He didn’t want to imagine what she would face.
He punched again and kicked with his two very good legs. He managed to roll until he had the man pinned, then used his good arm to position the bad one around the guy’s neck. With a quick jerk of his right arm, his left twisted the man’s neck, and it was all over with a snap of vertebrae.
He paused for just a moment, breathing heavily as his shoulder throbbed with a shock of agony. He needed to pop the ball back in the socket, but the pain was too much to attempt the maneuver right then.
Focus on the dead guy.
He searched the merc’s pockets, finding a spare magazine for the handgun. Over one shoulder, he wore a short-barreled assault rifle with folding stock, and over the other, he wore a bandolier with a half dozen magazines tucked into the strap. The rifle—an AKS-74U—was fitted with a suppressor.
He claimed the assault rifle, slinging it and the bandolier over his bad shoulder, then took the helmet with attached NVGs from the man’s head and swapped it for his own. He clipped his old helmet to his pack. Audrey could wear it.
With the NVGs, he searched upslope where the fight began and spotted the Glock in the mud. He added it to his growing arsenal, then adjusted the goggles to the proper fit. They weren’t as good as the US military-grade ones he’d lost earlier, but they were high quality. These guys were well funded, that was for sure.
Who did they work for?
They could be terrorists, but everything about this had the feel of a paid operation. Right down to the staging of their supplies months in advance. Terrorists couldn’t afford to take chances that far ahead of an attack.
The rifle was troubling. Rare and Russian, it could be an important clue as to who these guys worked for. But after Osama bin Laden had been photographed with the same model, they’d been in high demand by several terrorist groups, so it could also be a red herring to make them think they were dealing with extremists and not mercenaries.
Done searching, he kicked the body, shoving it farther downslope, toward a rare spot of open ground. Maybe one of the SEALs would find it. The dead man would tell them this was no pretend war game.
Ready to go, he took a deep breath and attempted to pop his shoulder back into the socket. Pain exploded, and he wobbled on his feet. He couldn’t black out now. Not here. The guy might not have been alone in this section of woods, and the gunshot would be a beacon for his comrades.
He set out, not going back the way he’d come nor heading in the direction he wanted to go. Misdirection was key here. Protecting Audrey’s location was his first priority.
His shoulder throbbed, making him dizzy with the pain. He couldn’t head to the signal jammer. He’d return to Audrey and give her a real gun to protect herself. And hopefully, she could pop his joint back into place while he passed out.