Weidmann jerked the door open and reached down for Salah al Semn, jerking him upright. The Syrian decided to fight, which was a fatal error. Weidmannâs first blow was aimed at his solar plexus, which took the air out of the Syrian and doubled him up. His second blow, an elbow to the manâs left ear, was delivered with so much force that the manâs neck snapped. Dead on his feet, Salah al Semn collapsed. . .and started his journey to Paradise. Or Hell, depending on your faith.
Scott Weidmann left the Syrian sprawled half in, half out of the restroom and ran after Sergeant Ivy, toward the sound of shots.
He jerked open the door to the car ahead just in time to see Ivy shoot a terrorist and drop him in the aisle. People were sobbing and shouting; an unknown number had been shot. Ivy reached the body of the hooded man first, grabbed his weapon, and tossed it back to Weidmann, who fielded it in the air. As Ivy turned to go forward, Weidmann stomped on the terroristâs larynx, crushing it. Then the two Marines ran on, toward the next car.
The three shooters walked into the parochial school and the first person they saw was a nun, so they shot her. One of them, a Yemeni named Hassan, stopped to cut her throat with a knife as the other two shot down several families standing there, men, women, and kids.
Vinnie Latucca was in the principalâs office with his granddaughter talking to Sister Mary Catherine, who had been one of his teachers when he was a pupil at Our Sisters of Mercy forty-some years ago. He heard the sound of gunfire and reached into his pocket for his .38 Smith & Wesson with a four-inch barrel. Vinnie never went anywhere without it.
Telling Sister Mary Catherine and his granddaughter to stay where they were, he opened the door a crack. One of the gunmen entered the office area with his weapon up. As the gunman fired at the ten or twelve people in the room, Vinnie Latucca cocked his revolver, steadied it on the door jam, and fired. One shot. The masked man with a rifle went down.
Gunfire continued to sound. A woman was bent over her limp child, cradling him, sobbing softly as Vinnie Latucca shot the gunman again, this time in the head, and then helped himself to the AR. He eased the outer office door open so he could see down the hallway.
No shooter in sight, so he pocketed his revolver and stepped out.
He walked toward the sound of gunfire and found the next shooter in a classroom. The fool had his back to the door and was shooting kids. Vinnie shot him twice in the back with the AR, then rolled him over andjerked the ski mask from his head. He put the barrel of the rifle in the manâs mouth and pulled the trigger, exploding his head. The man might have been dead by then, but Vinnie hoped not.
The third man must have wondered why there was no more gunfire, because when Vinnie Latucca stepped out of the classroom into the corridor he fired a shot at him. Vinnie was quicker. Three fast, aimed shots dropped the man. He didnât even twitch. If he had, Vinnie would have blown his head off too. He ripped off the ski mask, saw the fixed eyes, and stood listening for shots.
What he heard was the sound of a siren. For the first time in his life, the sound filled Vinnie Latucca with relief.
Detective Victor Goldman, NYPD, was in the middle of his seating section when the gunmen who exited the portal into the grandstand area opened fire. He heard the shots and saw two of them. He didnât know there were three.
He had a .380 automatic strapped to his ankle, so he pulled it out and tried to get a shot. People were sobbing, shouting, diving for cover so he couldnât get a clear shot. And he was too far away. At least thirty feet, with a pistol with a three-inch barrel and a million people behind the gunmen, so if he missed he would hit a civilian or two.
He had to get closer. He made his two boys get down under the seats, then he started trying to crawl over people to get closer to
Scott Weidmann left the Syrian sprawled half in, half out of the restroom and ran after Sergeant Ivy, toward the sound of shots.
He jerked open the door to the car ahead just in time to see Ivy shoot a terrorist and drop him in the aisle. People were sobbing and shouting; an unknown number had been shot. Ivy reached the body of the hooded man first, grabbed his weapon, and tossed it back to Weidmann, who fielded it in the air. As Ivy turned to go forward, Weidmann stomped on the terroristâs larynx, crushing it. Then the two Marines ran on, toward the next car.
The three shooters walked into the parochial school and the first person they saw was a nun, so they shot her. One of them, a Yemeni named Hassan, stopped to cut her throat with a knife as the other two shot down several families standing there, men, women, and kids.
Vinnie Latucca was in the principalâs office with his granddaughter talking to Sister Mary Catherine, who had been one of his teachers when he was a pupil at Our Sisters of Mercy forty-some years ago. He heard the sound of gunfire and reached into his pocket for his .38 Smith & Wesson with a four-inch barrel. Vinnie never went anywhere without it.
Telling Sister Mary Catherine and his granddaughter to stay where they were, he opened the door a crack. One of the gunmen entered the office area with his weapon up. As the gunman fired at the ten or twelve people in the room, Vinnie Latucca cocked his revolver, steadied it on the door jam, and fired. One shot. The masked man with a rifle went down.
Gunfire continued to sound. A woman was bent over her limp child, cradling him, sobbing softly as Vinnie Latucca shot the gunman again, this time in the head, and then helped himself to the AR. He eased the outer office door open so he could see down the hallway.
No shooter in sight, so he pocketed his revolver and stepped out.
He walked toward the sound of gunfire and found the next shooter in a classroom. The fool had his back to the door and was shooting kids. Vinnie shot him twice in the back with the AR, then rolled him over andjerked the ski mask from his head. He put the barrel of the rifle in the manâs mouth and pulled the trigger, exploding his head. The man might have been dead by then, but Vinnie hoped not.
The third man must have wondered why there was no more gunfire, because when Vinnie Latucca stepped out of the classroom into the corridor he fired a shot at him. Vinnie was quicker. Three fast, aimed shots dropped the man. He didnât even twitch. If he had, Vinnie would have blown his head off too. He ripped off the ski mask, saw the fixed eyes, and stood listening for shots.
What he heard was the sound of a siren. For the first time in his life, the sound filled Vinnie Latucca with relief.
Detective Victor Goldman, NYPD, was in the middle of his seating section when the gunmen who exited the portal into the grandstand area opened fire. He heard the shots and saw two of them. He didnât know there were three.
He had a .380 automatic strapped to his ankle, so he pulled it out and tried to get a shot. People were sobbing, shouting, diving for cover so he couldnât get a clear shot. And he was too far away. At least thirty feet, with a pistol with a three-inch barrel and a million people behind the gunmen, so if he missed he would hit a civilian or two.
He had to get closer. He made his two boys get down under the seats, then he started trying to crawl over people to get closer to
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