bcornwell.sharpescompany-第39部分

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　He　cocked　each　flint；　pulled　each　trigger；　and　Hakeswill's　face　twitched　each　time。　Sharpe's　eyes　did　not　leave　the　Sergeant's　face；　not　even　when　he　stooped　to　pick　up　another　rifle；　and　he　watched　the　spasm　and　saw　the　relief　each　time　as　the　spark　died　in　an　empty　pan。　The　Riflemen；　humiliated　by　the　Sergeant；　grinned　at　the　fear　they　saw　in　Hakeswill；　but　they　were　still　nervous　of　him。　He　was　the　man　who　could　not　be　killed　and　Sharpe　knew　that　their　nervousness　had　to　be　dispelled。　He　put　the　last　rifle　in　the　chest　and；　as　carefully　as　he　had　put　it　down；　picked　up　the　first。　Hakeswill　stared　as　Sharpe　pulled　back　the　flint；　past　the　half　cock；　back　till　the　sear　clicked　into　place。　The　Sergeant　licked　his　lips；　twitched；　and　flicked　his　eyes　up　to　Sharpe's　face　then　back　to　the　muzzle　that　was　pointing　at　his　belly。
　
　Sharpe　walked　slowly　towards　Hakeswill。　'You　can't　be　killed；　is　that　right？'　Hakeswill　nodded；　tried　to　smile；　but　the　huge　muzzle　was　ing　towards　him。　Sharpe　walked　slowly。　'They　tried　to　hang　you；　and　you　lived；　is　that　right？'　Hakeswill　nodded　again；　his　mouth　a　rictus。　Sharpe　was　limping　from　the　bullet　wound　in　his　thigh。　'Are　you　going　to　live　for　ever；　Sergeant？'　One　of　the　Riflemen　sniggered　and　Hakeswill　darted　a　look　to　see　which　one；　but　Sharpe　jerked　the　barrel　up　and　the　movement　brought　the　eyes　back。　'Are　you　going　to　live　for　ever？'
　
　'Don't　know；　sir。'
　
　'Not　〃Lieutenant；　sir〃？　Lost　your　tongue；　Hakeswill？'
　
　'No；　sir。'
　
　Sharpe　smiled。　He　was　very　close　to　the　Sergeant　and　the　rifle　was　pointed　up　beneath　Hakeswill's　chin。　'I　think　you're　going　to　die；　Sergeant。　Shall　I　tell　you　why？'
　
　The　blue；　child…like　eyes　flicked　left　and　right　as　if　searching　for　help。　Hakeswill　expected　to　be　attacked　by　night；　in　the　shadows；　but　never　in　bright　daylight　among　hundreds　of　potential　witnesses。　Yet　no　one　was　taking　any　notice！　The　rifle　jerked；　touching　his　sweated　skin。　'Sir！'
　
　'Look　at　me；　Sergeant。　I'm　telling　you　a　secret。'
　
　Hakeswill　looked　at　Sharpe；　their　eyes　level。　'Sir？'
　
　The　Riflemen　watched　and　Sharpe　spoke　clearly　for　them。　'I　think；　Sergeant；　that　no　one　can　kill　you。　Except。'　He　spoke　slowly；　as　if　to　a　child。　'Except；　Sergeant；　someone　whom　you　had　tried　to　kill；　and　whom　you　failed　to　kill。'　The　fear　was　obvious　on　the　sweating　face；　the　yellow　paling。　'Can　you　think　of　anyone　like　that；　Sergeant？'
　
　The　face　twitched；　shook；　and　the　rifle　jerked　up　again　into　the　chin。　'No；　sir！'
　
　'Good！'　The　stubby　foresight　of　the　Baker　was　cold　on　Hakeswill's　skin。　Sharpe　dropped　his　voice　so　that　only　the　Sergeant　could　hear　him。　'You're　a　dead　man；　Obadiah。　The　magic's　gone。'　He　suddenly　shouted。　'Bang！'
　
　Hakeswill　leaped　back；　startled；　let　out　a　pathetic　yelp　like　a　whipped　child；　and　stumbled　on　to　the　grass。　Sharpe　laughed　at　him；　pointed　the　gun　and　pulled　the　trigger　on　to　an　empty；　unloaded　pan。　Hakeswill　sprawled　on　the　grass；　his　face　murderous；　but　Sharpe　turned　away　from　him　to　his　grinning　Riflemen。　'Shun！'
