Operation Storm: Japan's Top Secret Submarines and Its Plan to Change the Course of World War II (26 page)

A
CCEPTANCE TRIALS FOR
the underwater aircraft carriers were carried out separately from
Seiran
flight training.
⁴⁸
While Nambu’s sub underwent its shakedown period, the
I-400
and
I-13
assembled near Kure Naval Base to test the unloading, launching, and stowing of
Seiran
.
⁴⁹
It was the first important step in the marriage between submarine and aircraft, and success would lead to joint tactical training.

The catapult test was especially important. Meant to determine the maximum payload a
Seiran
could carry and still be launched from a sub, the test involved adding sand to a hollowed-out practice bomb, attaching it to a rack underneath the
Seiran
’s belly, and launching both from the sub. The bigger the bomb, the better the bang, but safety considerations played an important role. They discussed removing the plane’s floats, or reducing her fuel to accommodate the bomb load if the catapult tests failed. As it was, Takahashi successfully flew from the
I-400
’s deck carrying a 1,760-pound practice bomb, the heaviest ever launched from an IJN catapult.
⁵⁰

A
RIIZUMI MADE HIS
first appearance in the 631st’s command room on January 11, 1945. Many of the air group’s officers were nervous, having never met him before. Takahashi wasn’t one of them. He’d seen Ariizumi drunk in Penang and wasn’t the least bit intimidated. The same couldn’t be said for his fellow officers, though, who awaited their boss with trepidation.

Everyone fell silent when Ariizumi entered the room. He greeted
each of his officers individually; then in a monotone devoid of emotion, he gave a short motivational speech. Takahashi felt the commander’s speaking skills left a lot to be desired.

He was in for a surprise though when Ariizumi asked him to stay behind.

“When I look at the personnel chart I see there are only four or five pilots with combat experience and only two with experience on submarines,” Ariizumi noted. “There’s going to be a lot that comes up, so please don’t hesitate to give your opinion. I ask you in particular because I think it will be the quickest way to success.”

Takahashi was pleased. It was unusual for a commanding officer to ask his subordinate for an opinion. Then again, they were so short on experience, Ariizumi needed all the help he could get.
⁵¹

Ariizumi departed for Tokyo the next day. While meeting with the Naval General Staff, he ordered his assistant to visit the NGS reference room and collect everything he could find about the Panama Canal. It took the better part of a day to sort through all the books and naval charts. When the assistant finished, he had filled two parachute bags with documents.
⁵²
The material would prove critical for planning the mission.

A
NOTHER
S
EIRAN
WAS
ready on January 13, 1945. But while Takahashi was on a train bound for Nagoya, a second earthquake struck leaving disaster in its wake. If the December quake had been bad, the
Mikawa
tremor was worse. The first thing Takahashi noticed was that the heavy doors to Aichi’s airplane hangar had been toppled.
Seiran
production was also impeded.
⁵³

As if the program weren’t bedeviled by enough problems, B-29 raids had begun in December. The Nagoya region generated more than half of Japan’s aviation production, so the U.S. Army Air Force had targeted the area for destruction. Fifty-six air raids followed over an eight-month period, burning the city to a cinder. Workers spent so much time huddled in air raid shelters that little got done. This meant the 631st had only five
Seiran
and six
Zuiun
for training.
⁵⁴
Additionally, problems with the
Atsuta
engine persisted. It was a constant battle keeping the few
Seiran
they had operational.
⁵⁵

On the morning of January 20, 1945, a
Zuiun
piloted by Warrant Flying Officer Suzuki was scheduled to fly a navigation exercise. Before he could take off, however, Suzuki’s observer reported in sick. Warrant Flying Officer Sasaki was on the reserve list, but nobody wanted him to fly since it was his wedding day. Sasaki volunteered anyway feeling there was enough time to complete the exercise before his bride arrived at the Kure train station.

