OPORTO, 22nd May - Naval Landing Parties

Grattan turned to stare in surprise when Oxley started laughing, but Cartwright caught the Marine's glance and shook his head. It didn't hurt anything to laugh, especially after a fight. The French blue-jackets had either run or surrendered, no doubt cowed by seeing Branning throw several of them around like dolls.

"Tell the others to come up," Cartwright said to Grattan. And he chuckled himself, amused that Lieutenant Deverel had waited in the dark and filth instead of joining the Marines in their fight.

"I... I'm sorry, sir," he managed when he calmed down enough to speak. Sam was still down there, along with the other sailors - or most of them. He thought he'd seen de Guarde, somewhere, but wasn't sure. "I'm... I'm all right now, sir, really." Even if he wasn't, he had to make himself useful, to do something, or he really was going to be in the way.

The men had retreated into the hall. No longer fighting on one side. "..ah.." De Guarde began with a step back, then turned bolting for the stairs.

(I am confused as to what exactly happened so if this is wrong, please note me!)

Deverel and his Tars were climbing up through the hole in the floor, some of the younger sailors looking around in bewilderment at the scattering of bodies around the room. The sea officer sniffed as he straightened up and regarded Cartwright solemnly.

"It took you long enough to secure the room, Lieutenant," he said. Cartwright only shrugged and wiped off his sword on a French soldier's shirt.

"But it's secure now, sir," was his reply. "You can set your charges as you please."

Oxley wiped his own sword off before sheathing it and sidling over to his brother, grinning at him almost shyly. He'd grown and changed in the four years since they'd last seen each other, but Oxley had too, he knew that much. They probably still looked like each other, though, even under all the dirt and everything else.

The young Tar turned around. The only way he knew was back to the privies and there was no way that he were to escape as quickly down the one. And escape to where? Their entrance was still barred and though no man could follow him, he too could not have climbed through so quickly.

He knelt by the door, fired, then slid in closing the door. He looked about himself and pushed a large wooden cupboard towards the door.

"Hey, I seen a Tar up there!" Grattan called out, pointing out the door through which some of the French had fled. A couple of Deverel's sailors laughed at him, thinking his statement to be a joke, until a glare from Branning shut them up.

Cartwright moved quickly toward the door. "Where was he heading?"

"Up the stairs, sir," Grattan told him.

Behind them, Sam Oxley nudged his brother. "Why'd you let us miss all the fun, Tommy?"

"Wasn't me. You could've come up here any time you wanted."

And there was a Tar out there? Probably de Guarde... but how'd he got there? Oxley couldn't answer that one. He shrugged at his brother. "I'm goin' with Mister Cartwright," he said. "He might want them charges, 'cause I'm not sure what he's plannin' to do with 'em." And Sam had a cutlass with him anyway, if there was going to be any more fighting- which there probably was.

Sam grinned. "Could've, sure. But your officer didn't say he wanted us with you, did he?"

He glanced over at Lieutenant Deverel, who was looking around and not paying any attention to them. "I'll go with you," he said.

"Now you're bein' stupid. Just 'cause someone don't say specially that they want you ain't no reason to go hidin' away. And c'mon, if you're comin', afore he gets too far away." He glanced over at Branning and grinned. "We ain't got all the Frogs yet, I don't s'pose."

There was another door coming from the privies and leading probably into some other room or part of the building.Perhaps a kitchen was close, but he'd had no plans of the place whatsoever, so all had been guesswork and hoping. Right now, the hope was for the Frenchmen not burst through the door. Some of them were regrouping, preparing themselves for another attack at the invading marines. The rest had followed the boy up the stairs and were standing at the door, one ramming himself at it.

He would've had two muskets if he hadn't forgotten to pick one on the way up - running as fast as his feet would take him. The weapon was loaded, and his shoulder was aching something terrible, just as his arms, unused to the heavy weapon.

The same man had banged his shoulder against the door, which gave it a few inches space. De Guarde bit at his lip. Couldn't squirm through the privy, could not hide because they'd smell him out. And he wasn't yet convinced the other door was a good place to go.

"Stupid idiot... stupid idiot." He muttered to himself. "Least they'um distracted." He sighed. "N' t' marines.. they won..secured it." He thought last.

"Oxley, where are you going with those charges?" Deverel snapped. "And who has the fuse? Come on, men, to the magazine!"

It seemed strangely quiet after the noise of the fight, but now they could hear a greater noise outside, including many shouts in English. The others had found a way into the fort, probably those Terpsichores.

"We're here, sir!" Oxley yelled, hearing his name - his brother's name - called in a peremptory voice that could only belong to Sam's officer. At least Mister Cartwright seemed to be heading in the right direction, which was something. Where was the Navy Lieutenant then?

Deverel was kicking in doors, looking for the right room. "Where's that axe?" he shouted, finding one of that was heavily locked.

One of the Defiances had it and came running up, even as Oxley turned to see where his brother and Mister Cartwright had got to.

Deverel himself took the axe and swung it, striking the lock several times before it broke away. He tossed it aside and threw the door open. Sacks of grain, casks of wine. He cursed loudly. "Find that powder store!" he shouted. "Open all the doors! Hurry!"

That wasn't what they were after, not by a long shot. Oxley looked around, hoping to see something that might prove to be the target they were after, or if someone else had found it. Weren't magazines usually nearer the guns, on land anyway? He was fairly sure they were, though who knew what the French were like?

It was Sam Oxley who pointed the building off to one side, slightly separate from the others. "That looks like it, sir," he said.

Deverel looked up from his struggle with another locked door. "Yes it does," he answered with a piratical grin. It was an ideal situation for a magazine. "Come on, men!" he shouted, running the short space across the courtyard.

In the corner of his eye he could see another group of red-coated marines and blue-coated seamen, Captain Bolitho's group. There was still no sign of the north wall parties themselves, though there was action taking place on that side of the fort.

Oxley held onto his hat with one hand and the cartridges he was holding with the other. He couldn't spare a hand to draw his sword, and it would be useless anyway. There was shouting and he looked up to see a bunch of Marines come into the fort and spread out. At first he thought they were targeting their small group, but shouts behind him made him look to the walls where a bunch of Frogs was trying to fire down. He wondered for a moment where Mister Cartwright was.

They made a dash for it. "Tommy! Cartridges in hat!" Sam exclaimed with a grin when they had reached the wall of the building.

Deverel and most of the others had dashed off, intent on finding the powder magazine. Cartwright let them go and made his way further upstairs, keeping a wary eye out for any more blue-jackets. They could take on the powder magazine all they wished. There were still Frenchmen actively fighting against the attacking Marines and sailors. He had an idea about how to take the will to fight right out of them.

"What? Sam, what you on about?" Oxley asked, skidding on the paving stones slightly as he caught up with his brother.

Sam laughed at him. "Never mind. Get down," he said, pulling him into a squatting position next to the wall to make them both as small targets as possible while the French continued firing and the lieutenant hacked at the door with his axe. Suddenly Deverel gave a shout and dropped the axe. A shot had torn through his arm. "Get down, sir!" Sam gasped. He dumped his cartridges into his brother's lap and took up the axe himself.

"What?" Oxley said before turning to see his brother taking the axe from the injured Navy officer to start hacking at the door. He dumped his own cartridges with Sam's and dodged out to try to get the officer under cover. There was no point risking having him shot more than once, though Oxley wished he had a neckerchief or something rather than a stock, so he could tie the officer's arm up.

Deverel laughed nonsensically. He reached into his pocket with his free hand and found a handkerchief. "Here, wrap that around, will you?"