bcornwell.sharpescompany-第34部分

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　'Damn　it；　man；　you　fired　at　them！'
　
　'Captain　Rymer　told　you　that；　sir？'
　
　'I'm　not　here　to　argue　with　you！　Did　you　or　didn't　you？'
　
　'I　returned　their　fire；　sir。'
　
　Silence。　Rymer　had　obviously　told　a　different　story。　Windham　glanced　at　Collett；　who　shrugged。　Both　men　believed　Sharpe；　but　Rymer's　authority　had　to　be　backed　up。　Windham　changed　tack。　'But　nevertheless　you　disobeyed　my　orders？'
　
　'Yes；　sir。'
　
　Silence　again。　Windham　had　not　expected　the　answer；　or　perhaps　he　had　expected　excuses；　and　Sharpe　had　made　a　simple　admission　of　disobedience。　But　to　ask　the　reason　why；　was　to　invite　a　criticism　of　Rymer　that　the　Colonel　did　not　want　to　hear。　He　looked　at　Sharpe。　The　Rifleman　seemed　so　damned　confident。　He　sat　there；　seemingly　unworried；　the　strong；　scarred　face　spoke　of　a　petence　and　trustworthiness　that　disarmed　the　Colonel。　Windham　shook　his　head。　'Damn　it；　Sharpe；　Rymer's　in　an　impossible　position。　He's　trying　to　establish　his　authority　over　a　pany　and　he's　finding　it　difficult　while　you're　on　his　heels。'
　
　Collett　stirred；　perhaps　disapprovingly；　but　Sharpe　nodded　slowly。　'Yes；　sir。'
　
　'The　rifles；　for　instance。'
　
　Sharpe　felt　a　flicker　of　alarm。　'The　rifles；　sir？'
　
　Collett　broke　in；　his　voice　harsh；　'Rymer's　opinion　is　that　they　led　to　our　casualties　last　night。　They're　too　slow　to　load　and　last　night　they　let　us　down。　Muskets　would　have　been　faster；　more　effective。'
　
　Sharpe　nodded。　'True；　but　that　was　only　last　night。'
　
　'And　that's　only　your　opinion。　Rymer　disagrees。　'　Collett　paused。　'And　Rymer　has　the　pany。'
　
　'Which　he　must　run　as　he　sees　fit。'　Windham　took　up　from　Collett。　'Which　means　the　rifles　must　go。'
　
　Sharpe's　voice；　for　the　first　time；　rose。　'We　need　more　rifles；　sir；　not　less。'
　
　'Which　is　what　I　am　talking　about！〃　Windham's　voice　rose　as　well。　'You　cannot　run　the　Light　pany。　One　man　must　do　it！'
　
　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　pany；　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　e　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。
　
　CHAPTER　20
　
　Hakeswill　cackled。　'You　bloody　fairies！　You're　not　bloody　soldiers。　Stand　still！'
　
　The　twelve　Riflemen　stood　still。　Each　would　have　gladly　killed　the　Sergeant；　but　not　here；　not　in　the　supply　dump　that　was　open　to　the　gaze　of　the　whole　camp。　The　murder　would　have　to　be　done　at　night；　in　secret；　but　somehow　Hakeswill　seemed　always　to　be　awake；　or　alert　to　the　smallest　sound。　Perhaps　he　was　right；　he　could　not　be　killed。
　
　Hakeswill　walked　slowly　down　the　rank。　Each　man　was　stripped　to　his　shirt；　the　green　jackets　lying　on　the　ground　in　front　of　them。　He　stopped　by　Hagman；　the　old　poacher；　and　pushed　at　the　jacket　with　his　foot。　'What's　this；　then？'　His　toe　was　pointing　at　the　black　stripe　sewn　on　the　sleeve。
　
　'Senior　Rifleman's　badge；　Sergeant。'
　
　'Senior　Rifleman's　badge；　Sergeant。　'　Hakeswill　imitated　Hagman。　The　yellow　face　twitched。　'Bloody　decrepit；　you　are！〃　He　pushed　the　sleeve　into　the　mud。　'Senior　bloody　Rifleman！　From　now　on　you're　a　bloody　soldier。'　He　cackled；　letting　his　fetid　breath　wash　over　Hagman's　face。　The　Rifleman　did　not　move　or　react；　to　do　so　was　to　invite　punishment。　Hakeswill　twitched　and　moved　on。　He　was　feeling　pleased　with　himself。　The　Riflemen　had　annoyed　him　because　they　seemed　to　him　to　form　an　elite　group；　a　close…knit　group；　and　he　had　wanted　to　smash　them。　He　had　suggested　to　Rymer　as　they　straggled　back　from　the　dam　that　the　rifles　were　a　hindrance；　he　had　hinted　that　Rymer　could　begin　to　establish　his　ascendancy　over　Sharpe's　old　pany　by　disbanding　the　Riflemen；　and　it　had　worked。　'You！　About　turn！　You　poxed　Irish　pig！　Turn！'　His　spittle　sprayed　Harper。
