The War Below

by James Scott

  But the Butcher’s neck would never swing at the end of a rope. Kitamura’s file would soon swell with the impassioned pleas of his family to spare his life, including a letter Kitamura’s mother wrote to the wife of General Douglas MacArthur, begging her to intervene. Sixteen months after Kitamura was sentenced to hang, MacArthur signed an order commuting his sentence to thirty years of hard labor. Commutations and clemencies soon followed as former guards and others walked free. December 1958 would see the release of the last Japanese war criminals. None served more than thirteen years. The rise of the Cold War had changed the geopolitical equation. America needed Japan as an ally, a check to help balance the power of the Soviet Union and China.

  Postwar records would show that Tang had destroyed a confirmed twenty-four Japanese ships, earning two Presidential Unit Citations and O’Kane the title of the war’s top skipper. Only the submarine Tautog sank more, putting twenty-six enemy warships and merchantmen on the bottom. But that was the work of three skippers spread out over three years. O’Kane had done it in just nine months. Silversides sank just one ship fewer than Tang, making it the third highest-performing submarine of the war. Creed Burlingame and Jack Coye accounted for twenty-two of the Silver Lady’s twenty-three victims; Coye sank fourteen to Burlingame’s eight. Drum destroyed fifteen ships. These three submarines sank a confirmed sixty-two freighters, tankers, and transports for a total of 264,484 tons, the equivalent tonnage of more than seven Essex class aircraft carriers.

  Engineers, welders, and electricians at shipyards from Maine and Connecticut to Wisconsin and California had hammered out new submarines week after week, month after month, year after year, displaying the awesome industrial might that Admiral Yamamoto had so feared. The United States had begun the war that Sunday morning in December 1941 with just fifty-one submarines in the Pacific—tasked to cover more than eight million square miles—but would count 182 on duty when the Navy broadcast the cease-fire order 1,347 days later, the majority of them modern fleet boats designed to take the fight to the enemy’s shores. All told some 288 submarines served in the war, skippered by a small club of just 465 officers, a diverse group of men like O’Kane, Coye, and Rindskopf. The thirty-two patrols of Silversides, Drum, and Tang totaled just 2 percent of the 1,570 war patrols submarines made in the Pacific, patrols that covered some 16.5 million miles, a quarter of that submerged.

  American submarines over the course of the war attacked some 4,112 merchant ships, firing 14,748 torpedoes from the Aleutians to the Solomons to Japan’s home island waters. A postwar comparison of American and Japanese records revealed that U.S. submarines sank 1,113 of those ships with a tonnage of 4,779,902. The undersea boats destroyed another 201 warships with a total tonnage of 540,192, including one battleship, eight carriers, and eleven cruisers. Authorities listed dozens of other merchant and warship losses as the probable victims of American submarines. Merchant ship crews suffered gravely, particularly those who worked aboard Japan’s more modern fleet of steel ships that steamed to the far corners of the vast empire. Japan had counted at the start of the war some 16,000 officers and 60,000 crew in its highly trained and efficient merchant fleet. The submarine war would claim the lives of 16,200 of those sailors and leave another 53,400 wounded, ill, or marooned.

  But the United States also paid a steep price. America lost fifty-two submarines, or almost one out of every five boats. The Japanese plucked 196 sailors from just seven of the lost submarines, tossing some back into the water, executing a few others, and marching the rest off to wretched prison camps. Only 158 of those starved and tortured souls would come home. Of the 16,000 sailors who served on submarines, the war claimed 374 officers and 3,131 enlisted men. The casualty rate among submariners not only topped all military branches, but proved a staggering six times higher than the surface Navy. In comparison to the enemy, however, America’s losses seemed limited. The Italians lost eighty-five submarines, the Japanese 130, and the Germans 781.

