JК
Sharpes Siege :: Корнуэлл Бернард
Страница: 37 из 223He wondered what would happen to such men when the war ended.
“You’re a sailor,” Lassan said gently, “and fighting on land is not the same as a sea battle.”
“But if the bastards aren’t expecting us, Henri! If the pompous bastards think they’re safe! Then we ambush them!” Killick was certain his men, trained gunners, could handle the French artillery and he was seeing, in his hopeful imagination, the grapeshot cutting down marching files of British Marines. “By God we can do it, Henri!”
Lassan held up a thin hand to stop the enthusiastic flow. “If you really want to help, Captain Killick, then put your men into the fort.”
“No.” Killick knew only too well what the British would do to a captured privateer’s crew. If Killick fought to save the Thuella then he must have a safe retreat in case he was defeated. Yet in his plan to ambush the British on their approach march he could not see any chance of defeat. The enemy Marines would be surprised, flayed by grapeshot, and the Thuella would be safe.
Henri Lassan, staring at the map, wondered whether the American’s plan delineated the miracle he had prayed for. If the British did not capture the fort they could not take the chasse-marees, and without the chasse-maries they were trapped behind the rivers running high with winter’s flood-waters.
Trapped. And perhaps the Emperor, bloodying his northern enemies, would march south and give the British Army a shattering defeat.
For, though Wellington had conquered every French Marshal or General sent to fight him, he had never faced the Emperor’s genius. Lassan wondered if this big, handsome American had found the small answer that would hold up the British just long enough to let the Emperor come south and teach the goddamns a lesson in warfare. Then a pang of realism forced Lassan’s mind to contemplate failure. “What will you do, mon ami, if the British win?”
Killick shrugged. “Dismast the Thuella and make her look like a wreck, then pray that the British ignore her. And you, Commandant, what will you do?”
Lassan smiled sadly. “Burn the chasse-marees, of course.“ By so doing he would condemn the two hundred men of the crews and their families to penury. The mayor and cure had begged him to preserve the boats which, even in French defeat, would give life and bread to the communities of the Biscay coast, but in defeat Henri Lassan would do his duty. ”Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,“ he said.
“It won’t.” Killick brandished his cigar to leave an airy trace of smoke like that made by the burning fuse of an arcing mortar shell.
“You’re a sailor,” Lassan said gently, “and fighting on land is not the same as a sea battle.”
“But if the bastards aren’t expecting us, Henri! If the pompous bastards think they’re safe! Then we ambush them!” Killick was certain his men, trained gunners, could handle the French artillery and he was seeing, in his hopeful imagination, the grapeshot cutting down marching files of British Marines. “By God we can do it, Henri!”
Lassan held up a thin hand to stop the enthusiastic flow. “If you really want to help, Captain Killick, then put your men into the fort.”
“No.” Killick knew only too well what the British would do to a captured privateer’s crew. If Killick fought to save the Thuella then he must have a safe retreat in case he was defeated. Yet in his plan to ambush the British on their approach march he could not see any chance of defeat. The enemy Marines would be surprised, flayed by grapeshot, and the Thuella would be safe.
Henri Lassan, staring at the map, wondered whether the American’s plan delineated the miracle he had prayed for. If the British did not capture the fort they could not take the chasse-marees, and without the chasse-maries they were trapped behind the rivers running high with winter’s flood-waters.
Trapped. And perhaps the Emperor, bloodying his northern enemies, would march south and give the British Army a shattering defeat.
For, though Wellington had conquered every French Marshal or General sent to fight him, he had never faced the Emperor’s genius. Lassan wondered if this big, handsome American had found the small answer that would hold up the British just long enough to let the Emperor come south and teach the goddamns a lesson in warfare. Then a pang of realism forced Lassan’s mind to contemplate failure. “What will you do, mon ami, if the British win?”
Killick shrugged. “Dismast the Thuella and make her look like a wreck, then pray that the British ignore her. And you, Commandant, what will you do?”
Lassan smiled sadly. “Burn the chasse-marees, of course.“ By so doing he would condemn the two hundred men of the crews and their families to penury. The mayor and cure had begged him to preserve the boats which, even in French defeat, would give life and bread to the communities of the Biscay coast, but in defeat Henri Lassan would do his duty. ”Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,“ he said.
“It won’t.” Killick brandished his cigar to leave an airy trace of smoke like that made by the burning fuse of an arcing mortar shell.