18th - Sharpe's Waterloo continued
THE FOURTH DAY
Sunday, 18 June 1815, afternoon
That Sharpe - for once - didn't get embroiled in the cavalry charge does not mean he's not fighting his very own battle.
"Sharpe and Harper had found a park of four-wheeled ammunition wagons at the edge of the forest, all under the guard of a plump officer of the quartermaster’s staff who refused to release any of the wagons without proper authority.
‘What is proper authority?’ Sharpe asked.
‘A warrant signed by a competent officer, naturally. If you will now excuse me? I’m not exactly underemployed today.’ The Captain offered Sharpe a simpering smile and turned away.
Sharpe drew his pistol and put a bullet into the ground between the Captain’s heels.
The Captain turned, white-faced and shaking.
‘I need one wagon of musket cartridge,’ Sharpe said in his most patient voice.
‘I need authorization, I’m accountable to-’
Sharpe pushed the pistol into his belt. ‘Patrick, just shoot the fat bugger.’
Harper unslung his seven-barrelled volley gun, cocked and aimed it, but the Captain was already running away. Sharpe spurred after him, caught the man’s collar, and dragged his face up to the saddle. ‘I’m a competent officer, and if I don’t get the ammunition I want in the next five seconds I shall competently ram a nine-pounder up your back passage and spread you clear across Brussels. Do you understand me?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘So which wagon do we take?’"
*happy sigh* I know a couple of bureaucrats to picture now... *savours picture*
The cartridges competently delivered, Sharpe and Harper return back up the ridge and catch up with the Prince of Orange's staff. Rebeque tell them what has gone on while they were being useful in Hougoumont.
"‘There.’ Rebecque pointed at the bodies which lay in the grass east of La Haye Sainte. They were scattered in a fan shape, like men killed as they spread out from a single point of attack. At the centre of the fan, where men had bunched together in desperate defence, the bodies were in heaps. Sharpe glowered while Harper, a few paces behind the Prince’s staff, crossed himself at the horrid sight.
‘They were Hanoverians. Good troops, all of them.’ Rebecque spoke bleakly, then sneezed. The drying weather was bringing back his hay fever.
‘What happened?’ Sharpe asked.
‘He advanced them in line, of course.’ Rebecque did not look at Sharpe as he spoke.
‘There were cavalry?’
‘Of course. [...]
‘God damn him.’"
By now the Prince has spotted them talking and spurres his horse over to share his hight spirits. Ebulliently he praises the British cavalry charge.
"‘They took two Eagles! Two Eagles!’ The Prince clapped his hands. ‘Two! They’ve brought one to show the Duke. Have you ever seen one close up, Rebecque? They’re not gold at all, just tricked out to look like gold. They’re just a shabby French trick, nothing else!’ The Prince noticed Sharpe’s presence for the first time and generously included the Englishman in his excitement. ‘You should go and take a look, Sharpe. It’s not every day you see an Eagle!’
‘Sergeant Harper and I once captured an Eagle,’ Sharpe’s voice was filled with an unmistakable loathing. ‘It was five years ago when you were still at school.’"
We all know where this is going...
In the following conversation both the Prince and Sharpe lose all tact they may have had available...
"‘Arrest him!’
Sharpe raised two fingers into the Prince’s face, added the appropriate words, and turned his horse away."
Sharpe and Harper make it back to the right of the British flank while the French start seriously cannonading the ridge again. "Harper turned to stare at the British infantry who lay patient and unmoving beneath the flail of the French guns." but both decide to not to just leave the battle, they are still soldiers, even if one is officially still a horse trader and the other out of a job at the moment.
While they are still talking about what to do, "All the damned cavalry in all the damned world seemed to be spilling down the far side of the gentle valley." Sharpe shouts a warning to the closest redcoats, but their officers have seen the menace as well and all along the British line the batallions are standing up and forming square. Sharpe, Harper and all the other staff officers who'd been on the crest ride for the safety inside their nearest squares.
The French cavalry does not manage to break the properly formed and firing squares.
"Sharpe, not even bothering to unsling his rifle, watched in disbelief. The French were slaughtering their own cavalry, hurling them again and again at the unbroken squares of infantry."
During a pause between the French charges, Sharpe and Harper canter out of the square they sheltered in to make it to their old battalion, Prince of Wales’s Own Volunteers. Sharpe very politely asks for permission to shelter with them and then rides up to behind his old light company.
"‘I know how the gentry feel now,’ Dan Hagman said to Sharpe.
‘How come, Dan?’
