Jane frowned as she digested this information, Remus' emphasised some confirming her guess that casualties would have been high. A few more poor folk among many who wouldn't see another Christmas.
"I'm sorry Sir. I'm sure they were good soldiers." They all were, once they were dead. Very few, in the Navy or otherwise, would speak ill of the fallen troops, and Jane was no exception. Anything they had done was irrelevant now; it didn't do to tarnish the memories with doubt. Some soldiers she'd served with simply chose not to acknowledge deaths and all, erasing the fact of that person's existence from their minds. If it helped them get up and keep on doing their job, Hartman wasn't going to question it. She briefly wondered how Patterson coped, and then dismissed the thought. It wasn't something you asked people about or shared yourself. Everyone had their own demons to face, and it wasn't for her to go prying. No, even if the dead themselves weren't remembered, it wasn't right to forget what they fought for. She motioned to the bartender to fill her glass, and those of her companions, raising it to eye level.
"To the fallen."She knocked back the brandy, draining the liquid in a single sweep. Her throat burnt as she swallowed, but she didn't overly mind. Pain meant you were still alive.
![[Image: icthMHY.png]](http://i.imgur.com/icthMHY.png)