Sniper Elite Read Free Page B

just keeled over and died out in the bush; active to the end–he wouldn’t have had it any other way.

    After John was sacked the atmosphere in the small workshop steadily got worse. I approached Bob’s competitor, Frank Malia, who had a similar workshop down the road. He was keen to take me on and tried to transfer my apprenticeship to him. Bob was far from impressed by this and slowed the process down so that I actually finished my apprenticeship with him.
    During this time I had made some good friends through the Manakau Technical Institute, which we had to attend every Thursday night as part of the apprenticeship. We all shared something in common: an enjoyment of alcohol. We smoked a bit of pot on the odd occasion but never really got into it; beer was the drug of the day and we loved it! It did have its side effects like any other drug and turned me into an obnoxious slob. But every weekend was a big one. We’d all get together after work on the Friday whether it was at a party, pub or at someone’s house, then proceed to get as drunk as possible.
    We would talk a lot of shit and spent hours crapping on about which chicks we fancied, and how other blokes we knew were fuckwits, and the way we would bash them if we ever saw them again. Of course it was all talk and just for show, but in reality, I had become that ‘fuckwit’ we were all talking about!
    We would do stupid things like spend all afternoon in the Thoroughbred Tavern in Takanini, and then, heavily pissed, drive somewhere else for a beer. One Saturday afternoon at the tavern we found out that Billy Idol was playing at Mount Smart stadium. ‘Let’s go!’ one of the lads said. ‘We don’t have any tickets,’ replied another. ‘Fuck it, we’ll jump the fence!’
    We were all in our work clothes. I was wearing a blue and white chequered work shirt, jeans covered in grime and black oil, and dirty steel-toe-capped boots. Paddy drove there in his old Holden ute. Jase, Gaz and myself were topping up with DB draught, a local beer, while getting buffeted by the cold wind in the open tray. Those days we used to drink from the 745 ml bottle and it was not uncommon to easily polish off a dozen by yourself. It was also cheaper than the cans and stubbies; you got more beer for your buck.
    As soon as we parked the car at Mount Smart, and after a welcome piss against the side of the ute, we conducted a quick reconnaissance of how to get in. The perimeter fence was wire mesh and of poor design; it stood 2 metres tall and ran straight past a large row of bushes. ‘Perfect!’ We then watched the security guards to quickly identify their habits and routines. Once happy we’d figured out their patrol route, the plan was to scale the fence from the bushes and run straight into the crowd inside the big tent.
    Next thing I knew, two of the lads were on top of the wire and just about to drop onto the other side. I didn’t waste any time and started to scale the fence. John Martin dropped onto the opposite side right in front of me. It was then I knew I had a problem; my boot was caught. I knew the security guards would arrive any second and started to panic. ‘John! John!’ I screamed. He stopped and turned. ‘My fuckin’ boot’s stuck. Push it out!’
    Part of the wire had wedged itself under the steel cap as my boot parted the mesh and pushed through. John ran back and to my relief freed my foot after a brief struggle. In a flash I was hot on his heels heading for the tent opening. Inside we found ourselves under the steel frame of the terraced seating and began to work our way to the front of the concert. Unbeknown to us we’d been seen and the security guards were in pursuit. We did get to watch some of the concert before being thrown out though.
    About then I started to realise what an idiot I was becoming and decided to start changing the lifestyle I’d slipped into. I