Authors: John Geoghegan
Tags: #Non-Fiction, #History
The quartermaster quickly dogged the bridge hatch, while the engine room secured the main induction valve. Before they could do anything else, a powerful wave drove the
Segundo
36 feet underwater, smashing instrument panels and thoroughly shaking up the crew. Meanwhile, Fulp fought to gain control.
It didn’t take a damage report to reveal an inch of water carpeting the control room. A few short feet away, Karnes was having little success draining the pump room. The
Segundo
’s ventilation system had siphoned seawater into several parts of the sub including the radio shack, which was partially flooded, and the after battery compartment.
Karnes plunged his arms into the pump room’s icy brine, searching for the strainer. When he found it blocked, he cleared it of the obstacle, which brought the water level down. Despite the crew’s quick action, however, the master and auxiliary compasses were knocked out, leaving only the magnetic compass for navigation.
51
Luckily seawater hadn’t contaminated the batteries; otherwise there might have been an explosion. As it was, the radio was on the fritz and navigation unreliable.
The most important question, once the
Segundo
surfaced, was whether the lookouts were still alive. Fulp doubted it.
52
It would take more than a whistle to survive two monster waves and a five-fathom dunking.
Turning to the officer of the deck (OOD), Fulp ordered the bridge hatch opened and an inspection made. When the OOD gave his report, Fulp must have felt relieved. All lookouts were present and accounted for.
53
The quartermaster’s quick action in dogging the bridge hatch had saved the sub.
54
Nevertheless, it was the nearest the
Segundo
had come to being sunk.
55
Regrettably, it dulled the shine of their earlier accomplishments.
The rest of the patrol was uneventful.
56
Fulp encountered so few targets, it seemed like the Imperial Japanese Navy had gone home. When orders arrived to head for Guam,
57
they were happy to go.
Fulp might have sunk more than three ships if the weather hadn’t proven a far worse enemy than the Japanese. The cigar-smoking captain was still put in for the Navy Cross. The recommendation stated: “The fighting spirit and exceptional skill displayed by the Commanding Officer … were particularly outstanding and merit special recognition.” Fulp may have been credited as an inspiration to his men,
58
but Vice Adm. Charles A. Lockwood, commander of the Pacific submarine force, didn’t agree, and turned him down for the Navy Cross.
59
In its place, Fulp was awarded the Silver Star for valor, the military’s third-highest decoration given to a U.S. serviceman. It was still an important acknowledgment of what he had done.
By the end of the
Segundo
’s second war patrol, Fulp was doing an excellent job shaping his men into a high-functioning combat
unit. His coolness under fire, combined with his undeniable competence, demonstrated he could take his crew into battle, rack up victories, and bring them home safely.
It was a strong start for Fulp, who remained eager to engage the enemy. All signs might have pointed to the war winding down, but as far as the
Segundo
’s skipper was concerned, their fight had just begun.
T
HE
I-14
WAS THE LAST UNDERWATER AIRCRAFT CARRIER COMPLETED
. Captained by Cdr. Tsuruzo Shimizu, the sub was commissioned during the first half of March 1945. Shimizu was a veteran sub commander—he’d captained three boats before the
I-14
.
1
But there was another reason Shimizu skippered a
Sen-toku
sub. He already knew Ariizumi.
Shimizu had first met Ariizumi when they were stationed at Penang. A 1930 graduate of Etajima’s fifty-eighth class, Shimizu had served aboard four subs before receiving his first command.
2
In May 1943 he was named captain of the
I-165
and assigned to SubRon 8, the same sub squadron as Ariizumi.
3
Shimizu was an impressionable young officer when he burst uninvited into Ariizumi’s quarters one night. It was a serious breach of etiquette even though Shimizu was just seeking advice on becoming a better skipper. Instead of scolding Shimizu, the normally stern commander chose to mentor him. Ariizumi was strict when it came to official business, but he could be big-hearted when it came to junior officers wanting guidance. As a result, Shimizu felt nothing but respect and affection for the commander.
