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on pattern。
Bob Ingleton felt his skull crack before he passed out； almost saw the skin split and the bone open up a wide crevice so that something that looked like grey frogspawn oozed out。 Lying there； blind and helpless； trying to curse those who still kicked and hacked at his body； knowing in his heart that his baby daughter was dead and for that reason he didn't care whether he lived or died。
But by the time the three constables fought their way to him； struggling to hold back an hysterical Marie who was cradling her dead baby to her bosom and screaming at everybody that it still had to be alive； Bob Ingleton was beyond assistance。 One of the officers had radioed for an ambulance but already it was too late。
P。C。 Glyn Stewart had already given a week's notice to quit the police force。 At twenty…one； and already having passed some of his examinations with considerable ease； his parents were aghast at his foolhardiness； with his future assured he had； they moaned； thrown up everything。 But； as Glyn retorted； it was preferable to be alive in the dole queue than booking an early passage to whatever lay beyond the grave。 And his one regret was that he had not filed his notice a week earlier and thereby avoided this； his last day of terror in uniform。 It hadn't been like this when he was a recruit。
Somehow he had hidden his fear。 He glanced at his watch； saw that it was barely 11 a。m。 The outburst of violence in the shopping precinct had died down； just a few skinheads still shouting insults at the police as a few of their rades were loaded into the waiting black maria on the car park at the rear。 Glyn Stewart was wishing that he had been assigned to acpany the van back to the station。 At least that way he would have had a brief respite； given his nerves a chance to settle after that stabbing。
Jesus； to think that any human being could do that to another。 But these fascist bastards weren't human； they were worse than wild animals； you only had to look at their faces to see that！ Blank expressions that failed to hide their malevolence； like dead kids that had somehow been made to walk again； given the strength to wreak a brutal vengeance on the living。
He felt queasy just thinking about that business in the entrance to the big store。 The skins had virtually gutted that guy； his innards spilling out of the open wound； his skull cracked open as he fought to save his baby。 Horrific senselessness … the bastards had run off with the child which was surely dead； or at the very least badly injured； others closing in to thwart a rescue attempt after the kid had been snatched from its mother with the same desperation as though they'd nicked half…a…million from the bank。 There had been another baby…snatching the day before； only a mile or two from here； but there couldn't be any connection； the police were looking for a man and a woman driving a red Cortina in that instance。
Glyn Stewart was white and shaken。 That girl had gone off her rocker； she'd probably spend the rest of her life in a mental hospital。 And what woman wouldn't after her husband had been disembowelled； kicked to a bloody pulp and her kid stolen by skinhead nazis。
Stewart had to meet the sergeant in an hour。 Then they'd both go down to the demonstration； join the thin blue line which would attempt to keep the warring factions apart and hope that the coloured population didn't decide to show up in numbers as well。 You couldn't blame them if they did after the provocation of the past few hours but the Chief had appealed to them in a radio broadcast to stay away。 Democracy was going haywire because nobody could legally cut out the cancer。 The death…penalty and floggings were the only sure remedy； Glyn decided。 Roll on tomorrow； he'd sleep Sunday away and hope that eventually he'd be able to put this day right out of his mind。
At 12。15 he was standing on the kerbside； arms linked with officers on either side of him； trying to hold back a pushing shoving mob。 These aggressors didn't look any different from the hundreds of 'skins' who had； according to the police radio； started their march a mile or so back。 One faction was as bad as the other； and in the end ail they wanted was violence and killing。 Racist bastards who tried to put the blame on somebody else； a society they wanted to take over and corrupt。 Stewart sweated under the strain。 Christ； why the hell didn't the police do like the continentals and get stuck in with their batons？ No self…respecting copper was going to take abuse and violence forever without turning like the proverbial worm。 But once that happened anarchy had already begun。 Even the angry； frightened PC Stewart accepted that。 All he wanted was to be well away from here。
'Pigs！ Nazi bastards！'
The shouting rose to a crescendo； all heads turned in the direction from which the marches were expected。 Now； if you were tall enough to see over the tops of the police helmets and cropped heads； you could see the approaching column； hand painted banners carried aloft with their swastikas bearing the date Nov 9。 Ten deep and still ing； a wriggling snake that stretched several streets in length； seething with hate and violence。 For all its propaganda the Liberation Front was putting on a deliberate show of war； whilst at its head strode one whom at a distance might have been mistaken for the long…dead Adolf Hitler。 Colonel Vince Lealan was making his first bow in public！ However； there was one similarity between the dead Fuhrer and the live one … those high stepping booted feet； the grim expression； eyes that blazed something far more insidious than a mere hatred for those lining the streets …fanaticism。
The motley crowd of skinheads behind Lealan had long given up trying to keep in step； an untidy rabble of banner…waving； chanting hooligans； moving with the jerkiness of automatons； eyes seeing but not prehending 。 。 。 a hypnotised army on the march！
Glyn Stewart saw them； caught his breath。 He recognised the type； knew them for what they were； had battled with them on many of London's football grounds when he was unlucky enough to be assigned to Saturday afternoon crowd control。 That was bad enough； but now it was a hundred times worse； soccer thugs enlisted into an organised fighting force。 His heartbeat speeded up； he felt his breathing go shallow。 Something was going to happen； a nasty premonition crawled into his frightened brain。
Those on the pavements behind the police seemed to have relaxed their efforts to break through the blue cordon； even the shouting had died down。 A lull that deceived the peace…keeping force； had them relaxing for a few seconds。 And in those few moments it all happened！
The uniformed living caricature of Hitler was no more than twenty yards from the young policeman。 Glyn Stewart saw those high…stepping legs 。slow down； lose their momentum； e to a halt。 Behind； the skinheads milled； bunched； looking towards the watchers。 A forest of upraised arms； a cry that was like the noise of cannon…fire； hanging in the air； being taken up by those behind the police lines。
'Sei