When the exercise was over, Takahashi watched Sasaki return. The Kure mountains could make landing difficult and Sasaki’s
Zuiun
circled the bay four times. When it crashed behind a hangar, Takahashi jumped into an ambulance and raced to the scene.

Sasaki’s plane had smacked nose first into the front yard of a girls’ school. The crash site was surrounded by students, whom Takahashi warned to stay clear, since he feared a fire. Ambulance attendants worked more than an hour to free Sasaki from the wreckage, but to no avail; he was already dead.

It was the 631st’s first casualty. Nevertheless, Takahashi was more concerned about the bridal party, which was due to arrive at any moment. Sasaki’s in-laws were understandably shocked when told the news, and the bride wailed so uncontrollably, Takahashi felt responsible. Unfortunately, there was still the matter of the wedding to deal with. The shrine was understanding and canceled the ceremony, but the restaurant refused to refund any money. After consulting with Takahashi, the bridal party changed the wedding reception to a wake.

Takahashi wasted no time in preparing an altar, rounding up photographs of the two airmen, and arranging for sutras. When everything was ready, he called his colleagues together: “The purpose of tonight is to mourn our friends. It’s also important to console the family, particularly Sasaki’s bride. Do not forget this even if you get drunk!”

The guests lit slender sticks of incense as they arrived, and placed them in front of the altar. Two young airmen, handsome in
their naval uniforms, looked out from the photographs. When the reception began, Takahashi offered a few words in honor of their fallen comrades.

Finally, the reception got under way. Sake was dispensed; military songs were sung, and there was even dancing. When the bride suddenly smiled, Takahashi felt relieved. Her family expressed gratitude for his efforts.

Unexpectedly, two officers appeared and began haranguing them. “What is the reason for this commotion?” one shouted. “Two of our comrades have died! Shame on you!”

Seeing that the outburst shocked the bride’s family, Takahashi lost his temper. “You may be our superiors, but I can’t stand you lecturing us. Tonight’s reception is held at the request of the bereaved. If you have a problem with that, tell it to the Commander.”

The officers knew Takahashi had a close relationship with Ariizumi and left, but Takahashi doubted that was the end of it. After all, he’d publicly rebuked two senior officers. They wouldn’t let him off lightly.

A memorial service was held a few days later for the airmen. Ariizumi attended the ceremony, which took place in an aircraft hangar on the Kure naval base. When the service was finished, he sent for Takahashi.

Assuming he was to be reprimanded, Takahashi defended his behavior at Sasaki’s wake.

“Don’t give it a second thought,” Ariizumi said. “That’s not why I called you here.”

Takahashi was surprised, but what came next surprised him even more.

“Have you ever launched a torpedo from an airplane?” Ariizumi asked.

Takahashi’s grin was the only answer the commander needed.
⁵⁶

W
HILE THE
I-400
SUBS WERE STILL UNDER CONSTRUCTION, THE
Segundo
’s first war patrol got off to a shaky start. Captain Fulp and his crew were in the Surigao Strait near the Philippines when two friendly aircraft appeared out of nowhere and strafed the surfaced sub.
¹
Though the shots fell short, it wasn’t a good omen for Fulp’s first patrol. Then three-quarters of the way through their deployment, a Japanese aircraft dropped two bombs on them. It was the morning of Friday, October 6, 1944.
²
Fulp had just been promoted to commander and was eager to show his acumen, when a Japanese plane was reported six miles distant. Forced to sound the dive klaxon, Fulp cleared the deck and ordered the sub’s watertight hatches closed. The
Segundo
had only a few inches of water overhead when the first bomb struck. A loud explosion rocked the sub, followed by a second blast.

