Emerging from the fog just outside Chaumont-devant-Damvillers, my combat spread platoon halts, as Chambers (on point) signals movement ahead.

 

A staccato series of shots ring out from their position, flying high above our heads.

 

Even though the shots are high, muscle memory drops the platoon in one, seemingly, coordinated move.

 

No one wants to be the last to die in this war.

 

Turning my head toward the fire, I can make out the faint shapes of stahlhelm (German helmets) in a crater by the side of the road.

 

“Their warning us” Powell says, shifting his rifle under his body to his left side so he can clear his line of sight to the enemy.

 

I look back at Powell, my Sergeant now.

 

We used to be pals and equals.

 

His eyes lock with mine.

 

He probably knows what I’m thinking right now.

 

Reaching his right arm toward me, he gently says “It’s not worth it, not now.”

 

I turn my head from him, toward the enemy machine gun.

 

If I could get that before the end, I’d make things right.

 

Rising as I pull my bayoneted rifle up from the frost-covered mud, I feel Powell’s hand on my right thigh.

 

“STOP” He tries to grab my rifle as he yells.

 

Far enough away, so he can’t get a grip on me or my weapon, I slip out of Powell’s reach as I break into a run.

 

We’re so close.

 

I can redeem myself before it’s all over!

 

DAMN IT, GUNTHER, I SAID HALT! Sgt. Powell screams at me as I get within 25 meters of the enemy.

 

Other men of the 313th, Baltimore’s Own, yell for me to stop as well.

 

“It’s almost over!”, “Don’t do it Gunther!”, “They’re not worth it!”

 

I can capture them.

 

I can show how American I am.

 

Just aware of my approach, the gun crew waves at me.

 

Within 20 meters I can see through the fog the expression on their faces change.

 

They know I’m not stopping!

 

“Go. . ., Go Back!” they yell, attempting to wave me away.

 

One holds a watch up on his right arm, while showing two fingers with left hand.

 

“Almost 11, GO BACK!” another yells.

 

I can’t go back, there’s no going back!

 

Within 10 meters the German who seems to be in charge screams, “NO TIME. . ., STOP. . ., OVER!”

 

I’m not stopping till I make things right.

 

At 5 meters I scream “SURRENDER!” at the top of my lungs as I race forward, firing a round to emphasize my point.

 

The man behind the machine gun shifts its barrel to aim directly at me.

 

They won’t.

 

Within 2 meters I can see the soldier behind the gun looking at the one who screamed for me to stop.

 

He then looks down, before pulling the chain which is attached to the trigger of the gun.

 

I’m American!

 

 

 

Private Henry Gunther was the last American to be killed in World War I when he was shot through the head at 10:59 am on November 11, 1918. Gunther, who until recently had been a Sergeant, was demoted when a letter he wrote advising a friend to avoid the war because of the horrible conditions at the front was caught by Army censors and delivered to his commanding officer. A Baltimore boy of German parents, Gunther may have felt compelled to prove how American he was, rather than ending the war in disgrace. The next day Private Gunther was recognized by General Pershing, the American Expeditionary Force commander, as the last American to die in the war. He was restored as a Sergeant, awarded the Divisional Citation for Gallantry in Action and the Distinguished Service Cross, and is honored to this day with a plaque in France recognizing him as the last allied soldier to die in the war. Before the war Henry Gunther was a bookkeeper at the National Bank of Baltimore and had a girlfriend, Olga Gruebl, who he intended to marry. He is buried at Most Holy Redeemer Cemetery in Baltimore.

 

Investigations about the last day of the war reveal possibly 11,000 allied soldiers were killed or wounded between the time the armistice was signed at 5 am and the cessation of hostilities at 11 am. The reason for this was French commander-in-chief Marshal Foch refused to allow a cease-fire. The news of the armistice was spread instantly to units across the front on both sides, but the officers in charge of Allied units mostly maintained the attack, despite the fact all German units would surrender their positions at 11 am. To put this number of deaths in context, it was very high for a single day in World War I, even though it only captures about five hours of active combat, and it is greater than the number of soldiers who lost their lives on D-Day, June 6, 1944 when the allies stormed the beaches of Normandy to begin the liberation of Western Europe from the NAZIs. Gunther may have been striving for redemption that day. What of the other 10,999, of which more than 3,000 were American?