Sharpe's Fortress Part 72

"Nice morning, eh?"

Morris looked left and right as though seeking someone who could help him confront this upstart from his past. Morris had never liked Sharpe, indeed he had conspired with Obadiah Hakeswill to have Sharpe flogged in the hope that the punishment would end in death, but Sharpe had survived and had been commissioned. Now the b.a.s.t.a.r.d was being familiar, and there was nothing Morris could do about it.

"Sharpe," he managed to say.

"Thought I'd join you, Charles," Sharpe said airily.

"I've been stranded up here, and Kenny reckoned I might be useful to you."

"Of course," Morris said, conscious of his men's gaze. Morris would have liked to tell Sharpe to b.u.g.g.e.r a long way off, but he could not commit such impolite ness to a fellow officer in front of his men.

"I never congratulated you," he forced himself to say.

"No time like the present," Sharpe said.

Morris blushed.

"Congratulations."

"Thank you, Charles," Sharpe said, then turned and looked at the company. Most grinned at him, but a few men avoided his gaze.

"No Sergeant Hakeswill?" Sharpe asked guilelessly.

"He was captured by the enemy," Morris said. The Captain was staring at Sharpe's coat which was not quite big enough and looked, somehow, familiar.

Sharpe saw Morris frowning at the jacket.

"You like the coat?" he asked.

"What?" Morris asked, confused by his suspicions and by Sharpe's easy manner. Morris himself was wearing an old coat that was disfigured by brown cloth patches.

"I bought the coat after a.s.saye," Sharpe said.

"You weren't there, were you?"

"No."

"Nor at Argaum?"

"No," Morris said, stiffening slightly. He resented the fact that Sharpe had survived those battles and was now suggesting, however delicately, that the experience gave him an advantage. The truth was that it did, but Morris could not admit that any more than he could admit his jealousy of Sharpe's reputation.

"So what are our orders today?" Sharpe asked.

Morris could not accustom himself to this confident Sharpe who treated him as an equal and he was tempted not to answer, but the question was reasonable and Sharpe was undoubtedly an officer, if merely an ensign.

"Once we're through the first wall," Morris answered unhappily, "Kenny's going to attack the left-hand upper breach and he wants us to seal off the right upper breach."

"Sounds like a decent morning's work," Sharpe said happily, then raised a hand to Garrard.

"How are you, Tom?"

"Pleased you're here, sir."

"Couldn't let you babies go into a breach without some help," Sharpe said, then held out his hand to Sergeant Green.

"Good to see you, Sergeant."

"Grand to see you too, sir," Green said, shaking Sharpe's hand.

"I heard you'd been commissioned and I hardly dared believe it!"

"You know what they say about sc.u.m, Sergeant," Sharpe said.

"Always floats to the top, eh?" Some of the men laughed, especially when Sharpe glanced at Morris who had, indeed, expressed that very opinion not long before. Others scowled, for there were plenty in the company who resented Sharpe's good fortune.

One of them, a dark-faced man called Growley, spat.

"You always were a lucky b.a.s.t.a.r.d, Sharpie."

Sharpe seemed to ignore the remark as he stepped through the seated company and greeted more of his old friends, but when he was behind Crowley he turned abruptly and pushed out the b.u.t.t of his slung musket so that the heavy stock thumped into the private's head. Crowley let out a yelp and turned to see Sharpe standing above him.

"The word, Crowley," Sharpe said menacingly, 'is "sir"."

Crowley met Sharpe's gaze, but could not hold it.

"Yes, sir," he said meekly.

"I'm sorry I was careless with the musket, Crowley," Sharpe said.

There was another burst of laughter, making Morris scowl, but he was quite uncertain of how to deal with Sharpe and so he said nothing.

Watson, a Welsh private who had joined the regiment rather than face an a.s.size court, jerked a thumb towards the fort.

"They say the breaches are too steep, Mister Sharpe."

"Nothing to what you Welsh boys climb every day in the mountains," Sharpe said. He had borrowed Major Stokes's telescope shortly after dawn and stared at the breaches, and he had not much liked what he had seen, but this was no time to tell the truth.

"We're going to give the b.u.g.g.e.rs a right b.l.o.o.d.y thrashing, lads," he said instead.

"I've fought these Mahrattas twice now and they don't stand. They look good, but press home on the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds and they turn and run like jack rabbits. Just keep going, boys, keep fighting, and the b.u.g.g.e.rs'll give up."

It was the speech Morris should have made to them, and Sharpe had not even known he was going to make any kind of speech when he opened his mouth, but somehow the words had come. And he was glad, for the men looked relieved at his confidence, then some of them looked nervous again as they watched a sepoy coming up the track with a British flag in his hands. Colonel Kenny and his aides walked behind the man, all with drawn swords. Captain Morris drank deep from his canteen, and the smell of rum wafted to Sharpe.

The guns fired on, crumbling the breaches' shoulders and filling the air with smoke and dust as they tried to make the rough way smooth.

Soldiers, sensing that the order to advance was about to be given, stood and hefted their weapons. Some touched rabbits' feet hidden in pockets, or whatever other small token gave them a finger hold on life.

One man vomited, another trembled. Sweat poured down their faces.