　
　They　snapped　to　attention。　Sharpe　spoke　to　them　again；　but　this　time　his　voice　was　crisp。　'Remember；　I've　made　you　a　promise。　You'll　get　your　rifles　back；　your　jackets　back；　and　you'll　get　me　back！'　He　did　not　know　how　he　could　do　it；　but　he　would。　He　turned　back　to　the　Sergeant　and　pointed　at　the　seven…barreled　gun　on　Hakeswill's　shoulder。　'Give　me　that！'
　
　Hakeswill　handed　it　over　meekly；　with　its　ammunition　pouch；　and　Sharpe　slung　the　gun　on　his　own　shoulder　next　to　his　rifle。　He　looked　down　at　the　Sergeant。　'I'm　ing　back；　Sergeant。　Remember　that。'　He　scooped　the　jackets　into　an　awkward　bundle；　put　them　under　his　arm；　and　limped　away。　He　knew　that　Hakeswill　would　exact　a　revenge　on　the　Riflemen；　but　he　knew；　too；　that　the　Sergeant　had　been　humiliated；　shown　to　be　vulnerable；　and　the　pany；　Sharpe's　pany；　needed　to　know　that　much。
　
　It　was　a　small　victory；　a　petty　victory　even；　but　it　was　a　start　on　the　long　fight　back；　a　fight　that　he　knew　must　end　in　the　breach　at　Badajoz。
　
　PART　FOUR
　
　Saturday；　April　4th
　to
　Monday；　April　6th　1812
　
　CHAPTER　21
　
　News　came　that　the　French；　at　last；　were　moving；　not　against　Wellington　at　Badajoz；　but　towards　the　new　Spanish　garrison　in　Ciudad　Rodrigo。　The　reports　came　from　the　Partisans　and　from　the　dispatches　they　had　captured；　some　still　stained　with　the　blood　of　enemy　messengers；　and　told　of　disagreements　among　the　French　Generals；　of　delays　in　gathering　their　troops；　and　their　difficulties　in　replacing　the　French　siege　artillery；　all　of　which　had　been　captured　inside　the　northern　fortress。　The　news　spurred　Wellington　into　greater　speed；　he　wanted　the　siege　of　Badajoz　done；　and　he　could　not　be　persuaded　that　the　French　chances　of　retaking　Ciudad　Rodrigo　were　remote。　He　did　not　trust　the　Spaniards　in　the　town　and　wanted　to　march　the　army　north　to　bolster　his　allies'　resolve。　Speed！　Speed！　Speed！　For　the　six　days　after　Easter　he　pounded　the　message　at　his　Generals　and　staff　officers。　Give　me　Badajoz！　For　the　six　days　the　new　batteries　built　in　the　ruins　of　the　Picurina　Fort　had　fired　incessantly　at　the　breaches；　at　first　with　small　effect　until；　almost　unexpectedly；　the　loosened　stone　had　cascaded　into　the　ditch　and　was　followed　by　a　dust…spewing　avalanche　of　rubble　from　the　wall's　core。　The　sweating；　powder…stained　gun　crews　had　cheered；　while　the　infantry；　guarding　the　batteries　against　another　French　sortie；　stared　at　the　incipient　breaches　and　wondered　what　wele　the　French　were　preparing　for　the　assault。
　
　By　night　the　French　tried　to　repair　the　damage。　The　Picurina　guns　sprayed　the　two　breaches　with　grapeshot；　but　still；　each　morning；　the　broken　edges　of　the　stonework　had　been　padded　with　thick　bales　of　wool　and　so；　each　dawn；　the　gunners　fired　at　the　mattresses　until；　in　an　explosion　of　greasy　fleeces；　the　padding　fell　away　and　the　iron　balls　could　start　again　on　the　wall　proper；　gouging　at　it；　crumbling　it；　carving　the　double　path　into　the　city。
　
