Oz could not absorb the reality of the moment. A few hours ago, he had been beating it up, ashore with Niv. When Oz had awkwardly tried to thank him for his support in the brothel, Niv had sworn at him and changed the subject.
And not even Merle would ever know now of the run ashore. Oz raised his head, half-turning towards Icarus' port quarter where the sun's rays were piercing the dark clouds piling up to the westward. He closed his eyes, to blot out the images. Somehow, Niv's marriage with Owen had appeared to reach deeper than Merle's and Oz's… Was it because the Fanes had four kids?
A shaft of sunlight shot through the orange-tipped cloud; the six men in the funeral party were silhouetted against its light. They were in 'blues', the Master-at-Arms at attention in front of them, where they surrounded the shrouded body. Campbell had been drilling them the whole afternoon for this moment — and Fane would not have derided their efforts. Though the ceremonial of the next few minutes might compare abysmally with the professionalism of Whale Island, the simplicity was rendering the moment unbearably moving.
'Ship's company… 'shun!' The first lieutenant was now standing by the hangar doors and Oz watched him saluting when Captain Trevellion ranged down the starboard side, his tall frame swaying to the ship's roll. At the quarterdeck he halted; his hand came to the salute and remained there a full five seconds. The guard came to attention; the rifle butts thumped on the deck; the captain marched to the centre of the hollow square and faced Fane's shroud.
'Stand at ease,' he ordered the first lieutenant. He withdrew a scrap of paper from his pocket.
'The Commodore has sent us this signal,' he said. Then, raising his voice above the buffeting of the wind, he read the message:
TO ICARUS FROM SO. COM STANAVFORLANT. INFO ATHABASKAN, GOEBEN, JESSE L. BROWN. THE FORCE SENDS ALL IN ICARUS ITS DEEP SYMPATHY FOR THE FATAL ACCIDENT SUFFERED BY MARINE ENGINEERING MECHANIC FANE. WE JOIN WITH YOU THIS EVENING IN PRAYING TO ALMIGHTY GOD THAT FANE'S SOUL MAY REST IN PEACE; AND THAT HIS NEXT OF KIN MAY BE SUSTAINED AND COMFORTED.
Trevellion folded the paper, replaced it in his pocket. His eyes rested on the crumpled ensign, then turned, deliberately meeting the gaze of all those gathered there with him.
'I have requested a full enquiry to be held,' he announced. ' I have asked the Marine Engineer Officer for a full report on the diesel generators and also for a record of his previous complaints on the state of the machines. He tells me that you will keep the DOS running until they are replaced or modified. I think you'll agree that this would be what Fane would have wanted.' The captain half-turned towards the overalled men who made up the engine-room department:
'Lieutenant Sparger tells me that Fane would never let up: he insisted on working upon the generators although he, more than anyone, knew what risks he was taking.' He paused, then gazed upon the lonely bier.
'While there are men like Fane in the navy, doing his duty as he felt it ought to be done, there can never be misgivings about the Service. He will be taken over to Glorious who is eighty miles to the north-west. His family may wish to have his body flown home, but, should they prefer it, L/MEM Fane will be buried at sea by Glorious' chaplain with full naval honours.' Trevellion looked around again at the faces before him.
Oz's thoughts were back in Plymouth: if Owen wanted Niv buried in Roborough, at least she would have Merle to comfort her.
The captain's words were easily heard above the wind, for he spoke clearly and without artificiality.
'I never knew him, as you did,' he said quietly. ' I met him only once, as you know, at my table. I summed him up as a fine man then. We're having our own service for L/MEM Fane. I've taken the form from the naval prayer book. If anyone would like to leave for his own reasons, this is the moment to do so.'
Oz heard only the waves sluicing against the ship's side, the Trapping of the wind against the super-structure. Somewhere there, below the lowering horizon, the carrier and her group were steaming for the Azores where Fane's body would be flown by one of Glorious1 Sea Kings.
'Off caps.'
Behind the Master-at-Arms, Oz caught sight of the observer and the pilot struggling to remove their bone domes. Niv would have liked that bit; he had always savoured the ludicrous, while respecting other people's feelings. He was no sneerer, like Mick Foulgis — and Oz caught the Irishman's eyes calmly appraising the scene. So Mick the Moaner had decided to come after all…
Oz had never been a religious man — he'd never been forced to think about it: life was too full. Courage was needed these days to stand up and be counted. But on this evening, at sea in the open Atlantic, with the ensign spread across the deck, the ancient formula stirred his emotions. These words which the captain was reading could not be ignored; these awesome phrases from the Burial Service jolted Osgood into understanding these solemn words for the first time. As he rivetted his eyes upon Niv's mortal remains, Oz assimilated every word….
Oz turned to the westward where the faint outline of Jesse L. Brown was dipping into the swell, sheets of spume flying across her bridge as she plunged out of phase with the swell. The starkness of death had a remarkable effect on his concentration, he thought: for the first time, he began to have an inkling why he was out here in the Atlantic, far off the shipping lanes, with thousands of other seamen, burning up their lives to guard against a nightmare which civilians hoped would go away. Niv's funeral service ended quietly with the muttered ' amens' of the ship's company.
'On caps. Face aft.'
The rotor blades of Hob's helicopter were swirling, gathering speed as the jet engines warmed up. The high-pitched scream became overwhelming… and then Perdix was ready, the pilot visible in his cockpit, the observer at his side, engrossed in his pre-flight checks. The funeral party bent down, then carefully handled the ensign-covered stretcher through the helicopter's open door.
The flight deck officer was watching the captain. Trevellion's mouth opened, his head nodded and then Lieutenant Towke was talking into his mike. The Master-at-Arms was bawling at his six-man guard, drawn up in line across the stern.
The rotors swirled, the air pounded, the jets screamed. Hob Gamble suddenly lifted her off. Oz glimpsed, through the open door, the flash of crimson and white of the ensign. The helicopter steadied, then dipped her nose in salute as the side door closed. She canted to port then swooped away, climbing, disappearing into the twilight for her rendezvous with Glorious. Though the weather improved as Perdix flew northward, the last of evening twilight was fading before Rollo Daglish, Hob's observer, caught sight of Glorious. He saw first the slick of her wake, then her awkward shape ahead, eight hundred feet below.
They had talked little during their flight: it was difficult to realize that in the cab a few feet behind them lay the remains of one of their shipmates. Rollo never talked much, even on the ground: Hob liked him, a buttoned-up individual, except for his rare outbursts. He was a General List officer, an ex-Dart, who had made flying his vocation. He was a keen but self-effacing observer — and never, though eight months senior and two years older, pulled his seniority on Hob, who was a Supplementary List officer holding a Type B commission for Helicopter Flying Duties…
'Okay, Hob.' He was speaking into the mike strapped about his throat.' Spot seven — you can go in now.'