In his cover letter on the board's findings, Lockwood noted that there was no evidence that the Flier had been “ordered” to enter Midway Channel. Even if such evidence existed, it remained Crowley's responsibility as skipper to exercise his own discretion in safeguarding his vessel. Lockwood further implied that, given the sea conditions, the anchor detail should have been wearing life preservers. Although Lockwood believed that Crowley had “committed an error in judgment,” he found the decision to enter the channel “excusable.” Lockwood concluded, “No further action is recommended nor contemplated.”12
The controversy over the lack of life preservers would have an intriguing postscript. Earl Baumgart later claimed that one of his crewmates had been pressured to testify that the men who went topside had been wearing life preservers. The crewman alluded to was Donald P. Tremaine, a veteran of the Pearl Harbor attack while serving on the USS Maryland. Just who pressured Tremaine to give false testimony is unclear, but Baumgart claimed that Tremaine “was very bitter about the whole incident.”13
Tremaine never appeared before the board, but the testimony of other Flier crewmen was somewhat ambiguous on the issue of life preservers. James Liddell, officer of the deck when the Flier grounded, was questioned at length about the use of life belts. He stated that he did not know whether any of the men in the anchor detail had been wearing them. Although he had given the order, at the captain's direction, to send life belts to the bridge, he could not be sure whether this had been before or after sending the anchor detail on deck. Liddell conceded that as officer of the deck it had been his responsibility to equip the men with life belts, but before the grounding, he had not believed that conditions warranted doing so.14
Ensign Baehr, who had been in charge of the anchor detail, testified that the men had not been wearing life belts. The board also interviewed Kenneth Gwinn, chief torpedoman's mate and part of the anchor detail. Gwinn indicated that although life belts had been available when they first tried to drop the anchor, he “did not figure we would need them.” George Banchero, motor machinist's mate second class, stated that he had not seen any of the men from the anchor party taking life belts.15
This evidence seemed to be contradicted by the testimony of Joseph Lia, torpedoman's mate third class. He told the board that although James Cahl had been wearing a life belt, he was unsure whether it had been inflated. Waite Hoyt Daggy, fireman first class, also testified that he had been wearing a life belt and that they had been handed out when the submarine went aground. He did not know, however, whether Cahl had been wearing one. Under further questioning as to whether life belts had been made available before Cahl and Gerber went overboard, Daggy stated that although there were plenty of life belts to go around, he did not know which men took advantage of them.16
In summary, the evidence suggests a good deal of confusion, but it is not sufficient to indicate an attempted cover-up. There seemed to be a reluctance to wear life preservers not just on the Flier but throughout the navy. In the northern latitudes there was little point, since even a short time in the icy waters meant certain death. More generally, some sailors took the view that donning life belts was tantamount to admitting defeat. Or perhaps their reluctance was simply indicative of a broader fatalism, with many submariners assuming that all would survive or all would be lost. Indeed, many of them doubted that they would make it through the war alive.17
John Crowley thus survived the investigation and would command the Flier another day. His first patrol in the new submarine, however, had come at a high price. One member of his crew was dead, and five men from the USS Macaw lost their lives as an indirect result of the Flier’s grounding.
Eventually the findings and recommendations of the board of investigation would find their way to the secretary of the navy, who approved them on 1 September 1944.18 By that time, the Flier and most of its crew were at the bottom of the sea.
7
Resumed Patrol
The work required to restore the Flier was beyond the scope of the navy yard at Pearl Harbor. After the submarine's starboard shaft and screw were repaired, the Flier limped to Mare Island off San Francisco, arriving on 25 February 1944. It would be more than two months before the Flier was ready to resume duty.1
Workers at the Mare Island shipyard had been recruited from all over the United States to staff continuous shifts that ran seven days a week. The population of adjacent Vallejo had increased fourfold following the attack on Pearl Harbor. Indeed, the population of California grew a staggering 50 percent during the 1940s. Wartime San Francisco became crowded not only with uniformed men but also with their wives, girlfriends, and families, who wanted to remain in close proximity to their loved ones in the military.2
For many submariners with rural or small-town backgrounds, San Francisco was a much more cosmopolitan and vibrant environment than they were accustomed to. New recruit George R. Wells recalled being shocked when the stage performers in a San Francisco nightclub turned out to be men in drag.3 Calvin Moon, sent to California for training, characterized liberty in San Francisco as being “pretty great.” He remembered, “We had a favorite bar and a restaurant we went to all the time. Met lots of girls, went to a lot of dances.”4 Service clubs and canteens proliferated, sponsored by such agencies as the United Service Organizations and American Women's Voluntary Services.
