Trench Broom: The WWI Shotgun That Terrified German Soldiers

Few weapons in the First World War inspired as much fear and controversy as the American Winchester Model 1897, better known by its battlefield nickname: the “Trench Broom.” In a war dominated by machine guns, artillery, and poison gas, this pump-action shotgun carved out a brutal niche all its own in the claustrophobic labyrinth of sandbags and duckboards. It wasn’t the longest-ranged nor the most technologically sophisticated arm on the Western Front, but at bad-breath distances where seconds decided who lived and who didn’t, it was a monster.

Before The Trenches: A Gun Finds Its Feet

The shotgun’s combat résumé didn’t start in France. American troops had already pressed it into service during the Philippine-American War and later along the border with Mexico. Those early campaigns were previews – messy, close-quarters fights that hinted at the gun’s future. But it was the hellscape of trench warfare – knee-deep mud, splintered duckboards, and corners you couldn’t see around – that made the 1897 famous. There, its particular blend of speed, spread, and simplicity turned it from an outdoorsman’s tool into an infantryman’s equalizer.

Why Soldiers Called It The “Trench Broom”

Nicknames on battlefields tend to be earned, not assigned. “Trench Broom” captured exactly what the 1897 did at short range: it swept. In the cramped, shoulder-width corridors of dugouts and communication trenches, a single soldier could clear a segment in seconds, sending a blast of pellets that didn’t require perfect aim to be decisive. When you have to fight your way through an enemy’s home – every corner a deadly surprise – there’s a premium on weapons that end fights instantly. That was this shotgun’s specialty.

Slam-Fire: The Feature That Made It Fearsome

What truly set the Model 1897 apart wasn’t just that it was a shotgun; it was how it shot. The gun lacked a disconnector – meaning it could “slam-fire.” Hold the trigger down, and every time you pumped the fore-end forward, the shotgun would fire the instant the action closed. No trigger reset, no rhythm to master – just a staccato roar as quickly as you could cycle the pump. With six shells in the tubular magazine, a skilled soldier could empty it in the time it takes to shout a warning. In a trench raid, that was the difference between getting overwhelmed and overwhelming.

Six Shells, One Breath: Close-Quarters Devastation

Imagine bursting into a traverse packed with startled defenders, the distance measured in steps, not yards. A conventional rifle might demand a precise sight picture and precious seconds to cycle a bolt. The Trench Broom, by contrast, punished hesitation. Six quick blasts of buckshot – clouds of lead thrown in a lethal cone – could rip apart a cluster of foes before the echo faded. It rewarded aggression and punished disorganization. In cramped geometry, pattern beats pinpoint; speed beats finesse. That combination terrified opponents who suddenly found their hard-won trench line turned into a killing zone at arm’s length.

Bayonet On A Shotgun: When Steel Meets Lead

As if the buckshot weren’t enough, the military configuration of the 1897 wore a bayonet lug. That mattered. Trenches did not offer clean fields of fire; they forced grappling distance. A shotgun with a mounted blade became a multipurpose terror – blast at a corner, thrust through a doorway, dominate a ladder or firing step. The pairing of lead and steel made the weapon a kind of Swiss Army knife for assaults and defenses alike, bridging the transition from shooting to shoving without a pause.

Berlin’s Outrage: A Protest From The Other Side

The German response arrived not just in shouts from the parapet but in official complaint. In September 1918, Germany lodged a formal protest, arguing that the shotgun was an inhumane weapon, contrary to international agreements. More menacingly, German authorities threatened to execute any prisoner found carrying one. This wasn’t a mere legal quibble; it was fear made diplomatic. When a tool is so efficient at very close range that it changes the psychology of a fight, the enemy will try to outlaw it. The protests were less about conventions and more about terror in the trenches.

