"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.
