Lance Andrews On the Aircraft Carrier, U.S.S. Franklin

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I wrote a novel based on the last days several years ago. It's sitting on my computer and will never get published; I can't afford it. This one story is based on a real person (I did change his name) and a real event. But I did add to it so it would fit the storyline. I hope they don't throw me off the forum for posting it. but I do think you will enjoy it. I also own the book that was given only to the crew of the Aircraft carrier Ben Franklin. I own his commendation for bravery, and document for a Purple Heart.

Lance Andrews On the Aircraft Carrier, U.S.S. Franklin
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 World War Two veteran having served two tours in the Navy. His last tour of duty was served on the Aircraft carrier Ben Franklin.

Mr. Andrews spent most of his time alone these days on the back porch sitting in his favorite rocking chair 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 daughters are in their late seventies, both now live in nursing homes. His son Jeff married a woman who lived in Atlanta, Georgia, and has remained there ever since.

Lance’s assigned nurse, Margaret, would stop by each day to help him with any chores and prepare his lunch. Other than that, Lance remained independent and, for his age, in reasonably good health. He could still get around with a cane but because of his poor vision, he could no longer drive.

Toward the end of World War II, on March 19, 1945, Lance was on the Aircraft carrier Ben Franklin 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 stored below deck. 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 attempted to reach him, but could not because of the heat and flames from the fire. “I thought I was a goner.”

Lance recalled being on the verge of passing out when two men came from out of nowhere, walked through the flames, lifted a heavy beam off his legs, and carried him through the smoke and exploding munitions. Remarkably, he suffered only a few burns on his hands and legs. He was lying in a bed on a Naval 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.

While lying in bed, his Boatswain mate William Neilson said, “Hi Lance, how are you?”

“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 in the heck, did you get that beam off your legs? It would have taken at least two men to lift it. We could never 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.”

Sitting quietly rocking in his rocker, thinking of the past, he felt 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 almost fifteen.

I remember when we met, I believe it was early Spring on a Sunday afternoon in 2009. I was in the kitchen making lunch when I heard a knock on the front door. When I opened the door, four young children were standing on the porch, one of the boys was carrying a small kitten in his hands. I asked, "What can I do for you kids?"

They replied with one voice, "Mister, would you like to have a kitten?"

I looked at the four of them, smiled, and asked, "Where did you kids get him?"

The oldest boy said, "His mother was run over by a car, and this is the last kitten left."

I thought, how ironic. The day before on a Saturday afternoon I saw several signs nailed to a tree that read, “Free Kittens.” I almost stopped but decided not to. Being springtime there were usually a few households that advertised free kittens. The next day, you came to my door. You were small and hadn’t been weaned yet, so I fed you with a baby bottle for several weeks. You were light beige, smokey in color, having a few stripes here and there, now you’re all gray. I saw a bit of Siamese and other mixes in you. You were so cute I told the kids, ‘Okay, I'll take him.’ I remember, as small as you were you always pestered Little Bit, you remember, my dog, that’s why I named you Tough Guy.

Come on now, go out in the woods and catch yourself a mouse.” Lance opened the screen door, and Tough Guy slowly walked to 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’s about World War Two. It has a clear plastic folder in it, can you get it for me?”

Margaret reminded him, “Lance there are two bookcases, 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. The four postcards were sent to him while yet serving in the Navy. There was also a photo of him in uniform. He had a broad smile on his face and was holding a Coke in one hand and a sandwich in the other.

Looking at the photos, he had a momentary flashback of his younger days and the good times he shared with his family and friends. Reaching into the folder, Lance removed two sheets of typing paper. He carefully unfolded them, then 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 Ben Franklin which was making ready to strike the main Japanese Islands near Kobe, the date, March 19, 1945, the ship was hit in an enemy air attack, there followed a series of explosions of ready bombs, rockets, and ammunition below deck which threatened to destroy 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 wounds received in action.’

Margaret was in the kitchen 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?”

“We are sorry to bother you Margret, but we would like to speak to Mr. Andrews.”

Margret thought, ‘I wonder how he knows my name?’ Then said to them, “Is he expecting you?”

“Yes.”

“Come in then.” Thinking to herself, ‘Mr. Andrews must have told them about me.’

The two then stepped into the house. The one man thanked Margret for inviting them in.

“Can you wait one moment, Lance is on the back porch, I’ll tell him he has company. Can I tell him who is calling on him?”

“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’s expecting visitors, he must have forgotten.”

She returned to the kitchen, and 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 at the two standing there 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 standing 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 Mr. 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 White-Winged doves fly off. She stood there momentarily, staring at the wooded area in the rear of the house. It was an overcast and chilly day, yet peaceful and quiet. After a few minutes had passed, she saw Tough Guy approaching the house with a tiny mouse in his mouth.