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flared and in the sudden light Sharpe could see the Engineer Lieutenant； Fitchett； crouching motionless by a stack of barrels。 The French must see him！
But the French were not sure what they were looking for。 Orders had e to look in the ravine； and so they peered over the edge and saw strange dark shadows； which was what a man expected to see at night； and they saw no movement so they relaxed。 Sharpe could see the two men clearly。 They seemed glad to be away from the front of the fort； were talking and laughing； and then they jerked upright； disappearing from sight； and there came the bark of an order and he supposed an officer had e to the rampart。
Fitchett moved。 He began scrambling towards Rymer and Sharpe； trying to move silently； but he was panicked by the burning carcass and he slipped； falling into the stream。 A shout from the rampart； an officer's head leaning over the stone； and Fitchett had the sense to freeze and Sharpe saw the officer turn and shout a mand。 Flames came again on the rampart； a third carcass； and Sharpe knew they would have to fight。 Rymer stared up at the fort； his mouth open。
Sharpe nudged him。 'Shoot the officer。'
'What？'
'Shoot the bastard！ You've got Riflemen； haven't you？'
Rymer still did not move so Sharpe took his own Baker rifle； lifted the frizzen to check with a finger that the powder was still in the pan； and then aimed it up； through the stark thorn branches； towards the rampart。 Rymer seemed to wake up。 'Don't fire！'
The third carcass was hurled over the rampart； far across so that it bounced on the far side of the ravine and wedged itself on a rock。 Fitchett saw it； apparently falling towards him； and yelped and sprang towards the hidden pany。 The French officer shouted。
'Don't fire！' Rymer hit Sharpe's shoulder； ruining his aim so he kept his finger off the trigger。 Fitchett fell into the thorn trees； rubbing his ribs where he had fallen。 He had remembered the fuse and was trailing it； but Sharpe wondered if any had fallen with the Lieutenant into the water。 Fitchett looked wildly round。 'The lantern！'
There was a dark lantern hidden in the trees。 Rymer and Fitchett both started looking； bumping into each other； and the first French musket hammered from the ramparts and the ball struck the trunk of one of the trees and Fitchett swore again。 'Jesus！ Hurry！'
The French officer leaned over the ravine； searching the shadows； and Sharpe saw the shot； pulled the trigger； and the man went up and backwards； his face smashed red by the bullet and Rymer stared at Sharpe。 'Why did you do that？'
Sharpe did not bother to answer。 Fitchett had found the lantern； undipped the door； and a beam of light slanted in the thorns。 'Quick！ Quick！' Fitchett was talking to himself。 He found the fuse； thrust the end into the flame； and waited till it was spluttering。 'Back！ Back！'
Rymer did not wait to see the fuse burning。 'Back！' He was shouting。 'Back！'
Sharpe grabbed Fitchett。 'How long？'
'Thirty seconds！ Let's go！' A second musket exploded on the ramparts； the ball thudding into the earth； and the group of men stampeded down the streambed； led by Rymer； all imagining the sudden leap of powder flame； the shock wave； and the crashing； killing water。
The French； suddenly bereft of their officer； shouted for help。 They could see nothing in the light of the carcasses； hear nothing in the lingering echo of their musket shots。 Sharpe waited； watching the flickering light of the fuse； listening to the sudden rush of feet on the ramparts。 The fuse was burning well； creeping towards the dam； and he turned and climbed the ravine wall； hard by the stonework of the fort； and a voice stopped him。 'It was a nice shot。 '
'Patrick？'
'Aye。' The Donegal voice was very low。 'I thought I'd see if you needed any help。' A huge hand clasped Sharpe's wrist and he was hauled unceremoniously to the brink of the ravine。 'That lot ran fast enough。'
'Be drowned otherwise。' Sharpe wedged himself against the base of a thorn bush。 He tried to guess the number of seconds since Fitchett had lit the fuse； twenty？ twenty…five？ At least he and Harper should be safe。 They were high on the bank； just across from the shallow ditch that left the ravine at a right angle to protect the small fort。 The French were shouting excitedly； Sharpe heard the rattle of ramrods in musket barrels and then a crisp voice cutting through the chaos。 He looked at Harper's vast bulk crouched in deep shadow。 'How's your back？〃
'Bloody hurts； sir。'
