Lance Andrews
A little something I wrote, thought you may enjoy it.
The hand of an engineer reached for the cord, and the blast from the whistle of a locomotive split the air. Lance Andrews listened to the long wail of the approaching train about a half-mile from his home. It was early January; the New Year was one week old.
Lance was born in Manchester, Virginia, in 1923 and educated at the University of Maryland. He inherited from his father a love for writing, especially war stories. He was a veteran of World War Two and served two tours in the Navy. His last tour of duty was served on an Aircraft carrier.
Mr. Andrews spent most of his time alone these days on the back porch looking out into the woods, reminiscing about his youth, family, and days gone by. His hands shook too much for him to write, and his eyes dimmed to the point where reading was difficult. Lance’s wife died twenty years earlier from breast cancer, and most of his friends are now gone. His two girls are in their late seventies, both living in nursing homes. His son Jeff Married a lady who lived in Atlanta, Georgia, and has remained there ever since.
Lance’s assigned nurse, Margaret, would stop by each day and help him with any chores he may have. Other than that, Lance remained independent and, for his age, in reasonably good health. He could still get around with a cane but could no longer drive.
Toward the end of World War II, in March 1945, Lance was on the carrier sixty-five miles off the Japanese coast near Kobe when his ship was attacked and hit by three 500 kg bombs in an enemy air strike. The ship began to burn uncontrollably following a series of exploding bombs, rockets, and ammunition. He recalled in the face of continuing explosions and fires and while the ship was still under attack, he, with two other sailors, continued to fight the fires below deck, moving ammunition away from the fires. Suddenly, he was struck in the head by shrapnel from an exploding bomb. Trapped below deck and injured, his two shipmates could not reach him because of the fire. “I thought I was a goner.”
Lance recalled being on the verge of passing out when two men seemed to walk through the flames out of nowhere, lift a heavy beam off his legs, and carry him through the fire. He was lying in a bed on a Navel Hospital ship when he woke up six days later. Several months had passed when his two shipmates came to see me; “How could I ever forget those two guys?” he thought.
Boatswain mate William Neilson said, “Hi Lance, how are you?”
I replied, “I’m doing better, how about the two of you?”
The second man, Ralph, said, “We made it out okay, but we lost plenty of the guys. We thought you were dead, but they found you on the top deck. You must have crawled up the stairs, but how the heck did you get out of the fire, neither of us can figure it out.”
Stunned at their words, I replied, “I thought you two came through the fire and brought me out.”
“It wasn’t us; we couldn’t get through. It was so hot we had to get ourselves out of there.”
“Then who carried me out?”
“Nobody carried you out, no one could have gotten through those flames.”
At that moment, Lance looked down to see his cat Tough Guy rubbing up against his legs. “What’s the matter, Tough Guy? Are you lonely?” He reached his hand down and patted him on the head. “I guess we’ve both seen our better days. How old are you now? Hmm, I think you’re thirteen. Come on now, go out in the woods and catch yourself a mouse.” He opened the screen door, and Tough Guy ran into the woods.
His visiting angel Margaret came to the back porch and asked Lance if he needed anything.
“Yes Margaret. There’s a book on the top shelf in my bookcase, it has a clear plastic folder in it, can you get it for me?”
Margaret reminded him, “Lance there are two book cases, which one?”
“Oh, I forgot, it’s the one on the left.”
Several minutes passed when Margaret returned carrying the book Lance had requested. “Thank you, Margaret.” After putting on his glasses, he took the folder from the book, opened it, and pulled out several old pictures and four postcards. The first photo was of his father and mother when they were first married; at the bottom, they had written, ‘Love, from Mom and Dad.’ The second photo was of his parents and his younger sister and brother. All four have passed away, leaving Lance alone now. He wrote and sent the four postcards to his family while serving in the Navy. There was also a photo of him in uniform, holding a Coke in one hand and a sandwich in the other.