4
The square-jawed officer with narrow eyes and thinning eyebrows almost didn’t make it to Penang, however. While en route, an Allied sub fired three torpedoes at him, all of which missed.
5
The next month, while operating in the Indian Ocean, he sank a 10,286-ton British freighter on its way to Calcutta. The ship’s radio operator managed to get an SOS off, and her crew escaped unharmed, despite the ship’s cargo of ammunition.
6
The freighter, however, was a total loss.
Ariizumi and Shimizu had something else in common besides captaining Indian Ocean subs. Two weeks before Ariizumi sank the
Tjisalak
, Shimizu torpedoed the British merchant ship
Nancy Moller
. The
Moller
was hauling coal from South Africa to Ceylon when Shimizu put two torpedoes into her.
7
It was March 18, 1944, as the
I-165
surfaced 50 yards from the
Moller
’s, lifeboats and took six survivors on board. A Japanese officer gave orders to shoot two of the survivors, both of them Chinese. One died instantly, while the other suffered a chest wound. Next, the
I-165
partially submerged, leaving two Indian lascars to be washed overboard. One of the
Moller
’s lifeboats rescued the lascars as well as the wounded Chinese. But the sub didn’t leave the scene. Instead, Shimizu took a page out of Ariizumi’s book. When he was only 200 feet from the
Moller
’s lifeboats, Shimizu’s bridge guns opened fire. Thirty-two out of the
Moller
’s 60-plus crew were killed in the fusillade,
8
putting Shimizu in the select group of sub captains who massacred survivors. Four days later the HMS
Emerald
pulled 31 castaways from the sea.
9
In July 1944 the
I-165
was diverted to mole operations ferrying supplies in the Pacific. Shimizu didn’t like mole ops any more than Nambu did. He’d even come close to losing his sub during one mission. Finally, in November 1944, Shimizu returned to Japan.
10
He was assigned the
I-14
in March 1945, the last sub captain to join Ariizumi’s squadron.
Before the
I-14
departed Kobe in March,
*
Shimizu raised the
Hirihokenten
banner. Designed to inspire warriors going into battle,
the flag quoted an ancient Chinese text: “Right Triumphs over Wrong, Law Triumphs over Right, Power Triumphs over Law, and Heaven Triumphs over Power.”
11
Clearly, Shimizu was determined to triumph.
Since the
I-14
was delivered late, Shimizu had little time to train his crew. Forced to rely on his experience, he devised a schedule condensing everything he knew into an intensive training program.
12
With Japan’s air and sea capability diminishing by the day, and Allied strength growing exponentially, the crew of the
I-14
would have to perform flawlessly to complete their mission. Long-term survival wasn’t even a consideration.
Shimizu wasn’t just an experienced sub captain—he was lucky, too. The day after the
I-14
departed Kobe, B-29 bombers attacked the harbor. The
I-15
, a
Sen-toku
sub that was 90 percent complete,
13
was severely damaged, while the
I-14
escaped unharmed.
14
Luck was to become Shimizu’s defining characteristic.
T
HE
631
ST
AIR
group also continued training. Takahashi got some additional dive-bomb practice, despite Kure’s ever-present mountain hazard. But when a midair collision resulted in two more casualties, Lieutenant Asamura was dispatched to find a safer place to train.
15
There are so many islands dotting Japan’s inland sea that at times it seems more like the land of a thousand lakes than an open waterway. Yashiro Island was one of them and was quickly deemed a suitable location for training. The island was accessible by floatplane and ferry and even had private homes for rent. A base was constructed, and flight operations were ready by mid-March.
16
The 631st had ten
Seiran
by now. Engine malfunctions were still a problem, though flight time was increasing.
17
Seiran
were pulled out of their hangar sheds every morning by tractor. Each plane rested on a steel-framed dolly that could be towed to shore, where the aircraft was floated off into the sea. When they returned from training, saltwater was carefully hosed from their fuselage and wing joints to minimize contamination.
