Oct 06 , 2025

Sgt. Henry Johnson and the Harlem Hellfighters' Argonne Forest Heroism

Blood runs thicker than fear.

In the dark chill of a French forest, shells screaming overhead, Sgt. Henry Johnson stood alone—wounded, outnumbered, and utterly relentless. When the night came for hell to break loose, he answered with fury. A German raiding party aimed to wipe out a small encampment of Harlem Hellfighters. Instead, they met a storm of fists, rifle shots, and sheer will, forged in sacrifice and unyielding courage.

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From the Streets of Albany to the Trenches of France

Born in 1892 in Albany, New York, Henry Johnson grew up in a world colored by hard labor and harder realities. The son of African American sharecroppers, he learned early the meaning of struggle—not just physical, but the fight for dignity in a nation that often denied him both.

Faith was a quiet backbone in Johnson’s life—a prayer whispered in the night, a reminder of something greater than the mud and blood.

Before the war, he labored as a porter, a steelworker, and a mail carrier—each job demanding grit and precision. When the United States finally threw its lot into World War I in 1917, Johnson enlisted with the 15th New York National Guard, which was federalized as the 369th Infantry Regiment. Known as the Harlem Hellfighters, these men became America’s first Black combat troops officially deployed to the front.

Their valor would shatter racist myths back home, but the battle tested them in ways even they couldn’t predict.

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The Battle That Made a Legend

Night of May 14, 1918. In the Argonne Forest, under the cold cloak of darkness, a dark horde of German soldiers infiltrated the lines in a surprise raid.

Johnson and Private Needham Roberts were posted in an advanced listening post, vulnerable and exposed. When shots fired and grenades flared a deadly warning, Johnson knew the lives of his comrades depended on him.

Despite a shattered arm and multiple wounds, he fought like a man possessed. Johnson engaged the enemy with his rifle, then with his knife when ammo ran dry. Reports from survivors say his bayonet and fists tore through the enemy ranks, repelling the attack and saving Roberts from capture.

For over an hour, Johnson was the last line of defense—his body breaking, his spirit ironclad. By dawn, the enemy had fled and the Hellfighters’ position held.

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A Medal Long Overdue

Johnson’s heroism was initially recognized by the French government, awarding him the Croix de Guerre with Palm—the nation’s highest combat honor. The American military, steeped in systemic racism, hesitated.

It took nearly 100 years for the United States to fully recognize his sacrifice. In 2015, President Barack Obama posthumously awarded Sgt. Henry Johnson the Medal of Honor, the nation’s highest military decoration, acknowledging what the battlefield already knew.

“To fight without fear is the highest virtue,” said one survivor. “Johnson was that virtue.”

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Legacy Written in Blood and Honor

Sgt. Henry Johnson did not just fight a war; he fought for respect, for his brothers in arms, and for a place in history his country tried to deny him.

His scars tell a story of valor born from the intersection of war and racial injustice. His fight is a war cry for those still waiting to be seen, to be recognized.

In the Book of Joshua, it stands clear:

“Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.” (Joshua 1:9)

Johnson’s courage was a testament to that promise—a soldier who stood fast when others faltered, a man who defied death to guard his brothers.

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When I think of Sgt. Henry Johnson, I see more than a warrior. I see the weight of a world gone wrong, the price paid by those invisible to history.

His story is not just a past to honor—it’s a summons. To carry forward the fight for justice, to bear the scars openly, and to remember that courage is forged in the fire of sacrifice.

In every soldier’s heartbeat, his legacy marches on.

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