  Japan’s dependence on shipping had proven the Achilles’ heel of the nation’s war machine, a critical vulnerability that had allowed America to ravage an empire that had once dominated one tenth of the world. Each ship torn apart by torpedoes ferried cargoes of rubber and bauxite, oil and coal to the muddy seafloor. The sweltering summer heat and rains rotted loads of cereals that piled up on Korean docks. The desperate Japanese in the end tried to make butter from silkworms as the starving populace ate chaff, acorns, and even sawdust. Antigovernment and antimilitary graffiti covered buildings and fights broke out over the tattered belongings of enemy prisoners of war. The fabric of Japanese society began to unravel. “The war against shipping,” the United States Strategic Bombing Survey concluded, “was perhaps the most decisive single factor in the collapse of the Japanese economy and the logistic support of the Japanese military and naval power.”

  Japanese military leaders, who had rehearsed for possible war against the United States more than a decade before Pearl Harbor, had failed to anticipate and guard against a war on the nation’s shipping. Even after American submarines began to destroy merchant ships, Japan proved slow to organize a convoy system. The resulting effort, handicapped by inferior antisubmarine equipment and a belated effort to arm merchant ships, was destined to fail. The American submarine service, which benefited from the breaking of Japan’s maru code, continued to decimate the nation’s merchant fleet. Blinded by an outdated desire to fight decisive sea battles, Japanese leaders failed to grasp the danger of America’s submarines. “It must be stated as a fact that the results obtained by your submarines against our naval craft and against our shipping far exceeded anything we had expected,” Vice Admiral Shigeru Fukudome later told interrogators. “It served to weaken our fighting strength and to speed up the termination of hostilities.”

  But the United States wrestled with its own struggles. Though engineers had designed the perfect submarine for a commerce war, the Navy had failed to adapt its tactics for just such a fight, in part because the United States adhered to treaty provisions that forbade unrestricted submarine warfare. Many skippers who had trained during peacetime, like Pinky Kennedy, proved too timid in combat, failing to maximize a submarine’s inherent strengths. Valuable merchant and naval targets escaped in those early months, a time when many Japanese ships steamed unescorted, easy prey for submarines. One of the greatest problems, however, was torpedo failures. The battle between the leaders of the submarine service, who were convinced the weapon was faulty, and the officers in the Bureau of Ordnance, who wanted to blame the skippers as bad shots, only demoralized the undersea service, led talented skippers to quit as skippers, and delayed the search for a remedy. “The torpedo scandal of the U.S. submarine force in World War II,” wrote historian Clay Blair, Jr., “was one of the worst in the history of any kind of warfare.”

  But those problems now drifted into the past. The president this afternoon in Washington prepared instead to celebrate O’Kane’s success, one of only seven submariners in the war to receive the Medal of Honor. O’Kane saluted as Truman read the citation for his medal, describing the final actions that would wreak havoc on the Japanese and ultimately claim his submarine and most of his men. The president then placed the five-pointed star around the skipper’s neck. “The Medal of Honor,” O’Kane would later write, “represents great success my crew and I had in the midst of horrendous warfare.” Truman captured the beliefs of many in his remarks. “This, in my opinion, is the most pleasant and the most honorable job that a President of the United States has to do, to pin the medals on the heroes who have made the country great,” he told attendees. “I have said it time and again, and I will keep on saying it, that I would rather have a Medal of Honor than be President of the United States.”

  Silversides slices through the waves off California’s Mare Island Navy Yard on August 21, 1944. U.S. Navy

  Silversides sailors rush to reload and fire the deck gun during a surface battle while on patrol in 1942. U.S. Navy

 
A Japanese picket vessel, a victim of Silversides, burns in 1942, as viewed through the submarine’s periscope. U.S. Navy

  Pharmacist’s Mate 1st Class Thomas Moore removes Petty Officer 3rd Class George Platter’s appendix on Silverside’s wardroom table in an emergency surgery at sea on December 22–23, 1942. U.S. Navy

  Petty Officer 1st Class Cornell Scanlan, Seaman 1st Class Thomas Burke, Petty Officer 2nd Class Robert Vehmeier, and Chief Petty Officer Floyd Hoaglin play records in the crew’s mess. U.S. Navy

  Silversides skippers Jack Coye (left) and Creed Burlingame. The two skippers combined sank twenty-two confirmed ships. Photo courtesy of John Bienia

