Sharpe's Fortress Part 59

"Connors can draw one up for you." Connors was the company clerk.

"I trust, of course, that the doc.u.ment proves redundant."

"Whatever that means, sir, I hopes the same."

The two men fell silent. The dark loom of the fortress was much closer now, and Morris was nervous. What was the point of this futile exercise anyway? He would be d.a.m.ned if he would be able to see any enemy infantrymen, not in this pitch black, unless the fools decided to carry a lantern. Some lights showed in Gawilghur. There was a glow above the Outer Fort that must have been cast by the fires and lights in the Inner Fort, while closer Morris could see a couple of flickering patches where fires or torches burned inside the nearer de fences But those scattered lights would not help him see an enemy force debouching from the gate.

"Far enough," he called. He was not really sure if he had gone close enough to the fort, but he had no fancy to go further, and so he stopped and hissed at Hakeswill to spread the men westwards across the isthmus.

"Five paces between each pair of men, Sergeant."

"Five paces it is, sir."

"If anyone sees or hears anything, they're to pa.s.s the message back here to me."

"They'll do so, sir."

"And no fool's to light a pipe, you hear me? Don't want the enemy spraying us with canister because some blockhead needs tobacco."

"Your orders is noted, sir. And where would you want me, sir?"

"Far end of the line, Sergeant." Morris was the sole officer with the company, for both his lieutenant and ensign had the fever and so had stayed in Mysore. But Hakeswill, he reckoned, was as good as any lieutenant.

"You can order men to fire if you're certain you see the enemy, but G.o.d help you if you're wrong."

"Very good, sir," Hakeswill said, then hissed at the men to spread out. They vanished into the blackness. For a moment there was the sound of boots, the thump of musket stocks. .h.i.tting rocks and the grunts as the redcoats settled, but then there was silence. Or near silence. The wind sighed at the cliff's edge while, from the fort, there drifted a plangent and discordant music that rose and fell with the wind's vagaries. Worse than bagpipes, Morris thought sourly.

The first axle squeals sounded as the oxen dragged the gab ions forward. The noise would be continuous now and, sooner or later, the enemy must react by opening fire. And what chance would he have of seeing anything then, Morris wondered. The gun flashes would blind him.

The first he would see of an enemy would be the glint of starlight on a blade. He spat. Waste of time.

"Morris!" a voice hissed from the dark.

"Captain Morris!"

"Here!" He turned towards the voice, which had come from behind him on the road back to the plateau.

"Here!"

"Colonel Kenny," the voice said, still in a sibilant whisper.

"Don't mind me prowling around."

"Of course not, sir." Morris did not like the idea of a senior officer coming to the picquet line, but he could hardly send the man away.

"Honoured to have you, sir," he said, then hissed a warning to his men.

"Senior officer present, don't be startled. Pa.s.s the word on."

Morris heard Kenny's footsteps fade to his right. There was the low murmur of a brief conversation, then silence again, except for the demonic squeal of the ox-cart axles. A moment later a lantern light showed from behind the rocks where Stokes was making one of his main batteries. Morris braced himself for the enemy reaction, but the fortress stayed silent.

The noise grew louder as the sappers heaved the gab ions from the carts and manhandled them up onto the rocks to form the thick bastion. A man swore, others grunted and the great baskets thumped on stone.

Another lantern was unmasked, and this time the man carrying it stepped up onto the rocks to see where the gab ions were being laid. A voice ordered him to get down.

The fort at last woke up. Morris could hear footsteps hurrying along the nearer fire step and he saw a brief glow as a linstock was plucked from a barrel and blown into red life.

"Jesus," he said under his breath, and a moment later the first gun fired. The flame stabbed bright as a lance from the walls, its glare momentarily lighting all the rocky isthmus and the green-sc.u.mmed surface of the tank, before it was blotted out by the rolling smoke. The round shot screamed overhead, struck a rock and ricocheted wildly up into the sky. A second gun fired, its flame lighting the first smoke cloud from within so that it seemed as if the wall of the fort was edged with a brief vaporous luminance. The ball struck a gabion, breaking it apart in a spray of earth. A man groaned. Dogs were barking in the British camp and inside the fortress.

