 Sharp's Fortress, by Bernard Cornwell, read by Paul McGahn. Richard Sharp wanted to be a good officer, but it was like trying to light a tinderbox in a rain-filled wind. The mendice liked him, ignored him, or were over-familiar, while the battalion's 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 of the King's Seventy-Fourth, for that don't make the beast quick.' He'd not been talking about Ensign Sharp, not directly, but all the other officers glanced at Sharp. The battalion was stopped now in the middle of nowhere. It was hot as hell, and they were surrounded by tall crops that hid everything except the sky. A cannon fired to the north, but Sharp had no way of knowing whether it was British or an enemy gun. The men of the company sat on the lip of a dry ditch as they waited for orders. One or two lay back and slept while Sergeant Colhoun leafed slowly through his tattered Bible. "'Looking for inspiration, Sergeant,' Sharp asked. "'I am not, sir,' Colhoun answered respectfully, but managing to convey that the question was still impertinent. So much of an uploadly conversation, Sharp thought. Another cannon fired, and this time a round shot whipped through the tall plants. "'I've found it,' Colhoun said gravely. "'Found what?' Sharp asked. "'I was sure the good book mentioned Millet, sir. "'Is he killed, the fourth chapter and the ninth verse? Take thou also unto the wheat and barley and Millet, and make the bread thereof.' "'It pleases me,' sir,' he explained, to see things and imagine my Lord and Saviour seeing the self-same things. "'But why Millet?' Sharp asked. "'These crops, sir, are Millet.' "'Millet, eh?' Sharp said. "'The plants were ten feet high. Must be abustered to harvest.' But he got no response. Sergeant Colhoun always tried to ignore swear words. "'It was a good company,' Sharp reflected. Urquhart ran it well. Colhoun was a magnificent sergeant, and the last thing it needed was a brand new ensign, who two months before had been a sergeant. "'I should have stayed,' a sergeant, Sharp thought, wishing he was back into selling a patam armoury with major stokes. That had been the life. And Simon Jubey, the French woman who had clung to Sharp after the battle at Assai, had gone back to selling a patam to wait for him. Sharp had given her some of the Tipou's jewels so she could live comfortably. Colhoun suddenly barked orders, and the men formed into four ranks and began trudging northwards along the irrigation ditch. Sharp meekly followed. Captain Urquhart spurred his horse back down the ditch. "'The rascals are waiting ahead,' Urquhart told Sharp. The captain was a fine-looking man with a stern face, straight back and steady nerve. "'We'll be wheeling to the right soon,' he called to Colhoun, forming line on the right in two ranks. "'Aye, sir!' There was a sudden crash of guns as a whole battery of enemy cannon opened fire. Sharp heard the round shots whipping through the millet. The battalion's pipers had started playing, and the men picked up their feet. Sharp coughed sweat from his eyes. He wore an officer's red tailcoat with the white facings of the seventy-fourth. The coat had belonged to a lieutenant Blaine who had died at Assai. Sharp had sewn up the bullet hole. He wore a cavalry sabre which he did not like. The other officers carried claymores, big, straight-bladed and lethal, and Sharp should have equipped himself with one, but he had balked at the prices. He could have bought every claymore in the auction of dead officers' effects, but he had not wanted to give the impression of being wealthy. A man like Sharp was not supposed to have money. He was up from the ranks, a common soldier. But he had hacked down a half-dozen men to save Wellesley's life, and the general had rewarded Sergeant Sharp by making him into an officer. And Ensign Sharp was too cunning to let his new battalion know he possessed a dead king's fortune. The jewels he had taken from the Tipu Sultan had searing a patam. Lying to the right, Sergeant Colhoun shouted, and the company wheeled right into two ranks. The ditch had emerged from the millet to join a wide, dry riverbed, and Sharp looked northwards to see gunsmook on the horizon. Marata guns. Halt! Erkut called. Face front! The seventy-eighth, another Highland battalion was on their right, and on either side were long lines of madrasi seapoys. Somewhere off to the left was another Scottish regiment, the ninety-fourth. So today there were three Scottish and ten seapoy battalions attacking the Maratas. Though the Scots reckoned they could have done the job by themselves. Sample complete. Ready to continue?