 SHARP'S FORTRESS by Bernard Cornwall Read by Rupert Farley CHAPTER I Richard Sharp wanted to be a good officer. He truly did. He wanted it above all other things, but somehow it was just too difficult, like trying to light a tinder-box in a rain-filled wind. Either the men disliked him, or they ignored him, or they were over-familiar, and he was unsure how to cope with any of the three attitudes, while the battalion's other officers plain disapproved of him. You can put a racing saddle on a cart-horse, Captain Urquhart had said, one night, in the ragged tent which passed for the officer's mess, but that don't make the beast quick. He'd not been talking about Sharp, not directly, but all the other officers glanced at him. The battalion had stopped in the middle of nowhere. It was hot as hell, and no wind alleviated the sudden heat. They were surrounded by tall crops that hid everything except the sky. A cannon fired somewhere to the north, but Sharp had no way of knowing whether it was a British gun or an enemy cannon. A dry ditch ran through the tall crops, and the men of the company sat on the ditch-lip as they waited for orders. One or two lay back and slept with their mouths wide open, while Sergeant Colhoon lived through his tattered Bible. The sergeant was short-sighted, so had to hold the book very close to his nose, from which drops of sweat fell onto the pages. Usually the sergeant read quietly, mouthing the words, and sometimes frowning when he came across a difficult name, but today he was just slowly turning the pages with a wetted finger. "'Looking for inspiration, Sergeant,' Sharp asked. "'I am not, sir,' Colhoon answered respectfully, but somehow managed to convey that the question was still impertinent. He dabbed a finger on his tongue and carefully turned another page. "'So much for that bloody conversation,' Sharp thought. Somewhere ahead, beyond the tall plants that grew higher than a man, another cannon fired. The discharge was muffled by the thick stems. A horse nade, but Sharp could not see the beast. He could see nothing through the high crops. "'Are you going to read us a story, Sergeant?' Corporal McCullum asked. He spoke in English instead of Gaelic, which meant that he wanted Sharp to hear. "'I am not, John. I am not.' "'Go on, Sergeant,' McCullum said. "'Read us one of those dotty teals about tets.' The men laughed, glancing at Sharp to see if he was offended. One of the sleeping men jerked away and looked about him, startled, then muttered a curse, slapped at a fly and lay back. The other soldiers of the company dangled their boots towards the ditches-crazed mudbed that was decorated with a filigree of dried green scum. A dead lizard lay in one of the dry fissures. Sharp wondered how the carrion-birds had missed it. "'The laughter of fools,' John McCullum, Sergeant Culhoun said, is like the crackling of thorns under the pot. "'Away with you, Sergeant,' McCullum said. "'I heard there in the cork once, when I was a wee kid, all about a woman whose tits were like bunches of grapes.' McCullum twisted to look at Sharp. "'Have you ever seen tits like grapes, Mr. Sharp?' "'I never met your mother, Corporal,' Sharp said. The men laughed again. McCullum scowled. Sergeant Culhoun lowered his Bible and peered at the corporal. "'The song of Solomon, John McCullum,' Culhoun said, "'likeens a woman's bosom to clusters of grapes. "'And I have no doubt to refers to the garments "'that modest women wore in the Holy Land. "'Perhaps their bodices possessed balls of knotted wool "'as decoration. "'I cannot see it as a matter for your merriment.' "'Another cannon fired, and this time a round shot "'whipped through the tall plants close to the ditch. "'The stems twitched violently, discharging a cloud of dust.' "'Sample complete. Ready to continue?'