faces were pale； staring at him as they squatted on the slope。 'I'm going because the French are laughing at us； because they think they've beaten us； and I'm going to hammer those bastards into pulp for thinking that。' He had not known how much anger there was inside him。 He was not a speechmaker； never had been； but the anger gave him words。 'I'm going to make those bastards wish they had never been born。 They are going to die； and I can't ask you to e with me； because you don't have to e； but I'm going； and you can stay here and I won't blame you。' He stopped； out of words； unsure even of what he had said。 The fires crackled behind him。
Patrick Harper stood up； stretched his huge arms and in one of them； catching the fires of death； was a vast axe； one of the many that had been issued to cut at the obstacles in the ditch。 He stepped forward； over the dead； and turned to look at the pany。 In the flame light； hard by the terrible ditch； Patrick Harper was like a warrior sprung from a forgotten age。 He grinned at the pany。 'Are you ing？'
There was nothing to make them go。 Too often Sharpe had asked the impossible of them； and they had always given； but never in this horror； never like this； but they stood up； the pimps and the thieves； murderers and drunks； and they grinned at Sharpe and looked to their weapons。 Harper looked down on his Captain。 'It was a fine speech； sir； but mine was better。 Would you be giving me that？' He pointed to the seven…barreled gun。
Sharpe nodded； handed it over。 'It's loaded。'
Daniel Hagman； the poacher； took Sharpe's rifle。 No man was a better shot。
Lieutenant Price； nervously flexing his sabre； grinned at Sharpe。 'I think I'm mad； sir。'
'You can stay。'
'And let you get to the women first？ I'll e。'
Roach and Peters； Jenkins and Clayton； Cresacre the wife…beater； all were there； and all felt the nervous exhilaration。 This was a place fit to go mad in。 Sharpe looked at them； counted them； loved them。 'Where's Hakeswill？'
'Buggered off； sir。 Haven't seen him。' Peters； a huge man； spat on the glacis。
Below them the last battalion was climbing the slope； almost within the firelight； and Sharpe knew that the pany must attack at the same time。 'Ready？' 'Sir。'
A mile's ride away； unknown to the rest of the army； the Third Division was clearing the last of the castle yards。 It had taken nearly an hour's hard fighting against the Germans and against the French who had pounded up from the central reserve in the Cathedral square。 A mile in the other direction； equally unknown； Leith's Fifth Division had stormed the San Vincente。 The ladders had split apart； the wood green； and the men had fallen into a spiked ditch； but other ladders were brought up； the muskets smashed at the battlements； and they had won a second impossible victory。 Badajoz had fallen。 The Fifth Division were in the city's streets； the Third possessed the castle； but the men in the ditch and on the dark glacis had no way of knowing。 The news traveled faster inside the city。 Rumors of defeat raced like a plague through the narrow streets； up on to the Santa Maria and Trinidad bastions and the defenders looked fearfully behind them。 The city was dark； the castle silhouette unchanged； and they shrugged and told each other it could not be true。 But what if it was？ Fear batted at them with grim wings。
'Make ready！'
By God！ Another attack。 The defenders turned from the city and looked over the walls。 There； from the darkness； from the corpse…littered slope； another attack surged towards the ditch。 More meat for the guns； and the fire flashed down the priming tubes； the smoke crashed out； and the mincer turned on。
Sharpe waited for the first gun； heard it； and started running。 To Badajoz。
CHAPTER 27
The heights of the wall disappeared in smoke； the flames lancing through； and he jumped； the sword high； and the men in the ditch screamed at them。 'Down！ Down！'
He had not counted on this。 The ditch was crammed with the living； the dying； and the dead； and the living clawed at him。 'Get down！ They'll kill us。'
He had sprawled down on bodies； but he scrambled up and heard his men thumping around him。 There were small fortresses in the ditch； piled corpses； that soaked the grapeshot and sheltered men who themselves crouched on other corpses。
The bullets flickered into the ravelin's shadow； and the wounded pulled at him； and Sharpe swung the sword ahead of him； clearing a path。 He screamed at them； 'Out the way！' The dead could not move； and he was wading in bodies； slipping on blood； and to his right； by the Trinidad； the gunners were shredding the last attack。
Hands clutched at Sharpe； tried to pull him down； and out of the darkness a bayonet was thrown at him。 Behind him Harper was shouting； in his own tongue； rousing the Irish。 A man reared up in front of Sharpe； clawed at him； and Sharpe hammered down with the sword hilt。 Ahead was the ravelin's sloping face with the light bright above it and the guns were waiting。 Sharpe felt the temptation to sink into the rank stench in the ditch and let the night hide him。 He swung the sword again； using the flat； and a man fell； and Sharpe's feet were on the slope and he climbed； not wanting to； fearing the oblivion； his body cringing from the death that ravaged the ravelin's top。 He stopped。
There was a new sound in the ditch； a sound so mad that he had turned； the sword bright in his hand； and he looked unbelievingly behind him。 The survivors of the South Essex； their yellow facings smeared with blood； were struggling towards him。 They had seen their Light pany carve a path to the ravelin； and now they wanted to join the madness； but it was their voices that had stopped Sharpe。
'Sharpe！ Sharpe！ Sharpe！' They chanted it senselessly； a war cry； and men who did not know what it meant picked up the sound； and the ditch stirred； and the shout bellied into the night。 'Sharpe！ Sharpe！ Sharpe！'
'What are they saying； March？'
'It sounds like 〃sharp〃； my Lord。'
The General laughed because moments before he had wished for one thousand Sharpes； and now； perhaps； that rogue was giving him the city。 His aides…de…camp； hearing the grim tone of the laughter； did not understand and did not like to ask。
The gunners； high on the wall； heard the chant and did not understand。 They were massacring the newest attack on the Trinidad； hurling it back as they had hurled the others back； but then they saw the ravelin's top dark with men； and the men were shouting； and the whole ditch was moving that they had thought filled with corpses； and the corpses had e to life and were ing to them； for their revenge； and the dead were shouting。 'Sharpe！ Sharpe！ Sharpe！'
The madness was on Sharpe； the glory of it； the song of battle shrieking in his ears； so he did not hear the gunfire； or feel the blast of the shot； or know that； behind him； crossing the diamond； the men were falling； and the guns were tangling the air with death。 He jumped。 He had crossed the ravelin； running； the heat of the fire close on his right side； and the drop was huge。 The new ditch was strangely empty； and he jumped； seeing a stone leap from a musket strike。 The jump winded him； pitched him forward； but he was up and running。
'Sharpe！ Sharpe！ Sharpe！'
I will die here； he thought； in this empty ditch with the strange white bundles that stirred in the small breeze。 He remembered the wool…padding that had protected the two breaches and wondered at a mind that could notice such irrelevant things at the point of a death。
'Sharpe！ Sharpe！ Sharpe！'
I will die here； he thought； just at the foot of the slope； and then he hated the bastards who would kill him and the anger drove him up； slipping on the rubble； unable to fight； only to climb； to carry the sword to the French flesh。 There were men around him； screaming unintelligibly； and the air was thick with smoke； grapeshot； and flame。 Harper was passing him； the huge axe held easily； and Sharpe； refusing to be second； drove his legs towards the dark sky beyond the row of shining blades。
'Sharpe！ Sharpe！ Sharpe！'