Chapter 2
It was an hour before Sharpe saw the French troops approaching north in their tight columns with Napoleon's golden eagles rising and falling with each step. Sharpe watched as a man on horseback rode between his men shouting, "Death to England, and death to Wellington."
Sharpe spat a bullet down the barrel of his rifle and waited impatiently listening to his men's hard breathing and the scarping of a ramrod on metal. Gore's men did the same and all had an air of clumsiness about them.
It was probably their first pooper battle thought Sharpe as he showed a man how to bring back a hammer on his musket.
"We'll give Boney a whippin' t' day Sharpe you'll see," said Gore moving sword through the sour air. Sharpe paced back to his own men crouching just high enough to bring their rifles to rest on the fire step.
He grinned at them they were all good soldiers, drunks, conmen, fools, and rapists but they were still good soldiers. Harper loaded his volley gun and wiped the beads of sweat from his hard face.
"You'd think the Frogs could play a different tune every now and then?" He turned the last words in a question.
Sharpe snorted and took a place a on the rampart slowly drawing back his flint. This would be effortless he told him self as he glanced at the French they would be with rage in about thirty seconds.
Private Hagmen was the first to fire, his ball found its mark and sent the officer holding the eagle backward spraying soldiers near by him with blood. Sharpe fired next sending a Sergeant backward to be trampled by his nervous comrades.
Soon the French in musket range and Sharpe said as he bit a new cartage "Remember boys fire three rounds a minute." Gore gave the command and the Highlanders let loose a missive volley that calmed about half of the first column. The men in the second turned and ran.