I wrote this composition in dedication to a very special veteran who I met recently. This is ultimately his story, of war, sorrow, and how he met Jesus Christ as his personal savior. If you guys want, you can critique it, for I'd want to make it good.
On a brisk Sunday morning in late 1941, Eugene Lusk rose from bed. Eugene, a six foot tall sixteen year old boy who weighed almost 150 pounds, prepared to go to church, just as he did every Sunday. Eugene wandered outside, and he could hear the mourning doves singing a somber song during this solemn sunrise. As the dark, menacing clouds leered angrily at him, the intensity of the biting winds gnawed into his soul like a parasite. What a depressing morning, Eugene thought. After running inside to warm up, Eugene turned on the radio to hear the startling news, which hit his chest like a speeding bullet. The icy voice of the newscaster expressed sorrow, grief, and heartache as the breaking news sank into Eugene's soul. The Empire of Japan attacked Pearl Harbor early that morning, and the United States was preparing to make a Declaration of War against the Axis Forces of Germany, Japan, and Italy. Sitting in horror, Eugene knew that he would defend his homeland from this treacherous evil.
Two years later, on a warm day in June of 1943, Eugenes mother woke him. His mother had emerald eyes that could not conceal a secret. On this particular morning, she prepared a great breakfast. Eugene strode into the kitchen to see honey ham, scrambled eggs, and fresh biscuits. What is the occasion? Eugene suspiciously questioned, for such a feast did not happen due to Wartime rationing. His mother gazed at him in pity, and the fallen soldier slowly collapsed into the wooden chair as if she had been shot. Son, I received a letter from the government this morning. You have been drafted, she whispered sadly. Even though he was frightened, Eugene felt patriotism flowing through his heart, his veins, his soul; he would not disappoint his country.
During the next several months, the boy, exposed to tough training, learned to unload ships. After a while, however, the call to join the European War Effort arose. While riding across the deadly waters of the Atlantic onboard the USS Argentina, a shady silhouette stretched over the ship. American destroyers watched for German U-Boats, for death chose not to obey the laws of warfare. The protectors seemed like a long funeral escort as they crept along the Atlantic. Eugene felt nauseous the entire journey, for the only things he could consume were small portions of peanuts and Coca-Cola. Finally, the Argentina arrived, marking struggles that no one could possibly imagine for its occupants.
In Europe, the shadowy silhouette unknowingly lingered with the troops. The German blitzes, destroying everything in their path, shook the Allied lands forcefully. Eugene led a simple task of unloading supplies as they made their way to Plymouth, England. However, one day sometime in early June of 1944, the mess hall in Plymouth reeked with confusion. For some reason, the cooks allowed the soldiers three meals of anything they desired, and like the time his mother had fixed the great breakfast, something suspicious lingered in the air. Later that day, he received orders to board a train with the other men. Where are we going? questioned Raymond Wells, who was one of Eugenes best buddies. I really dont know, Eugene replied. After the train reached its destination, the foul aroma of uncertainty still lingered. For miles around, hundreds of soldiers lined the enormous parking lot, and Protestant and Catholic chaplains strode like proud stallions, speaking with soldiers and reminding them of their faith. As he saw this, the ultimate fear crept through his veins, uncertainty. What was happening? After an eternity, a rakish figured dressed in black stepped aboard a platform in the parking lot. He carried himself in a suave fashion, for he meant business. His voice, cold and impenitent, uttered a warning to the soldiers. Some will live to tell the story, and some will die. After this, the soldiers, not knowing what lay before them, rushed back to Plymouth in trains.
Once reaching Plymouth, Eugenes battalion had to board a ship that was mysteriously labeled only as 226. This ship had a lofty hull that extended deep into the shadowy silhouette, which grew larger over the crew. Suddenly, on June 5, 1944, the weather ignited in an immodest rage. The winds blew so fiercely that Eugene and Raymond Wells had to sit outside and make sure that gas canisters did not fall from the ship. This tempest, turbulent but uptight, may have been a sign of storms to come. Late that night, the entire group had to meet in the basement of the ship. Captain Pliskin, the leader of the battalion, spoke eloquently. Tomorrow, my friends, the weather will return to normal. We have been ordered to liberate Utah Beach, and other groups will liberate a series of four other points. We will defeat fascism and spread freedom. Good luck, and may God have mercy on your souls. The next morning, the group rose as the sun shined high in the blue sky. The water, however, still raged in anger. As far as the eye could see, other ships also followed 226s lead, approaching the destination. The soldiers, given backpacks weighing at least a hundred pounds, carried the bags over their heads so the rifle and ammunition would not get wet. The flood walls reached almost ten feet in height, but Eugene bravely leaped overboard, onto the bloody beach below him. On the beach, he dug a foxhole and buried himself within it, so that he wouldnt be fired upon. Over his head, the deafening thunder of airplane warfare pierced his eardrum. An American P47 Thunderbolt fought a German ME-109, right above him. Whoom! Zoom! Boom! Get out of the way! Eugene screamed to his comrades, so this fire wouldnt hit them. The American Thunderbolt could not defeat the superior bird of prey, so it retreated. Throughout the entire beach, war raged in its infinite brutality. The smell of exploding napalm sickened the brain; grenades exploded endlessly in unison, and the screams of fallen soldiers pervaded eternally.