Looking at the photo, he had a flashback of his younger days and the good times he shared with his family and friends. Reaching into the folder, Lance took out two sheets of typewriter paper and carefully unfolded them and laid them on the table. They had yellowed over the years, but the print on them was still legible.
At the top of both papers it said, ‘Citation.’ The body of the first letter read, ‘For distinguished service and meritorious achievement while serving aboard a United States aircraft carrier which was striking the main Japanese Islands near Kobe on 19 of March 1945. After the ship was hit in an enemy air attack, there followed a series of violent explosions of ready bombs, rockets, and ammunition below deck which threatened complete destruction of the carrier. In the face of continuing explosions and raging fires and during further enemy air attacks Lance Andrews continued to fight fires, jettison hot ammunition, and otherwise courageously assist in bringing the damage under control. Though injured and hurt, your courage, loyalty and devotion to duty contributed materially to the saving of the ship and were in keeping with the highest traditions of the United States Naval Service.’
When he finished reading, tears came to his eyes, he could never forget the pain. “Get hold of yourself Lance, it was a long time ago.” He reached for the second sheet. It was a citation for the Purple Heart. It read, ‘For military merit and for wounds received in action.’
In the kitchen, Margaret was cooking lunch for Lance and herself when the doorbell rang. She looked out the window to see two young men standing by the front door. She walked over, opened it, and asked, “Can I help you?”
“Were sorry to bother you Mrs., but we would like to see Mr. Andrews.”
“Is he expecting you?”
“Yes.”
“Come in then.”
“Thank you.”
“Can you wait one moment, Lance is on the back porch, I’ll tell him he has company. Can I tell him whose calling?”
“My name is Jonathan; this is my friend Caleb. We would like to speak to Mr. Andrews about the time he was wounded when his ship was attacked and set afire near Kobe Japan.”
Margaret looked at the two men and asked them, “Are you reporters?”
“No, just friends.”
“Mr. Andrews doesn’t speak much about those days, please don’t upset him” Margret replied.
“We won’t.”
Okay then. Wait here, I’ll be right back.” Margret walked out to the back and told Lance he had two visitors, Jonathan and Caleb. “Show them in Margaret, I’ve been expecting them.”
Margaret looked at him funny, thinking to herself, “Strange, he usually tells me when he has visitors coming, he must have forgotten.”
She returned to the kitchen, then said to the two men, “Gentlemen, follow me, Mr. Andrews will see you on the back porch.”
The two walked to the back porch where Lance was sitting, Margret returned to the kitchen. “Hello Lance, do you remember us?”
Lance looked up and said, yes, I do; you’re the two that pulled me from the fire.”
“That’s right, now it’s time for you to come home with us.”
Lance smiled at the two men, removed his glasses, reached out, took the two photos of his parents, and put them back into the folder with the postcards and two citations. He then took the folder, placed it back into the book, and closed it. He looked out into the backyard and saw two white doves feeding in the grass. Lance reached out his right hand, opened the Bible on the side table, put his finger on it, and then closed his eyes.
Margaret had finished preparing lunch. She listened to hear voices but heard nothing. She called, “Lance, lunch is ready.” But there was only silence. “Ah, he must be busy talking.” She walked to the back porch and saw Lance slumped over in his chair; the two men were nowhere to be seen. “Lance, wake up.” But he never moved. Margaret immediately knew Lance was gone. She saw his hand was on the Bible by his side, his index finger on one verse. She looked down to see it was on 1 Thessalonians 4:14, ‘For the dead in Christ shall rise first.”
Margaret began to cry. She had grown fond of Lance Andrews and had gained a great deal of respect for him. He was a kind and gentle man and a man of honor. She knew the horrors of war, for they had left deep scars on his heart and body. She walked over to the screen door, opened it and saw two doves fly off. She stood there momentarily, staring at the wooded area in the rear of the house. It was such a beautiful day, so peaceful and quiet. After a few minutes had passed, she saw Tough Guy approaching the house with a tiny mouse in his mouth.
