Read War Stories II Online

Authors: Oliver L. North

War Stories II (4 page)

SIGNALMAN KICHIJI DEWA
Aboard Submarine
Chiyoda
6 December 1941
2210 Hours Local
We were the chosen ones among the chosen. We had realized the importance of our mission, so despite the kind of work we were doing, there was not much dreading. We were gradually making progress in training for the port and harbor assault.
When I went on the
Chiyoda
, I did a lot of training and learned many spiritual lessons [as] the “chosen ones among the chosen.” It was maybe two months after I went on the
Chiyoda
that I really started to become aware of my status as a crew member of the SPS. I felt that we were working on something really important.
During training they created what is called “port and harbor assault.” The strategy was that when SPSs encountered enemy warships, the first thing they tried to do was lessen the numbers of warships, battleships, and troops—to decrease the enemy military units. The SPS was to be used for this “reduction of enemy forces” plan.
While we were submerged, we devoted ourselves to sleep. When we surfaced at night, we maintained the ship. Our major duties were charging the batteries and ventilation. Since we carry large batteries, if we leave the hatch closed all day long, a lot of gas gets generated. And if the motor is turned on with that generated gas, it can spark and blow up. Someone actually died from an explosion, so we were constantly careful about that. Otherwise, it was cleaning the ship. Bilge, filthy water, would accumulate. We can't just leave it, especially in places like the motor room.
After we loaded the SPS on the mother submarine and sailed, it was officially announced by the captain that our target was Pearl Harbor.
I heard that the upper staff officers weren't going to grant permission [for the mission] unless there were arrangements for the crew members to return alive, but I don't think the commanding officer, Lieutenant Commander Masaji Yokoyama, expected to return alive. He used to say, “There is a saying, ‘Kill the small insect to get the big insect.'”
Basically, even if they were to succeed with the assault and return, the U.S. was no doubt going to track us down, and once they did, the existence of the mother ship would be discovered, and if it were attacked, we would lose everything. So it would be for the best if just the two in the SPS died. That was our way of thinking. I don't think anyone expected to come back.
When they were leaving, they were dressed in the uniforms that airplane pilots wore. They took their Japanese sword and food we prepared for them.
On the night of 6 December, I was in charge of the phone connecting the [mother] ship and the SPS. I was talking about maintenance and ordinary things. On the other end, Lieutenant Commander Masaji Yokoyama, the commanding officer of the SPS, spoke, thanked us for the job well done, and things like that. Both of us were matter-of-fact. It was just an ordinary conversation. We weren't really thinking about death. We were only thinking about carrying out our duties properly.
PACIFIC OCEAN
ONE MILE SOUTH OF OAHU
SUNDAY, 7 DECEMBER 1941
0245 HOURS LOCAL
Once released from their “mother subs,” the skippers of the midget subs tried to find a way into the harbor so they'd be in place around Ford Island when the aerial attack started.
The crews of the midget subs could see the lights of Honolulu through their periscopes and hear big-band jazz music coming from the local radio stations—the same ones whose signals had guided the mother subs to the release point ten miles from the harbor mouth. Getting this far had been relatively easy. Slipping undetected through the anti-submarine net into the anchorage behind or beneath one of the American ships as it entered the harbor presented a much more formidable challenge.
The commander of the five-sub Special Attack Unit, twenty-nine-year-old Lieutenant Commander Naoji Iwasa, had been a Japanese test pilot. He had trained the other nine men and emphasized the importance and seriousness of their task. He hadn't exactly said that theirs was a suicide mission, but none doubted that it was. “No one intends for us to come back,” Iwasa had told his men. Iwasa, the skipper of the mother ship I-22, was also skipper of the SPS I-22
TOU
. Iwasa was the oldest of all the crew members, and his crewman was Naokichi Sasaki, an expert kendo swordsman.
Lieutenant Commander Masaji Yokoyama, the skipper of SPS I-16
TOU
, was assisted by Petty Officer Sadamu Uyeda, a quiet mountain boy.
Skipper Shigemi Furuno of SPS I-18
TOU
had told his parents that he couldn't get married because he had to be ready to die at any moment. His crewman was Petty Officer Shigenori Yokoyama.
Ensign Akira Hiro-o, the skipper of SPS I-20
TOU
