Knigi Pro Strelka Sharpa - Skachat

Harper didn’t need a second order. The roar of his volley gun was like a small cannon. The French officer vanished in a cloud of dust.

But the column kept coming. Sharpe unsheathed his heavy cavalry sword—a weapon too big for a gentleman, but perfect for a man who had fought his way up from the gutters of London. "Fix swords!" he cried. skachat knigi pro strelka sharpa

"Rifles! Front rank, down! Second rank, fire!" Sharpe bellowed. Harper didn’t need a second order

With a roar that drowned out the drums of the French, the green-jackets charged. It wasn't pretty, and it wasn't honorable—it was a "gutter fight," the kind Richard Sharpe knew best. Where to Find More Sharpe Stories But the column kept coming

The Spanish dawn was thick enough to chew. Lieutenant Richard Sharpe adjusted the heavy leather strap of his Baker rifle, the cold morning dew soaking through his green jacket. Beside him, Sergeant Patrick Harper spit a stream of tobacco into the mud, his seven-barrelled gun resting casually on his shoulder. "Quiet morning, sir," Harper rumbled.

"Too quiet, Pat," Sharpe replied, his blue eyes scanning the gray mist.