bcornwell.sharpescompany- 第40节

　
　Sharpe　began　sliding　back　down　the　slope。　'e　on。'
　
　The　French　were　shouting；　making　enough　noise　to　cover　their　movements。　There　was　little　time。　Sharpe　thought　what　he　would　do　if　he　was　the　French　officer　and　imagined　fetching　water　that　could　be　thrown　down　on　to　the　kegs　and　whatever　fuse　remained。　He　needed　to　see　what　was　left。　He　slammed　to　a　stop　and　looked　upstream。　The　new　carcasses　brilliantly　lit　the　foot　of　the　dam；　the　kegs　were　clearly　visible　and　so　was　the　fuse。　One　end　had　fallen　from　a　bung…hole　in　the　lowest　row　of　powder　barrels；　the　other　had　dropped　into　the　stream　which　had　extinguished　the　fire。　Even　without　the　water；　the　fuse　would　have　been　useless。　Harper　crouched　beside　him。　'What　do　we　do？'
　
　'I　need　ten　men。'
　
　'Leave　it　to　me；　what　then？'
　
　Sharpe　jerked　his　head　towards　the　rampart。　'Six　to　take　care　of　them　and　three　to　push　those　carcasses　into　the　water。'
　
　'And　you？'
　
　'Leave　me　one　carcass。'　He　began　to　load　the　rifle；　hurrying　in　the　darkness；　not　bothering　with　the　leather　patch　that　surrounded　the　bullet　and　gripped　the　seven　grooves　of　the　Baker's　barrel。　He　spat　on　the　bullet　and　rammed　it　down。　'Are　we　ready？'
　
　'Yes；　sir。'　Harper　was　grinning。　'I　think　this　is　a　job　for　the　Rifles。'
　
　'Why　not；　Sergeant？'　Sharpe　grinned　back。　Damn　Rymer；　damn　Hakeswill；　Windham；　Collett；　all　the　new　people　who　had　disturbed　the　Battalion。　Sharpe　and　his　Riflemen　had　fought　from　the　northern　coast　of　Spain　down　through　Portugal；　then　out　again；　to　the　Douro；　to　Talavera；　to　Almeida　and　Fuentes　de　Onoro。　They　understood　each　other；　trusted　each　other；　and　Sharpe　nodded　to　Harper。
　
　The　Sergeant；　as　Sharpe　thought　of　him；　cupped　his　hands。　'Rifles！　To　me！　Rifles！'
　
　There　were　shouts　from　the　ramparts；　faces　leaned　over。
　
　Sharpe　cupped　his　own　hands。　'pany！　Skirmish　order！'　That　should　spread　them　out；　but　would　they　obey　the　old　voices？　Muskets　fired　from　the　fort；　the　bullets　tearing　the　thorns；　and　Harper　shouted　again。
　
　'Rifles！'
　
　Feet　trampled　up　the　ravine。　An　officer　shouted　from　the　rampart　and　Sharpe　heard　the　sound　of　steel　ramrods　in　French　barrels。
　
　'They're　ing；　sir。'
　
　Of　course　they　were　ing！　They　were　his　men。　The　first　shapes　came　into　sight；　dark　uniformed　without　the　cross　belt　of　the　red　coats。　'Tell　them　what　to　do；　Sergeant。'　He　thrust　his　loaded　rifle　at　Harper；　grinned　at　him。　It　was　like　the　old　times；　the　good　times。　I'm　going。'
　
　He　could　trust　Harper　to　do　the　rest。　He　broke　from　the　cover　of　the　trees　and　ran　upstream；　into　the　light。　The　French　saw　him　and　he　heard　the　shouted　orders。　The　ground　was　wet　and　slippery；　dotted　with　smooth　rocks；　and　once　he　skidded　wildly；　flailed　his　arms　for　balance；　and　sensed　the　musket　balls　banging　down　at　him。　It　was　a　difficult　shot　for　the　French；　almost　straight　downwards；　and　they　were　hurrying　too　much。　He　heard　Harper　behind　him；　shouting　the　orders；　and　then　the　distinctive　sound　of　Baker　rifles。　He　followed　the　white　fuse；　and　the　great；　sloping　earth　dam　was　above　him；　holding　the　tons　of　water；　and　bullets　flecked　the　slope　as　Sharpe　threw　himself　at　the　base　of　the　barrels。　The　fuse　had　fallen　free　and　he　pushed　it　into　the　bung　hole；　feeling　the　gritty　resistance　of　the　powder。　The　bung　had　gone！　He　looked　round；　trying　not　to　hurry。　The　damn　thing　had　disappeared。　He　tried　to　pull　one　loose　from　another　keg；　but　it　had　been　hammered　tight。　Then　he　thought　of　a　stone　and　scrabbling　with　his　hand；　found　one；　and　rammed　it　into　the　hole。　A　musket　ball　tore　at　his　sleeve；　burning　the　skin；　but　behind　him　the　light　was　disappearing　as　his　Riflemen　kicked　carcasses　into　the　water。　They　were　still　firing；　and　he　was　aware　of　voices　shouting；　and　then　he　was　finished；　the　fuse　tight；　and　he　backed　away；　pushing　the　white　line　up　the　bank；　away　from　the　water。　He　needed　fire！　He　turned　and　saw　one　carcass　burning；　on　the　far　bank。　He　leaped　over　to　it　and　the　bullets　hammered　down　from　above；　one　hitting　the　carcass　so　that　it　seemed　to　jump　like　a　live　thing。　His　Riflemen　must　be　reloading。
