tai no hu 79

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datatime: 2022-12-01 00:19:18 Author:iTBEJXZo

Sharpe felt ashamed. This was Harper's religion. 'I'm sorry.'

'Amen to that, sir.' Harper had infinitely more patience.

Lossow's heels clicked in the side aisle; he came from behind a pillar, blinked in the sunlight. 'Where is he?' He disappeared again.

Sharpe felt ashamed. This was Harper's religion. 'I'm sorry.'

'Yes.' Sharpe's shoulder hurt like the devil. 'Where's the boy?'

'Ja. Not easy, my friend.'

'You don't sound hopeful, my friend?'

'It'll wait.'

Christ, thought Sharpe, Christ and a thousand deaths. Damn the bloody French, damn the bloody gunner, and he might as well have stayed in the warm bed with his arms round the girl. Footsteps sounded in the doorway and he swivelled anxiously, but it was only a squad of bare-headed Portuguese soldiers, muskets slung, who dipped their fingers in the holy water and clattered up the aisle to the priest and his service.

'Ja. Not easy, my friend.'

Harper looked over the ramparts, at the drifting smoke. 'Just four shots. That's good shooting.' There was a reluctant respect in his voice.

'It'll wait.'

Christ, thought Sharpe, Christ and a thousand deaths. Damn the bloody French, damn the bloody gunner, and he might as well have stayed in the warm bed with his arms round the girl. Footsteps sounded in the doorway and he swivelled anxiously, but it was only a squad of bare-headed Portuguese soldiers, muskets slung, who dipped their fingers in the holy water and clattered up the aisle to the priest and his service.

Harper kicked the fallen beam. 'Perhaps they can rig another telegraph, sir?'

'Yes.' Sharpe's shoulder hurt like the devil. 'Where's the boy?'

Lossow's heels clicked in the side aisle; he came from behind a pillar, blinked in the sunlight. 'Where is he?' He disappeared again.

Harper kicked the fallen beam. 'Perhaps they can rig another telegraph, sir?'

Sharpe felt ashamed. This was Harper's religion. 'I'm sorry.'

Sharpe shrugged. 'And who works it? Maybe, I don't know.' He glanced at the battery, its embrasure plugged, and he knew that the French gunners would be celebrating. They deserved it. He doubted if the gun would fire again, not today; the iron barrels had a limited life and the gun had achieved its purpose. 'Come on. Let's see Cox.'

'What day is it?'

'Yes, sir.'

Sharpe turned to him. 'We must persuade Cox to let us out.'

'Yes, sir.'

'Sunday, sir.'

'You don't sound hopeful, my friend?'

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