a damn.“ The French drums began their sound, then, just as suddenly, stopped. The American stared at the column. ”Two thousand of them, and fifty of you?“
That’s about it.“
Killick laughed, and his voice was suddenly warm. “Hell, Major, I’m glad I’m not one of those poor bastards. I’ll have the brandy waiting, just make sure you come and drink it.” He nodded, then walked towards his boats.
Sharpe walked to the broken end of the rampart above the breach where half of Frederickson’s company was stationed. The other half, with Frederickson himself, was in the courtyard.
Harper was still on the breach, jamming captured bayonets among the stones. The rain still crashed down, washing mortar and dust away from the breach and spreading dirty yellow floodwater out of the ditch.
The French drums, made soggy by rain, sounded again from the south. A Rifleman licked cracked lips. The rain, grey and depressing, blurred the massed French bayonets above which, glinting gold, Sharpe saw an enemy standard.
Sharpe was on the west wall. Minver’s men were climbing down ladders to the sand, while the first of Killick’s longboats was pushing away from the Thuella. Sharpe guessed it would take ten minutes to board Minver’s company safely, and another five before the longboats would return for the last of the Teste de Buch’s defenders. The tide in the channel swept far too strongly to risk swimming to the safety of the schooner, so Sharpe must fight until the boats could carry all his men away. Killick, carrying his American flag to safety, paused by Sharpe and stared at the French horde. “Do I wish you luck, Major?”
“No.”
Killick seemed torn by his desire to stay and witness what promised to be a rare fight, and his need to hasten the longboats in the rain-flecked channel. „I’ll have a bottle of brandy waiting in my cabin, Major.“
“I’ll look forward to it.” Sharpe was unable to express his emotions, instead, awkwardly, he thanked the American for keeping their pact.
Killick shrugged. “Why thank me? Hell, I get a chance to fight you bastards again!”
“But your government. They’ll make trouble because you helped me?”
“As long as I make money,” Killick said, “the American government won’t give a damn.“ The French drums began their sound, then, just as suddenly, stopped. The American stared at the column. ”Two thousand of them, and fifty of you?“
That’s about it.“
Killick laughed, and his voice was suddenly warm. “Hell, Major, I’m glad I’m not one of those poor bastards. I’ll have the brandy waiting, just make sure you come and drink it.” He nodded, then walked towards his boats.
Sharpe walked to the broken end of the rampart above the breach where half of Frederickson’s company was stationed. The other half, with Frederickson himself, was in the courtyard.
Harper was still on the breach, jamming captured bayonets among the stones. The rain still crashed down, washing mortar and dust away from the breach and spreading dirty yellow floodwater out of the ditch.
The French drums, made soggy by rain, sounded again from the south. A Rifleman licked cracked lips. The rain, grey and depressing, blurred the massed French bayonets above which, glinting gold, Sharpe saw an enemy standard.