Click photo to see full view of Ray Laenen in the lifeboat that was "home" for 22 days during WWII

There are hundreds of thousands of war stories -- many are historical accounts --recorded in books and movies – and have impacted the course of the world.

Many, however, are personal memories -- that reside primarily in the hearts and minds of veterans like me.

Not a day goes by where I don’t thank God that I’m here today – due to what happened to me on February 6, 1945, and the days that followed -- a date that is forever emblazoned in my memory.

I was born in Belgium, and grew up on the east side of Detroit. As was typical back them, life revolved around church, family and school. When World War II broke, my life changed forever, when on July 13, 1944, my good friend Tom Tschirhart from St. Rose’s school, and I were inducted into the US Army at Fort Sheridan.

What followed was 17 weeks of calvary training, before being assigned to a liberty ship, that was modified to accommodate 317 mules. One of our first assignments was to convey them to Calcutta, where we’d have to walk them over the road to Burma. I made a lot of good friends during these first weeks in the military and, lucky for me, my good friend Tom and I were still together.

Then, somewhere in the Indian Ocean, it happened. In the dark of night, two torpedoes slammed into the side of our ship. First the bow sank – then the stern, and those that survived – including me and my friend Tom, climbed into two lifeboats. Others weren’t so lucky -- thirty five men from my liberty boat perished that night.

Once in the lifeboats, the German submarine again had us in its sights, and at 18 years old, I thought my life was over. Incredibly it kept on going – and me and the others began what was to be a 22 day journey that we’d never forget.

The next morning – February 7, 1945 – we balanced the load across the two boats. We were split up – Tom and I – but our lifeboats were tethered together with a strong line. Soon afterward, however, the boats were split up, leaving each crew on its own to find its way to safety.

It was the first since joining the Army, that Tom -- my friend from back at St. Rose’s -- and I were separated.

In the end, we were at sea for some 22 days. You can’t imagine the fatigue, the emotion that set in. After 7 days, we saw a plane – unfortunately it didn’t see us.

Around the 15th day, we were threatened by a school of whales that surrounded the boat. That day, I thought that nature’ own forces – whales – would be our demise – after surviving two torpedo attacks from Nazi submarines !

Hallucinations were also common among our group. Several of the men reported seeing lighthouses, ships – and that elusive coast of Australia we always thought we were near.

But one of the ships we thought we saw – was real. It was an aircraft carrier, that, at first looked to be Japanese. I thought – what the heck – spending the rest of my life in a prisoner of war camp – couldn’t be any worse than this. But we were wrong – it was, thank God, a British ship, the HMS Activity, that promptly took as aboard.

Thank God they picked us up. I wondered what had happened to Tom – was he alive, was he rescued or was he still out at sea ?

After we were taken aboard, we set a course toward a hospital in Sydney. A sudden appendectomy required by one of the crew, caused us to change our course for Perth, also in Australia.

Emaciated, fatigued and 45 pounds lighter, I was admitted to the Hollywood Military Hospital in Perth along with the others. I was luckier than some.

What happens next is incredible. The young soldier in the bed next to mine was discharged. I had gotten up to go the rest room, and when I returned, a weary emaciated man – about my age – was in his place. He called out "Is that you Ray" – and I can’t tell you the feeling I had when I realized that yes – it was my childhood friend, Tom.

Thank God, Tom had also been rescued, after 32 days at sea, by the American submarine USS Rock, a few miles off the coast of Australia.