OPORTO, 22nd May - Naval Landing Parties

Oxley grinned up at the big Marine, and frowned at the state Mister Cartwright was in. How had he got that dirty? He hadn't been pulling on the grate himself... had he?

"Go on then," Sam said with a reluctant grin, moving well back from the grate with the rest of the charges in his arms.

Cartwright sized up the available space critically before deciding that it would be best to place the charge on the side of the drainage tunnel, just inside the grate and above the tiny stream of watery muck in the bottom of the tunnel. With Branning's help, he got the charge wedged suitably into place.

"That'll do it," he said when all was ready. "Get well back, lads."

Oxley went to stand next to his brother, wondering what the hell was going to happen now.

"Don't get yourself blown up, little brother," Sam said with a grin.

"I won't, Sam," Tom returned, grinning. "Missed you somethin' awful, y'know, Sam."

Brother? Branning turned a confused frown toward Oxley, as Mister Cartwright lit the fuse for the charge.

"Get your heads down, lads!" The lieutenant said curtly.

He hunkered down small, belatedly pulling Sam down next to him.

The older Oxley shielded his box of charges with his own body as he heard the explosion. "All right?" he asked the drummer.

Oxley nodded. "I'm fine. Are you all right, though?"

"Course. Get a move on. We're going in!"




[Bolitho and Bush's group go here]

The eruption of stone, iron, dirt, and muck showered over Branning where he was huddled. His ears rang from the concussion of the explosion, but he didn't need to hear in order to understand orders. Mister Cartwright was waving toward the now-opened drainage tunnel, plainly urging the two Marines forward.

To Branning's surprise, however, he saw that Mister Cartwright had picked up a musket - it was his own, Branning realised with slight dismay - and, after waving the others on, the lieutenant disappeared into the tunnel.

"Wait! Sar!" Branning cried, hurrying after him. The lieutenant had his musket! Bloody officers!

"C'mon then," Oxley said, wondering why Branning was yelling. Wait. Was that... was Mister Cartwright really carrying a musket?! This was getting stranger and stranger...

The seaman ran through the tunnel which seemed to be a drain. "Don't get 'em wet whatever you do," he called, his voice echoing around him. At least in here there was less noise from the firing.

It was gloomy inside the tunnel, gloomy and stinking. Branning did his best to follow Mister Cartwright, though in the inky dark that was not an easy task. It didn't help that Branning's bulk blocked out most of the light from behind them.

For his part, Cartwright was following his nose. The stench of sewage was repulsive at the end of the tunnel, but every drain had a starting point too. They were heading in the right direction then, for the smell was growing stronger. And there was light ahead, around a slight bend in the tunnel.

"Up here, lads," Cartwright called back in a low voice. There was another grate above them, almost too low to permit them to stand upright. It didn't appeared to be as securely fastened as the grate at the far end of the tunnel was. Good.

"I'll get it, sir," said one of the Defiance men, grinning and holding up an axe. He swung it at the corner of the grate where it was loose, but the noise apparently attracted attention.

Tom Oxley was doing his best to follow the others, though it was hard to tell where they were because the tunnel made everything echo weirdly. The stench was awful, and he didn't want to think about what the liquid was that they were wading through. There was another grating at the far end of the tunnel, and someone pulled an axe out to swing at it. Oxley drew his sword; they were probably going to end up doing some serious fighting in a minute or so. He turned to see where Sam was.

"No!" Cartwright hissed, but the seaman had already swung his axe. The ringing clang of metal on metal was more than enough to draw attention to them, which was the last thing they needed. Voices shouted and babbled in French above them. There was a crack and the seaman who'd used his axe on the grate fell back, gasping.

"Get him back," the Marine lieutenant snapped. If that Tar had only waited a handful of seconds more...

Sam was about to collide with his brother and nearly told him so before there was a sound of musket fire ahead of them, reverberating loudly through the tunnel.

Tom Oxley swallowed the epithet he was about to spit, as Grattan pulled the dead seaman away from the grate. There was musket fire ahead of them, and that grating was their only exit. Sam was right behind him, which was good to know. He wondered what Mister Cartwright was going to do now.

Lieutenant Deverel stared through the gloom of the tunnel and listened to the French voices shouting. "Croker was supposed to draw them off!" he exclaimed in dismay. He looked around to see if Bolitho or Bush was present. They were not. "Can your men clear a path for us?" he asked Cartwright.

If he'd still had his musket, Branning was confident that he could take care of the bold Frog who'd fired on them. But Mister Cartwright had his musket, and there was no telling how good a marksman the lieutenant was. Grattan was behind him too, which meant that they would have to rely on Mister Cartwright to return fire.

"Seems he hasn't succeeded. Keep back, sir, leave it to us," Cartwright was saying, dropping down to one knee despite the muck in the tunnel. He aimed his borrowed musket carefully at the grate above them, his tongue sticking partially out in concentration. There was a flicker of movement on the other side of the grate and Cartwright fired.

The crack was amplified deafeningly in the close confines of the tunnel, drowning out any sound from above.

By the sound of it, there were many more Frenchmen outside the tunnel by now. There was not enough room for more than one or perhaps two marines to fire their muskets, shooting up through the grating at a barely seen target, but all the French would have to do would be wait for the British to emerge and pick them off one by one. If only someone would distract the Frenchmen away!

Deverel shook his head. "We have to go back. Out of here."

Cartwright grimaced at the sea officer's words. He was of no mind to simply give up now. He worked clumsily to reload his musket and listened for any sound from the grate above. A rough plan was forming in his head, but he wouldn't get any help with it from this lieutenant.

"Branning, give me your bayonet," Cartwright said. He drew his sword and held it out, hilt-first, to the big private. "You'll have better luck in close quarters with this," he added. Then he took the offered bayonet and twisted it into place on the muzzle of the musket. He waited a moment, staring up at the grate for any sign of movement. There didn't seem to be anything up there.

"Follow up close, Grattan," the lieutenant said, levering the bayonet-tipped musket toward the grate. If he was quick about it he could lift the grate aside and clamber up through the hole without getting shot. If he was quick, and very lucky.

There was a burst of French musket fire as he attempted to emerge.