A surgery turns into a search for the truth

My dear friend Gina Liparato told me about her Uncle Bud who served in World War II and never came home; a man who worked in the Graves Registration Service in Europe and whose strange death puzzled her for decades.

Baltimore, 2019

I’d traveled to Baltimore at the request of a dear friend. She was facing a delicate, possibly life-changing surgery at Johns Hopkins Hospital and asked that I stand in as her healthcare power of attorney.

The night before the operation, Gina, handed me a Ziplock bag. Inside I found a packet of yellowed letters. We’d spoken of Gina’s elusive uncle—her mother’s handsome, rakish brother—on occasion over the years, and of the odd circumstances surrounding his death near the end of World War II.

“No matter what happens to me, I want you to tell Bud’s story,” she said.

I nodded and promised that I would.

The next day, my friend of over three decades tried to comfort me and her soldier husband: three tours, two in Afghanistan, one in Iraq, a navy-blue sweatshirt boasting an Airborne patch, a bracelet saying Remember The Fallen encircling his wrist. Gina’s husband would soon disappear, leaving her in my care, because the hospital and its patients gnawed at his belly, a reminder of dead and dying soldiers he’d been unable to help in another hospital in Iraq.

I kissed Gina goodbye, told her I loved her, and left her alone with her husband.

Hours later, I sat bedside, staring at my friend who looked small and fragile beneath a thin hospital blanket.

“I want to bring him home.” Her eyes were still glassy from the anesthesia.

“Who?” I gazed at Gina, her face etched with pain. The drugs weren’t helping.

“And I want to know what happened?” She winced and closed her eyes.

“Do you want me to call the nurse?”

“No. Bud…” her voice trailed off.

“It’s been a long time, Gina. And we don’t have much to go on.”  I recalled the night before when she’d extracted those fragile letters with almost religious reverence. The epistles were small squares, etched with tight, black script. I’d made the promise in haste, hoping to make Gina feel better, and now wondered if I could keep my word.

She opened her eyes and squirmed, trying to find a comfortable position, but was under doctor’s orders not to move.

“Stay still! Water?” I reached for a plastic cup with a bent white straw, in an effort to do something.

Gina shook her head and stared out the window. I followed her gaze and focused on the clear blue sky and showy fall foliage, brilliant orange and yellow leaves basking in bright sunshine. I searched for something to say. I’d always been the one who, faced with a problem, could tackle a job and get it done, a hangover perhaps from my previous life as a reporter. But how was I to determine what happened to a man who died mysteriously all those years ago?

“I will have some water.”

I reached for the cup and guided the straw between Gina’s chapped lips. When she was done, I placed it back on the stainless-steel tray next to the bed. Then, she closed her eyes and let out a ragged breath.

I hated feeling helpless. Without thinking, I blurted out, “Let’s go get Bud!”

“Really?” She brightened instantly, a glimpse of the Gina I knew before the surgery.

I nodded. “When you’re better.”

And so, we agreed to travel to France, to the graveyard in Épinal where Sergeant Joseph “Bud” Richardville had lain since his death in 1945. Even if Gina spent the rest of her life in a wheelchair, we’d go to France and find out what happened.

But then Covid hit and our plans were derailed. Still, as Gina healed, we invesitgated Bud’s story, utilizing the resources we had. And, when we were done, we finally knew what happened to Bud Richardville. Your Forgotten Sons, which will be realesed on June 6, 2024 in honor of the 80th anniversary of D-Day, tells his story.

Your Forgotten Sons

Inspired by a true story

Anne Montgomery

Bud Richardville is inducted into the Army as the United States prepares for the invasion of Europe in 1943. A chance comment has Bud assigned to a Graves Registration Company, where his unit is tasked with locating, identifying, and burying the dead. Bud ships out, leaving behind his new wife, Lorraine, a mysterious woman who has stolen his heart but whose secretive nature and shadowy past leave many unanswered questions. When Bud and his men hit the beach at Normandy, they are immediately thrust into the horrors of what working in a graves unit entails. Bud is beaten down by the gruesome demands of his job and losses in his personal life, but then he meets Eva, an optimistic soul who despite the war can see a positive future. Will Eva’s love be enough to save him?

