want to invade Canada. They probably will. I could be a General in that army, Sharpe. I’d have streets named after me. Hell! Even whole towns!’ He fell silent again and Sharpe knew that Leroy was thinking about his probable fate; an unmarked Spanish grave. Sharpe knew a score of men like Leroy; men whose families had stayed loyal after the American Revolution and who now fought, as exiles, for King George. Leroy laughed again, a bitter laugh. ‘I envy you, Sharpe.’
‘Envy me? Why?’
‘I’m just a drunk American with a French name fighting for a German lunatic and I don’t know why. You know where you’re going.’
‘Do I?’
‘Yes, Mr Sharpe, you do. To the top, wherever that is. And that’s why our happy band of Captains are so frightened of you. Which one of us has to die for your next step?’ He paused to light another cigar from the butt of the first. ‘And I can tell you, Sharpe, in my friendliest possible way, that they would much rather see you dead.’
Sharpe stared at the dark profile. ‘Is that a warning?’
‘Hell, no! I’m just spreading a little gloom in the night.’ There was a trampling of feet in the trench and the two officers had to squeeze in to the side to let stretcher bearers pass, carrying the wounded from the Picurina. The men moaned on the stretchers; one sobbed. Leroy watched them pass and then clapped Sharpe on the shoulder. ‘Our turn next, Sharpe, our turn next.’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
‘What do you think?’ Hogan sounded worried.
‘It’s too complicated.’ Sharpe shrugged. ‘Fifty men could do it. You don’t need a whole battalion.’
Hogan nodded, but whether the nod meant agreement was impossible to tell. He looked up at the thick clouds. ‘At least the weather’s on our side.’
‘If it doesn’t rain.’
‘It won’t rain.’ Hogan made the statement as if he controlled the weather. ‘But it will be dark.’ He looked over the parapet at the fort which protected the dam. ‘You’re right. It’s too complicated, but the Colonel insists. I wish you were going.’
‘So do I, but the Colonel insists.’ Windham had refused Sharpe’s request. The Rifleman was not to go with the Light Company, but, instead, he was to stay with Colonel Windham. Sharpe grinned at Hogan. ‘I’m his aide-de-camp.’
‘His aide-de-camp?’ Hogan laughed. ‘I suppose that’s a promotion of a sort. What are you supposed to do? Run messages for him?’
‘Something like that. He didn’t want me with the Light Company. He said my presence would embarrass Captain Rymer.’
Hogan shook his head. ‘I just hope your Captain Rymer’s up to it. I really do.’ He looked at his watch, snapped the lid shut. ‘Two hours to darkness.’
The plan sounded simple enough. One Company, the Light Company, was to escort twenty sappers to the dam. The rest of the Battalion was to create a diversion by making a false attack on the fort and, under the cover of the noise, the sappers were to stack their twenty kegs of powder at the dam’s base. It sounded simple, but Sharpe did not trust it. Night attacks, as the army had discovered only four nights before, could lead to confusion, and the whole of Windham’s plan depended on the Light Company reaching the foot of the dam by precisely eleven o’clock. If they were late, and the Colonel would have no way of knowing their progress, the false attack would merely wake up the garrison and put sentries on the alert. Sharpe had suggested to Windham that the false attack was unnecessary, that the Light Company should go alone, but the Colonel had shaken his head. He wanted to lead the Battalion into action, was looking forward to the night’s events, and seemed unworried by Sharpe’s doubts. ‘Of course they’ll make it on time!’
There seemed little reason why not. The Light Company and their sappers did not have far to go. In the darkness they would leave the first parallel and head north for the river. Once on the bank of the Guadiana they would turn to their left and follow a path that led to the Rivillas stream below the castle walls. Their faces would be blackened, their equipment muffled, and they would move silently down into the ravine of the Rivillas and turn left. The most difficult moments would be the approach, upstream, towards the dam. It would be a journey of a hundred and fifty yards, within earshot of Badajoz’s walls, till the men were between the San Pedro bastion and the dam’s fort. It was not a long journey, they had plenty of time to make it, but it would be slowed by the need for absolute silence. Hogan fidgeted with the lid of his watch. It was he who had convinced Wellington that the dam could be blown up, but his scheme was at the mercy of Windham’s implementation. He exchanged his watch for his snuffbox and forced a smile on his face. ‘At least everything else is going well!’
The second parallel was being dug. It was much closer to the walls of Badajoz and, from its cover, new batteries were being made that would bring the siege guns within four hundred yards of the city’s south-east corner where, on the Trinidad bastion, the chipped dent had become a hole exposing the rubble at the wall’s core. The French were sending out work parties at night to repair the damage, while the British kept firing in the hope of killing the workmen. All day and all night the guns fired.
At dusk, Sharpe watched the Light Company move out. Harper was with them, in the ranks, insisting that his back was mended well enough. Hakeswill paraded them. He was making himself indispensable to Captain Rymer, anticipating his wishes, flattering him, taking the burden of discipline from his shoulders. It was a classic performance; the reliable Sergeant, tireless and efficient, and it disguised Hakeswill’s victory over the Company. He had divided them, made them suspicious, and there was nothing Sharpe could do. Colonel Windham inspected the Company before they set off. He stopped in front of Harper and pointed to the massive seven-barrelled gun slung on the Irishman’s shoulder.
‘What’s that?’
‘Seven-barrelled gun, sir.’
‘Is it regulation issue?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Then take it off.’
Hakeswill stepped forward, his mouth twisted into a grin. ‘Give it to me, Private!’
The gun had been a present from Sharpe to Harper, but there was nothing Harper could do. He took the gun from his shoulder, slowly, and Hakeswill snatched it from him. The Sergeant put it on his own shoulder and looked at the Colonel. ‘Punishment, sir?’
Windham looked puzzled. ‘Punishment?’
‘For carrying a non-issue weapon, sir?’
Windham shook his head. He had punished Harper already. ‘No, Sergeant. No.’
‘Very good, sir!’ Hakeswill scratched at his scar and followed Windham and Rymer down the rank. After the inspection, when the Colonel told the Company to stand easy, Hakeswill took off his shako and stared into its greasy interior. There was a curious smile on his face, and Sharpe was puzzled. He found Lieutenant Price, pale beneath the burnt cork on his skin, and jerked his head towards the Sergeant. ‘What’s he doing?’
‘God knows, sir.’ Price still thought of Sharpe as a Captain. ‘He’s always doing it now.
