Sowerbutt's Fight

The huge fist swung around the trunk of the oak tree with the force of an LMS express train. Eamonn Kelly had no chance, the punch connected with his jaw and the big Irishman was lifted off his feet, falling back onto the file of armed men he was leading through the woods outside Luton Hoo. He was out for the count as was his cousin from Donegal beside him whose head received the full blow of Kelly’s elbow as he fell clumsily.

The small red-haired man immediately behind Kelly was a veteran of countless ambushes with the scars to prove it. Free Staters, Black-and-Tans, Special Branch and rival IRA groups had all tried repeatedly to eliminate Frank Richards. A split-second before One-Line’s fist connected, Richards threw himself into the thick broad buckler fern, spraying the oak tree and surrounding bushes with the Tommy-gun he had stolen from St Lucia Barracks in Omagh. Bullets hit two of Spaghetti’s cousins. One scratched an arm; the other lodging in thigh muscle, the cousin toppling to the ground in agony.
Sowerbutt, concealed behind a holly bush, watched in slow motion as One-Line charged the IRA line, bellowing like an angry bull. He had seen his friend run wild before; outside a pub in Whitechapel where some Reds drank. Three men had tumbled to the pavement like nine-pins, the other three fled. Inside the pub was pandemonium as drinkers dropped their pints on the floor, jumped the bar and raced through the kitchen, trying to escape the wild man.
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