Whose Business Is to Die Read Online Free PDF Page B

he had missed the order. He stood up in the stirrups, trying to see past them, but could not.
    There was a spattering of shots – individuals popping away rather than an ordered volley.
    ‘The squares,’ Williams said. Hanley had forgotten the French infantry on the road. He had not seem them form from column to square, but had not really been paying them much attention.
    ‘ Vive l’empereur!’ He had heard the shout many times before. This time it was a little more ragged, although just as determined as when a column of infantry came on.
    ‘Charge!’ He heard Colonel Head’s shout this time, and then the light dragoons were yelling – not a cheer so much as a roar. Sabres came off shoulders and were raised high, points towards the enemy though turned slightly to cover the face.
    The line looked solid, men and horses only slightly shifted from their places. Hanley still could not see the French, but their cry had suggested no lack of spirit. They must be very close, and the British cavalrymen did not show any signs of checking or hesitation. He knew that horsemen would not charge home against a solid square of infantry, but he suspected that it would be different when cavalry met cavalry. Horses barged each other readily enough at the best of times. His mind tried to picture the French dragoons galloping straight at the British horsemen, and imagined the two lines getting closer and closer before slamming into each other in a collision that must surely shatter bones and tumble horses and riders.
    ‘Bless me!’ Baynes sounded like a parson noticing a fly in his soup. The light dragoons had broken up, the files opening to more than a horse’s width between them. It took only an instant, and then suddenly the regiment was spread out and Hanley could see French dragoons in green coming through the gaps, like passing the fingers of one hand between those on the other. Swords flashed as men went by each other, slashing and jabbing. In a great scything cut one of the Frenchmen was chopped from the saddle. Another took a slice that opened his mouth to his chin. Hanley saw one of the Thirteenth jabbed in the sword-arm. The man slumped, arm limp and sabre hanging down by its cord. Then they were through, a loose crowd of green-coated dragoons coming on in a swarm towards them. It was one of the strangest, most unexpected things Hanley had ever seen.
    ‘Back! Back!’ Williams shouted. The Welshman yanked at Baynes’ reins to turn his tubby horse and then slapped the beast on the rump to send it running off. ‘Move, you fool!’ he yelled into Hanley’s ear, breaking the spell.
    Hanley kicked his horse into a canter and then urged it into a gallop, following the others. The four hussars were clustered protectively around Baynes, and Williams was trailing a length behind, looking back to make sure that he was following.
    They did not go far, and when Hanley was able to turn he saw that the mass of enemy horsemen were wheeling round. Itwas no longer a neat formation, but a crowd, each going about at his own pace. No one had followed them, although if they had stayed where they were they would have been in the middle of several hundred Frenchmen.
    Officers urged them on, waving their swords in the air and shouting. Hanley heard another big roar, knew that it was the light dragoons, and then the French were answering with their own cries and spurring their horses back the way they had come in a new charge. The two crowds merged into one, not flowing through this time, and then green jackets and blue were locked in hundreds of little duels. Sabre clashed against sword, blades struck ringing blows on helmets or bit into cloth and flesh with a dull sound. Even from this distance Hanley was amazed at the amount of noise. As a boy he had often gone to watch the coppersmiths at work. This was like that noise magnified a thousand times. Men fell, horses reared and screamed.
    ‘You should go back to General Long, sir,’ Williams