A little something I wrote, thought you may enjoy it.
The hand of an engineer reached for the cord, and the blast from the whistle of a locomotive split the air. Lance Andrews listened to the long wail of the approaching train about a half-mile from his home. It was early January; the New Year was one week old.
Lance was born in Manchester, Virginia, in 1923 and educated at the University of Maryland. He inherited from his father a love for writing, especially war stories. He was a veteran of World War Two and served two tours in the Navy. His last tour of duty was served on an Aircraft carrier.
Mr. Andrews spent most of his time alone these days on the back porch looking out into the woods, reminiscing about his youth, family, and days gone by. His hands shook too much for him to write, and his eyes dimmed to the point where reading was difficult. Lance’s wife died twenty years earlier from breast cancer, and most of his friends are now gone. His two girls are in their late seventies, both living in nursing homes. His son Jeff Married a lady who lived in Atlanta, Georgia, and has remained there ever since.
Lance’s assigned nurse, Margaret, would stop by each day and help him with any chores he may have. Other than that, Lance remained independent and, for his age, in reasonably good health. He could still get around with a cane but could no longer drive.
Toward the end of World War II, in March 1945, Lance was on the carrier sixty-five miles off the Japanese coast near Kobe when his ship was attacked and hit by three 500 kg bombs in an enemy air strike. The ship began to burn uncontrollably following a series of exploding bombs, rockets, and ammunition. He recalled in the face of continuing explosions and fires and while the ship was still under attack, he, with two other sailors, continued to fight the fires below deck, moving ammunition away from the fires. Suddenly, he was struck in the head by shrapnel from an exploding bomb. Trapped below deck and injured, his two shipmates could not reach him because of the fire. “I thought I was a goner.”
Lance recalled being on the verge of passing out when two men seemed to walk through the flames out of nowhere, lift a heavy beam off his legs, and carry him through the fire. He was lying in a bed on a Navel Hospital ship when he woke up six days later. Several months had passed when his two shipmates came to see me; “How could I ever forget those two guys?” he thought.
Boatswain mate William Neilson said, “Hi Lance, how are you?”
I replied, “I’m doing better, how about the two of you?”
The second man, Ralph, said, “We made it out okay, but we lost plenty of the guys. We thought you were dead, but they found you on the top deck. You must have crawled up the stairs, but how the heck did you get out of the fire, neither of us can figure it out.”
Stunned at their words, I replied, “I thought you two came through the fire and brought me out.”
“It wasn’t us; we couldn’t get through. It was so hot we had to get ourselves out of there.”
“Then who carried me out?”
“Nobody carried you out, no one could have gotten through those flames.”
At that moment, Lance looked down to see his cat Tough Guy rubbing up against his legs. “What’s the matter, Tough Guy? Are you lonely?” He reached his hand down and patted him on the head. “I guess we’ve both seen our better days. How old are you now? Hmm, I think you’re thirteen. Come on now, go out in the woods and catch yourself a mouse.” He opened the screen door, and Tough Guy ran into the woods.
His visiting angel Margaret came to the back porch and asked Lance if he needed anything.
“Yes Margaret. There’s a book on the top shelf in my bookcase, it has a clear plastic folder in it, can you get it for me?”
Margaret reminded him, “Lance there are two book cases, which one?”
“Oh, I forgot, it’s the one on the left.”
Several minutes passed when Margaret returned carrying the book Lance had requested. “Thank you, Margaret.” After putting on his glasses, he took the folder from the book, opened it, and pulled out several old pictures and four postcards. The first photo was of his father and mother when they were first married; at the bottom, they had written, ‘Love, from Mom and Dad.’ The second photo was of his parents and his younger sister and brother. All four have passed away, leaving Lance alone now. He wrote and sent the four postcards to his family while serving in the Navy. There was also a photo of him in uniform, holding a Coke in one hand and a sandwich in the other.
