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of cannon…fire； hanging in the air； being taken up by those behind the police lines。
'Seig Heil！ Seig Heil！'
Bewildered； the massed police were caught off guard。 They had anticipated a concerted rush by the 'antis' at some time during the demonstration but not a sudden converging of a united enemy。 In front and behind them the police saw hundreds of skinheads ing at them； wielding an assortment of weapons； the blue army caught between two fires！
'Seig Heil Police pigs。 Kill the pigs！'
Stewart wanted to run； to scream； to do everything that a policeman in uniform should not do； he saw the seething hatred of an organisation that had simmered too long in the shadows of a civilised society； the vermin of a metropolis united。 He didn't run； neither did he scream； just stood petrified； his truncheon forgotten。 He'd left it too late； one bloody day too late； the difference between life and death。
The police were outnumbered by ten to one； given no chance to close their ranks。 Officers went down； helmets bouncing across the road； rolling themselves into blue balls that were battered and kicked； a ruthless assault that was more than a token of protest； Banners were lowered； the poles crude jousting weapons； the points sharpened into spear heads。 Knives； chains； the attacking mob indiscriminate in their assaults so that even skinheads were falling with terrible wounds on their bodies。
But the police were making a fight of it； truncheons answering viciousness with viciousness； no quarter given nor asked。 Stewart rolled on the ground； a small but stocky attacker pinning him down； punching and biting。 That was when the young PC's blind terror began； the atrocities that were being mitted on the fallen； knives that stabbed and hacked； blood spurting up like a burst street main as a policeman's artery was severed。 And Glyn made up his mind that he wasn't going to end it all here； he hated these yobbos for not having waited until tomorrow。 He got his truncheon clear of its pocket； powered it upwards between his assailant's legs。 The other jerked； screamed； came off his intended victim and rolled over doubled up with pain。
Somehow Stewart got to his knees； then to his feet。 Oh Jesus God； the bastards were going to pay for this！ Blind rage welled up in him； rage such as he had never known before； did not even guess existed within him； he struck savagely at an unprotected cropped head and even in the midst of the din of battle heard the skull split open； the youth dead before he sprawled across the body of a man wearing sergeant's stripes。 A life for a life。
Glyn didn't care now； knew he'd never get out of here alive； but he had to take a few of them with him。 Bodies everywhere； some still； some moving。 Sirens of approaching patrol cars but they'd never cope； nothing except guns would stop this new tide of spreading fascism。 Anarchy had arrived； and only the army could stop it now。
A few yards away from him Stewart saw the uniformed leader of this skinhead army； ringed by what seemed to be a private bodyguard； seven or eight youths with stoic expressions and armed with an assortment of weapons to protect their Fuhrer。 Hypnotic devotion。
But the odds did not matter any more to Glyn Stewart。 Suddenly his whole hatred was directed on to that one figure； recognising the fanatical being that was responsible for all this； just as forty years ago a mere painter had succeeded in inciting a nation； had them doing his bidding； an evil that had spread worldwide； its cost added up in millions of lives。 It was happening again。 A London suburb to begin with 。 。 。 soon the city itself； the provinces； evil borne on the wind to all the points of the pass； from country to country； continent to continent。
Glyn Stewart made his rush； head down； his helmet gone； one puny truncheon against an armament of pickhandles and chains。。He wanted to kill； to annihilate the cancer that was responsible for all this street carnage even at the expense of his own life。
And in those few moments a hero died unnoticed； not a single eye…witness to earn him a posthumous award for bravery beyond the call of duty。 A whirling chain caught him across the face； tearing skin and chipping bone； dragging out both eyes with its flicking tail almost as an afterthought。 Stewart jerked； dislocated his spine； a bizarre tottering sightless figure that was easy prey for the pick…handles。 Battered and broken before he hit the ground； Glyn Stewart rolled over and lay still； staring up at the spring sky with sightless empty sockets where once his eyes had been； a bloodied cavity of a mouth frozen into one last crimson curse。
Had the two sides been separated then the police would have been able to organise a hasty retreat。 As it was； there was nowhere to retreat to； each skirmish its own battle； organisation non…existent。 Relief forces were trying to get through； finding themselves having to join the fury； more skirmishes in a battle that could have only one oute。
Nobody； not even the surviving policemen； had any recollection of a signal which had the young nazis retreating； slipping away into side streets； blending perfectly into a background of other skinheads who might or might not have been involved。 For the hooting of an owl； in broad daylight when men are groaning and screaming； is likely to go unnoticed。
Just the dead and the injured remained； a battered army in defeat picking up the pieces。 There would be lengthy reports； hours of paperwork。 Maybe some arrests。 But it was tomorrow and the days ahead that the police feared。 Especially the nights。
A few streets away from the battle scene a red Cortina 2000 was parked at the kerbside； its engine running。 The man behind the wheel； awaiting each instruction from the slim blonde…haired woman at his side； stared impassively ahead of him。 Dark clothing that was creased； jet…black hair that was ruffled； untidy。 A stamp of neglect about him； a man who had abandoned all personal pride and ambition in stark contrast to his immaculate panion。
'Give me a cigarette； Sabat。' Her tone was sharp； almost reprimanding him for not having anticipated her need for tobacco。
His hand reached across to the glove box； located a packet of kingsize； yet Sabat's movements still reflected that perfect co…ordination of mind and body as he shook out a cigarette； conveyed it to his lips at the same time that his other hand was igniting the automatic lighter on the facia。 Within seconds he had it drawing evenly and passed it to her。
'The Disciples of Lilith have struck a major blow today；' there was an exultant note in Catriona Lealan's voice。 'By tomorrow the Liberation Front will reveal its true identity for the fear has already begun。 We shall fight in the shadows； every night filled with terror for those who skulk behind locked doors； for truly none will dare to venture forth。 The army has dispersed； each and every one of its soldiers obsessed with my ideals。 Just as you and I will disperse； Sabat。 You back to your home； your instructions clear； which you will obey implicitly