, at twenty-two years old, was the youngest of the midget submariners. Petty Officer Yoshio Katayama, a farm boy, was his crewman and engineer.
Ensign Kazuo Sakamaki was the skipper of SPS I-24
TOU
, along with crewman Chief Warrant Officer Kiyoshi Inagaki.
At 0342 hours, the minesweeper USS
Condor
, on patrol just outside the harbor entrance, sighted what appeared to be a submarine periscope following in the wake of the USS
Antares
as she steamed slowly toward the harbor, waiting for the submarine net to drop at dawn so she could enter. The crew of the
Condor
immediately broadcast a warning over the radio: “SIGHTED SUBMARINE ON WESTERLY COURSE SPEED FIVE KNOTS.” Alerted by the
Condor
, the crew of the
Antares
also spotted the sub and repeated the message. The calls were heard by a PBY reconnaissance aircraft overhead and by the USS
Ward
, an ancient four-stack destroyer manned by Navy Reservists from the upper Midwest under a brand new captain, Commander William Outerbridge.
Aboard the
Ward
, Fireman First Class Ken Swedberg, a fresh-faced Navy Reservist from St. Paul, Minnesota, was at his “general quarters” battle station within seconds of the alert. As he peered into the darkness, his first thought was that it had to be one of Hitler's submarines.
FIREMAN FIRST CLASS KEN SWEDBERG, USN
Aboard USS
Ward
, Pearl Harbor
7 December 1941
0630 Hours Local
I was a Fireman First Class, which meant I was normally in the boiler rooms. This is what I was trained for. But my job for “general quarters”
was topside, up on deck, assigned to a World War I balloon gun designed to shoot down dirigibles.
About one o'clock Saturday afternoon, 6 December, the captain called a “general quarters” drill to test his reserve crew. This was his first drill, and I think he was very wise to do that, as it later proved. We went to battle stations and I manned my three-inch gun up on the bow, right below our main battery, the number-one four-inch gun. We went through our drills and the captain was pleased, so we went back to our regular watches.
There was a wire mesh net that was drawn across the harbor entrance at dusk. It normally wouldn't open again until dawn. At night we'd make lazy figure eights outside the harbor entrance, sounding with our relatively new sonar. At 3:45 AM on the morning of 7 December, one of the minesweepers, the USS
Condor
, sighted what they thought was a periscope. We went to “general quarters,” raced over there, and searched for about an hour, but found nothing. And so then we went back on our patrol.
At daybreak, about six-thirty, just as the harbor was coming alive, the USS
Antares
was standing off, waiting for the net to open so they could enter Pearl Harbor. And in the wake of the
Antares
we spotted this sub conning tower, about four feet out of the water, following the
Antares
, obviously intending to follow the supply ship into the harbor. We went to “general quarters” immediately, and as we raced over to it, a PBY overhead dropped a smoke bomb to mark the position for us. As I manned my gun on the bow, I could see we were coming up pretty fast.
I've got a front-row seat. As we approached it, it looked as though we were on a collision course. Everybody was starting to brace themselves. But at the last minute, the captain veered to port. When he did, the starboard, or right side, raised up a little. Our naval guns could not depress down that far, so when we fired, the first shell, from number-one four-inch gun, went over the conning tower.
By now we were almost parallel to the sub, and number-three gun on top of the galley deck, on the starboard side, trained on it and fired. We were so close that the fuse didn't travel far enough to arm, but the projectile
put a hole right through the conning tower. It was a relatively small hole, but the sub took on water and started to sink. Obviously it filled up with water pretty quick.
We thought it was a German U-boat and released four depth charges set for a hundred feet. With the added weight of the water she had taken on, the sub lost her buoyancy and she settled like a rock—in twelve hundred feet of water.
We stayed at “general quarters,” and the captain gave the order to break out the Springfield rifles. About an hour or so later, two planes came at us from inside the harbor and we could see the “meatballs,” the red suns, painted on their wings. Our new anti-aircraft guns fired at the planes, and that's really what saved us, because they broke off their attack. We got a splash on one side, a splash on the other side. And that was as close as we came to getting any hits.
By 8:15, we could see the smoke and explosions ashore. About that time the captain told us that he had received a radio message that “this is no drill.”

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