his moral doubts to his company commander, who took him seriously and
sent him to talk with the battalion commander, a New England Protestant
and master of the Bible. The major and the private conducted disciplined
argument, the private almost surrendering to the older man’s clever cita-
tions and repetitions of the Allies’ propaganda about German war crimes
in Belgium. Then the major sent York home on a leave. Alvin still agonized
and finally retired to meditate and pray alone—where else but on a moun-
taintop, where he remained a day, a night, and part of another day. When he
descended, all doubt was gone, and Alvin York would be the Lord’s killer,
utterly confident of mission and his own safety, no matter the danger.
The Eighty-Second was finally moved into combat in September and
October , at the St. Mihiel Salient and in the Argonne Forest. The war
was ending, and German and Austrian soldiers were weary and disheart-
ened. Yet even as the Central Powers began to collapse, there was bloody
fighting and chaos as trenches were overrun, forces were surrounded, and
units were ‘‘lost’’ behind shifting lines. Corporal York’s remarkable day,
October, dawned in this context. His company had advanced so quickly
it became surrounded and pinned down by machine gun fire. Plunging
bravely ahead, York’s platoon came upon enemy soldiers at leisure, most
of whom surrendered; but one fired, and York killed him. Then another
German machine gun opened up, and the Americans were pinned down
again. Still guarding prisoners, York attacked. He could see enemy heads
bobbing up and down, like Fentress County turkeys, but bigger, easier tar-
gets. York gobbled, turkeylike, to encourage the bobbing. Dangling a big .
Colt automatic pistol from one finger of his right hand, he fired at first with
his Enfield rifle, popping one head after another. Then York saw a group of
German infantrymen running in his direction in single file—another sce-
nario resembling the Tennessee backwoods: When hunting rambling wild
turkeys or birds in flight, the smart shooter never guns the leader first,
warning those behind, but kills the last in line, then the new last one, and
so on. This York did, with bolt-action rifle and pistol, until both his barrels
were hot and his ammunition was low. Then he shouted for survivors to sur-
render. They did, and York and a handful of wounded comrades began to
march a large column of prisoners out of the wilderness to American lines.
York, soon promoted to sergeant, was credited with capturing and kill-
ing, with icy calm precision, . There were to be more days of combat, and
York was nearly blown up once; but he survived to return home a hero. He
won the Medal of Honor, a Distinguished Service Cross, a Croix de Guerre,
and many other medals. He married and became a father and pillar of his