OPORTO, 22nd May - Naval Landing Parties

Sam passed the knife to his brother, grinning at the lieutenant's words. "Go up in a blaze of glory, eh sir?"

"Damn right we will, Oxley," Deverel answered. "I think we've all had enough of this dark by now."

Despite himself, Cartwright grinned. He could use both Oxleys since they were both here. "Keep your hands steady, lads, and we'll get out of here before you know it," he said, guessing both were nervous. Anybody would be, in this sort of situation. He pointedly ignored Deverel as well, having no time to entertain the man's useless impatience.

He took the knife and made a slit in the cartridge, doing the best he could in the dark. At least it took his mind off the fact they were trapped... and if this worked, they wouldn't be trapped for much longer.

"Half the powder, you said, sir. Aye, aye, sir," he said, and emptied out about half before fumbling forward to see where the officer wanted the cartridge put.

Closed spaces and gunpowder didn't mix. A cannon was made with the similar technique in mind. The contained space was what it took, for the force of a blast to be channeled. Well he just hoped they weren't building themselves a tomb in the bowels of a sewer's cannon.

"Good lad." Cartwright took a light grip on Oxley's sleeve and guided the drummer's hand to the specially-prepared blasting hole. "Stuff it in there as best you can, then I'll put the fuse in. D'you want to light this one off?"

He did his best to fit the half-empty cartridge into the hole without losing any more powder out of it, and looked up at where he thought the officer's face was. "Me, sir? Can I, sir?"

"Better give me the rest o' them charges before you do," Sam said, grinning in the dark.

Branning grinned at the eagerness in Oxley's voice. It wasn't every day you got to use powder charges, after all.

"Certainly you can," Cartwright said.

Oxley nodded and passed his other cartridges over to his older brother. "Don't want them goin' up with me holdin' em, do I," he said, hoping desperately this would work. He managed a grin at the confirmation that Mister Cartwright was going to let him do it. "Here, Sam. I still got your knife," he said, holding it out hilt-first for Sam to take back.

"Go on, lad!" Deverel exclaimed, also grinning by now with anticipation. "Don't keep us all waiting. For glory and King George! Defiance and Terpsichore!" There was no point in keeping quiet at this point, since the enemy knew that they were there, and the men took up the cheer with gusto.

So that was what Deverel was really interested in. Cartwright rolled his eyes. Such unrestrained noise was grossly premature. They had not even gotten to the magazine yet!

"Ready, lad?" He asked, after bidding Branning to get well back. The others were moving back down the tunnel of their own accord but were still cheering like madmen.

"Yes, sir," he said, hoping Sam wouldn't mind if he borrowed his knife for a bit longer, and wondering what to do about a flint, until someone shoved a spare musket flint into his hand.

Sam swallowed an anxious lump in his throat as he backed away, his eyes gleaming and focused on the little patch of light coming through the grating. He could barely see what was happening, apart from movement and occasional flickers of light from the knife blade. He could see patches of red as his brother moved his arms.

"Save some of that powder magazine for when we get out of here, Tommy," he called.

"All right," Cartwright said. "Light it off when you're ready."

"Aye, aye, sir," he said, trying to keep his hands from shaking. If this didn't work, he thought he'd probably burst into tears. "Please work," he muttered, and glanced at the slightly darker patch that was Lieutenant Cartwright, before swallowing hard and striking the flint firmly against the edge of the knife blade, holding them above the fuse, hoping desperately that this was going to work.

All eyes were fixed on the spark, watching with bated breath.

There was the spark and a heartbeat later, the end of the fuse glowed faint red. It was lit.

"Time to go!" Cartwright said curtly, giving Oxley a helpful nudge to get him moving. They didn't have long before the fuse would burn its way up to the charge. "Get your heads down, lads!"

Oxley nearly stumbled but caught himself and stayed close to the Lieutenant as they moved back down to the others. Please work, he thought, still clutching Sam's knife like a talisman, though he shoved the flint into his pocket.

