The explosion destroyed the mountain in front of them, and Harper could only watch, eyes growing wide in terror as a chunk of rock came down to hit Sharpe in the head, knocking the man unconscious.
Some French cannon had gotten lucky. Landing a hit just in front of their path. Well, maybe Harper could say they were lucky too.
But more importantly…
"Move! Get over that hill!" Harper yelled at the guys as they all continued up and over the crest of the mountain. Along the way, he and Hagman both grabbed hold of Sharpe, each man wrapping a shoulder over one of their own and dragged the still unconscious man with them.
Once over the hill, they joined the others who had taken cover in a batch of trees, and leant Sharpe against the trunk of a large one.
Harper gently shook Sharpe's shoulder, trying to wake the man up. He had seen a large bump growing on the side of the man's head, right where the chunk of rock had hit him. There was also blood coming out of the wound, a lot of blood.
"Is the Captain alright?" Perkins asked as he came over to look at them.
"What's it look like?" Tongue asked.
Harper ignored them and nudged Sharpe's shoulder yet again. Trying to wake the man up. But he got no response, not even a change in breathing pattern.
But the man was still breathing, at least. That was a good sign.
"Keep trying to wake him up," Harper told Hagman as he turned away to face the other men. As much as Harper wanted to put all of his attention on Sharpe right now, he knew he couldn't. With the Captain incapacitated, it would be down to Harper as the next highest ranking to lead the men. "Any sign of the frogs?" Harper asked the guys keeping a lookout.
"No Sergeant," the man said.
"Good," Harper sighed. That was a good thing for now. Hopefully it stayed that way.
Harper continued to listen to Hagman and Harris as they tried to rouse Sharpe as he joined the other to look out for the French. There had to be more around here. He knew it.
It seemed though that while their luck wasn't that great with wakening Sharpe, it was working in keeping the French away.
As the sun started to set, Harper came to the decision that they would have to stay here for the night. It wasn't like they could move with their Captain still out, and some of the other men had sustained other small injuries during that explosion. They would rest here for the night and start their journey back to the main camp in the morning.
But Harper looked back over at Sharpe, who still remained unconscious. He was worried, and not exactly sure what to do.
He had heard one of the medics saying a couple weeks ago that head injuries were extremely difficult to treat and could turn bad really quickly. And Harper knew, from the welt forming and quickly growing on the side of the man's head, that he had a head injury. A bad one at that.
This was by far not the first head injury the man had sustained, and Harper knew that if he were to survive this, which he would, it would not be his last.
But Harper couldn't help but think that one of these hits to the head would be the last for the man. And watching the man's unconscious form in front of him, it terrified Harper.
By the next morning, Harper knew they couldn't stay here any longer. They were due to reach camp by noon today, and even if they moved fast, they still probably wouldn't make that deadline. Although Harper supposed, Sharpe being out would be a good excuse.
That didn't change the fact that they still had to move out, within the next hour preferably.
And all through the past night Sharpe hadn't so much as twitched.
Harper was past worry now, but he couldn't show it to the guys. The only reason he thought Sharpe was still alive was because his chest kept rising and falling with each breath.
Harper doesn't want to move the injured man. The last thing he wants to do is to make his injuries worse. But he also can't just leave him.
Harper could only hope that one of the doctors at camp would know what to do. Not that he had any hope in the doctors, Harper had rarely seen a man leave them in better condition then when they met them. But Harper didn't know what else to do.
Now, how were they to move Sharpe back to camp?
"I can help carry him, Sergeant," Harper heard Perkins say as he appeared next to the larger man.
Harper looked the boy up and down. "Really Perkins?" he asked. "The Captain's almost twice the size of you."
"Well… I can carry his pack," Perkins said. "We are bringing him back, right Sarge?"
"Of course we're brining him nack with us?" Harper said, his voice rising. He sighed then. "If you want to be the one to carry his pack, you're welcome to," Harper told the boy as he thought over how the rest of them could transport the man back to camp.
As he was thinking it over, he suddenly heard a groaning noise. He looked over, it came from… Sharpe!
Harper rushed back over to Sharpe and squated down next to him. He watched as the man slowly blinked his eyes open. "Pat?" he heard the scratchy but familiar voice of his Captain ask.