"Man, you better wake up pretty soon or you might never wake up,” said Henry Johnson to the soldier
next to him. He had just heard something rustling in the darkness of the forest.
It was late at night and the wind blowing through the trees may have been playing
tricks on his senses. But Johnson swore he heard rustling and a clipping sound,
as if someone was cutting the wire to the perimeter fence. Johnson forced the man next
to him awake and began lining up grenades to defend the outpost. That was when enemy
rifles began firing from all around. Johnson grabbed a grenade, pulled the pin, and threw it.
Only a few days prior, he and the rest of the 369th U.S. Infantry Regiment were
sent to Outpost 20 on the western edge of the Argonne Forest, in France’s Champagne region.
The American forces refused to use the 369th to their full potential for one reason,
and one reason alone. The soldiers were all black. The French on the other hand had no
problem accepting help from the all black regiment. They welcomed the soldiers of the
newly named Harlem Hellfighters to their ranks. This was the first step that led
to Johnson and his partner Needham Roberts being surrounded by an enemy German squad.
They had been assigned sentry duty on the night of May 14, 1918. Their job was to keep watch
over the main supply bridge in the region. It was vital to the war effort that the bridge not
succumb to enemy sabotage. Johnson and Roberts’ shift was about to end. The two replacements were
walking towards them to take over. Johnson saw the young, inexperienced, soldiers and a wave
of worry washed over him. He could not in good conscience leave these two soldiers by themselves.
It could mean death for both of them and destruction of the bridge.
Johnson convinced Roberts to set up a secondary lookout nearby to keep an eye on the new recruits,
and to provide backup if needed. Johnson took the first watch. Roberts drifted off to sleep.
That was when the rustling sound began. As the sound continued to get louder,
Johnson decided he needed to be ready for anything.
He grabbed extra rifle cartridges and set them up for easy access next to the grenades.
It became silent. The only sound was the wind rustling the leaves of the forest trees.
Then there was a loud crack, as the first shot was fired. Quickly after the initial
shot other guns began firing on the outpost from the forest. Johnson began screaming
at Roberts to fire back and throw grenades at the perimeter. Roberts grabbed grenades
from the stockpile Johnson had made. They could not make out any enemy soldiers yet,
but they continued lobbing the grenades in the direction of the sounds Johnson had heard.
Whenever they spotted the muzzle flash of a rifle being fired they returned fire in that direction.
It was impossible to tell if they were hitting anything, but the hope was to hold out until
help arrived. Unfortunately, it would be a long time before reinforcements were sent.
There was a lull in the firing. Johnson and Roberts waited,
sweat dripped from under their helmets. Dirt covered their faces from where terrain had been
kicked up by enemy bullets. They peered over the top of their trench to see if they could
spot the enemy. A platoon of shadowy figures seemed to manifest themselves at the treeline.
There were dozens of black shadows at the perimeter fence. A voice shouted in German and a
hoard of soldiers flooded through the cut wiring towards Johnson and Roberts. The enemy soldiers
had their rifles lowered with their bayonets pointed straight towards the two Hellfighters.
The light from fires created by the grenade explosions reflected off of the German bayonets
as they charged. Johnson picked up his rifle and began firing into the oncoming wave of enemy
soldiers. As they ran, the Germans unleashed a volley of bullets towards Johnson and Roberts.
In the chaos Johnson yelled for Roberts to go get help. But before he could,
Roberts took pieces of shrapnel from a grenade in his arm and hip. He was incapacitated,
but still concious. Now Johnson was the only one capable of fighting off the German forces.
He needed to protect Roberts and the outpost. He was the only thing
standing between the Germans and the French front lines. He was a one man army.
Johnson continued to throw grenades. Roberts handed the explosive devices to Johnson, in an
attempt to help his partner in any way he could. But then Johnson threw their last grenade. All he
had left was his rifle and knife. Johnson began firing at the Germans, slowing their advance.
To do this he had to make himself vulnerable to enemy fire. He was hit by bullets in his side,
hand, and head. Blood trickled out of his wounds, but Henry Johnson had no time to feel pain.
All of his attention was on one thing, killing Germans. In the chaos of battle
Johnson grabbed an American cartridge and shoved it into his French made rifle.
The two were not compatible. The rifle jammed. Johnson was left without a working firearm.
The Germans noticed that something had gone wrong. The Hellfighter who had been
repelling them this whole time no longer was firing. They took advantage of the
moment and swarmed the holdout of Johnson and Roberts. But Johnson refused to just give up
and die without a fight. He grabbed his rifle by the barrel and used the butt of the gun as a club.
As the German soldiers tried to overtake him, Johnson swung his gun relentlessly,
smashing it into the heads and faces of the German soldiers.
With each swing German blood and teeth flew across the battlefield. Johnson was lethal even without
bullets and grenades. He protected Roberts and himself from the enemy using his makeshift club.
Suddenly a massive German soldier came at Johnson. He gripped the barrel of his rifle
tightly with both hands. He swung the rifle back like Jackie Robinson preparing to hit a home run.
