The Scarlet Thief by Paul Fraser Collard Page A

angle, moving faster than the staggering sergeant could react. Slater’s arms waved out, trying to catch Jack, attempting to halt the relentless stream of punches he was raining down. Time after time, he aimed a punch at Jack’s face only to hit thin air.
    Jack was delivering punch after punch, he could sense Slater faltering. He would beat the invincible sergeant. The whole battalion would hear of the brute’s defeat and realise that David had faced Goliath and, just as in the bible story, David had won.
    Then Jack’s head exploded in agony and the world went black.
    Slater’s fist had come from low down near the ground where the huge sergeant had bent nearly double as he tried to weather the storm of punches. The massive fist was clenched hard and it connected with Jack’s jaw like a sledgehammer. The blow lifted him from his feet and the violent impact threw his body to one side.
    Goliath was not following the script.
    Jack’s body smacked hard into the floor. His vision greyed out, the blow knocking him nearly senseless. He rolled as he hit the ground, desperate to get back on his feet. He never saw the shadow of a heavy boot moving towards him. The kick slammed into his ribs, sliding him across the floor, the breath driven from his lungs. The pain flared white across his vision but he twisted on the ground, his fingers scraping at the floorboards as he battled to get back to his feet.
    Slater grunted as he kicked out again, his boot driving hard into Jack’s body.
    ‘No!’
    It was the sound of a young woman driven to madness. A shriek of rage that echoed around the small room as Molly threw herself at Slater.
    She came at him with all her strength. Her torn blouse billowed around her, the bruises on her body dark against her pale flesh. She leapt at Slater with hands like claws.
    Jack lifted his head, his blood warm on his face. He saw Molly rake her nails down Slater’s face like the talons on a bird of prey, inflicting wounds that were vicious and deep.
    Jack levered himself to his feet, ignoring the spasms of pain that tore through his body. It took all of his strength but he staggered upright.
    Slater reeled from Molly’s sudden assault. He felt her nails rip through his flesh, the pain sudden and bright. He thrust his arm out, using his full strength to push her off. But her desperate strength resisted his efforts.
    The touch of her naked flesh stalled him. He brought his hand round, feeling the hard mound of her breast against his grasping fingers and he hesitated, raw desire making his hand linger on the firm young flesh.
    Molly screamed and pummelled his face. Slater kept his grip on her body, his hot, rough hands pawing her. In desperation, she thrust her fingers upwards, jamming them brutally into his eyes, her fingers like daggers as she tried to gouge out his sight.
    Slater roared. He let go of her breast and punched with all his might. His fist smashed into Molly’s face. The blow sent her sprawling backwards, the blood pulsing from the ruin of her nose.
    Molly fell hard. Her head crunched with sickening force into a hard metal soap tin.
    Jack staggered forward, and his heart stopped when he saw Molly’s body lying in a heap on the ground. Her hair had escaped from the pattern of clips and clasps that held her curls in check, fine strands whispered over her bloodstained mouth. But there was no breath to blow them away. Blood was splattered across her pale skin. The bright blue of the staring eyes was dull, the sparkle of life gone.
    Jack went to her side, unable to believe what he was seeing. He wanted to fall to his knees, to give in to the horror that gripped his heart, to bury his head in her hair just as he had done so many times before. His throat closed and he felt his breath constrict in his chest as his soul chilled, icing over with grief.
    He didn’t hear the sound of the bolt scraping back or the door to the laundry being thrown open, or feel the draught of fresh air on his skin. He