JUST IN: U.S. To Execute Army Major Who Slaughtered 13 Of His Own Soldiers — FBI Buried The Evidence

 

As soldiers preparing to head to war gathered for their final medical exams, their last-minute paperwork before heading overseas, one of their own walked in and opened fire.  It’s a terrible tragedy. It’s stunning. And as I say as I’ve gone around to the hospital here, as I’ve been at the scene, soldiers and family members and many of the great civilians  that work here are absolutely devastated.

 13 people walked into a room and never walked out. The man who killed them wasn’t a stranger. He wasn’t an outsider. He was the person the United States Army trusted to protect the mental health of its own soldiers. He had a medical degree, a military rank, a government salary, and a plan. His name is Nidal Malik Hasan, United States Army major,    licensed psychiatrist, decorated soldier.

 On September 24th, 2025, Secretary of Defense Pete Hegseth stepped in front of cameras and announced he was seeking presidential approval to execute him. If it happens, it will be the first United States military execution since 1961. But here is the part that will stay with you. Before the shooting, warnings were filed, red flags were documented, and the FBI  intercepted 18 emails that could have changed everything.

 What they did with those emails, that is the question nobody has fully answered. Welcome to Red Mark Files. If this is your first time here, we go further than the headline,    the evidence, the failures, the courtroom most coverage never reaches. Hit subscribe and turn on the bell.    This story has layers, and every single one of them is more disturbing than the last. They were not statistics.

 They were 13 real people with friends, futures, and families waiting for them to come home. Michael Grant Cahill was 62 years old, a civilian physician assistant from Killeen, Texas, married for 37 years, father of three. He had just returned to work the week before, still recovering from a heart attack. When the shooting started, he didn’t run.

 He grabbed a folding chair and charged directly at the gunman. Private First Class Franchesca Velez was 21. From Chicago, Illinois, she had returned from a deployment to Iraq just 3 days before the attack. She was 3 months pregnant. Her father traveled from out of state to testify at sentencing and delivered his entire statement in Spanish.

 His daughter had survived a war zone. She did not survive Fort Hood. Specialist Kham Xiong was 23. From St. Paul, Minnesota,    married with three young children, his widow told the court, “I feel dead, yet I am alive.”  Sergeant Amy Krueger was 29. From Kiel, Wisconsin, she enlisted specifically because of the September 11th attacks.

She was preparing to deploy to Afghanistan. Court records confirm Hasan deliberately targeted uniform soldiers, people who trusted the institution he represented. 13 people people walked into that building expecting a routine processing day. None of them knew they were walking into the last hour of their lives.

 And the man who planned this, what his own supervisors wrote about him years before the attack, is something the Army would rather forget. Nidal Malik Hasan was born on September 8th, 1970 at the Virginia Hospital Center in Arlington County, Virginia. His parents were Palestinian immigrants from Al-Bireh in the West Bank. They became naturalized American citizens and built respectable life.

 His father ran a market, a restaurant, and an olive bar in Roanoke, Virginia. His mother ran the Capital Restaurant and was known for feeding people who couldn’t afford to pay. To friends and neighbors, the family looked like everything America promised. Growing up, Nidal went by a different name entirely. His friends called him Michael.

 He attended Wakefield High School in Arlington, then transferred to William Fleming High School in Roanoke, graduating in 1988. That same year, against his parents’ wishes, he enlisted in the United States Army. The Army then paid for everything, an associate degree from Virginia Western Community College in 1992, a bachelor’s degree in biochemistry with honors from Virginia Tech in 1995, medical school at the Uniformed Services University of the Health Sciences in Bethesda, a psychiatry residency at Walter Reed Army Medical Center, then a

master’s degree in public health. People who knew him described him as quiet, reserved, and polite. An Imam at his mosque in Silver Spring called him a reserved guy with a nice personality. His uncle said he once fainted watching a childbirth and mourned a pet bird for months.

 But underneath that image, the record tells a different story. His 6-year medical program, designed to take four,    was marked by academic probation. He was formally reprimanded for bringing his religious beliefs into therapy sessions with patients. A patient classified as dangerous left the emergency room without supervision on his watch.