Nobuo Fujita, who had dropped incendiary bombs on the Oregon forest, was busy training seaplane pilots at Kashima during this period. Some postwar accounts claim he was a
Seiran
pilot as well. Though Fujita’s teaching skills would undoubtedly have been needed, he was never officially a member of the 631st. It is possible that he taught
Seiran
pilots as a member of the 634th air group, which lent
Zuiun
to the 631st for training, but he was never officially part of the mission.
Once the air group was established at its new location, Ariizumi called NGS Staff Officer Fujimori: “We’ve built a new base on Yashiro Island. I want you to come down and watch the training.”
Fujimori agreed and even hitched a ride in a
Seiran
for the last leg of his trip. After a day of observation, he expressed some concern. “The water landings look pretty bad,” he said candidly.
Ariizumi laughed. Takeoffs were more important than landings. “Obviously, they can’t be flipping over, but don’t worry. We’ll carry the mission out in style.”
18
Rough-water landings weren’t the only problem though. Yashiro’s sandy beaches quickly fouled the
Seiran
engines and jammed the wing joints, making it difficult to open and close them.
19
Before long the 631st needed to move again.
Takahashi grew increasingly unhappy with the situation. He doubted the ability of their current officers to pull off a raid on the Panama Canal. His skepticism can be viewed either as pragmatic or as characteristically negative; either way it held a kernel of truth. For example, Asamura, the
I-401
’s air group leader, had the necessary seaplane experience but no experience launching from submarines. Yamamoto, Takahashi’s observer, had limited hours in the cockpit and no combat experience.
20
But Takahashi reserved his most withering scorn for the 631st’s executive officer, Lt. Cdr. Masayoshi Fukunaga. As far as Takahashi could tell, Fukunaga had no experience with submarines,
Seiran
, or air combat. Furthermore, Takahashi had never even seen him fly. When Fukunaga didn’t show up for night training, Takahashi began a whispering campaign accusing him of collecting hazardous
duty pay without flying. As far as Takahashi was concerned, Fukunaga was a thief and a coward. How could the 631st expect to succeed with this kind of leadership?
21
Takahashi’s “take no prisoners” attitude was typical of his personality, which was one reason he had difficulty getting along with Asamura. Competitive feelings, bad chemistry, and Asamura’s seniority also played a role—as the Chinese say, two tigers cannot share the same cave. Not even Ariizumi was exempt from the ensign’s harsh assessment. The commander had extensive experience in submarines, but when it came to overseeing an air group, Takahashi felt he was a neophyte.
22
Though not entirely fair (there’d been a floatplane aboard Ariizumi’s
I-8
), nobody had ever commanded anything like the
Sen-toku
squadron. No doubt Takahashi thought he could do it better.
T
HOUGH TRAINING FOR
the Panama Canal attack continued apace, Vice Adm. Jisaburo Ozawa, vice-chief of the Navy General Staff, had other plans for the
Sen-toku
subs. Nicknamed “the Gargoyle,” Ozawa was considered one of the ugliest flag officers in the Imperial Japanese Navy.
23
That didn’t stop him from being creative, and his plans for the
Sen-toku
subs were just that.
Ozawa proposed sending the underwater aircraft carriers to the American west coast, arming their
Seiran
with biological weapons, and unleashing germ warfare against a populous U.S. city.
24
The idea had first surfaced in December 1944, when the
I-400
subs were beginning to deploy. The navy soon took it up, establishing a room in NGS headquarters for planning the operation. But the navy’s biological weapons program was uncooperative,
25
forcing Ozawa to turn to the army for help. Relations between the army and navy were never cordial. Nevertheless, the army appointed Capt. Shirou Hattori to help with the program. The person Hattori turned to for advice was the infamous Dr. Shiro Ishii.
Dr. Ishii was Japan’s top virus expert. He’d commanded the army’s notorious 731 Unit near Harbin, Manchuria. Organized in
1936, the secret laboratory had conducted germ warfare experiments on Chinese and American prisoners, infecting them with various diseases, including cholera and typhus.
26