Release Date: June 6, 2024

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5 Stars for Your Forgotten Sons

To those of you who are NetGalley fans, I’m happy to announce that my new World War II historical fiction novel, Your Forgotten Sons, is now available on the site. And I’m thrilled that the first 5-Star review has posted. Find excerpts below.

“This was a riveting, quick read that focuses on the true experiences of one man, Bud Richardville of Indiana…Bud’s unit is mobile, following the advances of the front-line troops. They land in Normandy only 8 hours after the first assault, to begin their grim duty of collecting, identifying, and burying the dead…This book is well worth reading, not only because it highlights areas of WW II not usually covered but also because it shines a spotlight on the need for mental healthcare for veterans of all wars. I highly recommend this book to all historical fiction lovers.”

You can read the rest of the review here. My thanks to NetGalley’s Lisa Gentry for being the first to review Your Forgotten Sons. If you’d like to become a NetGalley reviewer, go to https://www.netgalley.com/catalog/book/327844.

Coming soon!

Your Forgotten Sons

Inspired by a true story

Anne Montgomery

Bud Richardville is inducted into the Army as the United States prepares for the invasion of Europe in 1943. A chance comment has Bud assigned to a Graves Registration Company, where his unit is tasked with locating, identifying, and burying the dead. Bud ships out, leaving behind his new wife, Lorraine, a mysterious woman who has stolen his heart but whose secretive nature and shadowy past leave many unanswered questions. When Bud and his men hit the beach at Normandy, they are immediately thrust into the horrors of what working in a graves unit entails. Bud is beaten down by the gruesome demands of his job and losses in his personal life, but then he meets Eva, an optimistic soul who despite the war can see a positive future. Will Eva’s love be enough to save him?

Release Date: June 6, 2024

Pre-Order your copy today

Amazon

Apple Books

Barnes & Nobel

Google Books

Kobo

Anne Montgomery’s novels can be found wherever books are sold.

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On being a biohazard

When I got Covid and subsequently broke my leg a few years back, I was labled a biohazard.

Covid hit me hard in 2021. Hallucinations haunted me, especially the one where I was being attacked by words, which, à la Serena Williams, I batted away. But the more I repelled those words, the faster they came at me. The experience was akin to being inside a video game.

Later, I passed out and awoke with a severely broken leg, one that had to be surgically repaired and which kept me hobbling around for about eight months. I mention this because when I was hospitalized the fact that I still had Covid was problematic. The sign outside my room said Biohazard in big letters, underneath of which was my name, as well as those of the other Covid patients on the floor.

As a former sports official, an avocation I practiced for forty years, I’d been called a lot of unpleasant things, still Biohazard was a something new and rather sinister sounding. The medical staff coming in and out of my room in coveralls, hoods, and goggles lent an ominous tone, so as you can imagine I was happy when they released me to recover from the virus and wait for surgery at home.

Recently, I dealt with a similar issue. I have what is disturbingly called a degenerative spine, the result of too many falls and hits and lots of repetitive motion. So, my surgeon sent me off to the imaging people, where a nice lady stuck a needle in my arm and deposited a bit of radioactive material into my bloodstream. If the idea is making you squeamish, note that I was a bit queasy about the idea as well.

“Will I glow?” I asked the technician.

 She smiled. “Maybe some sparkles.”

I waited several hours for the radioactive stuff to do its job, then I had to stay completely still for about a half an hour. The scanning machines hummed quietly, as they rolled over and around me. It wasn’t unpleasant, though my nose itched and I wasn’t allowed to scratch it. Still, in the grand scheme it was pretty painless.

When it was over, I asked if I could see the results and what I saw was strangely beautiful. My spine was lit up in purple and turquoise and a bright yellow patch burst from my cervical spine.

“That’s the bad part,” I said pointing at the stary spot.

“I can see that,” she said.

The scans will go to the neurosurgeon, who will decipher all that light and decided how to fix me. I tried to understand what he might see, but like many body scans there was a Rorschach-test quality to the pictures that I couldn’t decode.