When the German soldier was only a few steps away, he swung. The butt of the rifle connected hard
with the enemy’s head. The extremely powerful blow caused the rifle to break. There was the sound
of cracking. The wood of the gun had splintered into a thousand pieces. The rifle fell apart in
Johnson’s hands. The Germans must have felt relieved that this Hellfighter finally was
weaponless. Now they could take him as a prisoner or kill him. But Henry Johnson had other plans.
A German soldier took the stock of his gun and rammed it into Johnson’s head,
causing him to stumble and fall to the ground. The enemy probably thought this was the end,
but Johnson refused to give up. He climbed back to his feet, reached down to his side,
and drew his bolo knife. He grabbed the first German soldier he could find and plunged the blade
deep into the man, killing him. Johnson became a deadly crazed man with a large knife. Mud covered
his face, his uniform had been torn to shreds, blood poured out of wounds all over his body.
A rage filled Henry Johnson that fueled him to protect his partner and outpost at all costs.
He began slicing and hacking every German soldier in his path. It was him versus the entire German
squad. Fear filled the eyes of the enemy as the unstoppable force that was Henry Johnson plowed
through their ranks. The German soldiers continued to strike and fire at him, but nothing seemed to
slow down The Black Death that was upon them. Out of pure fear the German forces began to pull back.
Johnson pulled his knife out of one of the soldier’s bodies and looked around.
The enemy had grabbed Roberts and were pulling him back towards the forest. Johnson would not
let them take his brother in arms. He ran full force into one of the German soldiers knocking him
to the ground. He slashed and stabbed the others who were holding Roberts, forcing them to let go.
Johnson put his body between the German’s and his partner. If the Germans wanted to take Roberts,
they were going to have to go through him. The enemy soldiers ran away.
The battle between the Germans, and the one man army who came to be known as The Black Death,
continued for almost an hour. Johnson saw an opportunity to kill a lieutenant, which may
have caused the Germans to go into full retreat. He ran towards the enemy slashing his way past
soldiers using his bolo knife. Johnson was slowed down by a bullet entering his arm. A soldier took
advantage of this and jumped on Johnson’s back. But The Black Death would not go down.
He flung the German soldier off of his back and drove his knife into the man’s ribs. He
then continued fighting through the German line. In the mayhem he found his target and killed the
German lieutenant. Finally support arrived. French and American soldiers ran to the aid of Johnson.
Seeing the force, the German soldiers went into a full retreat. The battle was over, the one man
army of Henry Johnson had won. Johnson and Roberts were both immediately given medical attention.
The next day as the sun rose on Outpost 20. Scavengers circled in the sky waiting for
their turn on the battlefield. Military officials could not believe what they found. Pools of blood
soaked the earth. German helmets and discarded weapons littered the battlefield. Four bodies
were left behind, but due to the amount of blood and German equipment on the ground,
officials estimated that Johnson had wounded at least 10 to 20 other Germans. Henry Johnson had
prevented an entire German force from advancing through the French line single handedly.
Johnson had suffered 21 different wounds from the battle, but he did not give up and he survived.
The bridge where the battle had been fought was renamed “The Battle of Henry Johnson.”
This is when he was officially given the name “The Black Death.”
After he awoke in the infirmary he was promoted to the rank of sergeant.
Due to the extent of his injuries, Henry Johnson was to be sent home to recover.
Before he left the front lines the French awarded him the Croix de Guerre, one of France’s highest
military awards. Johnson and Roberts were the first two Americans to ever receive this award.
After the war Henry Johnson and the rest of the Harlem Hellfighters would take part in a parade
going up Fifth Avenue in New York City. They were greeted by massive crowds all cheering for
them. Leading the 3,000 troop parade was Henry Johnson in a Cadillac convertible.
Still recovering from his wounds, he was sitting in the car waving to the crowds.
The onlookers chanted “Oh, you Black Death!” as Johnson rode by. When the parade finally
arrived in Harlem, the gathered masses went into hysterics as they cheered for the Hellfighters.
Unfortunately, racism was still prevalent during the First World War. Along the parade route there
were designated “white” sections and “colored” sections where onlookers could stand. Also,
the Harlem Hellfighters could not march alongside their white counterparts. Even Henry Johnson was
still treated as a second class citizen, even though he was a hero. It would be decades before
the Civil Rights movement would begin a battle for equality that we are still fighting for today.
Henry Johnson was declared one of the bravest
Americans to fight in World War I by President Theodore Rosevelt. In 1996,
President Bill Clinton posthumously awarded Henry Johnson the Purple Heart. Then in 2015,
President Barack Obama awarded him the Medal of Honor. Henry Johnson was truly a hero and a one
man army. If you ever want to celebrate him you can head to Albany, New York on June 5,
where every year they celebrate Henry Johnson Day in acknowledgement of the day he enlisted.
Now check out The Insanely Crazy Story of a Tiny Soldier. Or learn about another
war hero in How A Soldier Single-Handedly Liberated An Entire German Occupied City.