Vimes was smoking. Quite a lot, actually- the deck around where he was sitting was littered with ash and spent cigar butts, and his eyes were fixed on the red lights in the sky, unfocused. It was clear to any observer that he was worried, and yet, oddly... the Captain was singing. Softly, off-key, under his breath, but singing, even so.

"All the little angels rise up, rise up.
All the little angels rise up high..."