Sharpe smiled. 'I reckon I have, sir.'

'Well done, Sergeant Sharpe.' Lawford held out a hand. 'A good day's work.'

Sharpe shook his officer's hand. 'But the day's work ain't done yet, sir.'

'It isn't?' Lawford asked. 'For God's sake, man, what else are you planning?'

But Lawford never heard what Sergeant Sharpe answered, for at that moment the mine blew.

Chapter 11

The Tippoo's engineers had done their work well. Not all the mine's force was directed northwards, but the greater part of it was, and that part was devastating. The explosion scoured the space between the inner and outer walls, a space that should have been packed with British soldiers.

To Sharpe, peering round the doorway, it at first looked as though the whole squat gatehouse disintegrated; not into rubble and dust, but into its constituent stones, for the dressed granite blocks all jarred slightly apart as the ancient building bulged from the terrible pressure of the fire within. Dust sprang from every opened crevice as the big stones separated cleanly along their mortared joints, then Sharpe lost sight of the collapsing gatehouse because there was suddenly nothing but dust, smoke, flame and noise. He jerked back into shelter and covered his head with his arms when the noise boomed past him just an instant after he had seen the dust whip past the doorway as the gasses escaped from the expanding fire.

The noise seemed to go on for ever. First there was the swelling bang of the powder exploding, then the grinding crash of stones cracking and tumbling and the whistle of shards whirling away across the city, and then there was a ringing in Sharpe's ears and above the ringing, but sounding as far away and as thin as the trumpet that had heralded the assault, the screams of men caught by fire or blast or stone. After that came the sound of a wind, an unnatural wind that scoured thatch off houses, threw down tiles and raised dust devils in streets a quarter of a mile away from the explosion.

The men on the walls nearest the gatehouse saw nothing, unless it was the flash that ended their lives, for the explosion plucked the Tippoo's defenders clean off the ramparts south of the breach. The wall itself was undamaged, even where it ran past the gatehouse, for there the old outer archway was blown out like a bung and a monstrous jet of smoky flame jetted from the city wall to vent the explosive's power safely beneath the ramparts, but the squat tower over the old gateway fell. It collapsed slowly, sliding down into the space between the inner and outer walls. Scraps of brick and stone arched up and outwards, splashing in the river just ahead of Baird's advancing columns. More scraps of stone rained down on the city.

The noise slowly faded. The ringing in Sharpe's ears diminished until he could hear a man whimpering somewhere in the horror. He peered out again and saw that the explosion had scoured the alley of dead and wounded men. There was no sign of the handcart. There was nothing except broken stone, burning thatch and smears of blood.

North of the breach, where the lick of flame and blast had been lessened by distance, the defenders were dizzied by noise. Their banners of gold and scarlet and green silk whipped stiff in the blast as men crouched in embrasures or reeled like drunks before the hot wind. The Tippoo's heroes who had volunteered to fight the Forlorn Hopes on the breach were killed almost to a man, for they were on the inner side of the breach where nothing could save them, while the survivors of the Forlorn Hopes, thrust back by the first charge of the Tippoo's men, had been shielded by the southern shoulder of the broken wall.

In the breach itself there was a vast veil of swirling dust. A huge boiling pyre of smoke churned above the walls, but the breach, for a moment at least, was undefended. The Tippoo's men who should have been guarding the shoulders of the breach were either dead or so shocked as to be unable to respond, while the men on the inner wall had ducked down as the terrible noise and heat and dust pounded about them. Most of them still crouched, fearful of the strange silence that followed the explosion.

'Now, boys, now!' a man shouted on the breach, and the survivors of the Forlorn Hopes climbed into the smoke, then up the broken stonework of the walls. They choked on the airborne dust and their red coats were whitened by it, but they were men who had steeled themselves to the worst ordeal of war, the storming of a breach, and the steel was hard and cold in their souls so that they were scarcely aware of the horror of the last few seconds, only of the need to climb the shoulders of the breach and start their killing. Those who went south found an empty wall, while those who went north climbed to meet dazed men. The redcoats and sepoys had expected no mercy in this assault and were prepared to show none, and so they began their slaughter. 'Pigsticking time, lads!' one corporal shouted. He stabbed his bayonet into a wild-eyed man and rid his blade of the body's encumbrance by shaking the corpse over the inner ramparts' edge. His comrades stormed past him, their blood whipped into rage by the fear of being the first men into the enemy citadel. Now, up on the ramparts, they killed in a frenzy to let their fear escape in a torrent of enemy blood.

Baird had still been west of the river when the explosion occurred and he had felt a momentary pang of horror as the great blast blossomed in the city. For a terrible second he thought the whole city, all its houses and temples and palaces, was about to disintegrate before his eyes, but he had kept moving, indeed he had quickened his pace so that he splashed into the South Cauvery while the debris was still falling. He waded the shallows as all around him the river foamed with falling stone, and he shouted incomprehensibly, desperate to take his heavy sword to the enemy that had once imprisoned him. The dust obscuring the breach shifted as a snatch of wind caught and whirled it northwards and Baird saw that his Forlorn Hopes were on the walls now. He saw some red coats, oddly whitened, moving north, then he glimpsed a rush of the enemy coming from the southern bastions to replace the defenders who had been scoured from the ramparts by the explosion. Those reinforcements were running past a great roiling grey-white plume of smoke amongst which pale flames licked the sky. Baird assumed the explosion had been the Tippoo's feared mine, but his horror at its force turned to exultation as he realized that the blast had been premature and that, instead of slaughtering his men, it had opened the city to storm. But he also recognized that the enemy was now waking from his nightmare and rushing men to face the attack, and so Baird hurried out of the river, through the shattered glacis and up the breach that was now vividly slicked with great splashes of fresh blood. He chose to turn southwards to help that Forlorn Hope face the rush of the Tippoo's reinforcements.

Behind Baird the twin columns of redcoats splashed through the river. Each column had three thousand men, and their task was to encircle the city and so capture the whole ring of Seringapatam's walls and bastions and towers and gates, but the Tippoo's men were recovering their wits now and the invading streams were at last being opposed. Muskets blasted down from ramparts, concealed guns were unmasked and rockets streaked away from the parapets. Canister and round shot slashed down at the two columns, the missiles exploding high gouts of water as they struck the river. Sepoys and redcoats fell. Some crawled to safety, others were carried downstream while the least fortunate were trampled by the boots of the men crossing the river. The leading troops of each column scrambled up the broken shoulders of the walls. The engineers shoved ladders against those shoulders, and still more men climbed their rungs to the ramparts.