Action Stations (1943)

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Action stations!

Action stations!

Action stations!

The Royal Canadian Navy.

The Royal Canadian Navy,

since the outbreak of w*r,

has grown into a powerful force,

designed especially

for escort duty,

for the task of

escorting the convoys of

the United Nations to

fronts of a world in arms.

From Canada's coasts

move convoys of

Canadian w*r supplies.

Pitted against them, the wolf

packs of Hitler's U-boats.

Cruel is the realization

of heavy losses at sea,

each sinking a toll in

arms, medicines, food,

robbed from a

regiment in the field.

Charged with the task

of combating the U-boat

is the corvette,

fastest-maneuvering

weapon of attack.

The convoys carry to

the Mediterranean front

the tanks, planes, and g*ns

vitally needed in the campaign.

Arms to force the surrender

of lands overrun by Hitler.

Convoys are moving to

Britain and the new fronts,

200,000 men transported, not a

single life lost

by enemy action.

Action and waiting for action

in the isles of Britain

and four million men under arms,

to be supplied, fed, and clothed

for the day when they drive

deep into n*zi-held Europe.

Hulls loaded down

to the pencil line,

and the baleful eye of the enemy

turns upon cargos intended

for Soviet Russia,

Africa, the near-east

and the South Pacific.

For every cargo lost,

we must bring one more.

Sea lanes are lifelines

to Asia and China

and supplies must

be flown across

Tibet and the Himalayas.

In China, what

weary fighters say,

we need trucks, yes,

and tanks and planes.

Give us these and we will drive

the Japanese into the sea.

North to the Arctic,

Murmansk, and the White Sea.

The bridge of Allied

shipping spans

frozen latitudes to

our Russian ally.

Seamen wonder sometimes,

driving North in the

cold watches between

enemy attack,

do people back home

know what it means?

Storm and fog, even the

elements are enemies,

with death like an armed

man standing guard.

Was there ever a house in a

quiet street where I once lived?

Do children still

play in the sun?

Here only, is the enemy,

the horizon, and the sea.

Only men who have

fought through ice packs

know it's hard, tough going

on the road to Russia.

Premier Stalin said

"a*tillery is the god of w*r."

These Russians say,

tomorrow we attack

with Canadian tanks,

fine tanks, but

we need more and more again.

Weapons for men

fighting for freedom.

Diving out of leaden

Atlantic skies,

n*zi planes flying

from bases in Norway

continue the ruthless

campaign to cut

Allied supply lines,

no matter the cost.

Seamen of the merchant navy are

the infantry of

the battle at sea.

On them rests the

heavy responsibility

of manning the convoy

ships, and then

fight best to have

seen survivors of

the battle at sea,

struggling and dying

in the hell of flaming oil.

The work of Canada's

navy never ends.

Convoys do not retreat

when the enemy attacks

or withdraw to new positions.

The convoys sail

on, having no choice

and wishing no other.

History is in the making through

Canada's growing sea power.

As Canada's sea power

grows, new ships

and new men are training

in the coastal waters.

Men who will sail

the ships built

and building in

Canadian shipyards.

Captain of our new corvette.

He's 27 and was formerly an

interior decorator in Victoria.

Number One was a

lawyer in Edmonton.

Our navigator pilot

is from Toronto.

And our asdic officer,

from Vancouver.

Asdic, that's the new

submarine detector device.

With it, he can hear the beat of

a sub's engines deep in the sea.

Somewhere in the ancestry

of these new seamen

are men who sailed

the uncharted North,

made the long haul

with Frobisher,

dared the St. Lawrence and the

Grand Banks with...

New seamen from the farmlands,

from the mines and

factories and offices.

Seamen fighters for our new

corvette, the Port Arthur.

Roll along, Wavy Navy,

roll along, roll along

Roll along, Wavy

Navy, roll along

If you don't know who we are

We're the RCNVR

Roll along, Wavy

Navy, roll along

Oh we joined for the money

and the fun, and the fun

Oh we joined for

the money and the fun

Of the money we have none,

but the fun has just begun

Roll along, Wavy

Navy, roll along

Gunnery drill develops teamwork.

- Load SAP!

- Load SAP!

- Stand by!

- Stand by!

- Fire!

- Fire!

