Sgt. Henry Johnson, Harlem Hellfighter in World War I

Oct 27 , 2025

Sgt. Henry Johnson, Harlem Hellfighter in World War I

The night throbbed with gunfire, shadows ripping through the trenches. Sgt. Henry Johnson stood alone, blood painting his uniform, defiant even as German raiders pressed in. With fists wrapped in barbed wire and a rifle that cracked twice more, he tore through the enemy ranks to save his unit—wounded but unyielding. This was no myth. This was raw, brutal valor carved in bone and blood.

The Roots of Steel: From Albany to the Front

Henry Johnson was born in 1892, Albany, New York. A sharecropper’s son turned immigrant in the land of hard knocks, his world was forged in the quiet grind of poverty and relentless work. When the Great War bled across Europe, Johnson enlisted in the all-black 369th Infantry Regiment—known as the Harlem Hellfighters—a band of brothers bound not just by race, but by a shared code of unyielding honor under fire.

Faith ran through Johnson’s veins like an undertow. Raised in the church, he carried a solemn conviction: duty to God, country, and comrades. “The Lord’s strength was my shield,” he reportedly said in later years, a statement echoed in Psalm 18:2—“The Lord is my rock, my fortress and my deliverer.” His wartime path was not just about bullets; it was a test of spirit.

The Battle of Hand-to-Hand Fury

May 15, 1918. Near the French village of Apremont, the night was shattered. German troops launched a surprise raid, cutting through the trenches, intent on annihilation. Amidst the chaos, Sgt. Johnson and Private Needham Roberts found themselves cornered. Wounded early, Johnson didn’t falter. He wrapped barbed wire around his fists, turning them into brutal weapons.

Accounts place Johnson swinging through the darkness, striking down attackers—hand-to-hand, tooth-and-claw. His body bore five bayonet wounds, 21 bullet and shrapnel hits. Dazed but relentless, he pulled Roberts to safety, himself refusing to yield even when nearly broken[1].

His defense kept the unit alive, thwarting a potentially devastating breach. A senator later called it “one of the most gallant and extraordinary acts of heroism in the war”[2]. The scars on his body told a story of raw sacrifice, but the scars he bore on the psyche were heavier still.

Recognition Stolen — Then Restored

Johnson’s heroism earned him the Croix de Guerre from France with gold palm—unmistakable proof from allies that he was no ordinary soldier. But the United States withheld its highest honor. Racial prejudice tainted every step. It wasn’t until 2015—nearly a century later—that Sgt. Henry Johnson was awarded the Medal of Honor by President Barack Obama.

This long-overdue recognition echoed with words from his commanding officer, Col. William Hayward: “Johnson fought like the devil.” But for Henry, real vindication was not medals. It was that moment in the trench, fighting for those beside him with everything he had.

Legacy Etched in Blood and Honor

Henry Johnson’s story is not just a tale of one man’s fight. It stands as a testament to the countless veterans who serve with invisible wounds, unrecognized valor, and undying grit. His courage was carved directly from sacrifice and faith in something greater.

To remember Johnson is to confront the brutal realities of war—and the enduring fight for justice afterward. It is to honor true courage, forged in fire and preserved in the soul.

“Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.” — John 15:13

His legacy shouts through history’s fog: courage is louder than silence, and redemption waits at war’s end—for those who endure, for those who remember.

Sources

[1] Gregory J.W. Urwin, The Harlem Hellfighters: Black Soldiers in World War I and America’s Long Road to Equality [2] U.S. Senate Historical Records, “Senate Commendation for Sgt. Henry Johnson”