After one day, the Allied Forces took Utah Beach from the Nazi Army. However, the horror never ended. During the night, the German Air Force blitzed the beach, trying to take out the Anti-Aircraft weaponry. They dropped flares from their airplanes in an attempt to destroy radar. On one occasion, Eugene tried to sleep in his foxhole during a blitz. The deafening explosions seemed closer than the nearest foxhole, only inches away from him. As the screams of fallen soldiers reached his ear, Eugene whispered, God, I promise you, if you keep me alive this night, I will serve you forever. The next morning, Eugene crept outside of the foxhole. Hundreds of corpses were scattered over the beach; their blood washed over the sands. That morning, the sun shone brightly, and in the distance you could hear the chirping of birds. Oh, how cruel nature was! Despite the wicked atrocities of man, the sun still provided warmth, the eagles still soared over the water, and the white clouds still hung lazily over the blue heavens. Eugene felt intense devotion that moment to God, and despite the horrors of war, he felt comfort and uttered a silent Thanks prayer.
The Allied Army won the battle for freedom itself. The tombstones of fallen soldiers symbolically faced west, to America. The impotent Nazis, defeated and drained, surrendered on May 8, 1945. Eugene traveled Europe during that time with his buddies, but eventually, he boarded the USS George Washington, which took him to New York City. While riding on the hull, Eugene noticed a tall, green statue standing proudly holding a torch. The Statue of Liberty, a great gift graciously given by France in 1886, waved at Eugene as he rode by Liberty Island, its home. Far away, a distant church bell in the city struck twelve, and as the ship went ashore, the bells clanged in celebration, ringing in freedom. Freedom. Freedom.
On a brisk Sunday morning in late 1941, Eugene Lusk rose from bed. Eugene, a six foot tall sixteen year old boy who weighed almost 150 pounds, prepared to go to church, just as he did every Sunday. Eugene wandered outside, and he could hear the mourning doves singing a somber song during this solemn sunrise. As the dark, menacing clouds leered angrily at him, the intensity of the biting winds gnawed into his soul like a parasite. What a depressing morning, Eugene thought. After running inside to warm up, Eugene turned on the radio to hear the startling news, which hit his chest like a speeding bullet. The icy voice of the newscaster expressed sorrow, grief, and heartache as the breaking news sank into Eugene's soul. The Empire of Japan attacked Pearl Harbor early that morning, and the United States was preparing to make a Declaration of War against the Axis Forces of Germany, Japan, and Italy. Sitting in horror, Eugene knew that he would defend his homeland from this treacherous evil.
Two years later, on a warm day in June of 1943, Eugenes mother woke him. His mother had emerald eyes that could not conceal a secret. On this particular morning, she prepared a great breakfast. Eugene strode into the kitchen to see honey ham, scrambled eggs, and fresh biscuits. What is the occasion? Eugene suspiciously questioned, for such a feast did not happen due to Wartime rationing. His mother gazed at him in pity, and the fallen soldier slowly collapsed into the wooden chair as if she had been shot. Son, I received a letter from the government this morning. You have been drafted, she whispered sadly. Even though he was frightened, Eugene felt patriotism flowing through his heart, his veins, his soul; he would not disappoint his country.
During the next several months, the boy, exposed to tough training, learned to unload ships. After a while, however, the call to join the European War Effort arose. While riding across the deadly waters of the Atlantic onboard the USS Argentina, a shady silhouette stretched over the ship. American destroyers watched for German U-Boats, for death chose not to obey the laws of warfare. The protectors seemed like a long funeral escort as they crept along the Atlantic. Eugene felt nauseous the entire journey, for the only things he could consume were small portions of peanuts and Coca-Cola. Finally, the Argentina arrived, marking struggles that no one could possibly imagine for its occupants.
