OPORTO, 22nd May - The Seminary

It was hard to tell if Cotton had gotten his man or not. Newbury spared a glance up toward that rooftop but could not see. Well, if he had hit the Frog, there wouldn't be any more trouble with those damned tiles.

"There goes one!" Jacklin cried, lifting his rifle. He fired at a Frog trying to hide behind a chimney.

The roof remained quiet, but for the cry of the Frog that Jacklin dislodged from the roof. It seemed Cotton had struck the tile thrower dead, and another prospect sort had now tumbled to the other side and out of sight.

Pye looked around. no man thinking of starting an attack from the roof to their right neither. The few that had been seen passing were gone, like rabbits that managed to find their borrow holes.

And then a sound came from behind both the riflemen and the redcoats. A door more to their right suddenly swung open. a couple of musket muzzles came pointing out. The soldiers had been waiting for them to go forward and had at last decided to initiate and attack. With them was the earlier disappeared officer, blood covering a side of his face, a sabre held in his hand.

Two shots rang out, knocking one of the redcoats down onto his face. Newbury turned sharply and saw the French officer who had until then eluded them. His rifle came up at once, spitting out its lead ball half a heartbeat before two of the redcoats fired.

Shots... from the wrong side of the redcoats. Cotton swore, firmly ramming a bullet on top of the powder. His rifle barrel was getting choked with powder residue, and he was going to have to clean it out soon, before it got impossible to load. He returned the ramrod, stepping forward to see if there were any more faces going to show at windows.

The officer clutched at his shoulder stumbling backward. A man caught him and began to pull him back inside, while a pair stepped forward. One sagged as the next shot rang, pierced through in the leg by a redcoat, in the chest by a rifleboy. He managed to fire in their direction just before the shots and fell back. The second looked hesitant as he lifted his musket and set his aim on Newbury - atleast as much of an aim it could be.

Coming in Cotton's sight was a man that too had intended to deal away with the green coats. He hadn't seen Cotton though, only the trio that was further down the road. He pointed his musket in their direction, hoping that atleast one would be felled by his shot (rather than none).

Cotton saw the man appear in the window, looking as though he was aiming for one of his mates. He raised his rifle and aimed, pulling the trigger. A cloud of smoke prevented him from seeing the result of his shot, and he felt for another cartridge, thankful for Pye's generosity and foresight in grabbing so many cartridges earlier.

A choked cry announced a direct hit. The musket came falling first, released from the man's hold as death gripped him. It fell, hit the ground with it's butt, discharged into the air, its bullet stiking a tile on the other side. The fragments of the tile came falling down just as the musket itself fell sideways.

The man's body got caught in the frame, his shako following suit after his weapon though, flipping around as it landed infront of the riflemen.

One of the Frogs had him marked down. Newbury didn't bother to begin reloading, it would take far too long. He grabbed for a rock near his foot and flung it at the Frog, hoping it would at least distract the man enough so Newbury could run at him with his sword-bayonet.

The soldier would have first fired but the rock flew at his brow and so he lifted his hand to deflect it, the sharp point bouncing off of his palm. "Merde!" He saw the movement of the man and fired. But the weapon misfired.

"Merde!" The man spoke again lifting his weapon to deflect the incoming blow. Pye looked up to the windows then to the door. "Jacklin. Can we.. up t' other house.. we could fire at'em.. maybe.?" He pointed in the direction, the windows were facing each other well enough.

Newbury couldn't help but laugh as his rock nearly struck its target. Not the best distraction ever, but it certainly worked! He swept his rifle barrel up, trying to spit the Frog with the sword-bayonet fixed to the muzzle. The Frog knocked the blade aside with his musket barrel and swung the butt around swiftly, succeeding in catching Newbury with a glancing blow to his shoulder.

That only bloody hurt. Newbury recovered from his stagger and kicked at the Frog's groin. When all else failed...

The Frog clutched at his groin with a harsh curse, then he flung his musket at Newbury's knees wanting to bring him to the ground. The man who had dragged the officer in appeared at the door and attacked Newbury with the butt of his musket.

The musket hit his knee as Newbury tried to step quickly away, which caused his legs to tangle up around the firelock. He hop-stepped once or twice before starting to go down, an expression of annoyed surprise on his face. At least his ungraceful fall helped get him out of the path of the second Frog's musket butt.


OOC - That'll be it for me, for now. Back later.

The two Frogs grinned. One of them had a grin twisted some with the grimace of pain. He struggled to get up, cursing again and at last taking a better hold of his musket. He still stood awkwardly, the strike at his groin obviously hurting even now.

The two exchanged looks. Sure one strike had missed but they had a rifleman down. The man that had missed Newbury stepped towards the rifleman kicking at his side. The other man lifted his musket to finish him off with a hit to the head.

