Sharpe's Company by Bernard Cornwell

Sharpe's Company by Bernard Cornwell

Author:Bernard Cornwell [Cornwell, Bernard]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2010-01-30T10:07:31+00:00


Which was Rymer. Sharpe's anger subsided. He was being punished not for his own failure, but for Rymer's and all three men knew it. He forced a rueful smile. 'Yes, sir.'

Silence again. Sharpe could feel that there was one more thing to be said, one thing the Colonel was shying from, and he had had enough. He would make it easy, get the damned interview over. 'So what happens now, sir?'

'Happens? We go on, Sharpe, we go on!' Windham was avoiding the answer, but then he plunged in. 'Major Hogan talked to us. He was upset.' The Colonel paused. He had plunged in at the wrong place, but Sharpe could guess at what had happened. Windham wanted rid of Sharpe, at least for the moment, and Hogan had engineered an answer that Windham was hesitant about mentioning.

'Yes, sir?'

'He'd like your assistance, Sharpe. For a few days, anyway. The Engineers are short-handed, always are, damn them, and he asked for your help. I said yes.'

'So I'm to leave the Battalion, sir?'

'For a few days, Sharpe, for a few days.'

Collett stirred by the tent pole. 'Damn it, Sharpe, they'll be handing out Captaincies like pound notes on election day soon. '

Sharpe nodded. 'Yes, sir.' Collett had made the point. Sharpe was an embarrassment, not just to Rymer, but to all the Captains who saw him sniffing at their heels. If he could leave the Battalion now, go to Hogan, then there would be no difficulty in bringing him back, after the assault, into a Captaincy. And the assault would be soon. Wellington was not patient in a siege, the fine weather was bringing the possibility of a French counter-move, and Sharpe sensed that the infantry would be hurled against the city very soon. Too soon, probably. Collett was right; there would be vacancies, too many vacancies, made by the French guns in Badajoz.

Windham seemed relieved by Sharpe's evident acceptance. 'That's it, then, Sharpe. Good luck; good hunting!' He barked an embarrassed laugh. 'We'll see you back!'

'Yes, sir.' But not, Sharpe thought, in the way Windham planned. The Rifleman, as he limped from the tent, did not object to the Colonel's solution, or rather Hogan's solution, but he was damned if he would be nothing more than a pawn to be pushed round a board and sacrificed. He had lost his Company, and now he was pushed out of the Battalion, and he felt an anger inside him. He was superfluous. Then damn them all. He would make the Forlorn Hope. He would live and they would take him back, not as a convenient replacement for a dead Captain, but as a soldier they could not ignore. He would fight back! God damn them, he would fight back, and he knew where he was going to start. He heard a cackle come from the Battalion's supply dump. Hakeswill! Bloody Hakeswill who had emptied the seven-barreled gun at him in the darkness. Sharpe turned towards the sound, winced as the pain seared his leg, and marched towards the enemy.



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