“Killing” a Terrorist - The Rights and Wrongs
During my military service in the Royal Air Force Police, dealing with terrorist situations was, to some extent, a common “activity”.
I previously wrote about the threat of the IRA back then…the consistent checking of your personal vehicle before any journey with our MOD “mirror on a stick”, being aware of packages, baggage, or post being unattended or having suspect markings that may be the sign of an explosive device…
Terrorism hasn’t gone away by any means. The perpetrators, their cause, and their modus operandi continue to blight our lives, and if I’m honest, I still live with an element of heightened awareness. Risk checking is my “thing”.
The Day I Killed a Terrorist
Now don’t get all huffy with me, the thought of a serviceman killing a terrorist…and hey, you have your own thoughts and principles…I respect that.
However, what you need to know with respect to this “kill shot”...
This was during one of the many military alert exercises that, as service personnel, we practice, practice, practice on an ongoing basis.
The particular exercise that has periodically come to mind was a full-scale Station/Base exercise when serving at a relatively sensitive air force base in the UK.
These types of exercises involve everyone across every trade and include an element of the civilian contractors that often link into service facilities.
My role in this two-day exercise was the protection of a HAS (Hardened Aircraft Shelter) that contained a mission-ready Tornado aircraft.
Having yomped (a long-distance, fast-paced march carrying full combat equipment and a heavy load, often over rough terrain) carrying ammunition, my trusty SLR (not a Single Lens Reflex Camera by the way—a L1A1 Self-Loading Rifle), I had directions to take overwatch on the HAS from a nearby hillock.
The scenario at that point of the exercise was that there were imminent threats of terrorist attacks.
Within a few hours of lying belly down in the undergrowth, I received comms that an unknown male had breached the main access to the base and was recently spotted in the vicinity of the HAS, I was “minding”.
I very soon had “eyes on him” and could hear him shouting, but not legibly.
The Long Wait
Here’s what they don’t tell you about these situations—time behaves strangely. Minutes feel like hours. Hours vanish in seconds. Your heart rate does an odd thing, slowing right down to almost a meditative pace, while simultaneously your senses sharpen to an almost unbearable degree.
Closing in on the individual, I heard the words “bomb” and “kill you all”...
The process from there is obviously to try and identify the person, calm them, and ascertain their possible motivation or ability to carry out any verbal threats.
This part of the situation took…hours. Yes, when you’re trying to weigh the threat, calm the person, and of course request some level of backup…it does not take minutes.
The guy was asking to speak to the Station Commander…and that was never going to happen. But, playing the game of pacifying him, I told him he would be on his way.
I remember the dryness in my mouth. The way my rifle felt was simultaneously heavy and weightless. The peculiar clarity of thought that comes when you’re genuinely unsure whether you’re about to witness—or participate in—something catastrophic.
Now, during this passage of time, the potential terrorist has sourced a route to the top of the HAS and has seated himself next to the vent shaft that leads directly down into the building’s belly.
At this point, the guy started to say he had an explosive belt on him. Visually, I could not confirm that due to his heavy coat. He then stated he was going to throw the explosive belt down the vent.
Trying to keep him calm, I kept nudging him to cease with the threats and stand down, as he was significantly outnumbered within the confines of a military base.
His threats continued, and then he opened his coat, revealing “what appeared to be” (classic phrase, eh?) a thick belt that had the potential to be, as he stated, an explosive device.
Again, another hour of talking, calming, persuading, convincing him the Station Commander was en route…but still the man ranted and motioned towards the vent…
The Calculation
Now, whilst I already knew two things—in reality, there were neither any personnel within the HAS, nor was there an actual aircraft—we were playing this for real.
But here’s the thing: I knew that. The man with the belt didn’t. And in the real world? I wouldn’t have known either.
That’s the uncomfortable truth about these exercises. You’re meant to operate as if it’s all genuine, but there’s always that sliver of your brain that knows it’s theatre. That voice that whispers, “It’s just blanks, mate. Calm down.”
Except you can’t listen to that voice. Not if you want to be prepared for when it isn’t theatre.
I ran the scenarios. If this were real, personnel inside would die. A multi-million-pound aircraft would be destroyed. A terrorist would have successfully breached a secure military facility. The ramifications would ripple outward—investigations, inquiries, families destroyed.
Suddenly, the guy stood, leaned against the vent wall, and took the belt off, holding it aloft, shouting that he would kill everyone inside…
I took the shot.
He went down. (Please keep in mind I was firing blank ammunition, but clearly he responded in a sense that he had been killed.) I did have a Marksmen’s accreditation, so in reality…he would have been…well…out of the game.
At this point, feeling there had been enough threat in a war and terrorism situation, I felt vindicated. Threat to life, in my thoughts, was my primary motivation to bring the situation to a conclusion, given his actions.
The silence afterwards was deafening.
The Verdict
Well…
Out of nowhere, a DS (Directing Staff) SNCO came thundering down on my position.
“ENDEX! ENDEX! ENDEX!” he screamed. Endex means “end of exercise”.
He advised me I had “failed” this scenario. Apparently, the Officers in charge had decided I had gone a step too far.
That word—failed—hit harder than I expected. It wasn’t just a mark on an exercise sheet. It felt like a judgment on my ability to make life-or-death decisions. On whether I could be trusted with that kind of power.
As the DS shepherded me back to “safety” (well, our forward position post), I protested the “fail”. The DS gave me a sideways glance and a faint smile…
“Personally, I would have done the same…there was an immediate threat to life and vital warfare equipment…but…if the Officers who are auditing response say it’s a fail…it’s a fail.”
The Question That Remains
Put yourself there. Drop yourself into that situation in the real world.
What would you have done? Was I wrong?
It was all make-believe. I was firing blank munitions. But playing it for real certainly makes you think.
During future postings, I would also encounter things initiated by terrorists—not dummy bombs, not dummy bullets…real. Life and potentially death situations.
And here’s what I learned, what that “fail” eventually taught me:
The right answer isn’t always the obvious one. Sometimes the “correct” response and the “successful” response are two entirely different things.
The Officers who failed me weren’t wrong. Not entirely. Because in their world, the world of strategy and diplomacy and measured response, I had escalated too quickly. There were other options I hadn’t exhausted. I could have bought more time. More angles I could have worked.
But in my world—lying on that hillock, watching a man with what appeared to be explosives threaten lives—I made the call I thought was right. The call that prioritised immediate safety over potential negotiation.
Both positions have merit. Both could be justified.
The Lesson
The real lesson isn’t about whether I was right or wrong. It’s about understanding that in high-stakes situations, there often isn’t a clean, obvious answer. There’s just the decision you make in that moment with the information you have and the values you hold.
The DS who smiled at me knew it. He’d been there himself. He understood that combat readiness and Rules of Engagement don’t always align perfectly. That sometimes you have to make a choice and live with the consequences, whether that’s in an exercise report or in the cold reality of actual service.
What I took away—what I still carry today in that heightened awareness I mentioned—is this:
Trust your training, but also trust your instinct. Be willing to act decisively when required. But equally, be willing to accept that decisive action might not always be deemed “correct” by those who weren’t standing in your boots.
The grey areas exist for a reason. They force us to think, to question, to refine our judgment. That “fail” on my record was worth more than a dozen passes, because it made me examine my decision-making process in a way success never would have.
So yes, I “killed” a terrorist that day. And I failed the exercise.
And somehow, both of those things taught me exactly what I needed to know about operating in a world where threats are real, decisions are hard, and living with the consequences of your choices is the price of service.
What’s your call?
What are your thoughts?
What are your experiences of similar?
Until Next Time
