OPORTO, 22nd May - Naval Landing Parties

"C'mon, ya lazy slug," Chase called to Williams, who was straggling only half a pace behind his swifter-footed comrades. Dyer was ahead of most of them, but that was no surprise.

"Keep close to the captain!" Jim Spencer called out, ducking as a stray musket ball whined past his head.

Branning had fallen in with the others, doing his best to contain his excitement. A land fight was different from a ship-board action and therefore something new. Not that there was anything new to fear. They'd show those Frogs what was what, and hopefully make it back aboard Terpsy in time for their rum issue.

"The south wall, lads," Mister Cartwright was calling. "We're going to take it. Skirmish parties, Sergeant. Keep moving and don't group up. Let's not give the French any good targets if we can avoid it!"

Bush shared a private grimace with the captain, raising an eyebrow. "We won't give up hope yet, sir. Terpsichores to me!" he shouted again, bellowing. "Chandos, move your men!"

The sleepy looking lieutenant from Defiance, Deverel, arrived and saluted hastily, grinning with anticipation. "South wall, sir?" he shouted over the sound of cannon fire.

"So it seems, Mr. Deverell," Bolitho replied. He glanced back at the lieutenant, and seeing that he was still looking at him expectantly, added, "Well what are you waiting for, man? You heard the admiral! Now gather your men and get them to the south wall!"

"Move!" Corporal Johnson yelled, lurching back to his feet after pausing to reload his musket. The Marines were moving forward in loose groups, alternately firing and hunkering down to swiftly reload.

Branning held his fire, choosing instead to stay reasonably close to Mister Cartwright. He wanted to fight beside his officer, well away those other Marines from Defiance. Some rivalries couldn't be overcome.

"Mr. Green, bring your men forward!" Deverel shouted to the Defiance marine lieutenant. "Vincent, Oxley, get those charges and don't drop them!"

"Gangway, make a lane!" the seamen yelled as they ran through the middle of the group, hoping to avoid being fired upon while carrying charges. "Give way, mate!" one of them shouted in the drummer's ear.

"Terpsy's Marines! Skirmish order!" Quinn bellowed, gratified to see his men spread out into skirmish pairs. It wasn't something they got much chance to practise at sea, but it was certainly better than trying to do some complicated parade ground drill, and a lot safer as far as the men were concerned.

He spared a glance at the young drummer. "Just keep your head down, Oxley lad, you'll be fine."

"Shift yourself, lad - charges!" the Defiance seaman shouted again.

Mister Cartwright glanced back quickly to see which Marines were closest to him. "Everett! Ware! Get up to that bush at the base of the wall, quick as you can! Branning, Grattan. Follow me!"

What the devil was their officer thinking? Branning thought, following close on Mister Cartwright's heels. They were running almost parallel to the wall, instead of directly at it.

Oxley looked around, confused, and decided the best place to be would be to stick as close to Quinn as possible. Until one of the seamen from Defiance said something about charges. Which made a lot more sense, somehow, that trying to skirmish without having a musket. He glanced at Quinn.

"Go on, Oxley, you'll be more help there than with us right now," the Sergeant said, before directing his Marines onward, leaving Oxley with the sailor from Defiance

"Where?" he asked, addressing the seaman, looking around in confusion.

"What? I don't care, just move!" The seaman stared at the young marine. He had only wanted the lad to move out of his way. Then he took a second look. "Tommy? What are you doing here?"

He stared at his red uniform and sword, confused, until Deverel shouted for him again. "Oxley!" And they both turned their heads simultaneously.

"Gotta go, Tommy!" the seaman said with a grin.

"Sam!" He turned to follow the sailor - his brother - and see if he could be of any use to anyone. Better than hanging around, getting in the way, anyhow, he thought.

"You're a marine!" Sam shouted as they ran.

Cartwright was bounding toward the section of wall that he had picked out as his destination, heedless of the musket balls raining down from the French on the walltop above. He had spotted something that could easily be used as a point of entry, if any of them could get to it. A drain, likely running all the way under the wall. The grate over the drain was no major obstacle, rusty as it was.

"Branning!" The lieutenant called. The big Marine should be able to prise the grate off, or at least loosen it some.

"Yes! I joined after you was pressed!" the drummer called back. "Bin tryin' to find you for years!"

"Well here I am!" the seaman answered with amusement. "Carry this for me, will you? That big marine there, we'll follow him."

"That's Brannin'," he confided, unable to quite believe that after four years of looking he'd found his brother in the middle of a battle. He took the cartridges he was given and followed Branning, wherever he was headed.

With Grattan keeping a wary eye out and keeping up a sporadic fire, Branning set to work heaving on the rusted iron grate. It was still sturdy enough to resist his efforts. Frustrated, he cursed and spat on his palms, then tried again.

"Stuck fast, sar!" He grunted, after this second failed attempt. Cartwright sheathed his sword and said "Try again, Branning!"

Then, to Branning's surprise, he grabbed hold of the grate and set his weight against it. Branning had never seen the like before but he was not about to let his officer do all the work. He took a good grip on the iron bars too and, like Cartwright, used his weight against it.

"Sir!" He called once they were close enough. Mister Cartwright, sir!"

"What're you doing?" Sam asked his brother suspiciously.

Cartwright swiped away some sweat with a dirt-grimed hand, which only smeared the dirt across his forehead. Oxley and a couple seamen were scrambling toward them.

"C'mon up, lads!" Cartwright greeted, unable to keep from grinning. "Could use another pair of hands on this grate."

"Got some powder, sir. Could try that," the drummer said, glancing at his brother. "They need to get in, Sam. Lettin' 'em have one cartridge, mebbe two, won't hurt."

"This is for blowin' up the powder magazine!" Sam protested jealously.

"There's enough powder in the magazine, Sam. They just need enough to blow this open. It won't hurt if they have a little bit, will it?"

The seamen had charges. Excellent. "Set one of those just inside the grate," Cartwright said, as he and Branning moved back from the grate. They were streaked with dirt and slime from their efforts to pry the iron barred grate loose. Branning grinned at Oxley, reaching out to give the drummer's shoulder a firm pat.

"Glad ya came an' joined us, lad," the big Marine said cheerfully.