bcornwell.sharpescompany-第4章

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　before　an　event　that　demands　their　deaths　to　make　it　memorable。　Packs　were　piled；　to　be　guarded　by　men　who　would　wait　in　the　trenches；　and　bayonets　were　slotted　and　twisted　on　to　musket　barrels。　The　job；　General　Picton　said；　would　be　done　with　cold　iron；　and　there　would　be　no　time　to　reload　a　musket　in　the　breach；　just　to　push　on；　bayonet　out；　reaching　for　the　enemy。　They　waited　for　night。　Made　small　jokes；　fought　with　the　imagination。
　
　At　seven　it　was　dark。　The　big　church　clock　in　the　tower　that　had　been　chipped　and　scarred　by　cannon　balls；　whirred　as　it　geared　itself　to　strike　the　hour。　The　sound　was　clearly　audible　over　the　snow。　The　orders　must　e　soon。　The　siege　guns　stopped　firing；　a　sudden　silence　that　seemed　unnatural　after　the　days　of　hammering　at　the　defences。　Sharpe　could　hear　men　coughing；　stamping　their　feet；　and　the　little　noises　were　terrible　reminders　of　how　small　and　frail　men　were　against　the　defences　of　a　fortress。
　
　'Go！'　The　Brigade　Majors　had　the　orders。　'Go！'
　Lawford　touched　Sharpe's　shoulder。　'Good　luck！'
　
The　Rifleman　noticed　the　Colonel　was　still　uncloaked；　but　it　was　too　late　now。　
　There　was　a　stirring　in　the　trenches；　a　rustle　as　the　hay…bags　were　pushed　out　of　the　trench；　and　then　Harper　was　beside　him　and；　beyond　the　Sergeant；　Lieutenant　Price；　wide…eyed　and　pale。　Sharpe　grinned　at　them。　'e　on。　'
　
　They　climbed　up　on　the　fire…step；　over　the　parapet；　and　went　in　silence　towards　the　breach。
　
　1812　had　begun。　
　
　
　CHAPTER　3
　
　The　snow　was　brittle；　crunching　beneath　Sharpe's　boots；　while　behind　him　he　could　hear　the　sounds　of　men　slipping　in　the　whiteness；　their　breath　rasping　in　the　cold　air；　their　equipment　clinking　as　they　started　up　the　hill　towards　the　glacis。
　
　The　crest　of　the　defences　were　limned　by　a　faint；　red　haze　where　the　lights　in　the　town；　fires　and　bracketed　torches；　glowed　in　the　night　mist。　It　seemed　unreal；　but　to　Sharpe　battles　often　seemed　unreal；　especially　now　as　he　climbed　the　snow…slope　towards　the　silent；　waiting　town　and　with　each　step　he　expected　the　sudden　eruption　of　cannon　and　the　shriek　of　grape。　Yet　the　defenders　were　quiet；　as　if　they　were　oblivious　of　the　mass　of　men　who　churned　the　snow　towards　Ciudad　Rodrigo。　In　two　hours　at　the　most；　Sharpe　knew；　it　would　all　be　over。　Talavera　had　taken　a　day　and　a　night；　Fuentes　de　Onoro　all　of　three　days；　but　no　man　could　endure　the　hell　of　a　breach　for　more　than　a　couple　of　hours。
　
　Lawford　was　beside　him；　the　cloak　still　held　over　one　arm　and　the　gold　lace　reflecting　the　dim；　red　light　ahead。　The　Colonel　grinned　at　Sharpe；　he　looked；　the　Rifleman　thought；　very　young。
　
　'Perhaps　we're　surprising　them；　Richard。　'
　
　The　answer　was　instant。　From　ahead；　from　the　left　and　right；　the　French　gunners　put　matches　to　the　priming　tubes；　the　cannons　banged　back　on　their　trails；　and　the　canisters　were　spat　over　the　glacis。　The　crest　of　the　defences　seemed　to　erupt　in　great；　boiling　clouds　of　smoke　that　were　lit　by　internal　lances　of　Same　that　reached　from　the　wall；　over　the　ditch；　to　spear　their　tongues　of　light　on　to　the　snow…slope。
　
　Following　the　thunder；　so　close　that　the　sounds　were　indistinguishable；　came　the　explosions　of　the　canisters。　Each　was　a　metal　can　packed　with　musket　balls　which　were　blown　apart　by　a　powder　charge。　The　balls　hammered　down。　The　snow　was　spotted　with　crimson。
　
　There　were　shouts　far　to　the　left　and　Sharpe　knew　that　the　Light　Division；　attacking　the　smaller　breach；　were　pouring　over　the　glacis　into　the　ditch。　He　slipped　on　the　snow；　recovered；　and　shouted　at　his　men。　'e　on！'
　