Cease firing!

g*n loaded with SAP sir.

- Unload!

- Unload!

Training takes place at sea, even PT,

although this has gone

recreational training.

Session ends on deck with an old

schoolyard game, Buck Buck.

Not so easy when

the ship is rolling.

Steady, steady.

The ship lurches

and not so steady.

Training is endless

routine, harder

than the long wait for action.

But training, no matter

how long, how endless,

fits us for the

dangers of the sea.

- Slip!

Sailor men

grouse about training,

but always we remember that this

can lead to this.

The price of safety and

survival is men's hardihood.

Abandon ship!

Abandon ship!

Over, ya go!

Training ended, the Port Arthur

heads out to see under

the traditional signal,

being in all respects

ready for sea

and to engage the enemy.

At ports on east

and west coasts,

fleets of U-boat

hunters are gathering,

ships light, fast, maneuverable.

The corvette is trim,

almost yacht-like,

sleek lines cunningly

camouflaged to blend

with sea and sky.

Packing a punch potent

beyond proportion to size,

the corvette is a highly-mobile

weapon of destruction.

With her speed and

sturdy construction

swinging into attack,

the pattern of depth

charges rolled off the deck

will crush the hull

of an enemy sub

like an eggshell between

sudden terrifying blasts.

Each new ship is

another weapon in

the battle of the seven seas.

Already the Canadian

Navy escorts nearly half

of all Atlantic convoys

of the United Nations.

Since 1939, ship-building in

Canada has grown amazingly.

In 1942, 500 ships

completed, 37 times the total

for the first year of the w*r.

As ship-building has grown,

enlistments have kept pace.

48,000 now in the

service and the

Canadian Navy is the only

navy with a waiting list.

To follow the thousands

already at sea

come replacements, taken up

from the volunteer reserve.

Leading seaman Joe

Turner, a machine gunner,

has an ambition, to get a sub.

Image of the lucky

wanted, the U13.

The U13, our natural

prey to be added

to the toll of enemy subs sunk.

Today, that toll, four times the

number sunk in 1940.

When the ship's in

port, everyone knows

what a sailor likes

to do, but only

the fortunate men

catch the liberty boat.

Most of the ships companies

have duties, even in port.

Stores must be loaded,

supplies renewed,

working watches maintained.

Of course, seamen hate

to leave their mates

at work on the ship to

sit in a coffee house

spinning yarns to landsmen.

The navy sets no limit

on those tall yarns

except where security enters,

and no seaman in

this complex w*r

violates the closed lips order.

12,000 ships handled

65 million tons

of wartime shipping,

battened it down,

and carried it safely

through the danger zone.

Only by sea routes can we feed

and supply our fighting men.

There are no safe subterranean

tunnels to the front lines.

The planes to b*mb

Berlin, tanks to

crush Hitler in Russia, must be

ferried from arsenals

an ocean's-width away.

And the men who

drive those tanks

and follow in the transports and

trucks of mechanized w*r.

Nurses, doctors, technicians,

men to fly those

planes must be convoyed

with all the speed

safety will allow.

In the harbor, the convoy

ships ride at anchor

while the captains meet

in a secret conference

to receive last-minute

instructions.

Each movement must be planned

and exactly coordinated.

For the first time,

the navy reveals

how carefully convoys

are organized.

The roll of ships is called.

Each captain answers

for his vessel.

- Gentlemen.

Has every master his

sailing orders, please?

Look out, as much

as you can afford,

at all angles as laid down there

and if you see anything

that doesn't belong

in the convoy, please report it

to the commodore in

escort immediately.

And repeat immediately

under 500 kilocycles

any information

indicating the whereabouts

of the submarine,

which might be a value

to the commodore or

escort, so please

be sure that that is understood.

Now, gentlemen, I introduce

you to your commodore,

Admiral Sir Francis Austin

of the steamship Salacia.

- Good morning gentlemen,

I'm very glad to

meet nearly all of you.

Captain has... with me.

Now this is a great opportunity

for us to come to some

general conclusion

about what we're going to do

and how we're going to do it.

My instructions

from the admiralty

and my responsibilities are

to take the convoy safely

to our destination.

Overseeing the

safety of the convoy.

Anbody who breaks them

endangers the whole convoy,

not only himself, but all

the other ships in it.