While in San Francisco, John Crowley kept a close eye on the Flier’s progress at the navy yard. More so than other ship captains, submarine commanders carefully monitored the quality of any repairs or alterations made to their vessels.5 During the Flier’s repair, Crowley and executive officer Benjamin Adams had what writer Clay Blair describes as an “irreconcilable dispute.”6 Adams, originally from Wilmington, North Carolina, had gained a reputation at the Naval Academy for his sense of humor and for being a ladies’ man. According to one crew member, the problem was that Adams “was not willing to work.”7 In the end, Adams was transferred to the Albacore, commanded by Jim Blanchard. The Albacore was in San Francisco for an overhaul at the time, and its executive officer, Ralph Loach, was being reassigned to a new submarine. In January 1945 Adams would be given command of the Rasher for its sixth patrol.
On the Flier, James Liddell took Adams's place as executive officer. Liddell, originally from Pennsylvania, had been an all-American football player at Northwestern University in Illinois. Also joining the Flier’s wardroom at Mare Island was Ensign Alvin E. Jacobson Jr. Born and raised in Grand Haven on Lake Michigan, he found San Francisco “a great party town.”8 Growing up near the water, Jacobson had become involved in sailboat racing at a young age. Later he attended the University of Michigan at Ann Arbor, completing a degree in mechanical engineering. While at the university he joined the naval reserve officer training program and was commissioned an ensign on graduation. After volunteering for submarine duty, he attended the Submarine School at New London for three months. From there he was sent to Mare Island and reported to the Flier on 15 April. Jacobson became the submarine's youngest officer.
After returning to Pearl Harbor on 8 May 1944, the Flier spent two weeks in training before resuming its first war patrol on 21 May. Not surprisingly, in later accounts Crowley rarely mentioned the initial phase of the patrol and its disastrous interruption at Midway. This time the Flier refueled at Johnston Island, some 720 miles southwest of Pearl Harbor. The crew then set course to patrol the Philippine waters west of Luzon, terminating at Fremantle, Western Australia.
The Southwest Pacific
Crowley no doubt felt pressure to have a successful patrol. A cash prize of $15 and a quart of Old Taylor bourbon were offered to the first lookout that spotted an enemy target. Typically the Flier kept four lookouts on the bridge, both day and night. On the surface there was a continuous high periscope watch; when submerged they generally ran at periscope depth, checking the surface at least every ten minutes. There was also a continuous watch on sound and radar. The Flier’s officers considered themselves lucky to have a good
radar operator who was usually able to detect the size of a ship from the radar pip.9
The first sighting of the enemy came on 4 June, when the crew picked up a convoy (designated 375) west of the Bonin Islands, traveling from the Marianas to Japan. The Flier started to pursue the convoy on the surface under a bright moon. Crowley dived the boat when it looked like the convoy was changing course, but this proved to be a mistake, and they lost contact. The Flier resurfaced and tried to make an end-around maneuver for an attack. The standard strategy for U.S. submarines was to race ahead of a potential target on the surface and then dive for a torpedo attack once a favorable position had been obtained. The Flier managed to catch up with the convoy southwest of Iwo Jima just as day broke at about 5:00 A.M. Finding its way between the columns of the convoy, the Flier lined up two targets and then fired two spreads of three torpedoes each. There were three hits. When last seen, one of the ships was billowing smoke amidships, and the other appeared to be stalled in the water.10
As the Flier swung to fire its stern tubes, the crew discovered that a ship was bearing down and attempting to ram them. Crowley ordered the submarine deep. In the ensuing attack a total of thirty-four depth charges, believed to originate from four different Japanese escort ships, were directed at the Flier. On the surface the exploding depth charges threw up massive columns of water. Below the surface the Flier went to silent running and remained in one position. Everything was switched to hand controls as mechanical devices were shut down, and minimal lighting was used to conserve battery power. With the air-conditioning shut off, the heat in the submarine quickly became stifling. Alvin Jacobson recalled that he stripped off most of his clothes and sat in the dark.11
Submarines were vulnerable to innumerable faults and accidents, but the direct assault of a depth charge attack was what crews feared most. Various attempts had been made to capture the experience in words. One submariner compared the shock wave from a depth charge to tons of gravel being thrown against the hull. Another described the experience as like being in a garbage can while it was beaten with a club. It is possible that the crew of the Flier had experienced an “indoctrinatory” depth charge as part of their training at Pearl Harbor.12 It is doubtful, however, that this soothed their nerves when they faced the real thing.