　
　'Give　him　fire！'　Harper's　voice　rang　clear。　There　were　redcoats　in　the　ravine；　running　and　kneeling；　aiming　upwards；　and　Sharpe　saw　the　new　Ensign　dancing　in　excitement；　his　sword　drawn。　Then　the　muskets　fired　and　the　balls　scoured　the　ramparts　and　Sharpe　had　a　glimpse　of　his　Riflemen　ing　forward　again；　their　guns　reloaded。
　
　He　would　burn　himself；　there　was　no　choice。　The　carcass　flamed　and　he　bent　down；　picked　it　up　by　its　base；　feeling　the　heat。　A　rock　thrown　from　the　fort；　smashed　into　the　straw　and　it　flared　on　his　face；　burning；　burning；　and　he　turned　with　it；　scorched　by　the　terrible　heat　and　in　the　corner　of　his　eye；　as　he　turned；　he　saw　a　yellow　flame；　huge　and　foreshortened；　stab　from　the　ravine　towards　him。　Bullets　plucked　at　him；　hit　him；　and　he　knew　he　had　been　shot；　but　did　not　believe　it；　and　hurled　the　carcass　at　the　white　fuse。
　
　He　tried　to　run。　Pain　lanced　his　leg；　his　side；　and　he　stumbled。　He　had　thrown　the　carcass　too　far。　He　was　falling。　He　remembered　the　flaming　mass　landing　too　close　to　the　powder；　and　he　remembered　the　yellow　flame　that　seemed　to　e　from　the　ravine　side。　Nothing　made　sense　and　then　night　turned　to　day。
　
　Flame　and　light；　noise　and　heat；　the　deafening；　rolling　blast　thundered　up　and　out　so　that　the　men　in　the　British　trenches；　digging　the　new　batteries；　saw　the　face　of　the　San　Pedro　bastion　lit　with　flame。　The　whole　face　of　Badajoz；　from　castle　to　the　Trinidad；　was　seared　with　the　light　and　the　dam's　fort　was　outlined　black　against　the　sheet　of　red　that　slammed　up　and　belched　smoke　and　fragments　into　the　night。　The　blast　was　just　a　fragment　of　the　explosion　that　had　destroyed　Almeida；　but　few　men　had　seen　that　and　lived；　while　this　one　was　witnessed　by　thousands　who　watched　the　dark　night　split　by　fire；　and　felt　the　hot　wind　buffet　the　sky。
　
　Sharpe　was　thrown　forward；　snatched　and　hurled　into　the　stream；　bruised　and　deafened　by　the　blast；　blinded　by　the　flame…sheet。　The　stream　saved　his　life　and　he　regretted　it；　knowing　that　in　a　second　he　would　be　crushed　by　the　water；　flattened　by　the　falling　tons　of　earth；　rock　and　lake。　He　had　not　meant　to　throw　the　carcass　as　far　as　he　did；　but　he　had　been　scorched　by　flame；　hit　by　bullets；　and　it　hurt；　it　hurt。　He　would　not　see　his　child。　He　thought　death　came　slowly　and　he　tried　to　move　as　if　he　could　out　crawl　the　weight　of　falling　water。
　
　Heat　slammed　back　and　forth　in　the　ravine。　Burning　fragments　hissed　in　the　water。　No　muskets　fired　from　the　rampart。　The　blast　had　pushed　the　French　away　from　the　parapet；　dazed　by　the　noise　that　echoed　off　the　vast　city　walk；　thundered　over　the　plain；　and　died　in　the　night。
　
　Harper　pulled　Sharpe　upright。　'e　on；　sir。'
　
　Sharpe　could　not　hear。　'What？'　He　was　dazed；　senseless。
　
　'e　on！'　Harper　pulled　him　downstream；　away　from　the　fort；　away　from　the　dam　that　sail　stood。　'Are　you　hit？'
　
　Sharpe　moved　automatically；　stumbling　on　rocks；　going　away。　He　tried　to　turn；　to　look　at　the　dam。　'It's　still　there。'
　
　'Yes。　It　held。　e　on！'
　
　Sharpe　shook　himself　free。　'It　held。'
　
　'I　know！　e　on！'
　
　The　dam　still　stood！　Burning　fragments　lit　the　huge　wall；　scorched　and　gouged　by　the　explosion；　but　intact。　'It　held！'
　
　Harper　pulled　at　Sharpe。　'e　on！　For　God's　sake；　move！'
　
　A　body　was　at　Sharpe's　feet　and　he　looked　down。　The　new　Ensign。　What　was　his　name？　He　could　not　remember；　and　the　boy　was　dead；　and　for　nothing！
　
　Harper　pulled　him　downstream　into　the　cover　of　the　trees；　dragging　Matthews'　body　in　his　other　hand。　Sharpe　staggered；　the　pain　shooting　up　his　leg；　and　he　felt　tears　in　his　eyes。　It　was　failure；　miserable　and　plete；　and　the　boy　was　dead　who　should　not　have　died；　and　all　because　Sharpe　had　tried　to　prove　he　was　more　than　a　messenger　boy　or　baggage　minder。　Sharpe　felt　as　if　there　was　some　malevolent　fate　that　had　decided　to　destroy　him；　his　pride；　his　life；　all　his　hopes；　and；　in　mockery；　to　make　the　failure　more　plete；　the　fates　had　shown　him　something　worth　living　for。　Teresa　would　have　heard　the　explosion；　would　even　now　be　rocking　his　child　into　a　restless