Smallie knew this was it. This was certainly going to be the end of his career and life. It was an end he’d had nightmares about in the past. He had no fear of dying. He was hardened, dead to most kinds of emotion. If it was going to end today, and this way, then there was nothing he could do to stop it. He made up his mind to sell his life dearly to the advancing men. Then it happened in a flash. With a rush, Smallie burst from cover, and fell among the uniformed men in a menacing crouch, a high pitch growl emanating from his lips. He opened fire with the sub machine gun he had earlier taken from one of the fallen anti-riot policemen. Firing with terrible precision, and vengeance, he sprayed blast after blast watching through slit eyes as the uniformed men, caught completely by surprise fell one after the other in bloody heaps.
