The festive lights, the spontaneous Christmas carols, the midshipmen anxiously awaiting their leave to start, none of it could make up for the gloom I felt after visiting the chapel  at Annapolis last week.

Harry knew what was bothering me. All those men, on ‘eternal  patrol’, the brass memorials listing their names, their boats, and whether missing or lost.

We had come so close to being up there on the wall of tribute ourselves. Some of our shipmates had been lost. One man's error in judgement resulted in a domino effect, and just bad luck. A tangled mine, one after another exploding, sending Seaview to the bottom.

Each of us facing death while trying to maintain some order in the ship wide chaos. Hoping, praying, for our luck to turn.  I think we’d both pretty much given up, when Chip, through what I can only call a miracle, managed to bring the diving bell down to us. Air, rescue. Survival.  At least for Seaview. She would be raised. Lives lost could only be resurrected in the hereafter.

So when Harry saw the tear rolling down my cheek in the chapel, he said nothing, for there was nothing he could say. The silence between the both of us, mourning our loss, and our near escape a few years ago, was comforting in a way. Two men joined in sorrow. Two men joined in gratitude, just to be alive.