The redheaded corporal clutched his rifle and adjusted his bayonet as the anticipation mounted in the trench. Alvin C. York had firmly resisted the draft as a conscientious objector. His church had taught him to abide carefully by the Lord’s command “Thou shalt not kill.” As a young man, he had been a drunkard, a gambler, a fighter, and a man known for violent outbursts of temper. But all that had changed before the war when the Lord Jesus had transformed Alvin. He was now a man of meekness, a humble Christian who cared for his mother, farmed his land, and looked forward to marrying his fiancée, Gracie, if he ever got home again to the mountains of Tennessee. When he was drafted upon the entry of the United States into the First World War, he had written simply on his draft card: “I do not want to fight.”

What would Alvin do when he left the security of the trenches to go “over the top” and advance over open ground toward the German machine gun nests? Would he turn pale and hunker down behind the nearest cover? Would he do what so many soldiers did: expose himself as little as possible and try to live to make it home again? Would the man fight, or would his objections to killing hold him back from ever pulling the trigger?

Alvin had “busted the heads” of many turkeys back home in Pall Mall, Tennessee, where he was known as the best shot in the mountains. But Alvin York had never aimed his rifle at a fellow human being. He believed deeply that the Army should not force him to do so either. This was not his fight, and the Germans were not his enemies. He could not see how Kaiser Wilhelm or Field Marshal Hindenburg were a threat to his mother or Gracie. All he wanted to do was go home.

The whistle blew at precisely 6:10 A.M., and over the top Alvin and his comrades went. At first, the advance was easy. In the red light of early dawn, it seemed that No Man’s Land was silent and harmless. But twisted trees, muddy holes, and ghastly skulls and scattered bones told a different story.

Halfway across the killing field, the silence of the early morning was shattered by the terrible scream of death as the machine guns on a distant ridge opened up with devastating accuracy. The German gunners knew their range, and the lines of Americans began to go down like ripe corn before the sickle of death. Out of one hundred men in the first wave, only seventeen survived the deadly wall of death, including Alvin York.

Finding refuge in bombed-out shell craters, the line was pinned down and unable to move forward. Knowing that they must continue, their commanding officer led his men toward the flank of the opposing line as the succeeding waves of advancing Americans called for the attention of the Germans. Amazingly, the thin line of seventeen Americans penetrated, unnoticed, the lines. Alvin later used a hunting term to describe how they “flushed” some German stretcher bearers behind the lines and followed them to a field headquarters. The surprised German officers suddenly found Americans in their midst! They surrendered, thinking the entire American army had broken their line. But when the Germans realized that it was only a scattered detachment, one officer shouted a command in German and hit the ground.

Instantly, the machine gun battalion opened fire from the hill above, shooting into their rear and spraying the Americans with another round of destruction. Thousands of bullets filled the air like leaden hail. Although bullets hit his canteen and ripped his clothing, not one bullet touched Alvin York. With all of the officers above him put out of combat by this sudden volley, Corporal Alvin York, a conscientious objector, was now in command of the few Americans who were left alive. The seven surviving privates had all hit the ground and were hiding behind German prisoners and trees.

Only Corporal York stood his ground. Calmly he raised his rifle to his shoulder and fired. A German machine gun fell silent. Suddenly the war had become very personal for Alvin. He was fighting for his mother, for his sisters, for his fiancée Gracie, and for his children yet unborn. “Thou shalt not kill” was still very real to him, but the command had taken on a new and personal meaning. He must silence those machine guns! Alvin’s rifle spoke again, and another German toppled over. Like shooting turkeys back home, every time a head came up, Alvin put it down.

After a few minutes, a few of the Germans realized to their astonishment that they were facing only one man! Seven Germans jumped up and rushed at Alvin with their bayonets. Without flinching, Alvin drew his pistol and began shooting. He shot the rear soldier first, then the next, then the next. The leading soldier dropped dead only a few yards from Alvin. Alvin then went back to his rifle. Finally, the highest German officer blew his whistle, and the German machine gun battalion surrendered. The individual gunners were shocked that they were surrendering to one man.

Altogether, Alvin York captured 132 German prisoners that day and personally killed 25 machine gunners. Alvin and the surviving privates eventually got the prisoners marched back to the American lines. It was Alvin’s comrades who passed the story up through the ranks, for Alvin would never boast about his own deeds. Within days, the humble Christian soldier became a world hero. Along with forty other honorable military decorations, he received the Congressional Medal of Honor and the Croix de Guerre, the highest honor awarded by France. Supreme Allied Commander Marshal Foch highly praised him with these words: “What you did was the greatest thing accomplished by any private soldier in all the armies of Europe.”

Eventually, Alvin was content to know that peace had been restored to Europe. His actions in France had ultimately helped to bring about the end of the war, the silence of the machine guns, and the restoration of peace. So it was, according to Ecclesiastes 3:3, “A time to kill, and a time to heal.” Shell-littered fields bloomed again, not only with poppies, but also with wheat fields and vineyards and pastures. Alvin and thousands of other farmers like him the world over could beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks.

After all the hullabaloo of decorations, dinners, parades, and a standing ovation from both chambers of Congress, Alvin exchanged his uniform for his overalls and went back to the mountains of Tennessee. He married Gracie and they raised a family. He devoted much time and attention to promoting solid Bible education for the boys and girls of rural Tennessee. He taught singing schools in his mountain church and was known as the “Singing Elder.” Just as before the war, Alvin continued to win all the shooting contests in the mountains, even into his old age. His sons and grandsons still populate his native valley, and in the peaceful churchyard, successive generations of Yorks await the dawn of resurrection morning when all wars will be forever over and the Prince of Peace will reign from sea to sea.