Hunt the Jackal Read Online Free PDF

around.”
    “We don’t take orders from you.”
    “Fuck that!”
    He was about to lean past the copilot and grab the pilot when he felt something hit him in the throat and lost consciousness for several seconds. When he came to, he felt big bodies grappling around him.
    Davis had the copilot pinned against the seat while Mancini pounded him in the stomach as the helo rocked from side to side.
    Crocker heard the pilot scream something in Hebrew, then saw him raise a pistol and point it at Mancini’s head. Not waiting to see if he was going to pull the trigger or not, Crocker grabbed the pilot’s wrist and slammed it against the forward console. The pistol sprang loose, flipped in the air, crashed against the reinforced-glass forward window, and hit the floor.
    The bird banked sharply right, throwing Mancini, Davis, and the copilot into a jumble of bodies against the cockpit side panel.
    Crocker held on to the pilot bar, pulled his SIG Sauer P226 from its holster, and pressed it against the side of the pilot’s face. “You either turn this fucking thing around and land it, or I’ll put a bullet in your head!”
    “Go to hell!”
    “I’ll take you with me.”
    When the copilot lunged for his arm, he clocked him with his elbow and then smashed him in the nose. Blood flew throughout the tight space.
    Crocker pushed the pistol up to the pilot’s cheekbone again. “I’m not fucking around!” he shouted. “Turn this thing around, now!”
    The pilot swore up and down in Hebrew as he glanced at his wounded colleague, then up at Crocker. “You’re out of control!”
    With his free hand, Crocker grabbed hold of the flight director. “I’ll do it myself if I have to.”
    The pilot tried to push his hand away. “No.”
    “Then turn this fucking thing around!”
    “Okay.”
    Crocker kept the pistol pointed at the pilot’s head as he slowed the helo and made a sweeping left turn. Within seconds, he spotted the burning flares on the hill ahead and tracers like little angry fireflies buzzing around the downed U.S. Black Hawk, reminding him of a bonfire on a beach.
    “There it is!” he shouted.
    “I see it.”
    “Akil, you still there?” he shouted into his headset.
    “Yeah, boss! But I’m surrounded!”
    “Hold on! We’re coming!”
    “Quick!”
    Turning to Davis, Crocker shouted, “Strap the copilot in one of the fold-up chairs and zip-tie his wrists and ankles together! Then keep an eye on the pilot and give him directions. Mancini, come with me.”
    Together they readied the twin 7.62 machine guns mounted on the side windows and started directing fire at the enemy, kneeling around the downed U.S. Black Hawk. Through his NVGs Crocker saw Akil pinned down behind some boulders about twenty meters above where they had placed the flares.
    Ducking inside the cabin and shouting at Davis, Crocker said, “Tell the pilot to circle around once, so we can lay down fire. Then I want him to land this baby on the patch of land near where the flares are burning.”
    “Got it!”
    Yellow-and-white tracers flew up at them, and several bullets slammed into the reinforced metal fuselage. One glanced off the barrel of the machine gun Crocker was holding, making a screeching sound and sending up long white sparks, one of which burned his lip.
    He kept shooting, picking out targets around the downed Black Hawk until the barrel of the weapon was red hot. From the cockpit, Davis launched the Hellfire missiles mounted on the sides of the Yas’ur. They slammed into the Black Hawk and exploded. Within seconds the wreckage was engulfed in orange flames.
    “Excellent!” Crocker shouted.
    “Fuck ’em.”
    “Now let’s hit the enemy position near the top of the hill.”
    Relentless fire from the twin 7.62s and more Hellfire missiles silenced the enemy there. The helo circled once more; then Crocker instructed the pilot to set it down.
    The heavy rotors turning and stirring up an enormous cloud of dust, Crocker and Davis jumped