‘When all the game is driven towards them, and all the rich buggers have to do is aim and fire? It’s just like that, innit? Not that I mind. Silly buggers can line up all day to be shot so far as I care.’ Because so long as the French cavalry were around the squares, so long the dreaded French artillery could not fire at the redcoats."
They keep repulsing the French charges and behind them d‘Alembord suddenly orderd the rear face of the square to open ranks.
"Three horsemen had spurred across the field and now took shelter among the Prince of Wales’s Own Volunteers. Sharpe, turning in his saddle, sees the Duke of Wellington curtly greeting the battalions commander, but the approaching lancers bring his attention back to the front.
Until...
And they keep talking:
"He laughed again, then shot a look at Sharpe. ‘Is Orange keeping you busy?’
‘He’s dismissed me, sir.’
The Duke stared disapprovingly for a heartbeat, then gave another neighing laugh which made the nearest redcoats look round in astonishment at their Commander-in-Chief. ‘I always thought he was a fool to pick you. I told him you were an independent-minded rogue, but he wouldn’t listen. At his age they always think they know best.’ The Duke looked back to the French horsemen who still showed no inclination to close on the square. ‘If those rascals don’t intend to charge, I might make a run for it.’"
They don't, and he does. The French cavalry finally retreats, and that means the cannoning starts again. The British batallions lie back down behind the ridge.
By now it is six o’clock, more than three hours of daylight are left, and only the first vedettes of the Prussiand have been sighted. Sharpe leaves his mare in Harper’s care, and walkes forward to the ridge to have another look at what the French are up to.
"Then, in the valley’s smoke in front of him, he saw more live men; thousands of live men, skirmishers, Frenchmen, a swarm of Voltigeurs running forward in loose order and Sharpe knew that added to the ordeal of cannon-fire the battalions must now endure an onslaught of musketry. He turned and shouted a warning. ‘Skirmishers!’"
The British line and Prince of Wales Own are under attack again, and suffer terribly.
"Daniel Hagman was bleeding to death with a bullet in his lungs. His breath bubbled with blood as he tried to speak. Sharpe knelt beside him and held his hand. ‘I’m sorry, Dan.’ Sharpe had known Hagman the longest of all the men in the light company. The old poacher was a good soldier, shrewd, humorous and loyal. ‘I’ll get you to the surgeons, Dan.’
‘Bugger them surgeons, Mr Sharpe,’ Hagman said, then said nothing more. Sharpe shouted at two of the bandsmen to carry him back to the surgeons, but Hagman was dead."
Their new Colonel is in well over his head - Sharpe comes to the rescue.
"‘It’s nothing to do with me!’ a harsh voice suddenly spoke from beside Ford’s horse, ‘but I’d suggest a fifty-pace advance, give the bastards one good volley, then retire.’
Ford, his impulse to vomit checked by the voice, frantically pulled on the smudged eyeglasses and found himself staring into the sardonic face of Lieutenant-Colonel Sharpe. Ford tried to say something in reply, but no sound came.
‘With your permission, sir?’ Sharpe asked punctiliously.
Ford, too frightened to open his mouth, just nodded.
‘South Essex!’ Sharpe’s thunderous voice startled the nearest men. It did not matter that he had inadvertently used the battalion’s old name, they knew who they were and who, at last, was giving them direction in the middle of horror. ‘Front rank! Fix bayonets!’
‘Thank Christ for bloody Sharpie,’ Clayton said fervently, then half crouched to hold his musket between his knees as he pulled out his bayonet and slotted it onto his musket.
Sharpe thrust between the files of Number Five Company, placing himself in the very centre of the battalion’s front rank. “Talion will advance fifty paces! At the double! By the right! March!’ As the men started forward, Sharpe drew his long sword. ‘Come on, you buggers! Cheer! Let the bastards know you’re coming to kill them! Cheer!’"
Sharpe manages to direct a couple of sucessfull volleys that gain them some breathing space, and before they retire again catches a glimpse to the left.
"Sharpe lingered at the crest a few more seconds. It was not bravado, but rather curiosity because, five hundred paces to his left, he could just see two red-coated infantry battalions of the King’s German Legion advancing in column. They marched towards La Haye Sainte with their colours flying, presumably to drive away the French infantry who clustered about the farm."
By now Sharpe has recovered his tact.
"He would have liked to have watched longer, but the enemy was creeping back towards the crest, and so Sharpe turned and walked back to the battalion. ‘Thank you for the privilege, Colonel!’ he shouted to Ford."
In the meantime the Prince of Orange orders the two Kings German Legion battalions to advance in line.
"The Prince turned sarcastic eyes towards the smoke. ‘I see no cavalry.’"