No chance of protecting us.

They may avenge

somebody's death,

but they've got no

chance of protecting us.

I'd rather be protected, myself.

I'm all for protection.

I think the escorts

are all for revenge.

I hope that you realize

that the signals I make

are not made for my own pleasure

or for fun, or because I

have nothing better to do.

Every signal I make guided to an

individual ship or

General of the convoy

is an effort to ensure

the safety of the convoy

and I'll, just once more,

ask your cooperation.

Happy returns to us all.

Now gentlemen,

I introduce you to

the senior officer

of your escort,

Lieutenant Holencastle,

HMS Witherington.

Thank you gentlemen.

I've got very little

to add to what

the commodore and LCSO said.

If you see any of the

escorts hoist a black parent

or a red flag and

a black parent,

that means they're

about to attack or

they've got a contact.

See if you can keep

out of their way,

and you'll know there's

probably a depth charge

is coming fairly

soon, a black parent

or a red flag and a black comb.

- I can't hear, excuse

me, I can't hear.

Listen to the escort,

you have a good escort.

We ask to keep up, in station,

in a compact body

and I'm sure that

they'll give you the

proper protection.

And we wish you bon

voyage and happy landings.

Morning of the convoy sailing.

The laden ships are

waiting, steam is up,

ready to stand out to sea,

protected by their escort.

Goodbyes are casual.

Goodbye, good luck, bon voyage,

see you on the other side.

And just before

the convoy sailed,

our new corvette Port Arthur was

inspected by

Vice-Admiral Lellis,

chief of the naval staff.

Captain, officers in ship's company

of this new corvette,

in a very few days

you will be taking this

new corvette to sea.

You have the same

chances as they

have had to

distinguish themselves.

Don't forget too

that you and they

are making the tradition

in sea power of Canada.

Remember, the

U-boat is your prey.

Destroy them or they

will destroy us.

And this is where

you are carrying out

the common task

of all the Allies

in that whenever or

wherever or however

we meet the enemy,

we knock them out.

And I wish to say now, good luck

to you all, and good hunting.

Goodbye, Port Arthur.

Goodbye, sir.

Best of luck,

and I hope you have

even better success than

you did in your last ship.

Thank you very much sir.

For three years, the armadas

have been gliding past

the citadel of Halifax,

city of w*r, front door to

the battle of the Atlantic.

From Halifax have

gone the convoys

loaded with the products of w*r.

Ships of every type and

tonnage fit for sea are used,

thrust into service

in the struggle

for survival and liberation.

These are combined convoys,

the escort vessels may be

United States cruisers.

Dutch, Norwegian, British,

the ships are all registry.

Liberty ships now

building in U.S. yards

at a rate of more

than one a day.

Even a whaler, through its stern

whales were once hauled.

And sailing in

separate troop convoys

are the faster ships,

the giant liners.

The senior ship leads

the escort vessels.

Hovering above the

laden freighters

are the Catalina flying boats.

On the Grand Banks

off Newfoundland,

across the grey wastes

as far as Iceland,

patrol planes

precede the convoy,

ready to swoop on

the first U-boat to

thrust its snout

above the surface.

Our training has fit us

for the appointed task,

bringing this convoy

safely to its destination.

We will zigzag off

the convoy quarter

in steady, methodical sweeps.

As we take up our

station, bearing is

checked on the leading ship.

Signals come in continually.

Reports on enemy

movements, weather reports,

warnings and instructions.

Communications bear heavily

on the safety of the convoy.

Our convoy carries its

own eye in the sky.

Elaboration between

air force and navy

provides us with our own

emergency reconnaissance.

But the eyes of the

ship are the lookouts.

On each lookout depends

the safety of the ship,

perhaps the fate of

the whole convoy.

At sea, the task of

the lookout is endless,

intensive, constant, vigilance.

The slow searching of

the reaches of the sea

for the feathery wake

that means submarines.

Always the alert, patient

scanning of the horizon,

watching for a sign

that will send us

running to action stations.

Up spirits!

Once a day,

grog rations are issued.

Up spirits is a traditional call

inherited from the British navy.

And the early watch

is cold today.

Gales in the North Atlantic rise

with sudden elemental violence.

Speed is reduced, we move only

as fast as the slowest ship.

