Nov 13 , 2025

Sgt. Henry Johnson and the Harlem Hellfighters at Argonne

Bloodied hands clutching a broken rifle, bullets tearing through the night, screaming voices of comrades lost. In the chaos of a frigid French forest, Sgt. Henry Johnson stood alone — his flesh shredded but his will unyielding. That brutal night in May 1918, beneath the grenade-lit sky of the Argonne, he became more than a soldier. He became a legend.

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The Roots of a Warrior

Born in 1892 in Albany, New York, Henry Johnson grew up in a world carved by hardship and racial divide. A son of faith and resolve, Johnson carried within him a deep sense of purpose—a code forged by the fires of his upbringing and the black church’s steadfast hope.

“I am a soldier, but first, I am a man of God,” Henry reportedly said. His belief was quiet, yet ironclad. The morning prayers, the hymns, the trust in something larger than himself—these held him steady when chaos ripped through the darkness.

When the United States declared war in 1917, Johnson enlisted with the 15th New York National Guard. This unit, later designated the 369th Infantry Regiment, would earn a stark nickname from the French: Les Harlem Hellfighters. America had not yet learned the full weight of valor from its Black soldiers. But war with its brutal clarity would not let that truth remain hidden.

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The Firestorm at Argonne

The date was May 15, 1918. The 369th lay in quiet trenches near the small village of Bois de la Férau in the Argonne Forest. Under moonless skies, a German raiding party slipped forward, intent on wiping out the unit’s signal corps. They came as wolves in the frost — fast, deadly, and merciless.

Johnson and Private Needham Roberts were on watch. When the enemy struck, it was sudden and brutal: grenades exploding, rifle fire hailing like death itself.

Despite being severely wounded — stabbed, shot, and battered by shrapnel — Johnson fought like hell. Reports say he hurled grenades even after a bullet tore through his arm. With a bolo knife, he carved through the enemy ranks, buying his comrades precious time to regroup.

“I don’t know how many I killed,” Johnson later said. “I just kept fighting until the enemy was driven off.” When dawn broke, he lay covered in blood — grievously wounded but alive.

He saved that unit. His actions broke the assault’s momentum and saved countless lives.

“Sergeant Henry Johnson was a one-man army that night,” wrote 369th commander Colonel William Hayward in his report. “His courage was a beacon in the darkness.”

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Medal of Honor and Recognition Delayed

But redemption in this world doesn’t come quickly, especially for Black soldiers in the Jim Crow era. Despite immediate French recognition — the Croix de Guerre with Star and Palm, France’s highest commendations for valor — the U.S. military hesitated.

It wasn’t until 2015, nearly a century later, that Sgt. Henry Johnson was awarded the Medal of Honor posthumously by President Barack Obama, finally acknowledging his bravery on a national stage.

His citation reads in part:

“For his extraordinary heroism and selfless sacrifice... Sergeant Johnson fought off an entire enemy raiding party, sustaining multiple wounds... saving the lives of several members of his unit.”

Fellow soldiers described him as a man who never flinched — a rock amidst chaos.

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The Legacy of Blood and Faith

Henry Johnson’s story embodies the bitter cost of war and the spiritual armor every combat veteran wears. He fought not just against a foreign enemy but within the battlefields of racial injustice and historical erasure.

His scars—both physical and societal—did not silence his legacy. The Harlem Hellfighters returned to a country still shackled by segregation, but they held their heads high, scarred but undefeated.

“The Lord is my strength and my shield; my heart trusts in him, and he helps me.” — Psalm 28:7

Johnson’s fight was not just for survival or medals. It was for dignity. To prove that valor and sacrifice know no color. His story calls us all—to honor every soldier’s sacrifice with sober gratitude, to bear witness to the wounds we cannot always see, and to carry forward a legacy of courage rooted in unbreakable faith.

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The battlefield never forgets. Neither should we. Sgt. Henry Johnson’s blood stained that French soil. His spirit—unshakable—reminds us that true heroism demands endurance, faith, and a willingness to stand alone when the night is darkest.

Remember him. Fight like him. Live like him.

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# Sources

1. Center of Military History, U.S. Army. Medal of Honor Recipients: World War I

2. Stanton, Shelby. World War I Order of Battle, Galahad Books, 1988

3. Smithsonian National Museum of African American History & Culture, Henry Johnson and the Harlem Hellfighters exhibit

4. "Henry Johnson: Fighting for Recognition," NPR History Desk, 2015

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