OPORTO, 22nd May - Naval Landing Party TWO

"Mr. Bush!" Bolitho called out, seeing that the lieutenant was trapped.

Coughing as he choked on some of the dust floating around, he dragged himself to his feet--having dove for cover when the charges when off. Then he rushed down into the water to help Quinn free Bush from the rubble.

There were three marines, come from another of the ships that joined in the fray, trying to lift the large door up enough that the officer beneath it would be pulled free. Hanson and Stakes were heaving at the heavy wood, while Finch just pulled another man free.

"The bastards are firing at us!" Though there were few and inbetween, the men still somewhat dazed by the explosion.

"Sir, the gate! My leg's trapped!" Bush gasped. On the other side, the French were regrouping, and here they were, perfectly framed in the arched opening just waiting to be shot.

"It'd have to be the first luff," Johnson grumbled, dropping gracelessly to one knee so he could get his shoulder underneath part of the broken gate. It was nothing but dead weight, though it being in the water helped a little. If he could just lever it up even a few inches... Johnson gritted his teeth and tried to get both feet under him.

Quinn turned his head towards his Marines. "Keep firin', lads. Just 'cause I ain't over there with you don't give you any excuse to slack off!"

He added his shoulder to help Johnson heave the gate up. "Someone pull him free if you can!"

Bush grasped Bolitho's arm with one hand and pushed himself forward with the other.

"Sar'nt!" The men had set a protective line infront of the struggling group. Those who hadn't come to aid, were now reloading and firing at the set order, two lines, so that when the first had to reload, the second was ready to fire again.

It had to leave the French covering, and have their own time to fire reduced as much as they were able. If pressed, if under pressure, they were certain the aim would have been worse, and so the chance of a miss much greater.

Corporal Johnson was already trying to lift the gate, and now Quinn had joined in. Surely they could lift it up enough together.

"Hold on, we'll have you out," Bolitho reassured Bush. He could see the French gathering on the other side, but he had enough confidence in the Marines to keep them back long enough. As Bush took hold of his arm, he took hold of Bush's arm, hoping to give him enough leverage to pull himself out.

Count on Sergeant Quinn to come help. Johnson huffed out a breath and tried to heave himself upward against the gate again. He could have sworn he'd felt it move that last time.

"There she goes!" Ware called, sparing them a glance before resting his musket on Vining's shoulder to help steady his aim before he fired.

His boot was pinned in the grillwork, and so he left his boot behind and heaved himself out.

"Thankee, sir," he said breathlessly, giving his captain a grateful look and nodding to the others as the let go of the heavy gate.

"You're welcome," Bolitho nodded, "But how could I have done anything less? I'm sure you didn't expect us to abandon you."

Noticing that Bush had lost his boot in the struggle, he added, "Though you might want to watch where you step from now on..."

"Aye, sir," Bush answered earnestly, taking cover behind the gateway. "Sergeant Quinn, can you clear a path for us?"

"Marines! We're goin' in!" Quinn said, reloading his musket.

OOC - My Internet dropped and I lost my post. Argh.

IC -

" 'Bout time," Johnson grumbled, drawing his sword. There was no time to look around for the Marine who was carrying his kit for him.

"We'll show 'em!" Finch grinned, his musket reloaded just a moment ago, Hanson standing behind him with his musket empty and in the process of reloading. He reloaded swiftly. When the smoke from the musket fire subsided, the men were already running ahead.

Bush's pistols were waterlogged, their powder useless, and he had lost his sword in the water under the gate. But he had taken an axe from a dead Hermes seaman, and he now seized the sword of the first Frenchman he felled.

Bolitho charged into the opening alongside Bush, as the Marines forced their way in ahead of them. The French had fallen back, but only slightly, and now they engaged the oncoming naval men in combat. Bolitho took down an opponent, then knocked a second back with the hilt of his sword before finishing the man off with the blade.

Now this was more like it! Johnson used his sword to lethal effect, carving his way through the ragged line of Frenchmen with all the grace of a butcher's apprentice.

"Pity Mister Cartwright ain't here for this!" The corporal burst out, his mood lightening now that he was in a close-quarters fight.

Of course everything in the fort was the exact opposite of how it should have looked had they climbed over the south wall as planned. Bush parried a blow and kicked the man away with his booted foot, running him through in the next moment while hurriedly taking in his surroundings. "Which way, sir?" he shouted. Getting one's bearings was always more complicated ashore.

Being that they were completely turned around, Bolitho had to focus his thoughts to figure out which direction they needed to go. Which was not the easiest of tasks while engaged in battle, but as he knocked another Frenchman aside, he managed to make a decision.

"We need to head for the east side of the fort, so we need to go that way!" he gestured with his sword.

A nearby Frenchman seemed to take that as an inviation to attack, and he took a hard slash at Bolitho's blade. Taken off-guard, he lost his grip on the sword slightly, but was able to hold onto it enough not to drop it. Once he had regained his grip, he lashed out at the Frenchman, killing him with a swift thrust to the chest.

And finally, finally there seemed to be men coming over the south wall as well. They had certainly taken their merry time.

"Terpsichores, Hermes, Defiances, east! To the powder store!" Bush shouted. The seamen would at least know which direction was east, even if no one knew what they were doing.

With the late boat, more sailors were scrambling out, marines with them. Grim faces, dark grins of the new arrivals. They burst through the entrance - neatly freed of much of the enemy, bodies strewn about where they were hacked down. Leading them was a tall midshipman, barking his orders sharply at them. They followed and were soon joined the Terpsies and the band of men from the Hermes and Defiance.

Bush looked in surprise at the men from the Confidence, glad of reinforcements but appalled by the admiral's poor planning. They would have been useful half an hour ago. Bolitho would never have countenanced such disorganization.

"Confidences, to me!" Bush roared at their midshipman.

"Aye, aye, sir." The midshipman barked an order at his men. Most followed surefooted , while one had slowed and another stopped to pick at the uniform of a Frenchman. He wasn't so long, given another snapped order they were all running for the higher ranking officer's call.

"Where to, sir?" The gentleman asked in a trained manner, looking ahead at the mayhem that still waited to happen.

"To the powder stores," Bolitho replied, taking a few deep breaths. Thankfully the reinforcements had finally arrived. With any luck, they would be able to accomplish their goal now. Hopefully this midshipman knew how to lead his party into a fight. "Gather your men, Mr...?"