No time to panic, I gotta weave.

Stress does strange things to a man. In the dark confines of a hot turret, all chaps pressed together, panic is always a possibility. What does one do? How does one act? Is it time to shout? Or do you stick close to your chums? If you're done for yet there isn't much else you can do.

Why do some men...

...insist on conducting mechanical repairs while shirtless? Such is life, however given the amount of oil and grease and sand (being in the desert) will no doubt lead to an element of considerable discomfort. 
This may be why Eastman is angry.

Seatbelts are stupid.

Clearly seatbelts are a restraint to our natural freedoms. Thank the heavens that the three at left had the good fortune to be flung from the wayward vehicle. Don't worry they'll be OK. Free from the tyranny of the nanny state they are now free to fight the real enemy. 

Work work work!

When will it ever end? It's not like burning ships are in short supply. The career officer at school said there was no future in piloting burning ships. My parents said the same. But here I am. This is my job.

If I were the captain of a ship...

...this would be so me! Browbeating the scum one moment and then saving my own neck the next. When it's time to get out of here let me lead the way.

Another day at the office.

Good work is often hard to find. Work is one thing, enjoying it another. Running down nazis with a big black boat would surely involve some degree of satisfaction. Hard to put on a resume though.

Kill the madman, really?

You would think Nazis would be more sympathetic towards mad men. However it appears the confines of a submarine makes fellows (even those of a dubious political nature) behave erratically.

Lewis bites the big one.

I thought leaders were meant to lead. Does this mean gallantry is over rated?