 In 2007, Dr. Scott Moran filed a formal memo to the credentials committee citing poor judgment, lack  of professionalism, and patient safety concerns. That same month, Lieutenant Colonel Ben Phillips rated his performance as outstanding. Two evaluations, same institution, completely opposite conclusions.

 His father died in 1998 at age 51.  His mother died in 2001 at age 49. Family members say his religious devotion deepened significantly after both deaths.  Court records confirm he was unmarried. A former neighbor stated that in 1997, two young boys lived with him and attended local schools, describing him as a single father. No wife was ever observed.

 The Army never formally clarified that detail. In 1997, Hassan traveled to the West Bank for the first time. He visited relatives in the region his parents had left behind. Multiple accounts confirmed that trip changed something in him. Colleagues began noticing a shift in how he spoke, how he carried himself, and where his loyalty seemed to lie.

 Then in May 2001, his mother died. Her funeral was held at the Dar al-Hijrah mosque in Falls Church, Virginia. The Imam leading that congregation at the time was a man named Anwar al-Awlaki. At that point, al-Awlaki was considered a moderate, English-speaking cleric. Federal investigators would later connect him to multiple terrorism cases,    including the September 11th hijackers who had attended that same mosque.

 A Muslim officer at Fort Hood later told investigators that whenever al-Awlaki’s name came up around Hasan, his  eyes lit up. In 2007, Hasan was required to give an academic presentation at Walter Reed.    He delivered 50 slides. The title, The Quranic worldview as it relates to Muslims in the US military.

 He argued that Muslim soldiers should not be deployed to Muslim majority countries.    He listed what he called adverse events that could follow if they were, including espionage and killing fellow soldiers.    One attendee later testified, Hasan told the room that Islamic law superseded the United States Constitution.

 The session was interrupted. No disciplinary action followed. In the spring of 2008, five senior doctors convened a formal review to assess whether Hasan was fit to serve. They discussed whether his behavior indicated psychosis. Their conclusion, insufficient grounds for removal. In May 2009, he was promoted to major.

 One month later, a gunman opened fire at a military recruiting office in Little Rock, Arkansas. Hasan told colleagues it was a sign. He said Muslims had an obligation to stand against the aggressor, meaning American forces.    And then came the emails, 18 of them. Every single one intercepted. What the FBI decided to do with them, that is where this story takes a turn that is almost impossible to explain.

 Hasan had no traditional accomplice, but he did not act alone in his mind. His planning was shaped by ideology, enabled by institutional failure, and guided by a man living thousands of miles away. That man was Anwar al-Awlaki. By 2008, al-Awlaki was living in Yemen and under active federal surveillance. Investigators had already connected him to the September 11th hijackers, the 2009 Christmas Day bomb attempt, and radicalization cases across multiple countries.

 In December 2008, Hasan sent al-Awlaki the first of 18 emails. He referenced their shared history at the Virginia mosque. This was not an introduction, it was a resumption. Over 6 months, he asked one central question: Is it religiously permissible for a Muslim soldier to kill American military personnel? He expressed admiration for attackers. He asked about martyrdom.

Al-Awlaki responded. After the attack, he confirmed publicly, “Nidal told me, I speak with you about issues I never speak with anyone.” Then Hasan went to Guns Galore in Killeen, Texas. He asked for the most technologically advanced weapon with the highest magazine capacity available. He purchased an FN Five-Seven semi-automatic pistol.

 He returned weekly for additional magazines and accumulated thousands of rounds of ammunition. He also carried a Smith & Wesson .357 Magnum revolver as a backup. He practiced at an outdoor shooting range in Florence, Texas, using human-shaped targets at distances up to 100 yards until his accuracy was consistent.

 If you’re finding this case as disturbing as I am, hit that like button. It helps more people find stories like this one. And if you’re new here, subscribe now. We’re just getting to the part that changes everything. Two days before the attack, neighbors watched Hasan move through his apartment complex giving everything away. Furniture, clothing, copies of the Quran, anything he owned.

