PhoenixPrime01
Hmm, so many choices.
- Joined
- Jun 24, 2002
- Posts
- 18,662
There are a lot of people who live alone for one reason or another. Raiford “Rafe” Fredricks is one of those people.
A lot of prisoners didn’t come home from the Viet Nam war. Some may still be in Southeast Asia, but some are right here in the United States, and Rafe Fredricks is one of those.
He’d answered the call when his country had asked it’s young men to serve and put themselves in harm’s way once more, as had so many more. Rafe was assigned to a LRRP, Long Range Recon Patrol, unit and stayed with the unit for three years.
Their mission was to be inserted by various means deep into hostile territory and to walk out again gathering intelligence and mapping along the way, hopefully without any contact with either the VC or NVA, North Viet regular army troops. Of course this wasn’t always possible and they suffered losses.
Rafe stayed so long because of two reasons. First he was damned good at what he did and secondly his unit had such camaraderie and high esprit de corps that they all stayed until one by one attrition took its toll. Most were either wounded and sent back or died in combat and finally he was the unlucky one to be wounded and sent ‘back to the world’ again.
Rafe was very proud of his unit, the decorations he’d won and his service, under very adverse conditions, to his country. When he was released from the VA Hospital in Washington state, he limped proudly out in full dress uniform.
Naturally he was aware of all of the anti-war demonstrations, but after all that was one of the things he felt his time in the service guaranteed so, not being a political person, he felt live and let live. No need to agree if you didn’t want to, right?
He was shocked and dismayed, angered to just that last hair before exploding into violent action when he was spit on, called a baby killer and more. The only ones Rafe had killed were all trying to kill him and none of them were babies or even children.
One of the reasons he’d done so well in the LRRP’s was he was a solitary person. Slow to make friends, but once made he’d do anything for one. Now he just didn’t seem to fit in any more… anywhere.
He tired a few jobs and each time, once it was learned he’d been in the Nam, it started all over again. The insults, the harassment and snide remarks made just loud enough for him to hear so he’d quit each of them.
Finally he was fed up to his eyeballs, as his Dad used to say, and he withdrew from society. He became one of the prisoner’s of that war who never returned home again, because his home rejected him.
He had a VA Pension as a result of his wound and his separation pay so he bought a four-wheel drive truck, supplies and took them his rife and fishing rod and headed into the wilderness of Washington’s Cascade Mountain Range.
He’d located a cave at the base of one of the smaller mountains surrounding an isolated valley two days hike from where he’d left his truck and over three days hike from the nearest habitation. He’d found his new home.
It took him a month, after he’d dug the deep and narrow channel from the small lake to the fast running stream and lined it with stone, to construct the log facing for the cave to seal it from the elements. Next he'd constructed a log lean to against the face of the cliff to protect his wood supply and that’s where he stored his firewood.
He bought a pot bellied stove and dragged it in sections from the clearing where he parked his truck to the cave and installed it. His furniture he made himself and on another trip to town bought cushions and a mattress and bedding. All hauled by hand to his home.
Once everything he needed was in place and the larder was well stocked with necessities Rafe limited his trips to town to when things like reloading supplies, salt, etc were low and had to be restocked. Otherwise he stayed in his lonely valley away from people and their ridicule. Rafe had become a hard and bitter man, although deep inside there was probably still a soft place or two, and as a result shunned contact to avoid more of the same old, same old. The only thing Rafe missed was female companionship. He'd been the unit's 'pussy hound and cocksman', scoring more pussy than any two other guys in the unit, and the other guys kept score.
It was his fifth winter here and Rafe had just packed in the last of his winter supplies, after covering the truck with its tarp and brush to conceal it. His stock of wood was already for the winter and he’d cleared the vegetation from the channel that ran under the floor of the log part of his place for running water.
Now it was time to increase his meat supply by hunting and fishing. He’d decided that today would be a hunting day so took his .338 Mag rifle and when looking for elk or bear.
A lot of prisoners didn’t come home from the Viet Nam war. Some may still be in Southeast Asia, but some are right here in the United States, and Rafe Fredricks is one of those.
He’d answered the call when his country had asked it’s young men to serve and put themselves in harm’s way once more, as had so many more. Rafe was assigned to a LRRP, Long Range Recon Patrol, unit and stayed with the unit for three years.
Their mission was to be inserted by various means deep into hostile territory and to walk out again gathering intelligence and mapping along the way, hopefully without any contact with either the VC or NVA, North Viet regular army troops. Of course this wasn’t always possible and they suffered losses.
Rafe stayed so long because of two reasons. First he was damned good at what he did and secondly his unit had such camaraderie and high esprit de corps that they all stayed until one by one attrition took its toll. Most were either wounded and sent back or died in combat and finally he was the unlucky one to be wounded and sent ‘back to the world’ again.
Rafe was very proud of his unit, the decorations he’d won and his service, under very adverse conditions, to his country. When he was released from the VA Hospital in Washington state, he limped proudly out in full dress uniform.
Naturally he was aware of all of the anti-war demonstrations, but after all that was one of the things he felt his time in the service guaranteed so, not being a political person, he felt live and let live. No need to agree if you didn’t want to, right?
He was shocked and dismayed, angered to just that last hair before exploding into violent action when he was spit on, called a baby killer and more. The only ones Rafe had killed were all trying to kill him and none of them were babies or even children.
One of the reasons he’d done so well in the LRRP’s was he was a solitary person. Slow to make friends, but once made he’d do anything for one. Now he just didn’t seem to fit in any more… anywhere.
He tired a few jobs and each time, once it was learned he’d been in the Nam, it started all over again. The insults, the harassment and snide remarks made just loud enough for him to hear so he’d quit each of them.
Finally he was fed up to his eyeballs, as his Dad used to say, and he withdrew from society. He became one of the prisoner’s of that war who never returned home again, because his home rejected him.
He had a VA Pension as a result of his wound and his separation pay so he bought a four-wheel drive truck, supplies and took them his rife and fishing rod and headed into the wilderness of Washington’s Cascade Mountain Range.
He’d located a cave at the base of one of the smaller mountains surrounding an isolated valley two days hike from where he’d left his truck and over three days hike from the nearest habitation. He’d found his new home.
It took him a month, after he’d dug the deep and narrow channel from the small lake to the fast running stream and lined it with stone, to construct the log facing for the cave to seal it from the elements. Next he'd constructed a log lean to against the face of the cliff to protect his wood supply and that’s where he stored his firewood.
He bought a pot bellied stove and dragged it in sections from the clearing where he parked his truck to the cave and installed it. His furniture he made himself and on another trip to town bought cushions and a mattress and bedding. All hauled by hand to his home.
Once everything he needed was in place and the larder was well stocked with necessities Rafe limited his trips to town to when things like reloading supplies, salt, etc were low and had to be restocked. Otherwise he stayed in his lonely valley away from people and their ridicule. Rafe had become a hard and bitter man, although deep inside there was probably still a soft place or two, and as a result shunned contact to avoid more of the same old, same old. The only thing Rafe missed was female companionship. He'd been the unit's 'pussy hound and cocksman', scoring more pussy than any two other guys in the unit, and the other guys kept score.
It was his fifth winter here and Rafe had just packed in the last of his winter supplies, after covering the truck with its tarp and brush to conceal it. His stock of wood was already for the winter and he’d cleared the vegetation from the channel that ran under the floor of the log part of his place for running water.
Now it was time to increase his meat supply by hunting and fishing. He’d decided that today would be a hunting day so took his .338 Mag rifle and when looking for elk or bear.
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