　The　smoke　rolled　slowly　from　the　glacis；　carried　south　on　the　night　wind；　and　was　then　put　back　by　the　gunners'　next　volley。　The　canisters　cracked　apart　again；　the　mass　of　men　hurried　as　the　shouts　of　officers　and　Sergeants　drove　them　up　the　slope　to　the　dubious　safety　of　the　ditch。　Far　back；　behind　the　first　parallel；　a　band　played　and　Sharpe　caught　a　snatch　of　the　tune　and　then　he　was　at　the　top　of　the　slope；　the　ditch　black　beneath　him。
　
　There　was　a　temptation　to　stay　a　few　feet　down　the　slope　and　hurl　the　bags　hopefully　into　the　darkness；　but　Sharpe　had　long　taught　himself　that　the　few　steps　of　which　a　man　is　afraid　are　the　important　steps。　He　stood　on　the　crest；　Lawford　beside　him；　and　shouted　at　his　men　to　hurry。　The　hay…bags　thumped　softly　down　in　the　blackness。
　
　'This　way！　This　way！'　He　led　them　right；　away　from　the　breach；　their　job　finished；　and　the　Forlorn　Hope　were　jumping　down　into　the　ditch　and　Sharpe　felt　a　pang　of　envy。　'Down！　down！'　He　pushed　them　flat　on　the　crest　of　the　glacis　and　the　cannons　crashed　overhead　so　close　that　the　Light　pany　could　feel　the　lick　of　their　hot　breath。　The　battalions　were　ing　behind　to　follow　the　Forlorn　Hope。　'Watch　the　wall！'　The　best　help　that　the　Light　pany　could　be　now　to　the　attack　was　to　snipe　over　the　ditch　as　soon　as　any　target　could　be　seen。
　
　All　was　blackness。　Sounds　came　from　the　ditch；　boots　scuffing；　the　scrape　of　a　bayonet；　a　muffled　curse；　and　then　the　scrabbling　of　feet　on　rubble　that　told　him　the　Hope　had　reached　the　breach　and　were　climbing　the　broken　stone　slope。　Musket　flashes　dazzled　from　the　breach　summit；　the　first　opposition　to　the　Forlorn　Hope；　but　the　fire　did　not　appear　to　be　heavy　and　Sharpe　could　hear　the　men　still　climbing。
　
　'So　far。。。　'　Lawford　left　the　sentence　unfinished。
　
　There　were　shouts　from　behind　and　Sharpe　turned　to　see　the　attackers　reaching　the　crest　and　jumping　recklessly　into　the　ditch。　There　were　shouts　as　men　missed　the　hay…bags；　or　landed　on　their　rades；　but　the　leading　battalions　were　in　place；　and　they　were　going　forward　in　the　darkness；　and　Sharpe　heard　the　growl　that　he　remembered　from　Gawilghur。　It　was　an　eerie　sound　made　by　hundreds　of　men　in　a　small　place；　steeling　themselves　to　go　into　the　narrow　breach；　and　it　was　a　sound　that　would　last　till　the　battle　was　decided。
　
　'It's　going　well！'　Lawford's　face　was　nervous。　It　was　going　too　well。　The　Hope　had　to　be　nearing　the　end　of　their　long　climb；　the　45th　and　88th　were　on　their　heels；　and　still　the　only　French　reaction　was　the　few　musket　shots　and　the　canister　that　still　exploded　far　behind　over　the　hurrying　reserves。　Something　more　had　to　be　waiting　in　the　breach。
　
　A　flame　flickered　on　the　walls；　spread　like　fire　catching　on　dry　thatch；　then　heaved　itself　up　into　the　air　and　down　into　the　ditch。　Another　flame　followed；　then　another；　and　the　breach　was　lit　like　daylight　as　the　carcasses；　oil…soaked；　hard…packed　straw　that　was　bound　in　tarred　canvas；　were　lit　and　tossed　into　the　ditch　so　that　the　defenders　could　see　their　targets。　There　was　a　cheer　from　the　French；　a　triumphant；　defiant　cheer；　and　the　musket　balls　plucked　at　the　Forlorn　Hope；　revealed　close　to　the　summit　of　the　jumbled　stone　slope；　and　the　cheer　was　answered　by　the　45th　and　88th　as　the　battalions　ran　forward；　a　dark　mass　in　the　tangled　maze　of　the　ditch；　and　the　assault　began　to　look　easy。
　
　'Rifles！'　Sharpe　shouted。　He　had　eleven　Riflemen　left；　apart　from　Harper　and　himself；　of　the　thirty　men　he　had　led　away　from　the　horrors　of　the　Corunna　retreat　three　years　before。　They　were　the　core　of　his　pany；　the　green…jacketed　specialists；　whose　modern　Baker　rifles　could　kill　at　three　hundred　paces　and　more；　while　the　smooth…bore　musket；　the　Brown　Bess；　was　virtually　useless　at　more　than　fifty　yards。　He　heard　the　distinctive　crack　of　the　weapons；　less　muffled　than　the　muskets；　and　saw　a　Frenchman　fall　back　as　he　tried　to　throw　another　burning　carcass　down　the　breach　slope。　Sharpe　wished　he　had　more　rifles。　He　had　trained　some　of　his　redcoats　to　use　the　weapon；　but　he　would　have　liked　more。