Washington’s Reply: Effectiveness Over “Humanity”

The U.S. answer was unambiguous: no. American officials rejected the charge of illegality and, in a firm bit of wartime realpolitik, warned that any executions over shotgun possession would be met in kind. A U.S. brigadier general penned a memo praising the weapon’s battlefield value and, tellingly, pointing out its versatility. Shotguns were used to shoot down messenger pigeons; in the hands of marksmen, there were even accounts of blasting incoming grenades out of the sky. The argument, blunt as a buttstock: this weapon didn’t prolong agony – it usually ended the fight outright. If “inhumane” means needless suffering, then a firearm that kills quickly defies the label.

A War Of Optics: Photos, Censorship, And Perception

There’s a persistent theory that, after the controversy broke, the American command grew cautious about imagery of shotguns at the front. Fewer photos survive than you might expect for such a widely talked-about weapon. Whether that scarcity is censorship or coincidence, it underscores a larger truth: the optics war mattered. Weapons shape narratives, and the Trench Broom’s narrative was explosive – literally and figuratively. Minimizing its visibility may have been less about shame than about starving enemy propaganda of easy ammunition.

Mud, Paper, And Pockets: The Trench-Proofing Problem

No weapon is perfect, and the 1897 had very human problems: mud and moisture. Early paper or cardboard-hulled shells absorbed water like sponges, and trenches were nothing if not wet. The answer was brass-cased ammunition – far more resistant to the elements – but getting enough of it to the front proved uneven. Soldiers also griped about carrying those bulky shotgun shells; specialized cartridge bags lagged demand, and pockets pressed into service weren’t ideal under fire. The lessons are mundane but crucial: lethality is only useful if logistics keep up.

Beyond 1918: A Legacy That Outlived The Trenches

The shotgun’s career didn’t end with the armistice. Its close-quarters virtues kept it relevant across generations of conflict, including jungle fighting decades later. The environments changed – trenches to treelines, duckboards to elephant grass – but the tactical logic held: inside spitting distance, a shotgun ends arguments fast. That continuity says something about the stubborn constancy of combat at close range. Technology climbs, but the human body remains the same size, and rooms, alleys, and corners still compress fights into moments.

What The Trench Broom Teaches About War

Strip away the romance and outrage, and the Trench Broom is a lesson in matching tools to terrain. In the open, rifles rule. On the horizon, artillery decides. But in man-sized tunnels dug into wet earth, you need a weapon that forgives fractions and dominates seconds. The slam-fire 1897 did that better than just about anything else in 1918. Its cruelty was, in large part, the cruelty of proximity. War at ten yards is always uglier than war at a thousand.

Was It “Inhumane”? The Law, The Morals, The Reality

The legal wrangling around shotguns in WWI reveals a perennial tension: we want war to be governed by rules that tame its worst impulses, yet the battlefield often rewards whatever ends the fight fastest. By the logic of humanitarian law, weapons that maim and prolong suffering are more suspect than those that kill quickly. A slam-firing shotgun at trench distance almost always did the latter. Morally, that’s cold comfort to anyone on the receiving end – but it’s also why attempts to equate it with torture devices or poison found little traction. In war, there’s no gentle way to clear a corner; there are only faster and slower ones.

The Last Word: Efficiency, Fear, And The Soldier’s Tool

Was the Trench Broom terrifying? Absolutely. That’s the point of weapons – especially in environments where fear can break a line as surely as shrapnel. The Model 1897 married mechanical quirks (slam-fire), sensible ergonomics (a bayonet where you need it), and brutal practicality (a six-shot reservoir of instant decisions). It was not elegant. 

It was not fair in the chivalric sense. It was, however, perfectly adapted to the worst place on earth in 1918. And that is why German soldiers dreaded it, why their government tried to ban it, and why its legend endures whenever the conversation turns to the tools that shaped the ugliest kind of fighting – face to face, in the mud, with no room to miss.

UP NEXT: “Heavily Armed” — See Which States Are The Most Strapped

Americans have long debated the role of firearms, but one thing is sure — some states are far more armed than others.

See where your state ranks in this new report on firearm ownership across the U.S.