When you think of armed forces, you might picture disciplined troops marching in perfect harmony. Yet the reality is peppered with examples deplorable of military injustice—cases where the very institutions meant to protect ended up trampling on the rights of individuals. Below we dive into ten such stories, each a stark reminder that even the mightiest armies are vulnerable to grave missteps.

Examples Deplorable in Military Justice

10 General David “Dado” Elazar

The Yom Kippur War erupted on October 6, 1973, as an alliance of Egypt, Syria, Jordan, and Iraq launched a surprise offensive against Israel on the holiest day of Judaism. Ramadan was also in progress, framing the conflict as a holy war on both sides. Israel’s defense was led by Moshe Dayan, with General David “Dado” Elazar serving as his second‑in‑command.

Israel emerged victorious but at a steep cost: roughly 400 tanks, 103 aircraft, and nearly 3,000 soldiers fell. The Israeli public, grieving these losses, demanded accountability. Rather than scrutinizing the entire military establishment, they zeroed in on Elazar, the senior officer directly overseeing tactical operations across the nation.

Elazar had previously demonstrated a hard‑line stance, ordering air and artillery strikes on Lebanon and Syria in retaliation for the Munich Massacre. When Egypt and Syria struck simultaneously on Yom Kippur, the Israeli Defense Forces were caught off‑guard. Elazar had warned of growing land and air forces at the borders, yet the surprise still materialized.

He sought permission for a pre‑emptive airstrike against Egyptian tanks but was denied. Despite his steady composure throughout the war and his push to mobilize national reserves—also rejected—Elazar was later summoned before the Agranat Commission. The commission, convened a month after the war, voted to remove him for the heavy casualties. He resigned before the decision could be enforced, and public opinion gradually shifted to view him as a defender of the nation.

9 Admiral Husband Edward Kimmel

In the months leading up to the Pearl Harbor attack, senior officials in Washington were aware that a Japanese strike was plausible. Admiral Husband Edward Kimmel assumed command of the Pacific Fleet in February 1941 and promptly warned that a surprise attack—whether by submarine, aircraft, or a combination—was a real possibility. He emphasized practical steps to limit damage, though he did not expect a stationary fleet could repel such an assault.

At the time, naval doctrine still glorified battleships, yet aircraft carriers had already proven their superiority. The U.S. Navy’s luck in having carriers away from Pearl Harbor—two of the three stationed at Wake and Midway—proved fortuitous. Kimmel famously remarked, “Of course they’ll try for Pearl. It’s where all the targets are,” acknowledging the strategic risk.

After the devastation at Pearl Harbor, public outrage demanded a scapegoat. Kimmel was blamed for keeping the battleships tightly packed in the harbor, making them vulnerable. He was demoted from four‑star admiral to rear admiral on charges of dereliction of duty. Though his family secured a 1999 Senate resolution urging his reinstatement to four‑star rank, successive presidents have declined to restore his rank.

8 Admiral John Byng

The British Royal Navy, by the mid‑18th century, had earned a reputation as the world’s most formidable sea power. When the French fleet moved to attack the British garrison on Minorca, Admiral John Byng was tasked with intercepting them.

The Battle of Minorca on May 20, 1756, ended in a tactical French victory despite Byng holding the weather gage—an advantageous upwind position. The French ships, however, out‑gunned the British vessels, damaging about half of the British line while sustaining minimal damage themselves. No ships were sunk.

Concluding that his fleet could no longer effectively assist the garrison, Byng withdrew. The French then besieged Minorca, forcing a British surrender. Public fury led to Byng’s court‑martial, where he was sentenced to death for “failing to do his utmost”—a crime mandated by law to carry the death penalty.

Despite pleas for clemency from the Admiralty and King George II, the king, irritated by Prime Minister William Pitt’s involvement, refused to commute the sentence. Byng was executed aboard HMS Monarch on March 14, 1757, a stark example of the Navy’s harsh accountability standards.

