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This SKS was given to me a few years ago by a family friend who brought it back from Vietnam around 1969. He stuck it in a closet and never shot it. Or anything else, saying he had heard enough gunfire to last a lifetime. My two oldest brothers are Vietnam vets so I respected his point of view. I knew this guy since I was a young kid. He treated me like I was his little brother. Bob was a different person when he came back. I'll just say he had a tough life afterward and leave it at that.
I usually stopped in to see him while visiting family. He had no other family. His health was failing. I always tried to give him a few bucks to buy food or whatever and he would always refuse. The last time I visited, as I was leaving, out of nowhere he asked me to take care of this rifle. I didn't know why or what "taking care of it" meant. I asked if he wanted me to sell it for him and he said no. So I took it and left.
He described it only as a battlefield pickup. Obviously, there was a story behind that but he didn't share any details.
I've done some restorations on old guns before. Black stains appear in the wood close to the steel when these rifles get wet. Iron oxide bleeds into the wood. Typical of Vietnam-era weapons. High humidity and lots of rain. I've been to Vietnam a few times. Under very different circumstances than Bob or my brothers. I decided to keep it original and shootable. I replaced the recoil spring and a few others. Also, some screws that were buggered badly. Other than cleaning and rust removal, no cosmetic fixes. The stock has a lot of scars but no cracks.
The rifle was not in terrible shape but hadn't been oiled or cleaned for at least 50 years. The bore was serviceable, the bolt and breech still had carbon on it. There was a fair amount of surface rust and some dried mud inside the gas tube cover. No Cosmolene anywhere to be found, further supporting the story Bob picked it up off the ground.
The bits of cloth on the bench… scraps of fabric from a shirt or other clothing. Torn into strips to be used as cleaning patches. I found them stuffed into the butt cavity. I presumed the VC that carried this rifle used what he had to keep it running. I put them all back in when I was done working on it. When done, I took it to my range and it ran fine. But I haven't shot it since.
Not long after my visit, Bob's landlord called, informing me he passed away. He had put my name down for "nearest relative" on his lease. I never got to show the gun to him and I don't think he cared. It occurred to me that he knew he was nearing the end and this was a chapter in his life he wanted to close. It's hard to know what's in a man's head. I just did what he asked. I may be the only person in the world who remembers this guy or ever thinks about him. That's a sad thing. It also reminds me to be grateful for the blessings I've received, good fortune, luck, or whatever you want to call it.
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