　The　dam　still　stood　and　the　floodwaters　still　stretched　south　of　the　city；　forcing　any　assault　on　the　bastions　to　march　obliquely　against　the　walls　instead　of　straight　on。　The　northern　batteries　pounded　at　the　dam's　fort　while　the　infantry　dug　their　trenches　forward；　trying　to　take　their　spades　and　muskets　to　the　very　edge　of　the　small　fort；　but　the　trenching　was　thrown　back。　Every　gun　on　Badajoz's　east　wall；　from　the　high　kestrel…ridden　castle；　to　the　Trinidad　bastion；　opened　up　on　the　creeping　trench　till　the　workers　were　smashed　and　no　one　could　live　in　the　iron　hail；　and　so　the　attempt　was　given　up。　The　dam　would　stay；　the　approach　would　〃be　oblique；　and　the　engineers　did　not　like　it。　'Time；　I　want　time！'　Colonel　Fletcher；　wounded　in　the　French　foray；　was　out　of　bed。　He　pounded　the　map　in　front　of　him。　'He　wants　a　bloody　miracle！'
　
　'I　do。'　The　General　had　entered　the　room　unheard　and　Fletcher　twisted　round；　grimacing　because　the　wound　still　hurt。
　
　'My　Lord！　My　apologies。'　The　Scottish　growl　sounded　far　from　apologetic。
　
　Wellington　gestured　the　apology　away；　nodded　at　the　men　waiting　for　him；　and　sat　down。　Major　Hogan　knew　the　General　was　just　forty…three；　yet　he　looked　older。　Perhaps　they　all　looked　older。　The　siege　was　wearing　them　down　as　it　was　wearing　away　the　two　bastions；　and　Hogan　sighed　because　he　knew　that　this　meeting；　on　Saturday　4th　April　as　he　carefully　noted　at　the　top　of　his　notebook　page；　would　once　more　be　a　wrangle　between　the　General　and　the　Engineers。　Wellington　took　out　his　own　map；　unrolled　it；　and　weighted　the　corners　with　ink　bottles。　'Good　morning；　gentlemen。　Expenditure？〃
　
　The　gunner　Colonel　pulled　paper　towards　him。　'Yesterday；　my　Lord；　one　thousand　one　hundred　and　fourteen　twenty…four…pounders；　six　hundred　and　three　eighteen…pounders。'
　
　He　gave　the　figures　in　a　flat　monotone。　'One　gun　burst；　sir。'
　
　'Burst？'
　
　The　Colonel　turned　the　paper　over。　'Twenty…four…pounder　in　Number　Three；　my　Lord；　high…shot　half…way　down　the　bore。　We　lost　three　men；　six　wounded。'
　
　Wellington　grunted。　It　was　astonishing；　Hogan　always　thought；　how　the　General　dominated　a　room　by　his　presence。　Perhaps　it　was　the　blue　eyes　that　seemed　so　knowing；　or　the　stillness　of　the　face　round　the　strong；　hooked　nose。　Most　of　the　officers　in　this　room　were　older　than　the　Viscount　Wellington；　yet　all　of　them；　with　the　possible　exception　of　Fletcher；　seemed　in　awe　of　him。　The　General　wrote　the　figures　on　his　small　piece　of　paper；　the　pencil　squeaking。　He　looked　back　to　the　gunner。　'Powder？'
　
　'Plenty；　sir。　Eighty　barrels　arrived　yesterday。　We　can　keep　firing　for　another　month。'
　
　'We'll　bloody　need　to。　Sorry；　my　Lord。'　Fletcher　was　hatching　marks　on　his　map。
　
　A　trace　of　a　smile　flicked　the　corners　of　Wellington's　mouth。　'Colonel？'
　
　'My　Lord？'　Fletcher　affected　surprise。　He　looked　up　from　the　map；　but　kept　his　pen　poised　as　though　he　was　being　interrupted。
　
　'I　can　see　you're　not　prepared　for　the　meeting。'　Wellington　gave　a　small　nod　to　the　Scotsman　and　turned　to　Hogan。　'Major？　Any　reports？'
　
　Hogan　turned　his　notebook　back　two　pages。　'Two　deserters；　my　Lord；　both　Germans；　both　from　the　Hesse…Darmstadt　Regiment。　They