A DAY TO PAY RESPECTS WORLD WAR II VETS' ACCOUNTS MUST BE RECORDED NOW.

Byline: Maxine Flam Local View

THIS year Memorial Day takes on special meaning for the United States and me. Not only did the nation - and the world - just celebrate the 60th anniversary of V-E Day and the fall of Nazi Germany, but I am personally coming upon the 10th anniversary of my father's death.

My father was a medic with the 5th Armored Division, 75th medical battalion. Being a medic, he saved lives or declared soldiers dead on a daily basis.

He related one story to me about a Salvation Army volunteer giving coffee and doughnuts to the soldiers. A Nazi plane flew over the area. It didn't see the Red Cross above the tents and began strafing the region with bullets. My father dove under the nearest truck. It was chaos, with everyone running for cover. When the pilot realized he was attacking an aid station, he tipped his wings and flew off. My father came out from under the truck and went over to the Salvation Army lady. She had been hit and was dead.

I recently put in a call to a member of my father's former division, Pfc. Will Cook. He remembers the division was scattered in various villages along the Elbe River. The 5th Armored Division was nearest to Berlin on V-E Day but was ordered to pull back so the Russians could enter the city, as per an arrangement Gen. Eisenhower had made with the Soviets.

Now a reverend, Cook said, ``I was in the town of Leher awaiting our next orders.'' And, like all surviving veterans, he has powerful recollections of those lost during battle:

``At the last battle before V-E Day at Hitzacker on the Elbe River, the soldiers were hitting pockets of resistance. My unit came to a railroad underpass and the first vehicle (a tank) was hit by an 88 (German artillery). Squad Sgt. Rufus Bethea dismounted from the second vehicle and went up just when it was hit again. Then everyone charged, and when the unit got back to the tank, Rufus was gone.''

At the time, it was assumed Rufus must have been evacuated to an aid station, but Will has been trying to locate him since the war ended through various means, including the Internet. And there is no listing for him anywhere.

A friend who asks to remain anonymous due to the secret nature of his job in the Navy related his own story: < ``I was in the Special Service Group. Anything the Navy wanted us to do, from underwater demolitions to clearing rivers, to going in before invasions, we did.

``Before the invasion of Okinawa, we set up three series of three beachhead banners so the landing crafts could come in...

``There were about 80 to 100 ships with hundreds of men on each ship. When we landed at Okinawa, it was the eighth wave before anyone made it on the beach. The first seven waves had failed. There were 18 to 20 boats per wave with 25 to 50 men in a boat. You do the math to see how many hundreds of bodies were floating in the water.

``I was in the 58th Transport Squadron. Each raft had four men and an officer - we all came from different ships so none of the guys knew each other. Under the cover of darkness, we would go out at any given night and clean the river of kamikaze boats. At the end of the war, there were approximately 12 of us left. I personally caught a spider mine in Iashima, was wounded and shipped back for treatment right before V-J Day.''

Pfc. Harold Sommers of the 148th Engineering Combat Battalion, survivor of D-Day and the Battle of the Bulge, remembered hitting Utah Beach thinking, ``Hitler, you s.o.b., I'm coming for you.'' He describes the scene: ``There were bodies everywhere as each of us fought to land and get off the beach itself. Each night I thought that by only the grace of God I am still alive.''

In the Battle of the Bulge, Sommers says, ``There was a mass confusion. We didn't know where we were. Tiger Tanks were shooting at us from every direction.''

Memorial Day is a day to honor men of all wars who fought and died for this country. Since the World War II generation is dying off rapidly, their stories must be preserved. If you have a father, grandfather, uncle or anyone else in your life who is a World War II vet, get out a video camera and ask them to tell their stories.

Ten years after my own father's death, I wish I had.

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