　
　He　ducked　down　beside　Lawford。　The　French　had　switched　to　grapeshot　that　left　the　cannon　barrels　like　duck　shot　from　a　fowling　piece。　He　heard　the　whistle　of　balls　over　his　head；　saw　a　flame　stab　down　into　the　ditch　towards　the　crowded　battalions；　but　in　the　firelight　he　could　see　the　red…jacketed　British　were　nearing　the　mid…point　of　their　climb。　The　Forlorn　Hope；　still　almost　intact；　were　just　paces　from　the　top；　their　bayonets　held　out；　while　behind　them　the　lower　half　of　the　breach　was　darkened　by　the　mass　of　the　assaulting　column。
　
　Lawford　touched　Sharpe's　arm。　'It's　too　easy！'
　
　Muskets　spat　at　the　assault；　but　not　enough　to　check　the　attack。　The　men　in　the　ditch　felt　victory　close；　easily　gained；　and　the　column　moved　on　to　the　breach　like　a　beast　uncoiling　from　the　ditch。　Victory　was　close；　just　seconds　away；　and　the　growl　was　a　cheer　that　rose　with　the　column's　climb。
　
　The　French　had　let　them　e。　They　let　the　Hope　reach　the　very　top　of　the　shattered　wall　and　then　they　unmasked　the　defence。　There　was　a　twin　explosion；　horrendous　and　ear…shattering；　and　flames　startled　across　the　breach。　Sharpe　winced。　The　cheer　was　laced　with　screams；　spattered　by　the　rattle　of　grapeshot；　and　he　saw　the　French　had　mounted　two　guns；　in　hidden　casements　dug　deep　into　the　core　of　the　walls　either　side　of　the　breach；　that　could　fire　across　the　attack。　They　were　not　small　guns；　not　field…guns；　but　massive　pieces　whose　flames　lanced　clear　across　the　full　hundred　feet　width　of　the　breach。
　
　The　Forlorn　Hope　disappeared；　snatched　into　oblivion　in　a　maelstrom　of　flame　and　grapeshot；　and　the　head　of　the　column　was　shattered　by　the　gunfire　that　lacerated　the　upper　half　of　the　breach；　clearing　it　with　contemptuous　ease。　The　growl　faltered；　turned　into　cries　of　alarm；　and　the　column　retreated；　not　from　the　guns；　but　from　a　new　danger。
　
　Flames　appeared　in　the　smoke…shrouded　rubble；　livid　serpents　that　flickered　in　the　stone；　forked　lightning　that　ran　quicksilver　down　the　scoured　stones　to　touch　the　mines　that　had　been　hidden　in　the　breach。　The　explosions　tore　the　lower　slope　apart；　flinging　men　and　masonry　into　the　air；　blowing　the　first　attack　into　failure。　The　meat…grinder　of　the　breach　had　begun　to　turn。
　
　The　growl　was　still　audible。　The　men　from　Connaught　and　Nottinghamshire　were　going　back　to　the　breach；　over　their　mangled　dead；　past　the　blackened；　smoking　pits　where　the　mines　had　been　dug；　and　the　French　screamed　insults　at　them；　called　them　boy…lovers　and　weaklings；　and　followed　the　insults　with　more　burning　carcasses　and　lumps　of　timber　or　stone　that　avalanched　on　the　slope　and　hurled　men　back　into　the　blood…soaked　base　of　the　breach。　The　vast　guns　in　their　hidden；　flanking　casements　were　being　reloaded；　ready　for　their　next　targets；　and　they　came；　clawing　their　way　up　the　blood…slick　ramp　till　the　thunder　crashed　again；　the　flames　slapped　at　the　breach；　and　the　myriad　scraps　of　grapeshot　blasted　the　stones　clear。
　
　The　assault　had　been　bloodily　repulsed；　but　there　was　no　thought　except　to　go　forward。　The　foot　of　the　ramp　was　crowded　with　the　men　of　the　two　battalions　who　climbed　again　in　the　mindless；　seething　bravery　of　siege　warfare。
　
　Lawford　clutched　Sharpe's　arm；　leaned　close　to　his　ear。　'Those　bloody　guns！'
　
　'I　know！'　They　fired　again；　a　fraction　early；　and　it　was　plain　that　no　man　could　climb　past　their　fire。　They　were　dug　into　the　very　heart　of　the　town's　thick；　low　wall　and　no　British　siege　gun　could　have　hoped　to　reach　them；　not　unless　Wellington　had　fired　at　each　hidden　casement　for　a　week　until　th