Colonel Christian Ompteda, the brigade commander, has no choice but to obey, and reluctantly deploys his two battalions into line.
"A trumpet interrupted the Prince’s next words. The trumpet call sounded from the valley, from inside the smoke where the Prince had insisted no cavalry lurked, but out of which, like avenging furies, the troop of Cuirassiers now led the charge.
Rebecque groaned. In almost the exact same place as the Hanoverians had been slaughtered, the KGL now suffered. The cavalry, a mixture of Cuirassiers, Lancers and Dragoons who had survived the slaughter of the horsemen among the British squares, now struck the flank of Ompteda’s right-hand battalion. To Rebecque it seemed that the red-coated infantry simply disappeared beneath the swarm of mounted killers. To the French horsemen this was a blessed moment of revenge on the infantry who had made them bleed and suffer earlier in the day."
Of course their death has nothing whatsoever to do with the Prince's orders.
"‘The Germans should have formed square! It wasn’t my fault!’ He (the Prince) looked from man to man, demanding agreement, but only Simon Doggett was brave enough to meet the Prince’s petulant and bulging eyes.
‘You’re nothing but a silk stocking full of shit,’ Doggett said very clearly, and utterly astonished himself by so repeating Patrick Harper’s scornful verdict on the Prince.
[...]
Doggett knew he had just seconds to keep the initiative. He tugged at his horse’s reins. ‘You’re a bloody murderer!’ he said to the Prince, then slashed back his spurs and galloped away. In a few seconds the smoke hid him."
Doggett tries to make his way to his own battalion, but as he's making his way through the British lines sees Sharpe and Harper crouching close to the ridge's crest first. They had been staring at the battlefield that was unlike anything they had seen before, outstripping their experience.
"‘He did it again, sir. He damn well did it again,’ Doggett’s outraged indignation made him sound very young, ‘so I told him he was a silk stocking full of shit.’
Sharpe turned. For a second he blinked in surprise as though he did not recognize Doggett, then he seemed to snap out of the trance induced by the numbing gun-fire. ‘You did what?’
Doggett was embarrassed. ‘I told him he was a silk stocking full of shit.’
Harper laughed softly. A shell whimpered overhead to explode far in the rear. A roundshot followed to strike the ridge in front of Sharpe and spew up a shower of wet earth. Doggett’s horse jerked its face away from the spattering mud.
‘He killed them,’ Doggett said in pathetic explanation.
‘He killed who?’ Harper asked.
‘The KGL. There were two battalions, all that was left of a brigade, and he put them in line and sent them to where the cavalry were waiting.’
‘Again?’ Sharpe sounded incredulous.
‘They died, sir.’
[...]
‘I’ve ruined my career, haven’t I?’
Sharpe looked up at the young man. ‘At least we can mend that, Doggett. Just wait here.’"
And without another word Sharpe heads for the centre of the British line. Harper makes sure Doggett is as safe as possible with the Prince of Wales Own colour party, and follows Sharpe.
For one last mission they join the 95th under Major Dunnett, "whose face showed understandable resentment when he recognized Sharpe. ‘Are you taking over?’ he asked stiffly.
‘It would be a great honour to serve under your command once again, Dunnett.’ Sharpe could be very tactful when he wished. Dunnett, pleased with the compliment, smiled grimly."
They use the greenjackets as cover and
"‘Hurry, for Christ’s sake!’ Harper muttered.
Sharpe lay flat on the ground and thrust his rifle between Harper’s right thigh and left calf. Now Sharpe was effectively hidden from the staff officers close to the Prince who were all staring at the slaughtered gunners in the farm’s garden.
[...]
‘God save Ireland,’ Harper hissed, ‘but will you bloody hurry yourself?’
‘Don’t fire till I do,’ Sharpe said calmly.
‘We’ll bloody die together if you don’t hurry!’ Sharpe and Harper were almost the last Riflemen on the slope. The rest were sprinting back to safety, while the enraged Voltigeurs were hurrying after them. Harper changed his aim to point his rifle at a French officer who seemed particularly lively.
[...]
‘For the love of Ireland, will you bloody kill the bastard?’
‘Ready?’ Sharpe said. ‘Fire!’
Both men fired together. Sharpe’s rifle hammered his shoulder as smoke gouted to hide the Prince.
‘Let’s get out of here!’"
"Sharpe began laughing. Harper joined him. Together they reeled over the crest, still laughing. ‘Right in the bloody belly!’ Sharpe said with undisguised glee.
‘With your bloody marksmanship, you probably killed the Duke.’