Looking at the photo, he had a flashback of his younger days and the good times he shared with his family and friends. Reaching into the folder, Lance took out two sheets of typewriter paper and carefully unfolded them and laid them on the table. They had yellowed over the years, but the print on them was still legible.
At the top of both papers it said, ‘Citation.’ The body of the first letter read, ‘For distinguished service and meritorious achievement while serving aboard a United States aircraft carrier which was striking the main Japanese Islands near Kobe on 19 of March 1945. After the ship was hit in an enemy air attack, there followed a series of violent explosions of ready bombs, rockets, and ammunition below deck which threatened complete destruction of the carrier. In the face of continuing explosions and raging fires and during further enemy air attacks Lance Andrews continued to fight fires, jettison hot ammunition, and otherwise courageously assist in bringing the damage under control. Though injured and hurt, your courage, loyalty and devotion to duty contributed materially to the saving of the ship and were in keeping with the highest traditions of the United States Naval Service.’
When he finished reading, tears came to his eyes, he could never forget the pain. “Get hold of yourself Lance, it was a long time ago.” He reached for the second sheet. It was a citation for the Purple Heart. It read, ‘For military merit and for wounds received in action.’
In the kitchen, Margaret was cooking lunch for Lance and herself when the doorbell rang. She looked out the window to see two young men standing by the front door. She walked over, opened it, and asked, “Can I help you?”
“Were sorry to bother you Mrs., but we would like to see Mr. Andrews.”
“Is he expecting you?”
“Yes.”
“Come in then.”
“Thank you.”
“Can you wait one moment, Lance is on the back porch, I’ll tell him he has company. Can I tell him whose calling?”
“My name is Jonathan; this is my friend Caleb. We would like to speak to Mr. Andrews about the time he was wounded when his ship was attacked and set afire near Kobe Japan.”
Margaret looked at the two men and asked them, “Are you reporters?”
“No, just friends.”
“Mr. Andrews doesn’t speak much about those days, please don’t upset him” Margret replied.
“We won’t.”
Okay then. Wait here, I’ll be right back.” Margret walked out to the back and told Lance he had two visitors, Jonathan and Caleb. “Show them in Margaret, I’ve been expecting them.”
Margaret looked at him funny, thinking to herself, “Strange, he usually tells me when he has visitors coming, he must have forgotten.”
She returned to the kitchen, then said to the two men, “Gentlemen, follow me, Mr. Andrews will see you on the back porch.”
The two walked to the back porch where Lance was sitting, Margret returned to the kitchen. “Hello Lance, do you remember us?”
Lance looked up and said, yes, I do; you’re the two that pulled me from the fire.”
“That’s right, now it’s time for you to come home with us.”
Lance smiled at the two men, removed his glasses, reached out, took the two photos of his parents, and put them back into the folder with the postcards and two citations. He then took the folder, placed it back into the book, and closed it. He looked out into the backyard and saw two white doves feeding in the grass. Lance reached out his right hand, opened the Bible on the side table, put his finger on it, and then closed his eyes.
Margaret had finished preparing lunch. She listened to hear voices but heard nothing. She called, “Lance, lunch is ready.” But there was only silence. “Ah, he must be busy talking.” She walked to the back porch and saw Lance slumped over in his chair; the two men were nowhere to be seen. “Lance, wake up.” But he never moved. Margaret immediately knew Lance was gone. She saw his hand was on the Bible by his side, his index finger on one verse. She looked down to see it was on 1 Thessalonians 4:14, ‘For the dead in Christ shall rise first.”
Margaret began to cry. She had grown fond of Lance Andrews and had gained a great deal of respect for him. He was a kind and gentle man and a man of honor. She knew the horrors of war, for they had left deep scars on his heart and body. She walked over to the screen door, opened it and saw two doves fly off. She stood there momentarily, staring at the wooded area in the rear of the house. It was such a beautiful day, so peaceful and quiet. After a few minutes had passed, she saw Tough Guy approaching the house with a tiny mouse in his mouth.
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