Liberty's Last Stand Read Free

asked. He automatically deferred to the senior man.
    â€œI figure it’s a rifle or something. He’ll come out of there with the thing pointing up so he can make the turn. Not much room. You slam the door on him and I’ll take it away from him.”
    They took their positions and waited.

    In Arlington Heights, the three men in the van inspected their weapons. Each made sure he had two extra magazines in his pocket, and pulled a ski mask down over his head. They doubted that they would survive this strike so it didn’t matter if their faces were seen: they wore the masks to create terror in the heart of everyone who saw them.Terrorized people don’t think or fight back, so they are easy to slaughter. Not that any of the three thought the nuns and children and suburban parents would fight back. These people were Christians, who routinely defamed and ridiculed the Prophet, may he rest in peace. They deserved what was coming.

    In Yankee Stadium Nuri Said met his fellow terrorists at a trash can near a service door. One of them, from Iraq, had worked at the stadium for two weeks and had smuggled in weapons and ammunition, which were hidden in the can. As the last minutes ticked by and the national anthem played on the loudspeakers throughout the stadium, Nuri and his three jihadists reached into the can, dug out the trash that covered the weapons, and removed them. Checked that they were loaded. Pocketed spare magazines. And pulled black ski masks over their heads.
    Then they walked toward the nearest portal to the stands. There was a woman policeman there, and Nuri saw her before she saw him. He shot her. Even though she was wearing a bulletproof vest, she went down from the impact. The report of the weapon seemed magnified inside that concrete gallery, like a thunderclap. It triggered screams. Or perhaps the sight of the ski masks and weapons triggered them.
    People panicked and tried to run. One of the terrorists stood there methodically firing single shots as fast as he could aim his weapon. His three colleagues ran out the portal into the grandstands.

    Salah al Semn stood in the tiny restroom aboard the express train with his AR-15 at port arms, loaded, with the safety off, and looked at his watch again. One minute to go. The train was accelerating out of thestation. He could see the concrete and roofs moving through the little window and feel the motion of the car on the uneven rails.
    He knew precisely what he had to do. Exit the restroom and start shooting people in this car, the nearest first.
    When he had shot everyone in this car, he was to proceed forward to the other cars, where three other shooters were working. When everyone in all four cars was dead, he and any surviving shooters were to proceed all the way forward, executing people until they reached the engine.
    Salah al Semn knew he would see Paradise soon, and he was ready. He would go with the blood of infidels on his hands, one of the holiest martyrs. The Prophet would be proud!
    He took a deep breath and opened the door.
    As it opened, he saw one of the American soldiers standing there, the black man, within a foot. He grabbed for Salah’s weapon and jerked it toward him. Salah grabbed for the trigger, and the door slammed into him with terrific force. He lost control of the rifle.
    Sergeant Mike Ivy didn’t hesitate. He merely pulled the rifle toward him, then drove the butt at al Semn’s Adam’s apple with all the force he could muster. The blow pushed the Syrian back into the restroom. The commode caught the back of his legs, and he lost his balance and fell.
    Mike Ivy was already examining the AR-15. It was loaded, with a round chambered. Ivy and Weidmann both heard muffled shots from the passenger car ahead of this one. Ivy glanced at Weidmann, nodded to the restroom, and Weidmann said, “Go.”
    Mike Ivy began running forward as people screamed and tried to cower behind their seats.
    Lance Corporal Scott