"Think mine was the same," Wash says, shrugs. "Saw combat almost as soon as they could hand out rifles." Lucky he'd been a good shot. Luck was all that had kept him alive to even get to Freelancer. "Lost most of them. Planet got glassed." It's one of the memories that he's glad has been warped and muted by Epsilon. It's dulled now, like sepia toned films from centuries ago. Like it happened to someone else.