I thanked the woman for her help, and before I left she said, “Don’t hold any babies for a few hours. And don’t sit next to any pregnant women.”

I squinted.

“And you probably shouldn’t go to the airport. TSA might stop you.”

“I’m leaking radiation?”

She smiled.

Biohazard indeed.

Your Forgotten Sons

Inspired by a true story

Anne Montgomery

Bud Richardville is inducted into the Army as the United States prepares for the invasion of Europe in 1943. A chance comment has Bud assigned to a Graves Registration Company, where his unit is tasked with locating, identifying, and burying the dead. Bud ships out, leaving behind his new wife, Lorraine, a mysterious woman who has stolen his heart but whose secretive nature and shadowy past leave many unanswered questions. When Bud and his men hit the beach at Normandy, they are immediately thrust into the horrors of what working in a graves unit entails. Bud is beaten down by the gruesome demands of his job and losses in his personal life, but then he meets Eva, an optimistic soul who despite the war can see a positive future. Will Eva’s love be enough to save him?

Release Date: June 6, 2024

Pre-Order your copy today

Amazon

Apple Books

Barnes & Nobel

Google Books

Kobo

Anne Montgomery’s novels can be found wherever books are sold.

Goodreads

Amazon

AI Editor: Part deux

I named my AI editor Hal Jr. and I think he did a pretty good job.

A while back, I wrote about an experiment I agree to. My publisher asked if I’d like to try a new kind of editor. I have a book coming out in June—a historical fiction, World War II novel inspired by a true story called Your Forgotten Sons—and the idea was that I would work with an editor of the “artificial intelligence” variety.

I thought about that for a while, and when my publisher said I could switch to a human editor if I was unhappy with the results, in the interest of not being called old and technology averse, I agreed.

I recently sent the completed manuscript back, so here’s what I’ve learned about working with an AI editor, who I dubbed Hal Jr. First, since we authors have long been working remotely with our editors, the process didn’t feel all that strange. I received my document full of those red lines leading to comments I needed to consider. My job was to accept Hal Jr.’s fixes or not.

Almost universally, I said yes. He did a great job finding all those grammatical boo-boos I’ve made most of my life. You’d think that after writing nine books and having five published, not to mention my years working as a print reporter, that I would have figured out to spell compound words by now. But, no! Hal Jr. gently pointed out that corkscrew and curveball were single words, terms that have meant a great deal in my life and which one might think I would have no trouble spelling.

Then there were the homophones, which for those who don’t recall elementary school English are words that are pronounced alike but that differ in spelling and meaning. I have a serious issue with those, and Hal Jr. had his red pen out to illustrate my deficiencies: alter and altar, aisle and isle, and, rather embarrassingly, your and you’re.

I am also grateful that Hal Jr. sometimes identified words I misused, ones that were similar to what I wanted, but clearly wrong: resemble and reassemble, barley and barely, shuddered and shuttered, cheeks and checks.

And Hal Jr. did a damn good job at picking up those missing quotation marks and other errant punctuation, especially all those outdated commas. As a girl who grew up in a home where we debated comma use at the dinner table, I can tell you that the wee squiggle is no longer used as much as it once was. It’s all about clarity and flow, so I let Hal Jr. lead the way in the comma department.  

My AI editor and I then ran into one big argument. He kept correcting things that I thought were right. Turns out there was an issue with which English we were using. Hal Jr., it appears, is British and I’m American. Who knew there were so many disparate spellings between us: pummeled or pummelled, apologize or aplologise, humor or humour, ad nauseum. He and I agreed to disagree, and the American versions won out.

All in all, I think Hal Jr. did a great job, so much so that I wish he and I could maybe have a beer to celebrate the completion of the manuscript. I’m not sure if AIs drink beer, but if I had to guess, I’d say Hal Jr. would drink his warm, yet another difference between we Americans and Brits.

The manuscript is now out of my hands, so I hope it’s perfect, but I know that’s probably impossible. But should you find any errors please feel free to blame Hal Jr.

Anne Montgomery’s novels can be found wherever books are sold.

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