Hold Your Fire!
Why Soldiers Are Reluctant to Shoot to Kill, Even in the Heat of Battle
In the immediate aftermath of a harrowing battle during World War II, S.L.A. Marshall, a U.S. Army historian and combat analyst, gathered small groups of soldiers for a debriefing. The air was thick with the lingering scent of gunpowder and the raw tension of men who had just faced death. Marshall, armed with nothing more than a notebook and a sharp mind, began to ask the soldiers about their experiences in the fight. He expected to hear stories of valor and lethal efficiency—soldiers who had faced the enemy and discharged their weapons with deadly precision. But as the men recounted their actions, Marshall was struck by a disturbing revelation: the majority of these soldiers, far from the lethal warriors of popular imagination, had not fired their weapons at all. In fact, only 15-25% did fire.
This statistic was shocking to military leaders, who had assumed that soldiers, trained and equipped, would naturally shoot to kill when faced with the enemy. Marshall's methodology involved post-combat interviews, where he would debrief soldiers in small groups, often within hours or days after a battle. He would ask each soldier about their actions during the engagement, aiming to piece together a comprehensive picture of what happened on the battlefield. His goal was to understand not just the physical actions of the soldiers but their psychological states—why they did what they did or didn’t do.
He found that most combat soldiers did not fire their weapons, even when directly engaged with the enemy. This was not due to a lack of opportunity or equipment failure; the soldiers had functioning weapons and ammunition and were often in situations where firing was expected. Instead, the reluctance to fire was attributed to a deeper psychological resistance to killing another human being.
Marshall's conclusion—that only 15-25% of soldiers actually fired at the enemy—challenged the prevailing belief that soldiers, once trained and placed in combat, would instinctively fight. This discovery suggested that even in the heat of battle, where survival might depend on returning fire, most soldiers were unwilling or unable to do so.
Marshall’s findings had profound implications. If the majority of soldiers were not firing, it meant that traditional models of military training and combat effectiveness were flawed. The assumption that soldiers would naturally kill if their lives depended on it was called into question. This had ramifications for how armies trained their soldiers, planned their battles, and understood the nature of combat itself.
Marshall’s study also opened up new avenues of inquiry into the psychological toll of combat. Why did so many soldiers refuse to fire? Was it fear, moral reluctance, or something else entirely? The study suggested that the reluctance to kill was not just about taking life; it was about the act of engaging with the enemy at all. Many soldiers, it seemed, were psychologically paralyzed in the face of combat, unable to bring themselves to fire their weapons, even in the general direction of the enemy.
Marshall's work has not been without its critics. Some have questioned his methodology, arguing that his reliance on group interviews might have led to inaccuracies or exaggerations. Others have suggested that his findings were influenced by his own preconceptions about combat. Despite these criticisms, however, subsequent studies have largely supported the idea that a significant portion of soldiers in combat do not fire their weapons.
One of the most telling indicators of this psychological barrier is the ratio of shots fired to confirmed hits. In modern conflicts, this ratio can be staggeringly high and tend to bear out Marshall’s findings. During the Vietnam War, it was estimated that U.S. soldiers fired approximately 50,000 rounds for every enemy combatant killed. In more recent conflicts, such as in Iraq and Afghanistan, this number has varied but remains high, often in the thousands of rounds per confirmed kill.
So now to the obvious question: why? Why wouldn’t highly trained soldiers, those trained for months or longer to shoot to kill, shoot to kill? Well, take a moment to consider the psychological and emotional barriers that soldiers face in combat. Killing, even in war, goes against one of the most deeply ingrained human instincts: the aversion to taking another life. This is not just a cultural or moral issue but a biological one. Humans are social creatures, and violence, particularly lethal violence, is a violation of the social contract that underpins our species' survival.
Military training attempts to override this instinct through rigorous drills, conditioning, and desensitization. Soldiers are trained to see the enemy as a threat rather than a fellow human, and this dehumanization is crucial to overcoming the natural aversion to killing. However, this conditioning is not foolproof. In the heat of battle, when the abstraction of training meets the reality of a living, breathing target, the human element often reasserts itself. Soldiers may hesitate, aim high, or even deliberately miss, subconsciously avoiding the act of killing.