 The evening before, he had dinner with a friend from his mosque. He said the Quran was clear. A Muslim could not fight fellow Muslims. He said he felt he was supposed to quit. His friend remembered it as the frustration of a man wrestling with his conscience. The next morning, November 5th, 2009, Hasan knocked on a neighbor’s door.

 He handed her a bag of vegetables, a Quran, and the rest of his belongings. He asked her to donate whatever she didn’t want to the Salvation Army. Then he turned to leave. Before he did, he said three words, “I’m ready.” He attended Fajr, the pre-dawn Islamic prayer, at a local mosque. Witnesses described him as relaxed, not nervous, not troubled.

 Court records confirm he carried two weapons into the building, an FN 57 pistol fitted with two laser sights, one red and one green, and a .357 Magnum revolver as backup. Forensic analysis later confirmed the revolver was never fired. At 1:34 in the afternoon, he walked into the Soldier Readiness Processing Center. The room was full of soldiers completing routine checks before deployment.

 He approached a soldier near the entrance and said, “I’m going to do good work for God.” He stepped onto a table. He shouted, “Allahu Akbar!” and he opened fire. Court records confirm he moved deliberately, bypassing civilians, targeting uniformed soldiers. Staff Sgt. Alonzo Lunsford was shot seven times. He survived by lying still.

 He later told investigators he could hear Hasan counting rounds between reloads. Staff Sgt. Patrick Zeigler was shot four times, once in the head. Doctors told his family to prepare for the worst. He survived, but with permanent partial paralysis. Specialist Logan Burnett grabbed a table and threw it at Hasan during a reload. He was shot in the hip.

He crawled to a cubicle and waited. Michael Grant Cahill and Captain John Gaffaney both charged at Hassan with folding chairs. Neither reached him. Both were killed. What the responding officer found when she entered that building and what happened to her in the next 60 seconds is something that never made the major headlines.

 Officer Kimberly Munley was among the first to arrive. She engaged Hassan directly. She was shot three times before she went down. Her partner, Sergeant Mark Todd arrived seconds later. He fired five shots.  The first thing I seen was the the bystanders pointing in the general direction of of the individual. And then as we exited the vehicles, we we had to negotiate a slight incline.

 And when we got to the top of the hill, that’s when we seen the individual. We shot out commands and then we we took fire.  Hassan had emptied his weapon and was reaching for another magazine when the bullets struck him. Todd crossed the room. He kicked the pistol away. He placed Hassan in handcuffs as he lost consciousness.

 The attack lasted approximately 10 minutes. 13 dead, 32 wounded. Hassan survived. He was rushed to Scott and White Memorial Hospital in Temple, Texas, then transferred to Brooke Army Medical Center in San Antonio. He was placed in intensive care. His condition was described as stable. By November 7th, reports indicated he had fallen into a coma.

 By November 9th, he had regained consciousness and was taken off a ventilator. On November 13th, his attorney made an announcement. Hassan was paralyzed from the waist down. The bullet wounds had severed his spinal cord. He would never walk again. From his hospital bed, he refused to speak to law enforcement.

 While survivors were still being treated, while families were still being notified, while the army was still trying to understand what had just happened, Hassan was alive, receiving full military medical care, and still collecting his military paycheck. That detail became one of the most infuriating footnotes of the entire case.

 Court records confirm Hassan continued receiving pay throughout the years of pre-trial proceedings, approximately $300,000 in total. Under military law, pay cannot be stopped until after conviction. Then came the public response. Army Chief of Staff General George Casey stood before cameras and said it would be a greater tragedy if diversity became a casualty of Fort Hood.

 For the families of 13 people, that statement was very difficult to process. And then the Department of Defense made a decision that would haunt survivors for years to come. The attack was officially classified as workplace violence, not terrorism. Survivors were denied combat-related benefits. Purple Hearts were withheld.