  Lieutenant Eugene Malone stands watch on the bridge as Silversides departs for its tenth war patrol. U.S. Navy

  Silversides officers on the seventh patrol. Top row, left to right: Lieutenant Tom Keegan, Lieutenant Bob Worthington, and Ensign Andrew Smiley. Bottom row: Lieutenant John Bienia, Lieutenant Keith Nichols, Lieutenant Commander Jack Coye, Lieutenant Commander Cyrus Cole, and Lieutenant j.g. Eugene Malone. U.S. Navy

  Drum officers and crew display a life ring from the freighter Oyama Maru, sunk on Drum’s fifth patrol, after Drum’s return to port on May 13, 1943. Top row, left to right: Chief Petty Officer Dock Eller, Lieutenant Mike Rindskopf, Lieutenant John Harper, Chief Petty Officer Audly Crowe, and Chief Petty Officer Kenneth Armstrong. Bottom row: Chief Petty Officer Joseph Ryan, Petty Officer 1st Class Donald Vaughn, Petty Officer 2nd Class Jack Rich, and Petty Officer 1st Class Clarence Pyle. National Archives

  Enemy sailors, victims of an attack by Drum, cling to debris. National Archives

  Executive officer Lieutenant Dick O’Kane (left) chats on the bridge of Wahoo with his friend and mentor, Lieutenant Commander Dudley “Mush” Morton, around February 1943. U.S. Navy

  Wahoo sends the cargo ship Nittsu Maru to the bottom on March 21, 1943. U.S. Navy

  Downed aviators crowd the wings of Lieutenant j.g. John Burns’s Kingfisher floatplane off Truk on May 1, 1944. National Archives

  Tang sailors would rescue a total of twenty-two downed aviators off the Japanese stronghold of Truk on April 30 and May 1. U.S. Navy

  Emaciated prisoners of war, many of whom suffered malnutrition and nutritional diseases, gather belongings and prepare to depart prisoner of war camp Omori. National Archives

  Excited Allied POWs at camp Omori greet American rescuers on August 29, 1945. U.S. Navy

  President Harry Truman congratulates Tang skipper Dick O’Kane on the White House lawn following his presentation of the Medal of Honor on March 27, 1946. U.S. Navy

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Only through the tremendous help provided by scores of veterans and family members—many of whom sat for hours of interviews and provided me with letters, diaries, and personal writings—was I able to research and write the stories of Silversides, Drum, and Tang. To tell the tale of Silversides I am indebted to Patrick Carswell, Albert Stegall, Howard Calver, Jerry Bocian, Charles Swendsen, Tom Ross, Roland Fournier, Jack Flebbe, Joe Allison, Willis Chandler, James Allen, John Schumer, Owen Mehringer, John Bienia, Barbara Smith, Bob Clark, Mike Dowell, Robin Worthington, Robert Worthington, Anson Burlingame, John Burlingame, Paul Burlingame, Bonnie Byhre, Beth Coye, John Coye, Miriam Malone, Jane McFarren, and Gene Malone, Jr. My friend and former journalism colleague Fred Tannenbaum, who worked as a docent on the Silver Lady years ago, shared scores of photographs from his personal collection as well as the personal letters he exchanged over the years with officers from Silversides. I want to thank Fred as well for his thoughtful review of the manuscript. The late Gene Malone went above and beyond, graciously giving of his time through countless hours of interviews, phone calls, and e-mails as well as his poring over various drafts of the manuscript to improve its accuracy. Gene sadly passed away in February 2012; he was a rare gem of a man whom I count lucky to have called a friend.

