Fleischer fired again. Another bullet and a very near miss. Swan had to get out of his predicament, otherwise, he would soon be a dead man.
He crouched lower behind the steel-wheeled shield moving it along with him. The Colt was in his right hand, as he bent his knees, like a Russian dancer, taking one step at a time.
Fleischer studied the moving obstacle and smiled, watching Swan’s feet do their little jig towards the block. Then he saw his opportunity and climbed onto a statue, where from this elevated advantage to his opponent, lined up for his prize shot. There was a click and, still cowering safely behind the big wheeled steel box, Swan realised, Fleischer’s gun had jammed.
The German cursed, looking at his weapon. Then it was Swan’s turn. He rose, took aim, and fired. A shot removed the nose of the statue. Fleischer jumped down and fled towards the apartment block. Ahead of him, he saw a glass door and pulling it open, rushed inside.
Swan saw the figure move fast behind the glass. He fired, shattering it, but the German was already through. Stealthily, he also moved over to the door, and making sure he did not cut himself on his own handiwork, carefully opened it.
Fleischer ran up the staircase trying his gun. He clicked it a few times, and a shot fired onto the step, in front him. It was now working again. Shots rang out below him from the automatic, one bouncing off the metal stair rail, near his hand. Fleischer fired back blindly, scattering a spread beneath him.
Swan swung himself out of the firing line of the lead shower and moved around a wall. Fleischer stood confidently with the revolver in his hands. He loaded some more bullets, then slammed on the breech. He waited, knowing Swan would soon be in view, listening carefully, but there was just silence.
Outside the building, he could hear the passing traffic. His head jerked forward as Swan pushed on him from behind, He had spied a door that would lead around the German, and had decided to surprise him. Fleischer fell forward and in reaction, dropped the gun and put his hands out in front of him to break his fall. Swan kicked away the pistol, but had missed securing Fleischer. The German quickly rose from his prone position and leapt through a door to an outside balcony.
Swan ran after him and watching his assailant running, shouted to him. ‘Give it up, Fleischer! There’s no way out of this. Halt or I shoot?’
The German kept on running, then stopped at the edge of the balcony, glancing over, to see the moving traffic below the ledge. He looked left, then right, for a possible escape, turning to see the SID man standing in a shooting posture.
He shouted at him. ‘I will never give up the Onyx Cross for you, Mr Swan. It has been my life, since the end of the war, and I will see our objective through. The Allies stole our technology and they must pay severely for their crimes.’ The German looked over the wall again, and this time noticed the top of a truck. It had stopped at a traffic light, just below him. He suddenly realised, there could be a way out of this. He stared at the approaching Englishman, then turned and vaulted over the balcony.
Swan ran to the edge, looked down and without hesitation, he too leapt over the ledge, into the air.
Chapter 47
Minutes earlier, Tony Martello was on route to his final delivery for this short day.
On leaving Carla’s Café, he would rush home and take his wife and son to Space View Park, to watch the launch.
On the radio in his cab, the DJ for the WGNB radio station, talked of the impending event, and as a request for the astronauts, played a record; it was The Boxer, one of Martello’s favourite tunes at present. This catchy song by Simon and Garfunkel, had been riding high in the Hit Parade for a few months now, and as his wife Dianna also liked it, he knew he would have to get another copy of the single, to replace the almost worn out one on his radiogram at home.
As he turned the corner, the duo’s soft harmonies, began to distort. Martello swore, as he reached for the dial to get a better reception. Momentarily, this had caused him to swerve to the middle of the road. A rebuking horn from an oncoming station wagon, told him to concentrate, and he stopped at a red light, next to an overhanging balcony. Suddenly, a vibrating thud was heard above him, followed a few seconds later by another. He climbed quickly out of his cab to investigate, and looking up, couldn’t see anything, but he heard what sounded like grunts and roars. On the wall beside him, he saw shadowy silhouettes of two figures, in a bitter struggle, that would change shape, as they moulded together like a sculpture of modern art. Tony then saw something fly towards him, smashing to the ground, and checking the object, his eyes widened when he noticed it was an automatic pistol. He called up to the roof of his truck. ‘Hey, get off my god-dammed truck, will ya?’
On top of the delivery truck, the two men were too focussed on each other to hear his cry. Swan had a grip of the German’s jacket, as Fleischer put all his weight onto him. Their eyes locked on each other, their gazes boring into each other’s brains with equal hatred. Swan fell backwards, smashing down onto the roof Fleischer fell on top of him, and moved his hand, clamping it around Swan’s throat. With all his weight, he pushed down on Swan’s neck, as the Englishman brought his hands up to grip the German’s fingers.
Swan began to feel light-headed, his vision blurring. He had to get Fleischer off him, or he would soon lapse into unconsciousness. He writhed from side to side, to try to shake him lose, but Fleischer was determined. He wanted this man dead, even it meant using his bare hands to do it. Swan had become his sworn enemy, and the German now had the advantage. ‘I am going to squeeze the life from you, Mr Swan.’
Underneath him, the SID man struggled. With both hands, he tried to push the fingers upwards, relenting the pressure around his neck, while at the same time, he brought his knee into his opponent’s back, knocking him forward, his head whiplashing.
Across the street, everyone had stopped in shock at the spectacle taking place on top of the Coca Cola truck. Martello, now bewilderingly holding the automatic, shouted over to them, ‘Hey, someone call the cops!’ He returned to the side of his cab and threw the gun onto the driver’s seat.
On the roof of the truck, Swan could feel himself gasping for breath, as Fleischer gave a victorious smile, realising that he now had the better of his opponent. Swan released one hand, and as he continued to whack his knee into the man’s back, used the hand to smack the German’s face as hard as he could, delivering some blows on target. One of the fists, had caught the nose, and it began to bleed, but the almost uncontrollable rage inside the Onyx Cross leader, supressed his pain, as he continued his attempt to strangle Swan. He moved his body to one side, to prevent Swan from using his knee on him again.
Below them, traffic passed by at speed along the other side of the road. Then, Swan saw an opportunity; moving to avoid his knee, Fleischer’s leg was now hanging half over the truck. He jerked to his right, throwing the German over to his right. Too determined to see this manoeuvre, Fleischer was caught off-balance. To steady himself, he had to release his grip, as his leg rolled further down the side of the truck, swinging in mid-air, his foot scrabbling for a hold.
In desperation, he gripped hold of Swan’s wrist. Swan saw that Fleischer’s arm was resting on the lip at the edge of the roof, and with all his body weight, using his free arm, slammed down his elbow onto the German’s forearm, fracturing the radius bone. Fleischer cried out, gripping his broken limb with the other hand.
Swan then turned right over onto his stomach, sending the German over the lip, and down the side of the truck. Still clutching his arm, Fleischer fell headfirst towards the road.