 Staff Sergeant Shawn Manning, shot six times, still carrying two bullets in his body, received a formal letter stating his injuries did not qualify as wounds caused by an instrumentality of war. The investigation that followed confirmed what the evidence already showed. This was not impulsive. The date had been chosen deliberately.

 The units processing through the Soldier Readiness Center that day were the exact same units Hassan was scheduled to deploy with. Forensic investigators found nothing suggesting a spontaneous act. Every element pointed to deliberate advanced planning. Then the questions turned to the FBI. Two separate field offices had been involved before the attack, one monitoring Hassan, one managing the broader surveillance of Anwar al-Awlaki.

 Those two offices never coordinated a complete picture. They never combined what they each knew. When the FBI agent assigned to Hassan’s case contacted Walter Reed for background information, the agent reached the security office standard procedure. The security office produced a general personnel file. What that file did not contain, and what was never requested, was the training file.

 The folder holding Dr. Scott Moran’s formal memo, the 2007 academic presentation records, the 2008 physician review documentation, none of it was seen. None of it was factored into the assessment. The official FBI conclusion had been that the 18 emails were consistent with authorized research. The file had been closed. There was more.

  In May 2009, a username believed to be Hasan posted on an Islamic discussion website comparing attackers who carry out bombings to soldiers who throw themselves on grenades to save their fellow troops. Government analysts monitoring the site saw the post. They did not connect that username to the Army major whose emails they had recently reviewed and cleared.

 The Senate Homeland Security Committee later investigated the full sequence of events. Their report carried a title that said everything, a ticking time bomb. Its conclusion was unambiguous. The attack at Fort Hood was preventable. Nine of Hasan’s supervisors were formally reprimanded after the fact. Nine reprimands after 13 people were already dead.

 There was no mystery about who pulled the trigger. Hasan was caught at the scene in handcuffs with the weapon beside him. The breakthrough in this case was not identification. It was the legal and institutional reckoning that followed. On November 12th, 2009, Hasan was formally charged with 13 counts of premeditated murder and 32 counts of attempted premeditated murder under the Uniform Code of Military Justice.

 Those charges made him eligible for the death penalty. On November 18th, Colonel James L. Pohl, the investigating officer for the Article 32 hearing, recommended a full court-martial with the death penalty as an eligible outcome. The evidence assembled against him was overwhelming. The FN 57 pistol, purchased legally and traced directly through purchase records at Guns Galore in Killeen, Texas, 146 cartridge cases and six magazines recovered at the crime scene.

 FBI agents later testified they physically ran out of evidence markers. A business card found in his apartment bearing the letters SoA, confirmed by intelligence analysts as shorthand used on jihadist platforms for soldier of Allah. The 18 intercepted emails to Anwar al-Awlaki, witness testimony from nearly 90 individuals, survivors, first responders, colleagues, and family members.

 And then his own words spoken in open court, “The evidence will clearly show that I am the shooter.” But one key figure never faced justice. Anwar al-Awlaki, the man Hasan had called his spiritual guide, was located by United States forces in Yemen on September 30th, 2011. He was killed in a drone strike nearly 2 years after Fort Hood, before the court-martial even began. He never faced a courtroom.

 Hasan was arraigned on July 20th, 2011. The trial was delayed almost immediately, first by scheduling, then by something nobody expected, his beard. Hasan had grown a beard citing religious observance. Military regulations prohibited it. That dispute alone held up proceedings for over a year. Judge Colonel Gregory Gross was eventually removed from the case and replaced by Judge Colonel Tara Osborn.

 The trial finally opened on August 6th, 2013. By that point, Hasan had dismissed his civilian attorney, John Galligan,  and announced he would represent himself. Judge Osborn warned him directly, “The decision was unwise. He would be held to the same standards as a trained attorney. The jury sitting in front of him would decide whether he lived or died.” He proceeded anyway.

Under military law, a guilty plea is not permitted in a capital case. His stated intention to argue he had acted in defense of others was also rejected. Motive is not a legal element of the charges. So he stood before the jury and delivered his opening statement. “The evidence will clearly show that I am the shooter.