  I likewise owe a tremendous debt to the veterans and family members of those who served on Drum, including Dave Schmidt, Verner Utke-Ramsing, Phillip Williamson, James Eubanks, Eugene Pridonoff, Al Galas, Gerard DeRosa, Joe Ireland, Bob White, Bill Lister, Ralph McFadden, George Schaedler, Wayne Green, Norman Style, Hubert Wheeler, Sammy Kess, Ron and Regina Thibideau, John Meyer, Donald Kronholm, Melvin Etheridge, Rosamond Rice, Elizabeth Rindskopf Parker, Amy Rindskopf, Bernard McMahon, Ferrall Dietrich, and Craig Dye. I owe a special thanks to the late Admiral Mike Rindskopf, the young junior officer who over the course of the war rose to become Drum’s skipper. Admiral Rindskopf not only sat for hours of interviews and provided me with volumes of personal records, but graciously reviewed chapters of the manuscript for accuracy before his passing in July 2011. He was a joy to work with and I consider it a privilege and honor to share his story. I also wish to extend my appreciation to Tang veterans and family members Bill Leibold, Floyd Caverly, Jim O’Kane, Barbara Lane, Barbara Siegfried, and Skip Frazee, all of whom proved invaluable in helping me tell the story of that ill-fated boat. I want to add a special thanks to Bill Leibold, who generously shared with me his time and personal records as well as tirelessly edited the manuscript and offered invaluable insight and corrections. Others who provided me important assistance to tell these stories include Aubrey Gill, Charles Sullivan, Bob Gerle, Paul Crozier, Michael Dolder, Jerry Landrum, Duane Stofan, Janice Cox, Wayne Dow, Calvin Graef, and Charles Overbeck.

  I am indebted to an army of archivists and researchers who assisted me over the years. Those include Denise Herzhaft and Paul Garzelloni with the USS Silversides Submarine Museum, who were a tremendous help in telling the story of that great boat. Likewise, Tom Bowser and Lesley Waters at Battleship Memorial Park, who have done an amazing job restoring Drum, hosted me for several days, giving me one of the best tours anyone could hope for of a diesel boat. I am also indebted to Tom for his careful review of this manuscript for errors. I want to thank Charles Hinman at the USS Bowfin Submarine Museum in Honolulu and the Navy’s Christy Hagen and Josh Thompson, who graciously welcomed me for a visit and tour of the Pearl Harbor submarine base. Others I owe thanks to include Nate Patch at the National Archives; Dave Winkler with the Naval Historical Foundation; the Bureau of Medicine and Surgery’s André Sobocinski; Evelyn Cherpak at the Naval War College; the Naval Academy’s Jennifer Bryan; Stephen Moore, author of the terrific book Presumed Lost; and historian Bruce Gamble, who wrote the excellent book Black Sheep One; my good friend Tim Frank; and John Hodges with the Naval History and Heritage Command; the Navy Department Library’s Davis Elliott; Nathan Matlock at the Regis University Center for the Study of War Experience; the Australian War Memorial’s Jane Robertson; and Mary Ames Booker and Kim Robinson Sincox with the Battleship North Carolina Memorial and Museum. Few people know their way around the prisoner of war records at the National Archives better than Katie Rasdorf.

  Writing a book is never easy. I am indebted as always to my great friend Craig Welch, a fantastic journalist and author who pored over countless drafts to help me shape the manuscript. I also want to extend my sincere appreciation to John Alden, an unrivaled World War II submarine expert and author who graciously reviewed the manuscript for accuracy. I owe a tremendous debt to my wonderful agent Wendy Strothman, a tireless advocate for her writers. I also want to thank my terrific editor at Simon & Schuster, Bob Bender, who has been an absolute joy to work with these past five years, as well as the always patient and helpful associate editor Johanna Li. Thanks as well go to Fred Chase for the manuscript’s excellent copyediting and Simon & Schuster’s superb marketing and publicity departments. Last but certainly not least, I want to thank my amazing wife, Carmen Scott, who not only served as my sounding board, but an invaluable editor and critic. I am especially grateful to her and our two wonderful children, Isa and Grigs, for the support and encouragement needed to tell this tale.

  AUTHOR PHOTOGRAPH BY TIM KERR

  JAMES SCOTT is a former investigative reporter with The Post and Courier in Charleston, South Carolina. A 2007 Nieman Fello
w for Journalism at Harvard University, Scott is the author of The Attack on the Liberty, which won the prestigious Samuel Eliot Morison Award. He lives in Charleston, South Carolina.

  Visit the author at www.jamesmscott.com

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