‘It was a good shot, Patrick.’ Sharpe spoke as fervently as any young Rifleman first mastering the complex weapon. ‘I felt it go home!’"
Sadly Sharpe is not as practiced a sharpeshooter as he once was, the Prince is hit in the shoulder. But that still means he's off the field of battle and can't wreak more havoc.
Now Napoleon lauches his best weapon, the Imperial Guard, at the depleted British line.
Having made their way back to the Prince of Wales Own, Sharpe, not wanting to interfere with the chain of command, stations himself and Harper away from the battalion’s left flank. They are joined by Lieutenant Doggett.
"Lieutenant Doggett saw the two Riflemen return and rode his horse to join them. Sharpe looked up at him and shrugged. ‘I’m sorry, Lieutenant.’
‘You’re sorry, sir?’
‘The Prince wouldn’t listen to reason.’
‘Oh.’ Doggett, seeing the ruin of his career, could say nothing more.
‘I hit the bugger in the shoulder, you see,’ Sharpe explained, instead of in the belly. It was just plain bad marksmanship. I’m sorry.’
Doggett stared at Sharpe. ‘You ...’ He could not finish.
‘But I wouldn’t worry,’ Sharpe said, ‘the bugger’s got enough to worry about without pissing all over your commission. And if you fight with us now, Lieutenant, I’ll make sure your Colonel gets a glowing report. And I don’t want to sound cocksure, but maybe my recommendation is worth more than the Prince’s?’
Doggett smiled. ‘Yes, sir.’"
"‘What happens now?’ Doggett could not help asking.
‘Those bastards in front are called the Imperial Guard,’ Sharpe said, ‘and their column will attack our line, and our line ought to beat the hell out of their column, but after that?’ Sharpe could not answer his own question, for this battle had already gone far outside his own experience."
The French Imperial Guard meets the British line.
On the ridge a battalion is wavering but the Duke himself takes over, steadies them and engages the French.
"‘Make ready!’ It had been many years since the Duke had handled a single battalion in battle, but he had lost none of his skills and had judged the moment to perfection. The British muskets were suddenly raised, making it seem to the approaching Frenchmen as if all the waiting redcoats had made a quarter turn to the right. The Duke looked grim, waited a second, then shouted. ‘Fire!’"
But the Duke sees that his battalion's neighbours, The Prince of Wales Own, are about to turn tail. Colonel Ford has lost it, d’Alembord is unconsicous, canister is crashing into the battalion’s four ranks and the Imperial Guard are on them.
"‘South Essex! Halt!’ The voice filled the space between the blood-reeking mud and the smoke. ‘Sergeant Harper!’
‘Sir!’ Harper’s voice answered from the rear of the battalion.
‘You will kill the next man who takes a step backwards, and that includes officers!’
‘Very good, sir!’ Harper’s voice held a convincing edge of anger as an implicit promise that he would indeed murder any man who took another backwards pace."
"Sharpe held the sword high, then dropped its point towards the enemy. ’ ‘Talion will advance! Sergeant Harper! If you please!’
‘ ’Talion!’ the Irishman’s voice was huge and confident, the voice of a man unworriedly doing his job, ‘Talion! Forward! March!
They marched. It was only seconds since they had been retreating and their ranks had been shaking loose into chaos, but now, given leadership, they went towards the conquering Guard."
Lieutenant-Colonel Sharpe turns the frightened men into a fighting unit again and with expertly applied volley fire, followed by an enraged bajonett charge, manages to turn the tide. The Emperor's Guard runs.
"‘Don’t give them a chance to stand!’ A commanding voice rose clear among the smoke and chaos. The Duke, cantering his horse behind the victorious battalions, was staring intently at the fleeing French. ‘Don’t let them stand! Go forward now! See them off our land!’ Typically there was an edge of impatience in the Duke’s voice as though his men, having performed the miracle of defeating the Imperial Guard, had disappointed him by not yet converting that defeat into rout. Yet, equally typically, the Duke’s eye had missed nothing and he was not graceless at this moment of salvation. ‘Mr Sharpe! I am beholden to you! That is your battalion now! So take it forward!’
“Talion!’ Sharpe had no time to savour his reward. Instead he had to straighten his line to face the valley where the French were still massed, and from where their next attack would surely come. ‘Light company stand firm! Right flank forward! March!’"
... and the Prussians showed up as well, and... we know what happened...
all "quotes" from Sharpe's Waterloo by Bernard Cornwell, pics from Sharpe's Waterloo of the tv series
And greatest thanks to Bernard Cornwell, he did the hard research and fictionalising, I'm just summing up what Sharpe's doing (according to the book).
