Kết quả xổ số miền Nam hôm nay thứ Ba ngày 14/10

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datatime: 2022-11-30 05:58:09 Author:jYdGseJu

Harper kicked the fallen beam. 'Perhaps they can rig another telegraph, sir?'

Sharpe shrugged. '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. They deserved it. He doubted if the gun would fire again, not today; the iron barrels had a limited life and the gun had achieved its purpose. 'Come on. Let's see Cox.'

Harper kicked the fallen beam. 'Perhaps they can rig another telegraph, sir?'

Christ, thought Sharpe, Christ and a thousand deaths. 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. 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.

Harper looked over the ramparts, at the drifting smoke. 'Just four shots. That's good shooting.' There was a reluctant respect in his voice.

Lossow's heels clicked in the side aisle; he came from behind a pillar, blinked in the sunlight. 'Where is he?' He disappeared again.

The Irishman grinned. 'Wouldn't worry, sir. It doesn't offend me and if it offends Him then He's plenty of opportunity to punish you.'

'It'll wait.'

'Sweet Jesus.' Harper stood up, 'Are you all right, sir?'

Sharpe shrugged. '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. They deserved it. He doubted if the gun would fire again, not today; the iron barrels had a limited life and the gun had achieved its purpose. 'Come on. Let's see Cox.'

'Ja. Not easy, my friend.'

Christ, thought Sharpe, Christ and a thousand deaths. 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. 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.

Harper looked over the ramparts, at the drifting smoke. 'Just four shots. That's good shooting.' There was a reluctant respect in his voice.

'Yes.' Sharpe's shoulder hurt like the devil. 'Where's the boy?'

Sharpe turned to him. 'We must persuade Cox to let us out.'

'It'll wait.'

'You want to go?'

'Yes, sir.'

Sharpe turned round, blood flecking his uniform, and his face grim. 'We'll get out. With or without him, we'll get out.'

The Sergeant pointed to the head. 'Rest of him's over the wall, sir. Poor wee thing.'

'Sweet Jesus.' Harper stood up, 'Are you all right, sir?'

Sharpe turned to him. 'We must persuade Cox to let us out.'

'You don't sound hopeful, my friend?'

'You want to go?'

Lossow's heels clicked in the side aisle; he came from behind a pillar, blinked in the sunlight. 'Where is he?' He disappeared again.

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