” Then he added, “I switched sides. I am now a mujahid.” Over 12 days, nearly 90 witnesses testified. Hasan cross-examined only three of them. He called no witnesses of his own. He offered no closing argument. His own standby defense counsel, Lieutenant Colonel Chris Pappas, filed a formal ethics objection in open court, arguing that assisting a defendant who was deliberately seeking his own execution was professionally untenable.

 Judge Osborne denied it. On August 23rd, 2013, the military jury, nine colonels, three lieutenant colonels, and one major, returned a unanimous guilty verdict on all 45 counts. Sentencing deliberations began August 26th. Over two days, the panel heard testimony from 24 victims and family members. On August 28th, after 7 hours of deliberation, the jury unanimously recommended death.

 Lead prosecutor Colonel Mike Mulligan delivered the closing words that survivors still quote to this day, “He can never be a martyr because he has nothing to give. Do not be misled. Do not be confused. Do not be fooled. He is not giving his life. We are taking his life. This is not his gift to God. It’s his debt to society.

 He will not now and will not ever be a martyr.” Hasan was stripped of his rank, dismissed from the army, and ordered to forfeit approximately $300,000 in pay collected during the four years he awaited trial. The court-martial cost approximately $5 million in total. Hasan was transferred to the United States Disciplinary Barracks at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, the only maximum-security military prison in the country.

 On September 5th, 2013, prison staff force-shaved him, citing army regulations. His former civilian attorney threatened to sue, calling the action vindictive. Nothing else changed. From death row, Hasan’s beliefs remained exactly what they had always been. In August 2014, he wrote a letter to Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi, then the head of ISIS, formally requesting citizenship in the Islamic State.

 He signed it, “Soa, soldier of Allah.” In 2017, he produced a written statement maintaining that everything he had done was religiously justified. He told evaluators that execution would make him a martyr and that he accepted that outcome. He has never expressed regret. The appeals moved slowly through the courts.

 On December 7th, 2020, the United States Army Court of Criminal Appeals upheld the death sentence. On September 11th, 2023, the anniversary of the attacks that shaped the world Hasan claimed to be fighting for, the United States Court of Appeals for the Armed Forces upheld the sentence again. On March 31st, 2025, the United States Supreme Court denied his final petition.

 Every legal avenue was closed. On September 24th, 2025, Secretary of Defense Pete Hegseth announced he was seeking formal execution approval from President Donald Trump. He stated publicly he was 100% committed to ensuring the death penalty is carried out for Nidal Hasan. If it happens, it will be the first United States military execution since 1961.

Staff Sergeant Alonzo Lunsford, shot seven times that day, said it plainly, “He does not deserve to breathe.” Dr. Kathy Platoni, who was Hasan’s direct supervisor and lost five friends in the attack, said the execution is long overdue. But she also said full justice requires one more thing. The attack must be formally reclassified as terrorism.

As of this recording, that has not happened. Anwar al-Awlaki, the man whose teachings Hasan said shaped him, was killed in a United States drone strike in Yemen in 2011. He never faced a courtroom. He never answered for his role. 13 people left home that morning expecting an ordinary day. They had families, they had futures, they had people waiting for them to come back.

Michael Grant Cahill, Francesca Velez, Kham Xiong, Amy Krueger,  and nine others whose names deserve to be spoken just as loudly. 16 years later, the workplace violence classification still stands. Julia Wilson and Dr. Kathy Platoni have spent 16 years fighting for a reclassification that would unlock the benefits these families were always owed.

   That fight is not over. And Hasan, the man who wanted martyrdom, who wanted to be remembered as a soldier of God, has spent 16 years in a wheelchair on death row, stripped of his rank, stripped of his pay, stripped of the very identity he killed for, waiting for the government he betrayed to decide when he dies. He wanted to be a martyr.

 Instead, he became a footnote. 13 people didn’t get a choice. They deserve to be the ones we remember. What moment in this case hit you hardest? Tell me in the comments. I read every single one. If this story stayed with you, share it. These names deserve to be heard. And if you’re new here, subscribe.  The next case we cover will demand your attention from the very first second.