There was the barest of pauses, then the satisfying bang of the powder detonating. The sound of wood cluttering over stone followed the explosion and Cartwright let out a sharp sigh of relief. He hadn't been sure his plot would work.

"Grattan, Branning, follow up close. Both you Oxleys, keep hold of those charges. C'mon lads!" Cartwright hefted his borrowed musket and hurried forward.

He closed his eyes for a second as the relief swept over him. Mister Cartwright had known it would work, even though Oxley had been almost convinced it wouldn't and they were going to be stuck down here forever. If he couldn't keep close to Mister Cartwright, who liked leading from the front, he was going to stick to the big Marine like glue. Well, Branning or Sam. He gave his brother a slightly lopsided smile, tightening his grip on the cartridges he was still holding.

The bang was loud enough to attract some attention. If the magazine was right up ahead of them, musket fire would be kept to the minimum inside of the room. If there wasn't, they could get ambushed by the French. He didn't need to think on what to do, even though he tried. He didn't need to suggest, because this wasn't like in France with it's equality. If it was like that there anyhow.

He just followed and hoped the marine officer would not have them killed needlessly. That or their other lieutenant of the navy. The marine men waited for their turn, barring the small space of the entrance to anybody else - other than the ones who's names were called to go ahead.

De Guarde looked up, seeing nothing, and gave a small sigh. What had been the point of him clambering up? The same or similar was done by the lieutenant anyway. He shrugged to himself. The men were still in the way so it was best to wait, his foot on the drenched cartridge.

And he did, just so that he saw the marines were still in the way of seeing anything let alone more. Silently he felt his way back a few paces nudging the cartridge along. He looked up. The earlier explosion had dislodged a few stone bricks. He stepped on top of the cartridge. Cursed himself for he was still too short. His blade clanked at his side. Jumping up as hard as he could go his hand came in painful contact with one of the bricks now jutting out a little.

Which was great news. His next attempt had him hanging mid air, kicking out at nothingness beneath his feet. Suddenly he felt grateful to have done some more of the physical work, climbing and even holy stoning. With a strained breath he pulled himself higher. Another pull and his shoulders were pressed at the mouth of the tube. Another squirm and he was half way in and going up. Quickly now.

The small explosion had surprised the handful of Frenchmen on the floor above. Cartwright was able to clamber up through the now-clear hole in the floor and swing his musket butt at the nearest man before they stirred into action.

Half a step behind him, Branning wielded his sword a little clumsily, attempting to use it as a club more than a blade. Grattan fired at one of the French soldiers, then went to work with his bayonet.

"Branning! No - thrust, block, slash!" Cartwright cried, seeing the big Marine nearly fail to avoid a cutlass blow.

He heard shouts through the wall and continued to clamber up. There was light up above, and with the French distracted by the sudden assault, none had remained to fire into the privy, should a face appear there. Must've known it was too narrow too.

Nearly up at the top and feeling as if the walls were closing in on the boy. He grunted and sucked in some breath then heaved himself up a little. Went up a few inches. waiting a moment, he did it again. He pushed against an iron bar, which made the hole visibly smaller. It budged easily and moved out of the way.

He was half way out, just to catch sight of a disappearing coat of one of the other men, running towards the magazine room - down the stairs to it.

Oxley scrambled through the hole and pulled out his short musician's sword. It wasn't much, but it was sharp. And he was relieved to be out of there, and ashamed at how close he'd come to letting everyone know just how terrified he was. He stabbed at the Frog who'd tried to do for Branning.

He hoped it was only Mister Cartwright who'd guessed how scared he'd been. He couldn't think of any other reason for being allowed to light the fuse, or for getting patted the way he'd been.

When they got back to Terpsichore, Cartwright resolved that he was going to make sure the Marines got better drilled with the use of swords. A blade-to-blade fight was not the place for any of them to start learning how to propely use a sword.

"Block, slash, block, thrust!" Cartwright called, managing to watch Branning's progress while using his musket to fend off a determined French soldier. They were winning the fight, at least.