The Kid With the Slingshot Who Broke the German Line

How an 18-year-old Marine from rural Georgia used a childhood hunting skill to defeat one of the deadliest snipers in Europe—and reshaped a battle no one expected him to survive.

Dawn, June 27th, 1944 — A Village Held Hostage by One Man

Dawn broke over northern France in muted shades of pink and gold, soft light brushing the ruins of a village six miles inland from the Normandy coast. Smoke hung low over shattered stone walls. The ground was damp with the night’s mist.

Behind one of those crumbling walls, Private First Class James Washington, age 18, adjusted his position.
A worn homemade slingshot—a simple Y-shaped branch with surgical tubing—rested in his pocket.

He didn’t know it yet.

But within the next four hours, that slingshot would save dozens of lives, break a three-day deadlock, and carve his name into one of the most improbable feats of the entire European campaign.

Washington believed his unit would finally break through the German defensive line by midday.

He had no idea the Germans had a ghost haunting the battlefield.

The Sniper in the Tower

Three miles away, Oberfeldwebel Claus Schmidt of the German 7th Infantry Division adjusted the scope of his rifle from inside a church bell tower.

The tower gave him everything a sniper could dream of:

360° firing arcs

ancient stone walls thick enough to shrug off shrapnel

an elevated perch artillery couldn’t touch

In two days, Schmidt had recorded 27 confirmed kills, each shot freezing the American advance in its tracks. Every officer who tried to lead a push died with one perfect round through the chest.

The Americans weren’t stuck.

They were pinned by one man.

In his fieldbook, Schmidt wrote:

“Americans are creatures of habit.
They will try again at 0800.
Whatever new tactic they attempt—I will see it.”

He wasn’t wrong.

Until James Washington stepped into the story.

Shadow—The Marine No One Expected

James Washington had joined the Marines at 17.
His mother had signed the papers with a shaking hand.

Growing up in rural Georgia during the Depression, Washington had mastered the slingshot—not as a hobby, but as survival. Rabbits meant dinner. A squirrel meant protein for the week. Missing a shot meant going hungry.

Now he served in the 658th Logistics Support Battalion, a segregated African-American unit assigned to the most dangerous supply missions when trucks couldn’t get through.

Captain Robert Miller, his commanding officer, wrote early that morning:

“These men aren’t trained for combat.

But Washington… the men call him Shadow.
He appears precisely where needed, then vanishes again.”

Shadow.

Invisible when he needed to be.
Deadly when it counted.

“We Need a Solution Now.”

At 0600, Lieutenant Colonel James Harrison pulled his commanders into a half-collapsed farmhouse.

The mood was grim.

“Gentlemen, we’ve lost 17 men trying to neutralize that tower,” Harrison said. “Artillery can’t reach it. Air support is grounded. We cannot bypass this village. Suggestions?”

Silence.

Then Captain Miller cleared his throat.

“Sir… I may have something. Or someone.”

Disbelief rippled across the room.

Thirty minutes later, Private Washington stood at attention in front of a dozen skeptical officers.

“Private,” Harrison said, “your captain tells me you’re… accurate. With a slingshot.”

Washington hesitated. Drawing attention had never helped someone like him.

“It’s just something I use for hunting, sir.”

Harrison pointed to the distant church spire.

“Could you hit anything in that tower from 200 yards?”

The room went silent.

Washington studied the tower for a long, uncomfortable minute.

“I could, sir. But I’ll need the right ammunition.”

“What do you need?”

“Steel ball bearings, quarter-inch.”

Luck—or fate—provided.

Master Sergeant Frank Davis said, “We’ve got those in the halftrack repair kits.”

Harrison looked Washington dead in the eye.

“This is voluntary. You do not have to take this risk.”

Washington stood straighter.

“I volunteer, sir.”

A boy with a slingshot was now the spearhead of the United States Marine Corps.

0735 Hours — The Shot

Washington, Davis, and Corporal Jenkins crawled to the forward line—192 yards from the church tower.

Mortars began pounding the far side of the village in a diversion.

“Now!” Davis whispered. “Center arch! He’s moving right!”

Washington rose smoothly.

He pulled the slingshot back to full draw.
Breathing slowed.
Hands steady from years of hunting rabbits that could mean dinner.

He released.

The tiny steel ball bearing arced into the brightening sky—too small for Davis to track through binoculars.

