One gun, no hands: the Marcus Young incident

One gun, no hands: the Marcus Young incident

Situation: The criminal emptied a .38 into you, leaving your gun arm paralyzed and your other hand torn apart--and now, he's reaching for a machine gun.
Lesson: Never give up. Be resourceful. Focus on neutralizing the threat and worry about how badly hurt you are after it's over.
March 7, 2003. Sgt. Marcus Young is midway through an evening shift, working patrol for the Ukiah, California Police Department. He's a Navy vet, second-degree black belt in Shorinryu karate, 18 years on the force. With him is a 17-year-old police cadet named Julian Covella. Young likes the kid. A devoted husband and father, the 40-year-old sergeant serves as president of a local school board. His own young son is thinking about going the police cadet route and Marcus is particularly interested in how it's working out for Julian. Then comes the seemingly routine call: a shoplifter at the Wal-Mart Superstore. Young wheels the patrol car in that direction.

In the next few minutes, he and his young cadet ride-along will save each other's lives.
The Incident
2148 hours, 9:48 PM.
As the cadet watches, Sgt. Young takes custody of the wan-looking suspect. Monica Winnie is only 18, but she could pass for 10 or 15 years older. Wal-Mart security guard Brett Schott watches as Young politely escorts her to the patrol car and puts her into the back seat.
Now comes a medium-sized man who moves rapidly and purposefully toward them through the darkened parking lot, his hands ominously thrust into his jacket pockets. He wears the face of Satan and it's not a trick of the light.

Neal Beckman, Winnie's companion, is a 35-year-old Caucasian with a long, bad history. He is a member of a gang called the Nazi Low Riders and is wanted in connection with a $100,000 home invasion robbery. He has carefully cultivated the Satanic image, his sculpted mustache and goatee set off by small devil horns tattooed on his forehead. Unseen by the cop is his full backpack tattoo of the devil himself. In his pockets, also unseen by Young, are a fixed-blade hunting knife in his left hand and a late Smith & Wesson Model 637 stainless Airweight in his right, all five chambers loaded.
Beckman has made it to close range when Young says in command voice, "Take your hands out of your pockets." There is no response. Young repeats the command and Beckman answers, "I have a knife."
The blade comes out, held as if its wielder means business. Young reacts instantly in accordance with his training as both policeman and martial artist. He grabs the knife-hand and pivots off mid-line, wrenching the suspect's arm into the double-ninety-degree configuration known in California police circles as a twist-lock. He can feel something snapping and popping in the arm, but the knife-wielder does not let go. Both of them slam into the side of the car.
And suddenly, there is a bright flash and a searing heat and Sgt. Marcus Young realizes he has just been shot in the face at close range.
Near-Fatal Flurry
In the swirl of movement that follows, things happen fast even though it seems to the cop as if everything has gone into slow motion. More bullets hammer into him. The burning sensations tear through his right arm and his back, and something smashes into his left side as if he has been struck in the rib cage with an aluminum baseball bat. Through it all, the sergeant is aware of the young woman screaming wordlessly in the back seat of the patrol unit.
Brett Schott, the unarmed security guard, leaps into the fight. He barrels into Beckman, grabs the revolver and wrenches it away. He does not realize he is holding an empty gun. Beckman has fired all five shots and four of them have struck the cop.
The man with the face that mimics Satan shifts the hunting knife from his left hand to his right and sinks it viciously into the side of the security guard. The blade plunges deep into the left side of the guard's chest, almost immediately collapsing the lung and opening a wound so big that lung tissue is visible. He levers the blade and tears the wound wider, completely severing the deltoid muscle.
Schott disengages, instantly weakened by the massive wound, realizing he is hemorrhaging massively and perhaps fatally. He tries to make his way to another car for cover.
Meanwhile, Young has regained his feet and reached for his own gun. Yet it does not rise into line of sight in the movement he has practiced so many times. He tries again and realizes his right arm is not responding to his mental command. The humerus has been shattered and there is nerve damage. His gun arm is paralyzed.
The Ukiah PD firearms instructors are thorough. They have taught Young how to draw weak-handed if his gun arm is taken out. He makes the attempt but his left hand isn't working right, either. Glancing down, he sees that it has been ripped open, literally torn apart, its separated ten dons visible through the opened skin.
And now, the suspect is on his feet, tearing open the right front door of the patrol car and closing it behind him as he jumps in. He's not trying to drive away. Instead, he drops down on the seat on his left side as he claws for the switch he knows is hidden there somewhere. The switch that will release into his murderous hands a fresh weapon and a deadlier one.