By Bernard Cornwell
In a battery of occasions that would make a hero out of an illiterate inner most, a tender Richard Sharpe poses because the enemy to deliver down a ruthless Indian dictator subsidized via fearsome French troops. The yr is 1799, and Richard Sharpe is simply starting his army profession. An green younger deepest in His Majesty's provider, Sharpe turns into a part of an excursion to India to push the ruthless Tippoo of Mysore from his throne and force out his French allies. To penetrate the Tippoo's urban and contact a Scottish undercover agent being held prisoner there, Sharpe has to pose as a deserter. good fortune will make him a sergeant, yet failure will flip him over to the Tippoo's brutal executioners -- or, worse -- his man-eating tigers. opting for his means via an unique and alien international. Sharpe realizes that one slip will suggest catastrophe. And while the livid British attack at the urban eventually starts, Sharpe needs to soak up palms opposed to his real comrades to maintain his fake identification, risking dying at their arms to be able to keep away from detection and hence to foil the Tippoo's well-set catch.
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Extra info for Sharpe's Tiger (Richard Sharpe's Adventure Series #1)
He thought he glimpsed an instant red mist appear in the air above the formation as the ball slashed through, but maybe that was an illusion. Two men stayed on the ground as a sergeant closed the ranks up. Two more men were limping and one of them staggered, reeled and finally collapsed. The drummer boys, advancing just behind the unfurled colours, marked the rhythm of the march with steady beats interspersed with quicker flourishes, but when the boys marched past the twin heaps of offal that had been soldiers of the Grenadier Company a few seconds before they began to hurry their sticks and thus quickened the regiment's pace until Major Shee turned in his saddle and damned their eagerness.
Sergeant Major Bywaters's voice called from the centre of the line. ' Sharpe dragged the seventeen-inch blade from its sheatii which hung behind his right hip. He slotted the blade over the musket's muzzle, then locked it in place by twisting its slot onto the lug. Now no enemy could pull the bayonet off the musket. Having the blade mounted made reloading the musket far more difficult, but Sharpe guessed that Colonel Wellesley had decided to shoot one volley and then charge. 'Going to be a right mucky brawl,' he said to Tom Garrard.
Not me, Sarge. ' You ain't got orders to talk. If the King wanted you to have a conversation I'd have told you so. Says so in the scriptures. Give me your firelock, Sharpie. ' Sharpe handed his musket to the Sergeant. It was Hakes-will's arrival in the company that had persuaded Sharpe that it was time to run from the army. He had been bored anyway, but Hakeswill had added injustice to boredom. Not that Sharpe cared about injustice, for only the rich had justice in this world, but Hakeswill's injustice was touched with such malevolence that there was hardly a man in the Light Company not ready to rebel, and all that kept them from mutiny was the knowledge that Hakeswill understood their desire, wanted it and wanted to punish them for it.