The convoy plunges on.

Campaigns do not

wait on weather.

While the storm lasts,

hazards and dangers double.

Ships must be kept in line

by the escort vessels,

lest they drop behind,

lashed into isolation

by the turbulence of the sea.

Wavering, pounding,

from the heart of the ship,

the engines transmit the power

to drive us on against the

battering weight of the waves.

And then after a

long night and a day,

the force of the gale drops.

The convoy moves

on, ships in order

and lines unbroken.

Life at sea means

learning to live together.

In the rough democracy

of the foxhole,

feuds are forgotten

before the face of

common danger and a common foe.

Machine gunner Joe still nurses

his ambition, getting a U13.

Foremost in our minds is

the threat of submarines,

on watch or below,

sleeping or waking,

and the slower the convoy, the

more present is the danger.

From the senior ship comes

a signal, fog moving up.

Fog, deadly enemy

and sometime friend,

on occasion a means of

escape during attack

but more imminent still is

the possibility of collision.

The danger of crashing

into another ship

grows ever more real.

On the commodore's ship,

Sir Francis Austin,

who said at the

captains' meeting that

he does not make

signals for fun,

sets his officers to the job of

keeping the ships closed up.

Almost we prefer storm,

at least we can see.

Now we edge along

by dead reckoning.

A distance indicator,

our only means

of checking position, and

we check again and again.

We wait, trying to

pierce the gloom

for the signal

light that will come

as the fog begins to lift.

Flashing light ahead, sir!

And then, suddenly the signal.

Light, dead ahead.

Speed increases,

the engines rev up.

Contact established.

The fog is lifting

and the message

passes down the

long lines of ships.

Fog clearing.

Bright weather and

the convoy plows on.

Through the fog that

might have meant disaster,

the ships have kept station.

It is a tribute to

well-nigh-perfect navigation.

The little while between

storm and attack,

we can stretch in the sun.

For seamen off watch, this

is life at sea at its best.

Clear sailing follows

in the wake of danger.

But for the navy, reality

has little of the romantic.

Every stray sign means menace.

Floating wreckage is the

silent evidence of disaster.

The convoy ahead

has been attacked.

Come on lads,

let's get a can ready

for these sons o' g*ns.

Stand by, depth charges.

Subs are known to cruise

around a drifting lifeboat.

Steady.

Fire away, that'll do.

All right, all right, secure.

Twilight is the time best suited

for attack on a convoy,

when the chances

are heavily in favor

of the submarine.

Between watches, the

ship's company relaxes

during what seamen call

make and mend sessions.

But above the deck, the lookout

stands his constant

vigil, on guard

for that telltale wake,

the glint in the sea

that will send us to battle

stations in 25 seconds.

At night, we steam on,

running without lights

under the order darkened ship.

You've steamed for

thousands of miles,

for days and nights, on the

alert in wet and darkness,

hundreds of middle watches,

weeks of eye strain

and dirty weather, but

you have to get that sub.

You want to be in

on the real thing.

At dusk, in the

half-light of closing day,

a ship stands out in bolder

silhouette against the sky,

against the sky, easier

target for a torpedo

launched by a lurking submarine.

Danger, danger all about us.

From the senior ship,

a message flickers.

Submarine in the vicinity,

carry out a sweep.

That sound on the

asdic detector,

the engines of a submarine.

I have a contact, sir.

Our officer has

picked up the beat

of a sub cruising

under the surface.

If we locate the sub's position,

our corvette will

swing directly for it,

hurling depth charges as we go,

even try to ram the

raider if possible.

Hang onto it, follow

it, don't lose it.

We're coming about.

Change course,

port 10 amidships.

Steady she goes, steady.

Closer now.

Definitely a sub sir,

quite close to us.

That's it, keep after it.

We'll swing right over

and start blasting.

It's time to break through

our lines to the convoy.

Action stations!

Action stations!

For the g*n, quick, quick!

Flip the covers off,

open the breach,

break out ammunition.

Depth charges ready,

port door is closed up.

Sub seems to be surfacing.

Enemy in sight, star

shell, star shell.

There it is, on the surface.

Enemy in sight, on

target, on target.

The sub is escaping

on the surface.

Out of sight, no target.

