'I could hear the bullets going past me'

The first frantic 911 calls had come just four minutes earlier. Kimberly Munley, a civilian police officer for the Army, rounded the corner of a squat, one-story building at 1:27 p.m. Thursday and came face to face with Army Maj. Nidal M. Hasan.

Hasan, an Army psychiatrist, had already killed or wounded dozens of soldiers, having fired more than 100 rounds, according to Army officials. He was still shooting at unarmed troops who were dragging away their bleeding colleagues when he locked his eyes on Munley, raised his pistols, and charged her.

The petite officer dropped to the ground for protection and fired back. Bullets struck Munley, 35, in both thighs and one wrist. At least one of Munley's rounds hit Hasan in the chest, knocking him to the ground, witnesses said, although the details of what happened are still unclear.

"She moved to the threat and eliminated it," said Chuck Medley, director of emergency services at Fort Hood, Tex. As she fired off her rounds, a few other officers also closed in on Hasan, who lay bloody and unconscious.

The police officer's heroics ended a horrific rampage for Fort Hood soldiers, who had already experienced years of deployments, bloodshed and memorial services in Iraq and Afghanistan. Army officials said Hasan killed 13 people and wounded 38.

On Saturday, doctors offered encouraging news about a group of those wounded. Of 10 taken to Scott & White Hospital in nearby Temple, six remained in the hospital and just two were in intensive care, said the hospital's head of surgery.

Texas Gov. Rick Perry visited the wounded and said he told them "there were 24 million Texans praying for them and wishing them well." Perry said he also spoke with Munley, who he described as a selfless public servant.

In interviews Saturday in Roanoke, where Hasan spent part of his childhood, some who knew him struggled to square the image of him as a mass murderer with the fun-loving, bright student who in the late 1980s often helped his father at a downtown Roanoke beer hall.

Others, however, described Hasan as deeply impacted by the death of his father in 1998 and of his mother in 2001. When Hasan's mother, Nora, died in 2001, Hasan became the primary caregiver for his brother and the boys left the Roanoke area entirely, neighbors said.

"After she died, they disappeared," said Charles Garlick, who lived across the street from the Hasan family.James Jordan, a classmate of Hasan's at William Fleming High School in 1987 and 1988 in Roanoke, described Hasan as a "normal kid."

"Something happened along the way," Jordan said.

Since the shooting, Hasan's family members said he was upset about his upcoming deployment to Afghanistan.