7 The Abu Ghraib Prison Scandal

Between late 2003 and early 2004, U.S. military guards at Abu Ghraib Prison—located about 20 miles west of Baghdad—engaged in a grotesque series of abuses. The detainees suffered torture, sexual assault, and humiliating degradation as the guards vented frustration over the Iraq war and the lingering trauma of 9/11.

The most infamous perpetrator, Specialist Charles Graner, received a six‑and‑a‑half‑year prison sentence. Seven soldiers were convicted of sodomizing prisoners with foreign objects, including a shattered fluorescent light. The most harrowing case involved the death of Manadel al‑Jamadi, who was beaten, kicked, stripped, and hung from a window. He later died from a blood clot that traveled to his brain. Some soldiers even photographed themselves giving a thumbs‑up pose over his corpse.

Although the seven primary offenders were punished, no one has ever been formally charged with al‑Jamadi’s murder. Attorney General Eric Holder has publicly stated that the murder will never be prosecuted.

6 Dr. Samuel Alexander Mudd

Dr. Samuel Alexander Mudd is best remembered for treating John Wilkes Booth after Lincoln’s assassination. He set Booth’s broken left fibula and fashioned makeshift crutches. The nation, inflamed by the murder of President Lincoln, demanded swift retribution.

Eight individuals were tried by a military commission; four were sentenced to hang, three to life imprisonment, and one to six years. Mudd received a life sentence and was sent to the remote Fort Jefferson in the Dry Tortugas, where he contracted a persistent, mysterious lung ailment. A yellow‑fever outbreak later swept the prison, killing dozens—including the prison doctor—until Mudd stepped in and halted the epidemic.Petitions from fellow inmates and guards urged President Andrew Johnson to pardon Mudd, arguing his medical duties had been mischaracterized. In 1869, after serving four years, Mudd was released, his conviction having rested largely on hearsay rather than concrete evidence that he knew of Booth’s conspiracy.

5 Lance Corporal Jesse Robert Short

On September 9, 1917, the Allied training depot at Etaples, France—about 15 miles south of Boulogne‑sur‑Mer—became the flashpoint of a mutiny. The depot forced both fresh recruits and wounded veterans to endure grueling drills designed to prepare soldiers for chemical warfare and trench combat.

Soldiers were compelled to march at double‑quick pace for hours daily. Those who collapsed faced imprisonment in a stockade and were reduced to half‑ or quarter‑rations. Medical care was substandard, and the sick were crammed into squalid barracks alongside the healthy, fostering disease.The mutiny erupted after a New Zealand infantryman, A. J. Healy, was arrested for allegedly bypassing a police barricade. Soldiers gathered near a bridge, demanding better treatment. Military police arrived, but their presence only inflamed tensions, leading to gunfire that killed a soldier and forced the police to retreat.

After three days of chaos, a detachment armed with clubs restored order. A court‑martial quickly tried several participants, including Lance Corporal Jesse Robert Short, a New Zealander accused of ordering his men to lay down arms and assault a captain bare‑handed. Short was executed by firing squad on October 4, 1917. The depot continued operating until the war’s end, and no one was held accountable for the harsh conditions that sparked the mutiny.

4 Charles Butler McVay, III

Captain Charles Butler McVay III commanded the USS Indianapolis, which was torpedoed and sunk on July 30, 1945, while en route from Guam to Leyte Island. Of the 880 crew members who entered the water, only 321 survived; the remainder perished, many falling prey to sharks over a four‑day ordeal.

The American public, outraged by what seemed like a Navy abandonment, demanded answers. The Navy laid the blame squarely on McVay, citing his failure to maneuver the ship to make it harder for a submarine to strike. Japanese submarine commander Mochitsura Hasimoto testified that the ship would have been hit regardless of any evasive action.

The Navy also falsely claimed that no SOS signals were received, despite three separate stations picking up distress calls that went unanswered. The secrecy surrounding the Indianapolis’s mission—delivering components of the atomic bomb—meant that even the crew was unaware of its significance. The Navy neglected to announce the ship’s expected arrival at Leyte, further complicating rescue efforts. A routine patrol aircraft eventually spotted the survivors.