Sunday, 18 June 1815, afternoon
That Sharpe - for once - didn't get embroiled in the cavalry charge does not mean he's not fighting his very own battle.
"Sharpe and Harper had found a park of four-wheeled ammunition wagons at the edge of the forest, all under the guard of a plump officer of the quartermaster’s staff who refused to release any of the wagons without proper authority.
‘What is proper authority?’ Sharpe asked.
‘A warrant signed by a competent officer, naturally. If you will now excuse me? I’m not exactly underemployed today.’ The Captain offered Sharpe a simpering smile and turned away.
Sharpe drew his pistol and put a bullet into the ground between the Captain’s heels.
The Captain turned, white-faced and shaking.
‘I need one wagon of musket cartridge,’ Sharpe said in his most patient voice.
‘I need authorization, I’m accountable to-’
Sharpe pushed the pistol into his belt. ‘Patrick, just shoot the fat bugger.’
Harper unslung his seven-barrelled volley gun, cocked and aimed it, but the Captain was already running away. Sharpe spurred after him, caught the man’s collar, and dragged his face up to the saddle. ‘I’m a competent officer, and if I don’t get the ammunition I want in the next five seconds I shall competently ram a nine-pounder up your back passage and spread you clear across Brussels. Do you understand me?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘So which wagon do we take?’"
*happy sigh* I know a couple of bureaucrats to picture now... *savours picture*
The cartridges competently delivered, Sharpe and Harper return back up the ridge and catch up with the Prince of Orange's staff. Rebeque tell them what has gone on while they were being useful in Hougoumont.
"‘There.’ Rebecque pointed at the bodies which lay in the grass east of La Haye Sainte. They were scattered in a fan shape, like men killed as they spread out from a single point of attack. At the centre of the fan, where men had bunched together in desperate defence, the bodies were in heaps. Sharpe glowered while Harper, a few paces behind the Prince’s staff, crossed himself at the horrid sight.
‘They were Hanoverians. Good troops, all of them.’ Rebecque spoke bleakly, then sneezed. The drying weather was bringing back his hay fever.
‘What happened?’ Sharpe asked.
‘He advanced them in line, of course.’ Rebecque did not look at Sharpe as he spoke.
‘There were cavalry?’
‘Of course. [...]
‘God damn him.’"
By now the Prince has spotted them talking and spurres his horse over to share his hight spirits. Ebulliently he praises the British cavalry charge.
"‘They took two Eagles! Two Eagles!’ The Prince clapped his hands. ‘Two! They’ve brought one to show the Duke. Have you ever seen one close up, Rebecque? They’re not gold at all, just tricked out to look like gold. They’re just a shabby French trick, nothing else!’ The Prince noticed Sharpe’s presence for the first time and generously included the Englishman in his excitement. ‘You should go and take a look, Sharpe. It’s not every day you see an Eagle!’
‘Sergeant Harper and I once captured an Eagle,’ Sharpe’s voice was filled with an unmistakable loathing. ‘It was five years ago when you were still at school.’"
We all know where this is going...
In the following conversation both the Prince and Sharpe lose all tact they may have had available...
"‘Arrest him!’
Sharpe raised two fingers into the Prince’s face, added the appropriate words, and turned his horse away."
Sharpe and Harper make it back to the right of the British flank while the French start seriously cannonading the ridge again. "Harper turned to stare at the British infantry who lay patient and unmoving beneath the flail of the French guns." but both decide to not to just leave the battle, they are still soldiers, even if one is officially still a horse trader and the other out of a job at the moment.
While they are still talking about what to do, "All the damned cavalry in all the damned world seemed to be spilling down the far side of the gentle valley." Sharpe shouts a warning to the closest redcoats, but their officers have seen the menace as well and all along the British line the batallions are standing up and forming square. Sharpe, Harper and all the other staff officers who'd been on the crest ride for the safety inside their nearest squares.
The French cavalry does not manage to break the properly formed and firing squares.
"Sharpe, not even bothering to unsling his rifle, watched in disbelief. The French were slaughtering their own cavalry, hurling them again and again at the unbroken squares of infantry."
During a pause between the French charges, Sharpe and Harper canter out of the square they sheltered in to make it to their old battalion, Prince of Wales’s Own Volunteers. Sharpe very politely asks for permission to shelter with them and then rides up to behind his old light company.
"‘I know how the gentry feel now,’ Dan Hagman said to Sharpe.
‘How come, Dan?’
