OPORTO, 22nd May - The Seminary

"We'm in the wrong place," Cotton said. "Feels funny, bein' be'ind this lot." Though they were used to close order fighting, and could easily block the way across the street - as they had done, in fact. "Reckon we either ought to find a way round 'em, or play at bein' redcoats for a bit," he said, giving his flint a quick glance.

Newbury shrugged. "Could go 'round 'em. Long's they don't try firin' through us!"

He checked his cartridge box and scowled. How had he gone through that many rounds?

"Don't forget, we can fire kneelin', which they don't, unless they'm Lights," Cotton said, wondering how they were supposed to find a way round... and where had the rest of their Company got to?

That was true. Newbury watched the redcoats for a moment and shrugged again. "Could just go back toward the way we came, an' look for the others." Maybe. "Or we could go back to fightin'."

"Let's stick with fightin' for now, and figure out where our lot are later," Cotton said. "At least that way we'll be sure of doin' summat useful." He checked his own cartridge pouch and frowned. He hadn't fired that many rounds... had he? He must have done, but he didn't remember doing it.

While the two became four, the lad was grateful to find time to reload. It was quite some effort to arm his rifle again, his bayonet sword was slid back in its place for the moment. Up ahead of them the French were being pressed back by the redcoats. The officer disappeared out of sight for the moment and the sergeant was seen for a brief few seconds before the few redcoats had hid him from view.

He glanced at Cotton and at Newbury, catching each glancing at their cartridge box which was more empty than not. "'ave some more, if you needs some?" He said remembering he had taken more when the ammunition was given out. "Took too much, when they was givin' them out." He reasoned.

Newbury. He dropped his gaze. This was the man who'd been plotting with a few others. Hadn't told it to anyone and didn't think to start now. He rested his rifle at his shoulder looking towards the advancing red and the fighting blue.

A cartridge would do more damage in the hands of an experienced rifleman. He did smile then. And them Newbury and Cotton were both fitting that description.

A shot was heard fired from above. The officer was still neither amongst the fallen that the redcoats left behind, nor could be seen up front.

Cotton grinned. "I'll take a few," he said. "Wouldn't want to take too many off you, though. You'll be wantin' some yourself." He shoved them into his pouch and elbowed his way to the redcoat Corporal.

"Here, Corp, you've got four Riflemen here an' all. We can take out anyone who looks like they'll be causin' you a bother," he said. "Can't reload so fast as your lot can, though."

" 'Bliged," Newbury said, accepting a handful of cartridges. He had not forgotten that Pye had interrupted their plotting but it didn't matter. They probably would not get any good chances to get at that damned sergeant.

The redcoat corporal looked grateful for the offer of help. "Be good'a yew. Them Frogs have gotten into the houses up yon, firin' down from the roofs an' all. Could use some sharp eyes to pick 'em off."

The French were in retreat - there was still fighting in the suburbs, where groups of the French resisted, but were now caught between the soldiers who had been in the Seminary and those who had crossed the Douro. Waldegrave brought his section towards the north, where the French marched in columns, their skirmishers protecting their flanks.

Wounded - French and British - had been left along the road to Valonga - Waldegrave of course did not know that was where the road went, only that the French had taken it. A corporal with a small fatigue party, and a harassed surgeon's assistant were helping a redcoat into a farmhouse by the road. Waldegrave hesitated as a blue-coated soldier called out to him. His knowledge of French was rudimentary, but you did not need to be a linguist to understand the plea in the man's voice. "Corporal - take the French wounded in, too," he said. He could remember what the Portuguese had done in Pombal, when the British had been around, and there had been tales of atrocities against French wounded, and against stragglers on the retreat. Collectively, the French deserved the hatred of those whose country they had invaded: but individually... He watched to ensure that the Corporal would do as he had ordered, and then set off again.

Pye nodded. "..No trouble." He murmured and glanced towards where Cotton had disappeared. It seemed they'd be receiving an assignment real soon. He glanced at Jacklin and then another shot from above was heard. Whoever was there, or in various windows of various houses, was not on their side but on the Frog's own.

Cotton nodded. "We can do that, Corp," he said, and pushed back to rejoin the other Riflemen. "There's Frogs up on the roofs over there, it'd help the redcoats if we can get rid of 'em, or even make 'em keep their heads down," he said, indicating.

They could do that, easily enough. Newbury rammed a fresh cartridge home and peered up at the rooftops. All he needed was to see a muzzle flash.

"No trouble at all," he muttered to Jacklin, who grinned.

A moment later, a half-concealed Frog fired down at them. Newbury shifted on his heel at once and lifted his rifle. He counted the seconds off in his head, waiting for the Frog to reload. Sure enough, there he was.

"Gotcha!" Newbury's shot came half a heartbeat before the Frog's, but his ball did not miss.

Keep heads down or heads punched through by a ball. He nodded, gazing up at the array of windows. There was a shot, then Newbury was looking right in the direction where the shot has come from. He had his rifle aimed.

"you got'im!" He exclaimed in admiration seeing the man slump , a spray of blood where he'd gotten hit.