McVay faced a court‑martial, was stripped of rank, and endured a barrage of hate mail and death threats. Although Fleet Admiral Chester Nimitz reinstated his rank after public pressure, the stigma persisted, and McVay took his own life in 1968.

3 Edward Donald Slovik

Edward Donald Slovik remains the only American soldier executed for cowardice and desertion since the Civil War. A repeat offender who had been paroled twice, Slovik was drafted against his will shortly after marrying.

On October 8, 1944, he requested to be relieved from front‑line duty and was warned not to voice such thoughts. The following day, he deserted, leaving a note for a cook at headquarters. He later appeared before a lieutenant colonel who promised leniency if he returned to fight, but Slovik steadfastly refused and asked for a court‑martial.

His unit was about to engage in the brutal Hurtgen Forest campaign, one of the bloodiest battles for the U.S. Army. Instead of a modest prison sentence, the Army, facing a surge in desertions, sentenced Slovik to death. Appeals to General Eisenhower were denied, and Major General Norman Cota labeled him “a coward of the lowest order.”

On January 31, 1945, Slovik was executed by firing squad outside Sainte‑Marie‑aux‑Mines, France. A volley of eleven .30‑06 rounds peppered his chest, yet he lingered for three minutes before succumbing to asphyxiation and blood loss. He famously declared, “They’re not shooting me for deserting the United States Army… They’re shooting me for the bread and chewing gum I stole when I was 12 years old.” Despite ongoing petitions, no president has granted him exoneration.

2 Harry Harbord “Breaker” Morant

Harry Harbord “Breaker” Morant, a British cattleman‑turned soldier, was tried, convicted, and executed for the murder of unarmed Boer prisoners during the Second Boer War—a conflict noted for its extreme brutality.

After his close friend, Captain Percy Hunt, was mortally wounded during an assault on a farmhouse north of Pietersburg, Morant received news that the Boers had brutally killed Hunt. Enraged, he allegedly issued an order—purportedly backed by Lord Herbert Kitchener—that no Boer combatant should be taken prisoner; they were to be killed on sight.

Morant carried out the order, overseeing the summary execution of at least nine Boer combatants. While Kitchener had indeed expressed a preference for killing rather than taking prisoners, he later denied ever giving Morant explicit permission for such killings. During Morant’s court‑martial, the Boers attacked the fort where he was held, briefly freeing the soldiers, who then helped repel the assault. A law at the time mandated that such assistance be pardoned, yet it was deliberately ignored.

Morant’s final words before execution were, “Shoot straight, you bastards! Don’t make a mess of it!” His case remains a contentious example of wartime orders, scapegoating, and the harshness of military justice.

1 Four French Soldiers (WWI)

The tragedy of four unnamed French soldiers in World I can be traced back to General Géraud François Gustave Réveilhac, commander of the 60th Infantry Division. In February 1915, Réveilhac ordered his troops to assault a German redoubt near Souain‑Perthes‑lès‑Hurlus. After three failed attacks—each repelled by barbed wire, mines, and mud‑filled craters—the French soldiers refused a fourth assault.

Incensed, Réveilhac commanded his own artillery to shell his division’s lines, hoping to force the men back into battle. The artillery officer initially balked, demanding a written order, which Réveilhac eventually provided.

When the fourth assault also failed, the high command demanded an explanation for the heavy casualties. To protect himself, Réveilhac singled out four soldiers, selected at random, accusing them of “mutiny and gross cowardice in the face of the enemy, resulting in the unnecessary loss of French personnel.” The men were tried, convicted, and executed without legal representation.

The families sued the French government; two received a single franc each, while the remaining two received nothing. Meanwhile, Réveilhac was later nominated as a Grand Officier du Légion d’honneur and lived to die peacefully at 86 in 1937.