When the Flier surfaced three hours later, there were still antisubmarine vessels in the vicinity. Although the rest of the convoy had escaped, there was ample evidence of the damage inflicted by the Flier before it went deep. When they passed through the area the next morning, the men saw lots of debris and recovered two Japanese life buoys as souvenirs. They also retrieved some documents from a lifeboat. The successful attack was a huge shot in the arm for the crew's morale. It also lifted Crowley's status. As one German U-boat officer explained, “Every hit you scored was a kind of vindication of yourself to the crew.”13
One of the ships torpedoed and later confirmed sunk was the 10,380-ton transport Hakusan Maru. Built in Japan in 1923, the ship had originally been designed as a first-class liner with a total capacity of 375 passengers and crew. The Hakusan Maru had plied the route between Yokohama and Hamburg before becoming a Japanese troop transport. Coincidentally, it had carried 550 troops as part of the Japanese invasion of Kiska while Crowley was commanding the S-28 in the Aleutians.14
On 13 June the Flier encountered another Japanese convoy hugging the west coast of Luzon. The eleven ships were being protected by at least half a dozen escorts. Only half a mile from shore, the convoy was protected by the shallow waters and presented a difficult target. In addition, it was midafternoon, and any approach was made more difficult by a smooth sea and a clear, sunny sky. Despite these handicaps, the Flier managed to work its way inside the escorts and between the columns of ships. The submarine fired its four stern tubes at a medium-sized tanker estimated to be 10,000 tons. The crew heard two timed hits, and according to Crowley, the ship “exploded violently.”15 The fate of the tanker, the 5,135-ton Marifu Maru, is unclear. Although it was almost certainly damaged by the Flier’s attack, postwar investigations attributed its sinking to aircraft from the carrier Ticonderoga on 6 November 1944.16
Before the submarine could set up on another target, the periscope was ducked underwater owing to a misunderstood order to the diving officer. The Flier continued to dive, however, since the instruments were picking up the sound of Japanese escorts converging from all directions. At this critical juncture, the power on the stern planes failed, causing “a few bad moments,” as the patrol report nonchalantly phrased it.17 Fortunately, the men were able to correct the angle of the boat manually as depth charges rained down.
The depth charges continued for two hours, and the crew would eventually count at least 105 explosions. It was the most severe attack the submarine had experienced, and it may have involved more than six antisubmarine craft. Trapped in a stretch of water less than a mile wide between the convoy and the shore, the Flier had only limited room to maneuver. The crew constantly changed course and speed in an attempt to evade the escorts. In the relatively shallow water, external noises were eerily magnified. At one point the crew could hear the propeller noises of a ship running the entire length of the Flier’s hull.18 Luckily for the Flier, most of the depth charges were set too shallow to do serious damage. James Liddell later described the conduct of the crew during the attack as “very good.”19 Continuing underwater at two-thirds speed, the Flier eventually left the escorts behind.
At sunset the Flier surfaced and ran along the coast in an attempt to make contact with the convoy again. The submarine reached the entrance to Subic Bay without sighting the ships and then headed out to sea. Contrary to the crew's expectations, however, the convoy had also turned seaward. Although the Flier tried another approach on the convoy, its efforts were frustrated by air coverage, and the Japanese ships managed to reach Manila unmolested.