It hadn't been an overly difficult shot, but Newbury was still pleased. He reloaded, noting that he wouldn't be able to force many more cartridges down the powder-clogged barrel.

"Next one's yours," he said cheerfully.

"Mine?" Pye looked nervous, eager to shoot certainly, but quite nervous as well.

"Right." He nodded, to show that he was not shying away from the challenge. He looked up trying to spot a barrel or a man taking aim at the redcoats below.

His lips were pursed in concentration, so much so he'd even forgotten to smile. It was all business now. Well, doing it good.

There, he saw a man lean out fire and disappear back through the window. But then there was another to the left. Who did the same. It startled the lad some.

He hesitated then turned his rifle back to aim at the first man. Seconds passed. Then the Frenchman leaned out to fire, and so did Pye.

"Is he?"

Newbury kept his rifle butt tucked into his shoulder but held the weapon angled down, ready to swing it up to fire. This was Pye's turn to try his luck. The lad had two targets to pick from, even.

"Mind your aim, there you go," Newbury muttered, watching the man that Pye had apparently marked down. Both of them fired but the Frog was the one to slip down out of sight.

"Nicely done, lad!" Jacklin said and clapped him on the shoulder.

Pye was very proud of his success. He beamed at Jacklin and patted his rifle. He didn't miss! He really didn't! It was enough to have him grin till his jaw began to hurt. "He really fell!"

He began loading his rifle again. It's muzzle was already offering quite a resistance when he tried to push down the ball. Darned thing.

"That he did!" Newbury agreed. "Let's get more of 'em, before them redcoats do."

The redcoat corporal and his men were advancing, now that some of the way was cleared. Newbury fired at the second Frog that Pye had passed up but missed. He was annoyed with himself, but a minute or so after, as he was reloading, he saw a redcoat heave the Frog's hat into the air. That was a pretty dangerous way to clear rooftops, but it seemed these redcoats knew what they were about.

Pye followed alongside the three other riflemen, mostly sticking close , his eyes on the windows above them. He was careful not to trip, so every so often dropped his gaze just to step over a more precarious part of ground.

"Those houses might..., there!" He pointed to a half closed window which now looked deserted. His cheeks flushed red. He knew the men must've seen it already!

The mentioned windows were further ahead of them in the square that they would soon be entering. The square itself was small, and had only two more ways that one could take. The redcoats were doing a good job and the Frogs were still being pressed back, leaving some of their wounded behind.

"Second line! Clear and move up!" The redcoat corporal called, waving his men forward. "First line! Support 'em!"

Newbury looked up at the rooftops. "Plenty of places for Frogs to be hidin'. Keep both eyes out for 'em." He stepped forward warily, his rifle still at the low-ready, his eyes roving from window to window.

Pye nodded, keeping his eyes up. He felt ahead with his foot, if there was something in the way he paused, stopped. Gave a quick glance to where his feet were, stepped over, and continued, looking up.

A patch of blue and white appeared at one of the windows. Disappeared again just as quickly. A face was briefly noted in the next window glancing down at the soldiers advancing towards the square. The French below were retreating again. Still no sign of the officer but his sergeant lay in a pool of blood behind the redcoats.

There was again an appearance of a man, this time he leaned forward to fire at the redcoats. Joined soon by four more from two different windows close by to the first. There must've been a hall behind those windows, so that the men could communicate.

To the left and front of them, tiles from the roof became crashing down. One, two, five, and for some it was certain that they've been dislodged and thrown, or broken through.

Faces in the windows, that didn't remain long enough for Cotton to be certain of getting them. And then a load of tiles came crashing down into the road, from their left, just in front of where they were standing. Cotton made a decision.

The road was steep. If he got even a few yards in front of the redcoats' makeshift line, he could turn and aim back at whoever it was. He wasn't sure if they were throwing tiles because they had nothing else, or if they were trying to loophole the roof. One thing was clear, though. They could not be allowed to keep doing it. Those tiles were heavy enough to kill, if they landed on someone's head.

He pushed his way through the redcoats, turning to shelter in the mouth of a tiny alleyway. Some of the redcoats gasped and levelled their muskets at him when they saw him turn, but he waved at the roof above them and saw them frown and then understand what he was trying to do.

"Steady boys," the redcoat corporal warned.

Newbury wasn't sure if he was talking to his men or the Riflemen, then decided it didn't matter. He saw a face appear briefly in a window just above him and to his left, but it was gone before he could bring his rifle up to fire.

"Bloody quick up there, that lot," he grumbled.

"Think they've seen us. Seen what we just did. Afraid to get hit now, them." Pye looked down just to notice that Cotton wasn't exactly with them anymore. He blinked, surprised he'd not seen him go ahead. Well that's what he got from looking up for so long.

There was another face, it almost looked as if the man was going to at last take aim and fire, but just as he lifted his rifle, the Frenchman disappeared from view again.

He was going to have to be quick. He took aim at the roof where he'd seen a Frenchman twice now, waiting for the man's next appearance. There! He drew the trigger back, quickly but not rushing it, and thought he saw the man fall backwards. He ducked into the alleyway to reload, out of the way of and stray shots from the general body of French who were being pushed back along the road.