Yet before he was able to administer the fatal blow he was brought of balance by a flash of green.

The first man cursed but saw it was a much smaller lad that Pierre had to deal with, so he turned towards Newbury, with intent to kill him before any of the redcoats or the other two greencoats could have anything to do about it.

Pye's intervention was well-timed. The Frogs were obliged to stand off, if only for a moment or two, which allowed Newbury the chance to strike back.

"Sneakin' bastards," he growled, grabbing at the remaining Frog's bayonet with his hand. The blade sliced his fingers and palm up a bit, but he hardly noticed. He managed to get a grip on the bayonet socket, which let him pull the musket toward him and therefore put the Frog off-balance hiimself. After that it was easy to heave himself up to his feet and flatten the Frenchman's nose.

Grégory fell to the side, blood spilling from his face, where a sickening crunch announced his nose broken. He held his left hand to his nose, trying to stem the blood flow, while he tried pushing himself away from the rifleman to a safe distance. His face was twisted in agony, and it was a surprise he hadn't fainted due to the force of the strike.

He kicked out at Newbury with his boot, mostly to try and keep him at bay, the blow though aimed again at the man's side. He was reaching out for a rock, a sharp edged specimen at arm's reach.

Pye and Pierre had rolled over twice, the younger lad gasping as the closeness allowed not to draw and drive his bayonet sword into the man, but in due time allowed them both to grip at each other's throats. They rolled again and it was the Frenchman now that knelt above the youth. Pye gritted his teeth and pushed his knee up, the smaller frame allowing that much.

Newbury let out a woof when the Frog's boot drove into his side - and it would have to be the side still recovering from the last fight he'd taken part in. He felt something pop and swore feelingly at the harsh burst of pain. That was enough.

He fumbled for his rifle, grabbing it from where it had fallen in time to put the sword-bayonet into the Frog's midriff. Finally! Newbury reeled away from the slumped-over Frenchman, feeling sick to his stomach and dazed. His side burned with pain but there were still affairs to settle. He swatted with his rifle butt at the Frog trying to do for Pye, grimacing in wavering determination.

Grégory was out of the game for good. Dead, with only a few moments of gasps and choking before it.

Pierre was dislodged with the combination of the knee against his groin and a thump at his shoulder, and distracted enough that he was pushed to the side, and there the sword's bayonet was dislodged from under the youth's side and was pulled free just to be thrust at the frog. He struggled a bit, had his hands cut when he tried to stay the weapon and hissed in pain as it slid lower on his body. The boy had an elbow driven at him to release the weapon, received a fist to his chest, and then with that moment that only one hand had gripped at his blade, he drove it past the fingers into the man's chest.

He was coughing as he rolled onto his back then turned to look at Newbury. "Yer.. yer alright?" He asked then began to sit up, worry on his face.

"No," was the terse reply, offered as Newbury flopped down more than sat, taking care of course to keep his rifle in hand.

Pye knelt by Newbury's side seeking an injury that he could treat. What was the matter? He wasn't a doctor and those damned Frogs kept firing, though the redcoats atleast had taken care of the ones on the ground. Cotton took care of a few on the roofs.

"Cotton, Jacklin!" He shouted and looked back at Newbury. " Where's yer injured?" A silly question to ask, for one who had no idea what to do with a wound.

Cotton decided he couldn't do any more where he was, and thought he ought to rejoin his fellow Riflemen, especially after one of them called his name. He darted out of the alleyway to where he'd left them. One of them was on the ground and he ran over, looking worried.

"Hey, Joe, what're you doin' down there, mate?" he said, flooded with relief as he realised he might be down, but he wasn't dead.

"My bloody ribs, again." Forget his hand, it was only shallowly cut. He had the worst luck in the bloody world!

Pye looked relieved that Cotton was there. He'd know what to do for one. He looked at the door, deciding to keep guard of it, if any more Frogs wanted to pass through it. There was no fireing from the roof tops anymore. Good, their job well done.

"You're an idiot, Joe. Comin' back to fight when you ain't healed up prop'ly. Good thing we like you for it, though. We'll get you to the sawbones soon's this mess is sorted out." He rammed another ball down, it taking a lot of strength to overcome the fouling of his rifle barrel, and looked around for any more Frenchmen sneaking around.

Newbury managed a grin. That wasn't anything he didn't know already. "Couldn't let you lot have all the fun, could I?" He asked, using his rifle to help get back up.

"Gabe, permission ter go in there?" Well the boy didn't exactly know how to ask, but the door was tempting and taking it meant that no Frog could use it to their advantage either. And there was a possibility that it was the only entrance which meant it had more inside than just old furniture.

He looked at Joe not sure if the man ought to stand, but holding his tongue sure and right. Newbury would know best, and if not, Cotton would say it.