On October 3, 2025, a Sydney courtroom became the stage for a landmark case in Australian military history. Oliver Schulz, a 44-year-old former member of the elite Special Air Service Regiment, stood before the New South Wales state Supreme Court and pleaded not guilty to the war crime of murder. The charge? That he shot Afghan national Dad Mohammad three times in the head in a wheat field in Uruzgan province back in May 2012. The gravity of the accusation, and its implications for both Australia’s armed forces and its international reputation, cannot be overstated.
Yet, for all the drama of a courtroom plea, the wheels of justice are grinding at a glacial pace. According to the Associated Press, prosecutors and defense lawyers alike have run into a formidable obstacle: national security. Much of the evidence in the case remains classified, and neither side has been granted full access. Prosecutor Sean Flood made it clear to Justice Peter Hamill, stating, “There is no realistic prospect of a trial beginning in 2026.” Schulz’s defense lawyer, Phillip Boulton, echoed the sentiment, noting, “I understand the importance of getting a trial date in a normal case. This is not a normal case.”
The next time Schulz will appear in court is December 12, 2025. By then, the Australian defense department is expected to clarify which pieces of information will be suppressed to protect national security. Until that point, the legal teams remain in limbo, unable to fully prepare for what promises to be a historic trial. The earliest anyone expects proceedings to begin is 2027—an extraordinary delay that underscores the sensitivity and complexity of prosecuting alleged war crimes involving classified military operations.
Schulz’s case is not happening in a vacuum. It is part of a broader reckoning with Australia’s conduct during its years in Afghanistan—a reckoning set in motion by a 2020 military report that rocked the nation. That report, cited by both the Associated Press and Devdiscourse, recommended criminal investigations into 19 current and former soldiers over 39 alleged unlawful killings between 2009 and 2012. The findings painted a troubling picture of the country’s most celebrated fighting force, the Special Air Service Regiment, and set off a cascade of legal and political consequences.
Schulz was charged in March 2023, making him the only Australian soldier so far to face criminal prosecution for alleged war crimes in Afghanistan. The charge centers on the death of Dad Mohammad, an Afghan man whose killing allegedly took place in the chaos and confusion of counterinsurgency operations in Uruzgan province. The details remain largely under wraps, thanks to the national security restrictions, but the implications are clear: Australia is being forced to confront the darkest chapters of its military engagement abroad.
But Schulz is not the only name to emerge from the shadows of Afghanistan. Ben Roberts-Smith, once hailed as the nation’s most decorated veteran, has also been at the center of controversy. In a high-profile civil case, a court found that Roberts-Smith had likely unlawfully killed four unarmed Afghans under the control of Australian soldiers between 2009 and 2012. The court rejected Roberts-Smith’s claim that he had been defamed by media reports alleging war crimes. Despite the damning findings, Roberts-Smith has not been criminally charged—a reminder that civil and criminal courts operate under different standards of proof, and that the path to accountability can be winding and uncertain.
The lone Australian veteran actually convicted in connection with Afghan war crimes is, perhaps ironically, not a soldier accused of violence but a whistleblower. David McBride, a former army lawyer, was sentenced in 2024 to five years and eight months in prison after pleading guilty to charges related to leaking classified allegations of war crimes to the media. The documents McBride provided formed the backbone of the Australian Broadcasting Corporation’s explosive 2017 series, the “Afghan Files.” These reports exposed allegations of unlawful killings by Australian soldiers, including men and children, and set off the chain reaction that led to the current slate of investigations and prosecutions.
The complexities of Schulz’s case go beyond the legal and into the political. The delays caused by national security concerns have sparked debate about transparency, accountability, and the balance between justice and the protection of state secrets. On one hand, there is a clear imperative to safeguard operational details that could compromise ongoing military activities or endanger lives. On the other, there is a public demand for answers—and for justice for victims of alleged war crimes. How, critics ask, can the truth emerge if crucial evidence remains locked away?
For Schulz and his legal team, the stakes are immense. The charge of murder in a war zone carries not only the possibility of a lengthy prison sentence but also the weight of national and international scrutiny. The defense has argued that the unusual circumstances of the case—classified evidence, global attention, and the broader context of Australia’s military legacy in Afghanistan—make it unlike any ordinary criminal trial. As Boulton put it in court, “This is not a normal case.”
For the families of Afghan victims, the slow pace of justice is a bitter pill. The 2020 military report recommended investigations into dozens of killings, but so far, only Schulz has been charged. The civil judgment against Roberts-Smith may have provided some measure of vindication, but without criminal charges, for many, the sense of closure remains elusive. Meanwhile, the conviction of McBride has sent a chilling message to would-be whistleblowers about the risks of exposing wrongdoing within the military.
The Australian government, for its part, has walked a delicate line. Officials have pledged to pursue justice wherever the evidence leads, while also defending the need to protect sensitive information. The defense department’s forthcoming decision on what evidence can be disclosed will be closely watched, not only by legal teams but by a public eager for transparency and accountability. The outcome could set a precedent for how democracies handle allegations of military misconduct in the age of classified operations and global media scrutiny.
As the world waits for the next chapter in the Schulz case, the broader questions remain. Can justice be served when so much of the truth is hidden behind a veil of secrecy? Will Australia’s reckoning with its military past lead to meaningful change, or will it get bogged down in legal and bureaucratic limbo? For now, the answers are as elusive as the classified files at the heart of the case. But one thing is clear: the story of Australia’s war crimes investigations is far from over, and its consequences will be felt for years to come.
The courtroom drama, the national soul-searching, and the struggle for justice continue—one delayed hearing at a time.