‘When all the game is driven towards them, and all the rich buggers have to do is aim and fire? It’s just like that, innit? Not that I mind. Silly buggers can line up all day to be shot so far as I care.’ Because so long as the French cavalry were around the squares, so long the dreaded French artillery could not fire at the redcoats."
They keep repulsing the French charges and behind them d‘Alembord suddenly orderd the rear face of the square to open ranks.
"Three horsemen had spurred across the field and now took shelter among the Prince of Wales’s Own Volunteers. Sharpe, turning in his saddle, sees the Duke of Wellington curtly greeting the battalions commander, but the approaching lancers bring his attention back to the front.
Until...
And they keep talking:
"He laughed again, then shot a look at Sharpe. ‘Is Orange keeping you busy?’
‘He’s dismissed me, sir.’
The Duke stared disapprovingly for a heartbeat, then gave another neighing laugh which made the nearest redcoats look round in astonishment at their Commander-in-Chief. ‘I always thought he was a fool to pick you. I told him you were an independent-minded rogue, but he wouldn’t listen. At his age they always think they know best.’ The Duke looked back to the French horsemen who still showed no inclination to close on the square. ‘If those rascals don’t intend to charge, I might make a run for it.’"
They don't, and he does. The French cavalry finally retreats, and that means the cannoning starts again. The British batallions lie back down behind the ridge.
By now it is six o’clock, more than three hours of daylight are left, and only the first vedettes of the Prussiand have been sighted. Sharpe leaves his mare in Harper’s care, and walkes forward to the ridge to have another look at what the French are up to.
"Then, in the valley’s smoke in front of him, he saw more live men; thousands of live men, skirmishers, Frenchmen, a swarm of Voltigeurs running forward in loose order and Sharpe knew that added to the ordeal of cannon-fire the battalions must now endure an onslaught of musketry. He turned and shouted a warning. ‘Skirmishers!’"
The British line and Prince of Wales Own are under attack again, and suffer terribly.
"Daniel Hagman was bleeding to death with a bullet in his lungs. His breath bubbled with blood as he tried to speak. Sharpe knelt beside him and held his hand. ‘I’m sorry, Dan.’ Sharpe had known Hagman the longest of all the men in the light company. The old poacher was a good soldier, shrewd, humorous and loyal. ‘I’ll get you to the surgeons, Dan.’
‘Bugger them surgeons, Mr Sharpe,’ Hagman said, then said nothing more. Sharpe shouted at two of the bandsmen to carry him back to the surgeons, but Hagman was dead."
Their new Colonel is in well over his head - Sharpe comes to the rescue.
"‘It’s nothing to do with me!’ a harsh voice suddenly spoke from beside Ford’s horse, ‘but I’d suggest a fifty-pace advance, give the bastards one good volley, then retire.’
Ford, his impulse to vomit checked by the voice, frantically pulled on the smudged eyeglasses and found himself staring into the sardonic face of Lieutenant-Colonel Sharpe. Ford tried to say something in reply, but no sound came.
‘With your permission, sir?’ Sharpe asked punctiliously.
Ford, too frightened to open his mouth, just nodded.
‘South Essex!’ Sharpe’s thunderous voice startled the nearest men. It did not matter that he had inadvertently used the battalion’s old name, they knew who they were and who, at last, was giving them direction in the middle of horror. ‘Front rank! Fix bayonets!’
‘Thank Christ for bloody Sharpie,’ Clayton said fervently, then half crouched to hold his musket between his knees as he pulled out his bayonet and slotted it onto his musket.
Sharpe thrust between the files of Number Five Company, placing himself in the very centre of the battalion’s front rank. “Talion will advance fifty paces! At the double! By the right! March!’ As the men started forward, Sharpe drew his long sword. ‘Come on, you buggers! Cheer! Let the bastards know you’re coming to kill them! Cheer!’"
Sharpe manages to direct a couple of sucessfull volleys that gain them some breathing space, and before they retire again catches a glimpse to the left.
"Sharpe lingered at the crest a few more seconds. It was not bravado, but rather curiosity because, five hundred paces to his left, he could just see two red-coated infantry battalions of the King’s German Legion advancing in column. They marched towards La Haye Sainte with their colours flying, presumably to drive away the French infantry who clustered about the farm."
By now Sharpe has recovered his tact.
"He would have liked to have watched longer, but the enemy was creeping back towards the crest, and so Sharpe turned and walked back to the battalion. ‘Thank you for the privilege, Colonel!’ he shouted to Ford."
In the meantime the Prince of Orange orders the two Kings German Legion battalions to advance in line.
"The Prince turned sarcastic eyes towards the smoke. ‘I see no cavalry.’"
