OPORTO, 22nd May - Naval Landing Party TWO

[outside the fort, from about here]

Bush rushed in close to Bolitho in the shelter of the wall and nodded towards the group behind them climbing in through the tunnel with the Defiance lieutenant. "Looks like they have the right idea of it, sir, without putting all our eggs in one basket."

"Quite right, Mr. Bush, though I do hope that Lieutenant Deverel won't lead the men astray," Bolitho said, glancing around, "But I think it best if we try to find an alternate route to get into the fort."

"Impetuous man," Bush murmured in agreement. "Terpsichores to me! Sergeant Quinn! Half of your marines here! The others to go with Cartwright!"

Sergeant Quinn hurried along the wall to the two officers. "Sir!"

They had planned to take the lower, shorter north wall, as Croker had originally instructed before changing his plans. Had they known they were to take the south wall, they might have come equipped differently. The Defiance men at least seemed to have explosive charges. Bush noticed one of them looking around bewilderedly. "You there! Defiance! Over here, quickly man!" The man hurried to join them, looking relieved to attach himself to officers of any sort. "What have you got there?"

"Charges, sir, to blow up the powder store inside," he answered with a grin.

Three more sailors came running once they have spotted the lieutenant and a captain of one of their ships. One of the men was from Defiance, the other two from another of the vessels taking part. They looked at each other then crouched low, in close proximity to the officers.

Bush gave Chandos a brief nod as the young man arrived with his group of seamen, along with some from the other ships it seemed. This was all a disorganized mess. If Bolitho had been able to plan it himself, they would not have been standing here below the highest point of the south wall with useless lines and grappling hooks. But further along the wall, further down the beach, Bush could see an area where the water seemed to meet the wall, even flowing into it. "Sea gate up ahead, sir? Or a drain?"

Bolitho glanced in the direction Bush had indicated. It was difficult to tell from this distance which it was, but a sea gate seemed the most likely.

"I'm not entirely sure, but whichever it is, it could be our way inside," he said. He looked around at the men who had gathered by them, the Terpsichore's crew as well as the ones from the Defiance, then he turned back to Bush. "And we must make it work, Mr. Bush, for it seems we have no other options."

"Aye, sir," Bush said in grim agreement. "You there with the charges, stay close. Sergeant, have your men give us some covering fire."

As if to answer the lieutenant's call, there was a salvo of shots come from above, from the French. Musket balls fell harmlessly against the ground, some hitting a stone, taking a chip from it and flying off at an odd angle. The smoke slowly followed them, caught hold by the breeze it began to dissolve just as quickly. But the men were already reloading, their faces stained with powder dust, their mouths dry.

Bolitho darted through the clouds of dust and smoke, heading for the gate. Their only hope was to try and blow it, otherwise he feared they would not find a way into the fort. As he ran, he silently cursed Croker and his incompetence. Why on Earth had the man changed his mind at the last possible moment? If he had stuck to the original plan of taking the north wall, they would have been inside the fort already. But instead they were on a foolish task, fighting against what seemed to be overwhelming odds. And on top of that, he had no idea what was going on with the rest of the men down in that tunnel. Bolitho could only hope that they would act like the good men they were, and would find their own way into the fort.

The closer he got to the gate, the more the sound of musket fire grew. Bolitho heard a ball smack into the wall scant inches from his head, a fact which was confirmed by the sudden shower of stone fragments which fell onto him. He quickly brushed the debris from his face and glanced around, looking for the sailor with the charges.

"Where are those charges?" he demanded, "I want those charges brought here now!"

"Here, sir!" piped the man from Defiance, splashing through the surf to reach the captain.

"Keep those charges dry, man!" Bush bellowed, startling the seaman more than musket fire could do.

"Get the charges in by the gate," Bolitho ordered to the sailor, "And yes, keep them as dry as possible! We won't be able to blow anything with wet charges, now will we?"

Quinn and his men provided covering fire. He wondered what had happened to Mister Cartwright, Oxley and Branning. "D'you need a hand, sir?" he asked, working to reload his musket, keeping an eye on his Marines. "McEwen, keep your head down when you're loadin', unless you want to lose it!"

"No sir!" the man answered, "I mean, aye sir! Come here, Draper, give me a hand. Where's the fuse?" There was confusion for some minutes because all of the fuse had gone with Deverel's men. The Terpsichores fumed quietly. The Defiances were defiantly ashamed.

A marine close to the man, just about reminded to keep his head down slouched a little lower, tearing the cartridge with his teeth as he began to pour the gunpowder into the pan. One of the musket balls had got lucky and a man was thrust backwards with a sharp cry. Still breathing, though with blood starting to stain at his uniform, he was pulled a bit back by another of the redcoated marines, before the men answered the musket fire with a salvo of their own.

"Need a way to light it, sir?" Quinn asked, seeing the problem.

"Yes we do. I would be much obliged if you could help, sergeant," Bolitho said to Quinn, "As long as your men can keep those Frenchmen at bay long enough!"

The marines worked like clockwork. It was amazing how well one could do under the pressure of gun fire, when the drill had been done often enough, and each motion, each movement of the men was done with least time possible to be wasted. They glanced towards Quinn, smoke rising about them thick with the distinct smell. "Got one!" Perhaps it was a chance , or it was about time, but each bullet that might've found its target was certain to have the men glad.

But by now the men in the fort understood the plan of attack. Through the gate, the seamen and marines could see the French soldiers rushing to protect the vulnerable opening, their own marines opening fire. The unfortunate Defiances attaching charges to the gate were killed while they worked.

He was glad he hadn't put the ball down. He tore it out of the empty cartridge and discarded it, crumpling the empty paper up and ramming it down, before aiming at the cartridges.

"Get your heads down!" he shouted, hoping he was close enough for the muzzle flash to ignite the cartridges. If nothing else, the burning wadding might do the job. He pulled the trigger, feeling the lesser kick because there was no ball, only a long tongue of flame and unburnt powder. He threw himself down as the cartridges went off.

Instead of simply destroying the lock or the hinges, the charges broke up the stonework around the gate, ancient weak stonework, causing the heavy gate to come crashing down on top of them, pinning several of the men and the first lieutenant underneath it in the shallow water.

Officers were all the same, Johnson thought sourly. All flash and dash without any real brains. Trust an officer to give them powder charges without a fuse. It could be gotten around, of course, but the oversight still remained.

And now those idiot Tars were rushing out to get themselves killed. Really! Johnson shifted up from his crouch to fire a quick shot at the French before ducking back to reload. They weren't going to get anywhere if they didn't get that sea-gate blown open. And then the charges went off, leaving some of the Tars and an officer pinned underneath the broken gate.

"Foley!" Johnson barked. "Where's - hey! Foley! You and Vining pick off those Frogs. Don't let 'em get close to the gate!"

He tossed his hat, musket, and cartridge box to a nearby Marine and went splashing into the water. Bloody officers!

Quinn swore, dashing across the open ground between him and the ruined gateway to try to pull the Lieutenant free. He was gratified to see some of his Marines come to help the other men, though he had to yell at the others to keep firing.

The explosion had at least cause the French to withdraw partially. Some of the flying rubble may even have injured one or two of them.