“That’s all for him,” a veteran submariner remarked. “He only carries two.”
³

Had they been depth charges instead of bombs, the damage could have been fatal. As it was, the explosions damaged the
Segun
do’s deck gun, blew one of the four mufflers off her engine exhaust, and broke the foundation mounts on the generator powering her torpedo data computer.
⁴
Worse, was not finding any targets. The
Segundo
was patrolling in support of the Palau invasion, but since the IJN didn’t oppose the American landing, Fulp had nothing to shoot at. As one officer put it, “We were there—it was the enemy that didn’t show up.”
⁵

After ComSubPac released the
Segundo
from her responsibilities, Fulp made a beeline for the Luzon Strait. Located between
the northern tip of the Philippines and Formosa (now Taiwan), the deep-water passage was the perfect place for a sub to attack. The majority of Japanese shipping passed through the bottleneck, which was nicknamed “Convoy College.” Unfortunately, the Philippine invasion temporarily curtailed enemy shipping. Once again, Fulp found nothing to sink.
⁶

Finally, the
Segundo
’s wolf pack had modest success. The USS
Seahorse
(SS 304) sank an 800-ton escort, while the USS
Whale
(SS 239) sank a 1,200-ton tanker.
⁷
The
Segundo
came up with a big, fat goose egg.

Approximately 70 percent of all ComSubPac patrols came home without sinking a single ship during this period,
⁸
slim pickings compared to what an aggressive skipper hoped for. Sixty days at sea was just long enough for the
Segundo
’s oranges to go bad. Fulp ended his first war patrol without having fired a single shot.

The
Segundo
docked at Majuro in the Marshall Islands on October 21, 1944. A relief crew from the USS
Bushnell
(AS-15) came aboard, while Fulp and his men went to Myrna Island rest camp for two weeks of relaxation. Meanwhile the
Segundo
went into dry dock to have her badly nicked propeller blades fixed.
⁹

A little R&R helped the
Segundo
’s crew to forget their failure. The men played volleyball, swam in the ocean, and wrote long letters home. One pastime that proved popular was Gilly ball. It was played just like baseball, except that a coffee can filled with Gilly juice was placed at each base. Gilly juice consisted of 180-proof ethyl alcohol (normally used for torpedo fuel) cut with fruit juice. When a player came to bat, he took a swig of Gilly juice. If he made it to base, he got another swig. Pretty soon a high-scoring team began to falter, giving the other side a chance to catch up. When a Myrna Island rest officer happened by, he was invited to join the game, but when he saw the inebriated condition of both teams, he gave it a pass. Gilly ball was fun to play, even if no one remembered the score.
¹⁰

Wallace Karnes had an atypical experience at rest camp. Told he had to check his .45 sidearm during his stay, Karnes complied. Unbeknownst to Karnes, however, Chief “Doggy” Downs signed the gun out, and carried it to the mess tent. When Downs couldn’t
get a waiter’s attention, he pumped six rounds into the air. It didn’t improve the service, since the waiters were cowering under a table, but it was good for a laugh. After that a new regulation was issued: submariners shall refrain from discharging firearms in the mess tent.
¹¹

The
Segundo
’s crew returned from rest camp recharged if hung over. Combat subs experienced personnel turnover of 10 to 25 percent at the end of a patrol, so it wasn’t unusual to pick up new crew members. Victor Horgan was one of them. A scrappy little ensign from Portland, Oregon, Horgan had been skiing on Mount Baker when he first heard the news about Pearl Harbor. His NRTOC commander, a former sub captain, had inspired Horgan to apply to sub school. A year later he was assigned to a sub relief crew on Majuro.

Horgan wasn’t quite sure why he’d been selected for the
Segundo
. Some of the guys in his relief crew had been working as long as a year without permanent sub assignment. In contrast, he’d only been there a single day before being assigned. There was something special about Horgan, though. He might have described himself as a slow learner, but he was determined. One incident stood out in particular.

During a class on approach technique, Horgan’s sub school instructor chose him to perform an exercise on the attack simulator. Informed his sub was at 300 feet, Horgan was tasked with bringing her to periscope depth without the benefit of several ballast systems his instructor had deemed inoperable. Horgan’s peers chuckled at his predicament. None of them believed he could solve the problem. Horgan wasn’t sure he could either. Still, he wanted to do his best.