Colonel Christian Ompteda, the brigade commander, has no choice but to obey, and reluctantly deploys his two battalions into line.
"A trumpet interrupted the Prince’s next words. The trumpet call sounded from the valley, from inside the smoke where the Prince had insisted no cavalry lurked, but out of which, like avenging furies, the troop of Cuirassiers now led the charge.
Rebecque groaned. In almost the exact same place as the Hanoverians had been slaughtered, the KGL now suffered. The cavalry, a mixture of Cuirassiers, Lancers and Dragoons who had survived the slaughter of the horsemen among the British squares, now struck the flank of Ompteda’s right-hand battalion. To Rebecque it seemed that the red-coated infantry simply disappeared beneath the swarm of mounted killers. To the French horsemen this was a blessed moment of revenge on the infantry who had made them bleed and suffer earlier in the day."
Of course their death has nothing whatsoever to do with the Prince's orders.
"‘The Germans should have formed square! It wasn’t my fault!’ He (the Prince) looked from man to man, demanding agreement, but only Simon Doggett was brave enough to meet the Prince’s petulant and bulging eyes.
‘You’re nothing but a silk stocking full of shit,’ Doggett said very clearly, and utterly astonished himself by so repeating Patrick Harper’s scornful verdict on the Prince.
[...]
Doggett knew he had just seconds to keep the initiative. He tugged at his horse’s reins. ‘You’re a bloody murderer!’ he said to the Prince, then slashed back his spurs and galloped away. In a few seconds the smoke hid him."
Doggett tries to make his way to his own battalion, but as he's making his way through the British lines sees Sharpe and Harper crouching close to the ridge's crest first. They had been staring at the battlefield that was unlike anything they had seen before, outstripping their experience.
"‘He did it again, sir. He damn well did it again,’ Doggett’s outraged indignation made him sound very young, ‘so I told him he was a silk stocking full of shit.’
Sharpe turned. For a second he blinked in surprise as though he did not recognize Doggett, then he seemed to snap out of the trance induced by the numbing gun-fire. ‘You did what?’
Doggett was embarrassed. ‘I told him he was a silk stocking full of shit.’
Harper laughed softly. A shell whimpered overhead to explode far in the rear. A roundshot followed to strike the ridge in front of Sharpe and spew up a shower of wet earth. Doggett’s horse jerked its face away from the spattering mud.
‘He killed them,’ Doggett said in pathetic explanation.
‘He killed who?’ Harper asked.
‘The KGL. There were two battalions, all that was left of a brigade, and he put them in line and sent them to where the cavalry were waiting.’
‘Again?’ Sharpe sounded incredulous.
‘They died, sir.’
[...]
‘I’ve ruined my career, haven’t I?’
Sharpe looked up at the young man. ‘At least we can mend that, Doggett. Just wait here.’"
And without another word Sharpe heads for the centre of the British line. Harper makes sure Doggett is as safe as possible with the Prince of Wales Own colour party, and follows Sharpe.
For one last mission they join the 95th under Major Dunnett, "whose face showed understandable resentment when he recognized Sharpe. ‘Are you taking over?’ he asked stiffly.
‘It would be a great honour to serve under your command once again, Dunnett.’ Sharpe could be very tactful when he wished. Dunnett, pleased with the compliment, smiled grimly."
They use the greenjackets as cover and
"‘Hurry, for Christ’s sake!’ Harper muttered.
Sharpe lay flat on the ground and thrust his rifle between Harper’s right thigh and left calf. Now Sharpe was effectively hidden from the staff officers close to the Prince who were all staring at the slaughtered gunners in the farm’s garden.
[...]
‘God save Ireland,’ Harper hissed, ‘but will you bloody hurry yourself?’
‘Don’t fire till I do,’ Sharpe said calmly.
‘We’ll bloody die together if you don’t hurry!’ Sharpe and Harper were almost the last Riflemen on the slope. The rest were sprinting back to safety, while the enraged Voltigeurs were hurrying after them. Harper changed his aim to point his rifle at a French officer who seemed particularly lively.
[...]
‘For the love of Ireland, will you bloody kill the bastard?’
‘Ready?’ Sharpe said. ‘Fire!’
Both men fired together. Sharpe’s rifle hammered his shoulder as smoke gouted to hide the Prince.
‘Let’s get out of here!’"
"Sharpe began laughing. Harper joined him. Together they reeled over the crest, still laughing. ‘Right in the bloody belly!’ Sharpe said with undisguised glee.
‘With your bloody marksmanship, you probably killed the Duke.’