Several factors contribute to this discrepancy. First, the fog of war—the chaos and confusion of battle—can make accurate shooting difficult. Soldiers may fire suppressive or covering fire, intended not to kill but to keep the enemy at bay. Additionally, the psychological stress of combat can impair a soldier's aim, leading to more missed shots.
However, underlying these tactical considerations is the fundamental human reluctance to kill. Even with advances in weaponry, targeting systems, and training, the psychological hurdle remains. The high number of rounds fired versus confirmed hits can be seen as a manifestation of this internal conflict—a tension between the soldier's training and their innate human instincts.
This reluctance to kill, evident even with long-distance lethal projectile weapons, raises intriguing questions about combat in earlier eras, where killing was often up close and personal. In ancient warfare, such as that practiced by Roman legionaries, combatants were not separated by hundreds of yards but by mere feet. The glint of a sword, the sound of labored breathing, and the sight of an enemy's eyes filled with fear or rage were immediate and unavoidable. One might assume that such proximity would either amplify the human reluctance to kill or harden soldiers into relentless killing machines. But what does history tell us?
In ancient Rome, the legionary was trained rigorously to fight in tight formations, using short swords, or gladii, designed for stabbing rather than slashing. The nature of this weapon and the formations in which legionaries fought—shoulder to shoulder with their comrades—created an environment where killing was both a collective and individual act. The training emphasized discipline, unit cohesion, and the mechanical execution of killing moves, much like modern reflexive fire training.
Yet even in this context, there is evidence to suggest that the reluctance to kill was still present. Accounts of ancient battles often emphasize the psychological aspects of warfare: the noise, the intimidation, and the attempt to break the enemy’s will rather than slaughter them outright. The famous testudo formation, where soldiers interlocked their shields to create a near-impenetrable barrier, was as much about advancing safely and creating psychological pressure on the enemy as it was about protecting the soldiers. Roman military strategy often focused on breaking the enemy’s morale, leading to routs or surrenders, rather than engaging in wholesale slaughter.
The reluctance to kill was likely influenced by the same basic human instincts that persist today. Even in the chaotic, brutal world of ancient combat, the goal was often to force the enemy off the field rather than to wipe them out entirely. This was not just a matter of pragmatism—killing an enemy in close combat required a level of personal commitment that many soldiers, ancient and modern, found difficult to summon. The Roman soldier, like his modern counterpart, was trained to kill, but the act itself was still a profound psychological hurdle.
Furthermore, the close-quarters nature of ancient combat meant that soldiers were often more aware of the humanity of their opponents. They could see the fear or determination in their enemies’ eyes, hear their shouts and cries, and feel the resistance of flesh and bone. This intimacy might have made killing even more difficult, reinforcing the idea that many soldiers in history, when given the choice, might have preferred to intimidate or scare their enemies into submission rather than kill them outright.
In response to these findings, military training has evolved over the years. One significant change has been the introduction of realistic combat simulations that aim to replicate the stress and chaos of real battle. These simulations are designed to condition soldiers to respond instinctively, reducing hesitation and increasing the likelihood of firing to kill.
Another key development has been the use of "reflexive fire" training, where soldiers practice shooting at targets that pop up unexpectedly, mimicking the sudden appearance of an enemy in combat. This training aims to make shooting a reflexive action, bypassing the conscious decision-making process that can lead to hesitation.
Despite these advancements, the human factor remains. The reluctance to kill is deeply rooted, and while training can mitigate it, it cannot eliminate it entirely. This is not necessarily a flaw but a reflection of the complex nature of human morality and psychology. Soldiers, after all, are not machines; they are individuals with their own beliefs, values, and instincts.
History shows us that this paradox is not new. Whether wielding a gladius or an M16, soldiers have faced the same fundamental challenge: overcoming the almost uniformly innate human aversion to taking another life. This challenge has shaped the tactics, training, and psychological strategies of armies across the ages, from the disciplined ranks of Roman legionaries to the high-tech forces of today. As military training continues to evolve, it will need to grapple with this paradox, balancing the need for combat effectiveness with an understanding of the human condition. For as long as there are soldiers, there will be the dilemma of the trigger—a decision that, for many, will never be as straightforward as it might seem.
Alternatively, I would offer that humanity do its best to avoid wars altogether. But until that happy day arrives, however unlikely, I suppose it's best to focus on and take heart in the fact that when a trigger is pulled, it's just as likely as not (roughly speaking) that nothing will die.