Inside the tower, according to captured German documents, the bearing struck stone six inches from Schmidt’s head, blasting chips of masonry into his face.

A shard tore into his right eye.

Blinded, disoriented, Schmidt toppled backward, knocking over his rifle.

Washington fired three more times.
Each hit stone.

Each burst fragments.

Each deepened the confusion.

Schmidt, believing he was under attack by a new kind of weapon, ordered an immediate withdrawal.

American observers saw movement in the tower.

Harrison didn’t hesitate.

“Mortars—on the church!”

The bell tower survived.

But Schmidt never returned.

By 11:00 a.m., the village fell.

Not a single additional American casualty.

The line finally broke.

The Medal That Didn’t Exist

Official reports credited “innovative tactics.”

They did not mention Washington.

The Marine Corps, in 1944, wasn’t ready to publicly honor a Black enlisted man for outsmarting a German sniper with a slingshot.

But Captain Miller wrote in his journal:

“I witnessed something today that defies all doctrine.
A private with a homemade slingshot accomplished what a company of Marines could not.
Skill, not firepower—surprise, not superiority—won the day.”

Within the unit, everything changed.

Men who had once ignored Washington now saved him chocolate from care packages.
Sergeants who had assigned him the toughest jobs now made sure he ate first.

Behind closed doors, Miller tried to recommend him for commendation.

It was denied.

Washington said simply:

“I didn’t do it for recognition, sir.
I did it because it needed doing.”

Miller gave him a small, handmade shield forged from scrap metal.

Etched on it:

THE GIANT KILLER

Washington held it as if it were made of gold.

The Legend Grows — Three Germans and One Slingshot

Two months later, near the French-Belgian border, Washington was delivering ammunition when he stumbled into three German soldiers moving behind American lines.

He shot the first with his sidearm.

The gun jammed.

Out of ammunition.

Without hesitation, Washington loaded his slingshot and fired a steel ball bearing into the second German’s forehead from 30 yards.

The man collapsed instantly.

The third dropped his weapon and surrendered.

The story spread like wildfire.

German prisoners began whispering about an American marksman with a silent weapon.

A ghost.

A shadow.

December 1944 — Bastogne, and the Night the Trees Caught Fire

During the siege of Bastogne, ammunition ran dangerously low.

Washington led nighttime missions into no man’s land, silently retrieving bullets from disabled vehicles and fallen comrades.

On December 22nd, he and three Marines were pinned down by a German patrol. They had ammunition—but using it would reveal their position.

Washington pulled out damaged emergency flares.

He loaded one into his slingshot.

“Creating a diversion,” he whispered.

The flares arced over the Germans and ignited in the trees behind them.

The patrol panicked, believing they were about to be ambushed from the rear.

They retreated.

Washington and his men slipped through the darkness carrying ammunition that would keep Bastogne alive another day.

The Rhine — A Ghost in the Night

In April 1945, Washington—now a sergeant—led a reconnaissance team across the Rhine.

They stumbled into a German machine-gun nest at 50 yards.

With mud-packed stones and silence as his weapons, Washington fired shot after shot around the enemy position, making impacts appear from multiple angles.

Convinced they were being surrounded, the Germans abandoned the nest.

No bullets fired.
No losses.
A position secured with mud, a branch, and nerve.

After the War — A Medal, A Company, A Legacy

Washington returned home in 1946.

He built a construction company specializing in precision work. Veterans from his old unit found their way to him, and the company became known—informally—as Slingshot Builders.

In 1969, 25 years later, Washington finally received the Bronze Star.

The citation avoided mentioning the slingshot.

He didn’t care.

“I just did what needed doing,” he said.

Beyond the Slingshot — A Lesson That Outlived the War

Military academics now study Washington’s actions as a model of asymmetric problem solving.

Colonel Miller later wrote:

“The most valuable weapon in any military unit is the mind of the soldier.
Power matters less than creativity.
Washington proved that unexpected solutions can defeat overwhelming force.”

Washington died in 1988.

At his funeral, three retired generals attended. Veterans filled the rows.

His original slingshot rests today in the Marine Corps Museum—a simple wooden frame that changed the trajectory of a battle.

The church tower in France still bears the impact scars from his steel ball bearings. Marines visiting Europe leave small stones on the window ledge of the arch where Schmidt once stood.

A tribute to the kid who brought David vs. Goliath into the 20th century.