‘It was a good shot, Patrick.’ Sharpe spoke as fervently as any young Rifleman first mastering the complex weapon. ‘I felt it go home!’"
Sadly Sharpe is not as practiced a sharpeshooter as he once was, the Prince is hit in the shoulder. But that still means he's off the field of battle and can't wreak more havoc.
Now Napoleon lauches his best weapon, the Imperial Guard, at the depleted British line.
Having made their way back to the Prince of Wales Own, Sharpe, not wanting to interfere with the chain of command, stations himself and Harper away from the battalion’s left flank. They are joined by Lieutenant Doggett.
"Lieutenant Doggett saw the two Riflemen return and rode his horse to join them. Sharpe looked up at him and shrugged. ‘I’m sorry, Lieutenant.’
‘You’re sorry, sir?’
‘The Prince wouldn’t listen to reason.’
‘Oh.’ Doggett, seeing the ruin of his career, could say nothing more.
‘I hit the bugger in the shoulder, you see,’ Sharpe explained, instead of in the belly. It was just plain bad marksmanship. I’m sorry.’
Doggett stared at Sharpe. ‘You ...’ He could not finish.
‘But I wouldn’t worry,’ Sharpe said, ‘the bugger’s got enough to worry about without pissing all over your commission. And if you fight with us now, Lieutenant, I’ll make sure your Colonel gets a glowing report. And I don’t want to sound cocksure, but maybe my recommendation is worth more than the Prince’s?’
Doggett smiled. ‘Yes, sir.’"
"‘What happens now?’ Doggett could not help asking.
‘Those bastards in front are called the Imperial Guard,’ Sharpe said, ‘and their column will attack our line, and our line ought to beat the hell out of their column, but after that?’ Sharpe could not answer his own question, for this battle had already gone far outside his own experience."
The French Imperial Guard meets the British line.
On the ridge a battalion is wavering but the Duke himself takes over, steadies them and engages the French.
"‘Make ready!’ It had been many years since the Duke had handled a single battalion in battle, but he had lost none of his skills and had judged the moment to perfection. The British muskets were suddenly raised, making it seem to the approaching Frenchmen as if all the waiting redcoats had made a quarter turn to the right. The Duke looked grim, waited a second, then shouted. ‘Fire!’"
But the Duke sees that his battalion's neighbours, The Prince of Wales Own, are about to turn tail. Colonel Ford has lost it, d’Alembord is unconsicous, canister is crashing into the battalion’s four ranks and the Imperial Guard are on them.
"‘South Essex! Halt!’ The voice filled the space between the blood-reeking mud and the smoke. ‘Sergeant Harper!’
‘Sir!’ Harper’s voice answered from the rear of the battalion.
‘You will kill the next man who takes a step backwards, and that includes officers!’
‘Very good, sir!’ Harper’s voice held a convincing edge of anger as an implicit promise that he would indeed murder any man who took another backwards pace."
"Sharpe held the sword high, then dropped its point towards the enemy. ’ ‘Talion will advance! Sergeant Harper! If you please!’
‘ ’Talion!’ the Irishman’s voice was huge and confident, the voice of a man unworriedly doing his job, ‘Talion! Forward! March!
They marched. It was only seconds since they had been retreating and their ranks had been shaking loose into chaos, but now, given leadership, they went towards the conquering Guard."
Lieutenant-Colonel Sharpe turns the frightened men into a fighting unit again and with expertly applied volley fire, followed by an enraged bajonett charge, manages to turn the tide. The Emperor's Guard runs.
"‘Don’t give them a chance to stand!’ A commanding voice rose clear among the smoke and chaos. The Duke, cantering his horse behind the victorious battalions, was staring intently at the fleeing French. ‘Don’t let them stand! Go forward now! See them off our land!’ Typically there was an edge of impatience in the Duke’s voice as though his men, having performed the miracle of defeating the Imperial Guard, had disappointed him by not yet converting that defeat into rout. Yet, equally typically, the Duke’s eye had missed nothing and he was not graceless at this moment of salvation. ‘Mr Sharpe! I am beholden to you! That is your battalion now! So take it forward!’
“Talion!’ Sharpe had no time to savour his reward. Instead he had to straighten his line to face the valley where the French were still massed, and from where their next attack would surely come. ‘Light company stand firm! Right flank forward! March!’"
... and the Prussians showed up as well, and... we know what happened...
all "quotes" from Sharpe's Waterloo by Bernard Cornwell, pics from Sharpe's Waterloo of the tv series
And greatest thanks to Bernard Cornwell, he did the hard research and fictionalising, I'm just summing up what Sharpe's doing (according to the book).