Sharpe’s Havoc by Bernard Cornwell

„Forty-nine times two, sir, seeing as how we have the caisson for the other howitzer as well,” Pelletieu said when Vuillard asked him how many shells his gun possessed. „Ninety-eight shells, sir, and twenty-two canister. Twice the usual rations!”

„Forget the canister,” Vuillard ordered. Canister, which spread from a gun’s barrel like duck shot, was for use against troops in the open, not for infantry concealed amongst rocks. „Drop the shells on the bastards and we’ll send for more ammunition if you need it. Which you won’t,” he added malevolently, „because you’re going to kill the bastards, aren’t you?”

„That’s what we’re here for,” Pelletieu said happily, „and with respect, sir, we won’t make widows by standing here talking. I’d best find a place to deploy her, sir. Sergeant! Shovels!”

„Shovels?” Vuillard asked.

„We have to level the ground, sir,” Pelletieu said, „because God didn’t think of gunners when He made the world. He made too many lumps and not enough smooth spots. But we’re very good at improving His handiwork, sir.” He led his men toward the hill in search of a place that could be leveled.

Colonel Christopher had been inspecting the howitzer, but now nodded at Pelletieu’s receding back. „Sending schoolboys to fight our wars?”

„He seems to know his business,” Vuillard admitted grudgingly. „Did your servant turn up?”

„Bloody man’s gone missing. Had to shave myself!”

„Shave yourself, eh?” Vuillard observed with amusement. „Life is hard, Colonel, life is sometimes so very hard.”

And soon, he thought, it would be murderous for the fugitives on the hill.

At dawn, a wet dawn with clouds scudding away southeast and a wind still gusting about the ragged summit, Dodd had spotted the fugitives halfway down the hill’s northern slope. They were crouching in the rocks, evidently hiding from the French picquets who lined the edge of the wood. There were seven, all men. Six had been survivors from Manuel Lopes’s band and the seventh was Luis, Christopher’s servant.

„It is the Colonel,” he had told Sharpe.

„What is?”

„Colonel Christopher. He is down there. He brought them here, he told them you were here!”

Sharpe stared down toward the village where a black smear showed where the church had stood. „He’s a bastard,” he said quietly, but he was not surprised. Not now. He only blamed himself for being so slow to see that Christopher was a traitor. He questioned Luis further and the servant told him about the journey south to meet General Cradock, about the dinner party in Oporto where a French general had been the guest of honor, and how Christopher sometimes wore an enemy uniform, but Luis honestly admitted he did not know what webs the Colonel spun. He did know that Christopher possessed Sharpe’s good telescope and Luis had managed to steal the Colonel’s old telescope, which he presented to Sharpe with a triumphant flourish. „I am sorry it is not your own, senhor, but the Colonel keeps that one in his tail pocket. I fight for you now,” Luis said proudly.

„Have you ever fought?” Sharpe asked.

„A man can learn,” Luis said, „and there is no one better than a barber for slitting throats. I used to think about that when I shaved my customers. How easy it would be to cut. I never did, of course,” he added hastily in case Sharpe thought he was a murderer.

„I think I’ll go on shaving myself,” Sharpe said with a smile.

So Vicente gave Luis one of the captured French muskets and a cartridge box of ammunition and the barber joined the other soldiers among the redoubts that barricaded the hilltop. Lopes’s men were sworn in as loyal Portuguese soldiers and when one said he would rather take his chances on escape and join the partisan groups to the north Sergeant Macedo used his fists to force the oath on him. „He’s a good lad, that Sergeant,” Harper said approvingly.

The damp lifted. The sodden flanks of the hill steamed in the morning sun, but that haze vanished as the morning became hotter. There were dragoons all about the hog-backed hill now. They patrolled the valleys on either side, had another strong picquet to the south and dismounted men watching from the wood’s edge. Sharpe, seeing the dragoons tighten their noose, knew that if he and his men tried to escape they would become meat for the horsemen. Harper, his broad face glistening with sweat, gazed down at the cavalry. „There’s something I’ve noticed, sir,” he said, „ever since we joined up with you in Spain.”

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