'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. That's good shooting.' There was a reluctant respect in his voice. Harper looked over the ramparts, at the drifting smoke. Lossow swore in German, stood up, flinched as he put his weight on his left leg. 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. 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. 'Amen to that, sir.' Harper had infinitely more patience.Ĭhrist, thought Sharpe, Christ and a thousand deaths. Lossow stood up, wiped blood from his hands. Lossow's heels clicked in the side aisle he came from behind a pillar, blinked in the sunlight. 'Good God.' He knelt by Charles, felt for a pulse, and opened one of the Captain's eyelids. 'Just a bruise.' Lossow saw the midshipman's head.
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