It's fading, running

away from us,

I can just make out the sound.

We're losing it.

It's gone, got away.

Contact lost, sir.

We can't get them

all, but we can

make it hunt for them

once we pick up the trail.

That's the way it goes.

That's what happened to

me when we met the U15.

I was below when

the warning came.

Action stations!

Action stations!

Lower leg in the hammock.

On the double, on the double!

I stood to my g*n, I

couldn't see the sub yet.

All around me, men were

running to their positions.

Port doors were closed up.

Number one all ready sir!

We must be almost on top of it now.

Submarine off starboard

deep, this is it.

Attack pennant, the warning.

We're closing up.

There go the g*ns,

the sub has slipped

inside the line of ships.

Emergency speed for attack.

And the engines pick it up.

Number one g*n on target.

The sub's got one of our ships,

stand by depth charges.

Fin out, first

depth charge ready.

- Stand by!

- Stand by!

- Fire!

- Fire!

We're going right over it now.

Fire two!

Roll charges in order.

There goes the underwater blast.

Now the surface expl*si*n.

We drop 'em above

and below the sub.

Fire three!

From side as well as stern,

we're slinging the

charges until our

pattern covers that sub.

He got away, no.

Did we get it?

Or did it get away?

Was the setting right?

She might sink and

we'll never see her.

If she blows I'll

blast her to hell.

Sure, those charges

must 'o got her.

Sub surfacing off

starboard beam.

Above surface, bearing green 9-0.

Open fire, independent!

Fire!

- That's funny.

- What's wrong?

They don't return our fire.

Number one g*n,

bear on target, g*n loaded.

What's orders, sir?

Stand by, hold your fire.

They seem to be surrendering,

keep them covered.

Fire across the bow.

Well that one's right

across their nose.

They're quitting,

they're quitting!

They're giving up!

I don't know, they could be faking

but if one of those babies makes

a false move, we're ready.

Number One takes over

the boarding party.

Start the falls, flip!

Row at the base head.

His instructions, take as many

prisoners as possible,

sh**t if you have to,

get their code

books and above all

prevent scuttling, we

want that sub intact.

Steady, this may be a trick.

Watch yourself, she

may try to crash-dive.

All right, get them aft.

Push them back toward the stern.

Give it to them if they resist.

Herd 'em back, go

on, get back you.

One man's keeping outta sight.

The sub commander?

No, we got him with

our first burst.

It's the first officer.

Hey, you, come here.

Get up on that

conning tower, go on.

Up with ya, come on.

No, no, she blow

up, she blow up.

Set a time b*mb to

prevent capture.

She'll likely blow any minute.

Number One is going down.

They didn't take any chances.

They've scuttled her as well.

Hurry Number One, hurry.

We keep 'em covered,

Number One's still inside.

He'd better come up,

there's not much time left.

She's beginning to sink,

you'd better come up, sir.

She's settling fast.

Swim for it, get to

the boats, quick.

Every man, jump for it.

We swing in to pick up our men.

Some of the Germans

seemed afraid to jump.

The Nazis still want trouble.

And he got it!

Our men are safe,

all but Number One.

He's got to get away fast or

the sub may drag him under.

One minute to get

clear before she blows.

She's down by the

stern and sinking fast.

And there she goes, with another

n*zi who hung on too long.

That's one you'll never see again!

We count noses when the

boarding party returns.

No casualties, five

prisoners taken,

and one sub sunk.

We didn't get the U13.

Instead, we got the U15.

Good news flashes out

to all escort vessels.

Successful attack,

submarine captured and sunk.

One more enemy U-boat lies

at the bottom of the sea

and from the senior

ship comes the signal

rewarding successful attack.

Well met and well done.

On all the oceans of the globe,

fighting seamen are bringing

the convoy safely through.

Doing its part in keeping

those sea waves free.

Canada's young navy

stands at action stations,

ready for sea and

to engage the enemy.

Roll along, Wavy Navy,

roll along, roll along

Roll along, Wavy

Navy, roll along

If you don't know who we are

We're the RCNVR

Roll along, Wavy

Navy, roll along

Oh we joined for the money

and the fun, and the fun

Oh we joined for

the money and the fun

Of the money we have none,

but the fun has just begun

Roll along, Wavy

Navy, roll along