Sharpe waited for the explosion； pushing himself down to the earth； imagining the kegs splintering and the wooden shards driven outwards。 It must be soon！ Perhaps Fitchett had used more fuse than he thought？
The volley from the ramparts startled him。 The French fired down the ravine and Sharpe heard the balls crash through the thorn spikes like the ripping of calico。 A bird screeched indignantly； flapped up into the darkness； and he could hear the trampling of panicked feet downstream。 Harper sneered。 'Like wet bloody hens。'
'What was it like？'
Any reluctance Harper had felt about criticizing Rymer to Sharpe had disappeared with the flogging。 He spat down the ravine。 'Can't make his mind up； sir。' It was one of the worst crimes in a soldier's book； indecision kills。
There was no explosion。 Sharpe knew that the fuse had been soaked； or had broken； but whatever the cause； the powder was intact。 A minute must have passed。 Sharpe heard a French officer shouting for silence。 The man must be listening for noises downstream； but there was silence； and Sharpe heard more orders given。 Light flared on the rampart and he knew more carcasses had been lit。 He raised his head and saw three fiery bundles arc into the ravine and he wondered if the carcasses might inadvertently light the fuse； but seconds passed and there was no explosion； and then there were shouts from the fort。 The powder had at last been seen。
Sharpe began sliding back down the slope。 'e on。'
The French were shouting； making enough noise to cover their movements。 There was little time。 Sharpe thought what he would do if he was the French officer and imagined fetching water that could be thrown down on to the kegs and whatever fuse remained。 He needed to see what was left。 He slammed to a stop and looked upstream。 The new carcasses brilliantly lit the foot of the dam； the kegs were clearly visible and so was the fuse。 One end had fallen from a bung…hole in the lowest row of powder barrels； the other had dropped into the stream which had extinguished the fire。 Even without the water； the fuse would have been useless。 Harper crouched beside him。 'What do we do？'
'I need ten men。'
'Leave it to me； what then？'
Sharpe jerked his head towards the rampart。 'Six to take care of them and three to push those carcasses into the water。'
'And you？'
'Leave me one carcass。' He began to load the rifle； hurrying in the darkness； not bothering with the leather patch that surrounded the bullet and gripped the seven grooves of the Baker's barrel。 He spat on the bullet and rammed it down。 'Are we ready？'
'Yes； sir。' Harper was grinning。 'I think this is a job for the Rifles。'
'Why not； Sergeant？' Sharpe grinned back。 Damn Rymer； damn Hakeswill； Windham； Collett； all the new people who had disturbed the Battalion。 Sharpe and his Riflemen had fought from the northern coast of Spain down through Portugal； then out again； to the Douro； to Talavera； to Almeida and Fuentes de Onoro。 They understood each other； trusted each other； and Sharpe nodded to Harper。
The Sergeant； as Sharpe thought of him； cupped his hands。 'Rifles！ To me！ Rifles！'
There were shouts from the ramparts； faces leaned over。
Sharpe cupped his own hands。 'pany！ Skirmish order！' That should spread them out； but would they obey the old voices？ Muskets fired from the fort； the bullets tearing the thorns； and Harper shouted again。
'Rifles！'
Feet trampled up the ravine。 An officer shouted from the rampart and Sharpe heard the sound of steel ramrods in French barrels。
'They're ing； sir。'
Of course they were ing！ They were his men。 The first shapes came into sight； dark uniformed without the cross belt of the red coats。 'Tell them what to do； Sergeant。' He thrust his loaded rifle at Harper； grinned at him。 It was like the old times； the good times。 I'm going。'
He could trust Harper to do the rest。 He broke from the cover of the trees and ran upstream； into the light。 The French saw him and he heard the shouted orders。 The ground was wet and slippery； dotted with smooth rocks； and once he skidded wildly； flailed his arms for balance； and sensed the musket balls banging down at him。 It was a difficult shot for the French； almost straight downwards； and they were hurrying too much。 He heard Harper behind him； shouting the orders； and then the distinctive sound of Baker rifles。 He followed the white fuse； and the great； sloping earth dam was above him； holding the tons of water； and bullets flecked the slope as Sharpe threw himself at the base of the barrels。 The fuse ha