The Flier spent the next several days off Manila, close enough to see the shoreline at Bataan and Corregidor. On 21 June the crew received orders to try to intercept a portion of the Japanese fleet spotted leaving Tawi Tawi. Before the war, the island of Tawi Tawi in the Sulu Archipelago had served as a base for the U.S. Asiatic Fleet. It later became a major base for the Imperial Japanese Navy, owing to its proximity to crude oil supplies from Tarakan on Borneo.20
Unknown to the Flier crew, they were on the periphery of one of the great naval engagements of the war. The United States was planning an attack (code-named Operation Forager) on the Mariana Islands, beginning with Saipan. In the lead-up to the operation, U.S. submarines helped cut off Japanese supplies and troops. Following the attack on Saipan on 16 June, the Japanese counteroffensive developed into the Battle of the Philippine Sea. Like the earlier Battle of Midway, this Allied victory proved to be one of the turning points of the war. The Japanese fleet lost hundreds of irreplaceable aircraft and aviators. With the capture of Saipan, the Japanese home islands came within range of both propaganda radio broadcasts and American bombers. For the first time, many Japanese began to accept the reality of their inevitable defeat.21
On 22 June, just before sunset, the Flier encountered yet another convoy heading north in Mindoro Strait. Crowley let the ships roar by while the Flier remained submerged. After nightfall, on what Crowley later described as “a beautifully dark, clear night,” the submarine surfaced and gave chase.22 When the Flier caught up with the convoy west of Mindoro, the crew estimated that it included seven to nine ships with at least six escorts. The Flier fired six torpedoes from the bow tubes at the first two ships in the nearest column. Crowley recorded seeing two torpedoes hit the first ship aft and a third torpedo hit the second target. As junior officer of the deck, Ensign Alvin Jacobson watched the action from the after-cigarette deck. He saw two huge geysers of water shoot up from the first ship, described as a large freighter. Another geyser erupted from a second freighter, and he heard another torpedo explosion.23 Both ships dropped out of the convoy and headed toward land. One of the ships disappeared from th
e Flier’s radar, leading to the optimistic speculation that it sank.
Although there were many Japanese escorts, most appeared to be small patrol boats, and they failed to spot the submarine. The escorts began to drop depth charges indiscriminately, which the Flier easily evaded while still on the surface. The Flier’s crew reloaded the forward torpedo tubes and began another attack forty-five minutes later, shortly after midnight. They fired four torpedoes at a medium-sized freighter. Three explosions followed, and Crowley observed two of the torpedoes hit the target. The freighter was smoking badly and began to sink at the stern, as the other ships in the convoy sailed past it.
The Flier was down to its last four stern torpedoes. After again evading the Japanese escorts, the submarine made another approach. The radar indicated a crippled ship, believed to have been damaged in the first attack, dead in the water about three miles from the shore. The Flier headed toward the ship, intending to finish it off, but this time the escorts kept the sub at bay. Nevertheless, the sound crew later reported the distinctive noises of a ship breaking up, which they assumed was the crippled ship sinking. With three ships sunk or damaged, it had been a good night's work. James Liddell later reflected on that night of action as his “most exciting and most satisfying war experience.”24 Japanese records, however, indicated that the Flier had torpedoed only one ship in the attack, resulting in moderate damage to the 5,838-ton army cargo ship Belgium Maru.25
After reporting the results of its work to the task force commander, the Flier was ordered to proceed to Fremantle. To celebrate heading in, the men feasted on their remaining provisions of meat, fresh vegetables, and strawberry shortcake.26 This would be a far different “homecoming” than the one following the first phase of the patrol. The Flier was credited with sinking four freighters, for a total of 19,500 tons. It was also credited with damaging an additional freighter and tanker, totaling 13,500 tons.27 That was a successful patrol by anyone's standards, and Rear Admiral Ralph Christie, commander of submarines in the Southwest Pacific, wrote a glowing endorsement. Christie complimented the submarine's “excellent area coverage” and noted that “in spite of intensive counter-measures, Flier successfully completed four aggressive and skilful attacks.” A second patrol endorsement by H. H. McLean, commander of Submarine Squadron Sixteen, also used the magic word aggressive.28 This would have been music to any skipper's ears, but given the grounding at Midway and Crowley's lack of success with the S-28, such praise must have boosted his confidence enormously.
The USS Flier Page 5