　
　Harper　paused　for　a　fraction　of　a　second；　and　saw　an　officer　watching。　He　had　no　wish　to　end　his　days　in　front　of　a　firing　squad。　He　turned　round。
　
　Hakeswill　drew　his　bayonet。　'How's　your　back；　Private？'
　
　'Fine；　Sergeant。'
　
　'Fine；　fine。'　Hakeswill　mimicked　the　Donegal　accent。　'That's　good；　Private。'　He　put　the　flat　of　the　bayonet　high　on　Harper's　back　and　drew　the　blade　downwards；　over　the　unhealed　cuts；　over　the　scabs；　and　blood　welled　out　to　stain　the　shirt。　'You've　got　a　dirty　shirt；　Private；　a　dirty；　Irish　shirt。　'
　
　'Yes；　Sergeant。'　Harper　kept　the　pain　out　of　his　voice。　He　had　promised　he　would　kill　this　man；　and　he　would。
　
　'Wash　it！'　Hakeswill　sheathed　his　bayonet。　'About　turn！'
　
　The　twelve　Riflemen　watched　the　Sergeant。　He　was　mad；　there　was　no　doubt　about　that。　In　the　past　few　days　he　had　taken　to　a　new　habit；　of　sitting　by　himself；　taking　off〃　his　hat；　and　talking　into　it。　He　talked　to　his　shako　as　if　it　was　a　friend。　He　told　it　his　plans　and　his　hopes；　how　he　would　find　Teresa；　and　his　eyes　would　flick　up　to　the　pany　to　catch　them　looking　at　him　as　they　listened。　Then　he　would　cackle。　'I'm　going　to　have　her。'　His　eyes　would　go　back　to　the　shako's　greasy　interior。　'I'm　going　to　have　the　pretty　lady；　oh　yes；　Obadiah's　going　to　have　her！'
　
　Hakeswill　stalked　in　front　of　the　twelve。　'You're　going　to　wear　red　coats；　now；　not　bloody　green。　You're　going　to　carry　muskets；　not　those　toys！'　He　gestured　at　the　twelve　rifles　that　were　stacked　by　the　unlocked　arms　chest。　He　laughed。　'You're　going　to　be　real　soldiers；　like　Sergeant　Hakeswill；　your　friend；　me。'　He　cackled。　'You　hate　me；　don't　you？'　The　face　twitched　involuntarily。　'I　like　that。　Because　I　hate　you！'　He　took　his　hat　off；　looked　inside；　and　his　voice　became　whining；　obsequious。　'I　hate　them；　I　really　do。　'　He　looked　up；　his　voice　going　back　to　normal。　'You　think　I'm　mad？'　He　laughed。　'Not　so　I　don't　know。'　He　saw　their　eyes　flicker　to　the　left　and　turned。　The　bastard　Sharpe　was　approaching。　Limping。　Hakeswill　put　his　hat　on　and　saluted。　'Lieutenant；　sir。'
　
　Sharpe　returned　the　salute。　'Sergeant。　'　His　voice　was　civil　'Stand　the　men　at　ease。'
　
　'But；　sir；　Lieutenant；　sir。。。　'
　
　'At　ease；　Sergeant。'
　
　Hakeswill　twitched。　He　could　not　fight　Sharpe　through　the　formal　hierarchy；　only　in　the　dark　lanes　of　his　hatred。　'Sir！　He　turned　to　the　Riflemen。　'Detail！　Stand　at　ease！'
　
　Sharpe　looked　at　the　Riflemen；　his　Riflemen；　the　men　he　had　led　from　Corunna；　and　he　saw　the　misery　in　their　faces；　They　were　being　stripped　of　their　pride　along　with　their　green　jackets。　Now　they　must　take　one　more　shock。　He　hated　making　speeches；　he　felt　tongue…tied；　inadequate。　'I've　just　e　from　the　Colonel's　tent　and；　well；　I　shall　be　leaving　the　Battalion。　Today。'　He　saw　the　expressions　change　into　something　approaching　despair。　'I　wanted　to　be　the　one　to　tell　you。　Sergeant！'
　
　Hakeswill；　elated　at　the　news；　stepped　forward；　but　saw　that　Sharpe　was　talking　to　Harper。　Hakeswill　stopped。　He　could　sense　a　danger　in　the　air；　but　he　could　not　pin　it　down。
　
　'Sir？'　Harper's　voice　was　tense。
　
　'Pick　up　the　green　jackets。　Bring　them　here。'　Sharpe　was　talking　calmly；　almost　casually；　the　only　man　who　seemed　unaware　of　the　tension。
　
　'Lieutenant；　sir！'
　
　Sharpe　turned。　'Sergeant　Hakeswill？'
　
　'My　orders　are　to　take　the　jackets；　sir。'
　
　'Where；　Sergeant？'
　
　Hakeswill　cackled。　'To　the　gunners；　Lieutenant；　sir。　To　be　used　as　swabs。'
　
　'I'll　save　you　the　trouble；　Sergeant。'　Sharpe's　voice　was　almost　friendly。　He　turned　away　and　waited　till　Harper　brought　the　jackets。　'Put　them　there。'　He　pointed　at　the　ground　next　to　him。
　
　Harper　bent　down。　He　remembered　Hakeswill's　crazy　words