In Europe, the shadowy silhouette unknowingly lingered with the troops. The German blitzes, destroying everything in their path, shook the Allied lands forcefully. Eugene led a simple task of unloading supplies as they made their way to Plymouth, England. However, one day sometime in early June of 1944, the mess hall in Plymouth reeked with confusion. For some reason, the cooks allowed the soldiers three meals of anything they desired, and like the time his mother had fixed the great breakfast, something suspicious lingered in the air. Later that day, he received orders to board a train with the other men. Where are we going? questioned Raymond Wells, who was one of Eugenes best buddies. I really dont know, Eugene replied. After the train reached its destination, the foul aroma of uncertainty still lingered. For miles around, hundreds of soldiers lined the enormous parking lot, and Protestant and Catholic chaplains strode like proud stallions, speaking with soldiers and reminding them of their faith. As he saw this, the ultimate fear crept through his veins, uncertainty. What was happening? After an eternity, a rakish figured dressed in black stepped aboard a platform in the parking lot. He carried himself in a suave fashion, for he meant business. His voice, cold and impenitent, uttered a warning to the soldiers. Some will live to tell the story, and some will die. After this, the soldiers, not knowing what lay before them, rushed back to Plymouth in trains.
Once reaching Plymouth, Eugenes battalion had to board a ship that was mysteriously labeled only as 226. This ship had a lofty hull that extended deep into the shadowy silhouette, which grew larger over the crew. Suddenly, on June 5, 1944, the weather ignited in an immodest rage. The winds blew so fiercely that Eugene and Raymond Wells had to sit outside and make sure that gas canisters did not fall from the ship. This tempest, turbulent but uptight, may have been a sign of storms to come. Late that night, the entire group had to meet in the basement of the ship. Captain Pliskin, the leader of the battalion, spoke eloquently. Tomorrow, my friends, the weather will return to normal. We have been ordered to liberate Utah Beach, and other groups will liberate a series of four other points. We will defeat fascism and spread freedom. Good luck, and may God have mercy on your souls. The next morning, the group rose as the sun shined high in the blue sky. The water, however, still raged in anger. As far as the eye could see, other ships also followed 226s lead, approaching the destination. The soldiers, given backpacks weighing at least a hundred pounds, carried the bags over their heads so the rifle and ammunition would not get wet. The flood walls reached almost ten feet in height, but Eugene bravely leaped overboard, onto the bloody beach below him. On the beach, he dug a foxhole and buried himself within it, so that he wouldnt be fired upon. Over his head, the deafening thunder of airplane warfare pierced his eardrum. An American P47 Thunderbolt fought a German ME-109, right above him. Whoom! Zoom! Boom! Get out of the way! Eugene screamed to his comrades, so this fire wouldnt hit them. The American Thunderbolt could not defeat the superior bird of prey, so it retreated. Throughout the entire beach, war raged in its infinite brutality. The smell of exploding napalm sickened the brain; grenades exploded endlessly in unison, and the screams of fallen soldiers pervaded eternally.
After one day, the Allied Forces took Utah Beach from the Nazi Army. However, the horror never ended. During the night, the German Air Force blitzed the beach, trying to take out the Anti-Aircraft weaponry. They dropped flares from their airplanes in an attempt to destroy radar. On one occasion, Eugene tried to sleep in his foxhole during a blitz. The deafening explosions seemed closer than the nearest foxhole, only inches away from him. As the screams of fallen soldiers reached his ear, Eugene whispered, God, I promise you, if you keep me alive this night, I will serve you forever. The next morning, Eugene crept outside of the foxhole. Hundreds of corpses were scattered over the beach; their blood washed over the sands. That morning, the sun shone brightly, and in the distance you could hear the chirping of birds. Oh, how cruel nature was! Despite the wicked atrocities of man, the sun still provided warmth, the eagles still soared over the water, and the white clouds still hung lazily over the blue heavens. Eugene felt intense devotion that moment to God, and despite the horrors of war, he felt comfort and uttered a silent Thanks prayer.
The Allied Army won the battle for freedom itself. The tombstones of fallen soldiers symbolically faced west, to America. The impotent Nazis, defeated and drained, surrendered on May 8, 1945. Eugene traveled Europe during that time with his buddies, but eventually, he boarded the USS George Washington, which took him to New York City. While riding on the hull, Eugene noticed a tall, green statue standing proudly holding a torch. The Statue of Liberty, a great gift graciously given by France in 1886, waved at Eugene as he rode by Liberty Island, its home. Far away, a distant church bell in the city struck twelve, and as the ship went ashore, the bells clanged in celebration, ringing in freedom. Freedom. Freedom.
