Back when I was a print reporter, my editor asked me to write a story on Memorial Day. “Go find out about all the events people can attend,” he said. “Parties, big sales, parades. Things like that.”

I frowned, which caught him off guard. “What?” He held out his hands palms up.

I had never refused an assignment before, still I couldn’t help myself. “Memorial Day isn’t about shopping and drinking beer. It’s about remembering.”

He looked at me for a moment. “Write whatever you want.”

So, I contacted the local Veterans of Foreign Wars post and interviewed a number of aging veterans, men who despite their advanced years, recalled vividly those who were left behind.

“I was a foot soldier. Fifty-ninth field hospital. My brother was in the 7^th Armored Division. He chased me and I chased him, but he was killed before I got to him.”

“The pilot of the helicopter was going to lower me down into the water and I leaned out and took a look. Here was these huge fishes going around eating pieces of bodies. Sharks. And you know they couldn’t declare that person dead because they didn’t know if it was one person or two. I thought about it ever since.”

“A buddy of mine…we went all the way through the war right to the end. Just outside of Cheb, Czechoslovakia he got captured and they stuck a pistol in his mouth and pulled the trigger. He was…22.”

I have over the years spent Memorial Day thinking about the veterans in my life who are no longer with us. My father who faced kamikazes and rode a destroyer escort into Tokyo Bay at the end of World War II. My dear friend Don Clarkson, a decorated hero of the Vietnam War who spent the rest of his life struggling with the demons he brought home. And now, I also remember Bud.

Sergeant Bud Richardville served in the 606^th Graves Registration Service in the European Theatre during World War II. His job? Locate, identify, and bury the dead. Think about that.

With the help of a packet of letters now 80 years old, I tracked Bud through the landing on the beaches of Normandy, the frigid forests of the Battle of the Bulge, and General George Patton’s drive to free Czechoslovakia from the Nazis. All the while soldiers died by the hundreds of thousands on both sides of the conflict and Bud and his men were tasked with recovering whatever was left. Then they buried the remains in the graceful cemeteries they built, hollowed peaceful grounds today, spread across what were once miserable killing fields.

June 6, 2024 is the 80^th anniversary of D-Day. My new historical fiction novel Your Forgotten Sons tells not only Bud’s story, but those of the men who labored alongside him. Soldiers who have rarely appeared in books or films, but who toiled to give the fallen the respect and dignity they deserved.

So, on this Memorial Day, I will remember my soft-spoken father, and my dear friend Don. But I will also remember Bud and those who served with him.

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?