Morris stared towards the dark gateway. He could see nothing, because the guns' flames had robbed him of his night vision. Or rather he could see wraithlike shapes which he knew were more likely to be his imagination than the approach of some savage enemy. The guns were firing steadily now, aiming at the small patch of lantern light, but then more lights, brighter ones, appeared to the west of the isthmus, '99 and some of the gunners switched their aim, not knowing that Stokes had unveiled the second lights as a feint.

Then the first rockets were fired, and they were even more dazzling than the guns. The fiery trails seemed to limp up from the fort's bastions, seething smoke and sparks, then they leaped up into the air, wobbling in their flight, to sear over Morris's head and slash north towards the camp. None went near their targets, but their sound and the flaming exhausts were nerve-racking. The first sh.e.l.ls were fired, and they added to the night's din as they cracked apart among the rocks to whistle shards of shattered casing over the struggling sappers. The firing was deliberate as the gun captains took care to lay their pieces before firing, but still there were six or seven shots every minute, while the rockets were more constant. Morris tried to use the brightness of the rocket trails to see the ground between his hiding place and the fort, but there was too much smoke, the shadows flickered wildly, and his imagination made movement where there was none. He held his fire, reckoning he would hear the gate open or the sound of enemy footsteps. He could hear the defenders shouting on the wall, either calling insults to the enemy hidden in the dark or else encouraging each other.

Hakeswill, at the very right-hand end of the line, cowered among the rocks. He had been sheltering with Kendrick and Lowry, but the enemy cannonade had driven him still further right to where there was a deep cleft. He knew he was safe there, but even so every screaming rocket made him flinch, while the sound of the sh.e.l.ls exploding and the round shots cracking against stone made him draw his knees up into his chest. He knew there was a senior officer visiting the picquet line because the message telling of the Colonel's presence had been pa.s.sed down the line. Kenny's visit struck Hakeswill as a daft thing for any man with gold braid on his coat to do, but when the Colonel hissed his name aloud he kept silent. At least he a.s.sumed it was the visiting officer, for the summons was insistent and authoritative, but Hakeswill ignored it. He did not want to draw attention to himself in case the heathen blackamoor gunners aimed their cannon at him. Let the officer hiss away, he decided, and a moment later the man went away.

"Who are you?" a low voice asked Private Kendrick just a few yards from Hakeswill's hiding place.

"Kendrick, sir."

"To me, Private. I need your help."

Kendrick slipped back towards the voice. b.a.s.t.a.r.d interfering officer, he thought, but he had to obey.

"Where are you, sir?" he asked.

"Here, man! Hurry, now, hurry!"

Kendrick slipped on a slanting stone and sat down with a b.u.mp. A rocket slashed overhead, spewing fire and sparks, and in its brief light he saw a shadow above him, then felt a blade at his throat.

"One noise," the voice hissed, 'and you're dead."

Kendrick went very still. He did not make any noise at all, but he still died.

A lucky sh.e.l.l struck a pair of oxen, disembowelling the beasts that lowed pitifully as they collapsed onto the road.

"Get them out of the way!" a voice roared, and sepoys struggled with the ma.s.sive animals, cutting their harnesses and pulling the dying beasts into the rocks.

Other men ran the empty cart back to the encampment, making way for the next wagon to drag more gab ions forward.

"Kill them!" the officer ordered.

"Use your bayonets! No musket fire!" The sepoys finished off the oxen, stabbing again and again into their thick necks while the b.l.o.o.d.y hooves thrashed violently. Another sh.e.l.l landed nearby, slicing its fragments among the rocks. The road was slippery with spilled guts over which the next cart rolled impa.s.sively, its axle screeching like a demon.

"All well, soldier?" a voice asked Private Lowry.

"Yes, sir."

"I'm Colonel Kenny," the man said, dropping down beside Lowry.