by Don Keith
In the case of the Silversides, the captain simply ordered it fired again as he sent the boat “emergency back.” He wanted to get away from the device as quickly as possible if they could ever get the thing launched.
It worked. The torpedo was flushed from its tube with no damage to its mother ship. Only to the nerves of her crew.
Creed Burlingame is still recognized as one of the real characters of World War II. His bravado and good humor—not to mention his exploits while on liberty—made him a favorite with his crew members. And, of course, his success against the enemy earned him the respect of his superiors. Much to the chagrin of his straight-and-narrow executive officer, Roy Davenport, Burlingame kept a small Buddha statue that his crew members had given him close at hand as he peered through the periscope. He always rubbed the statue’s belly before launching an attack. He said it was for good luck. Most of the crew figured he did it just to gig his XO.
Davenport did not let his skipper bother him. He went on to command two submarines of his own, taking them on a total of six very successful war patrols. He earned five Navy Crosses for those runs, more than any other submarine skipper in the war. Except for those who were awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor, Davenport became the most decorated submariner of World War II.
After his final patrol, Davenport asked to be assigned to shore duty. He was sent back to Annapolis to teach marine engineering.
After the war, the Silversides became a training vessel for naval reservists, based on Lake Michigan at Chicago. When her duty there was done, she was struck from the Naval Vessel Register in June of 1969. She had someone waiting to adopt her. The chamber of commerce of South Chicago applied for custody of the boat and docked her at the Navy Pier. There she served as a memorial to veterans and, hopefully, a tourist attraction.
In 1973, the Silversides was moved across Lake Michigan to become part of what is now the Great Lakes Naval Memorial and Museum at Muskegon, Michigan. Also at the memorial is the Coast Guard cutter USCGC McLane (WSC-146), which has been berthed near the submarine since 1993. She is still undergoing restoration. That vessel’s service included chasing down bootleggers on the Great Lakes during the Prohibition era and patrolling the frigid Bering Sea during World War II.
The Silversides has been designated a National Historic Landmark.
For years, volunteers cared for the vessel from the waterline up, but now nature has taken her toll. In the past few years, it was determined that she needed her bottom sandblasted and repainted with a protective coating, and that operation would require that she be moved to a dry dock, more than fifty years since the last time she was in a dry dock for maintenance. In 2004 the museum and two different submarine veterans’ groups formed a “Save the Silversides” fund to raise money to take care of the maintenance that the historic vessel required.
Visitors should be sure to look for the bronze plaque on the Silversides’ deck, a memorial in remembrance of Torpedoman Third Class Michael Harbin, the young sailor killed on the boat’s first patrol.
As with many of the museum boats around the country, the Silversides and the Great Lakes Naval Memorial and Museum always welcome volunteers. They may contact the museum by phone or via the link on the Internet site.
USS CAVALLA (SS-244)
Courtesy of the U.S. Navy
USS CAVALLA (SS-244)
Class: Gato, one of seventy-three boats in that class that were constructed
Launched: November 14, 1943
Named for: a saltwater fish of the pompano family
Where: Electric Boat Company, Groton, Connecticut
Sponsor: Mrs. Merrill Comstock, the wife of U.S. Navy Rear Admiral Merrill Comstock
Commissioned: February 29, 1944
Where is she today?
Seawolf Park
Pelican Island
Galveston, Texas 77552
(409) 770-3196
www.cavalla.org
Claim to fame: She sank the Shokaku, one of the Japanese aircraft carriers that participated in the attack on Pearl Harbor and one of the most coveted targets of World War II, not only for revenge but for tactical reasons.
The submarine USS Cavalla (SS-244) was another boat that tried to lay claim to the title “Luckiest Ship in the Submarine Service.” Her record certainly justified the nickname. So did her “birthday.”
When her commissioning crew realized she was scheduled to be commissioned in the middle of March 1944, they formed a committee and went to her new skipper with an idea. Lieutenant Commander Herman J. Kossler liked the plan but doubted very seriously that the navy brass would go along with it.
What the crew members wanted to do was move the commissioning date up to February 29, leap day. They felt strongly that sending the new boat out on that particular day would give her good luck. And where she was going, luck was a much-needed commodity, no matter where it came from. Kossler dutifully sent the request along to his superiors, openly stating his reasoning in the paperwork: “My crew thinks it would mean good luck for the boat, and so do I.”
To everyone’s surprise, the navy went along with the date change, for no better reason than the chance it might bring good fortune. And that is how she became a “leap year ship.”
Whether or not luck had anything to do with it, the Cavalla immediately had an impact against the enemy when she relayed vital information about a Japanese task force on the move toward a key showdown with the Allies. And her rookie skipper did a good enough job that he remained at the helm of his first command for all six of her war patrols. Although she had close escapes and was damaged severely several times by Japanese attacks, she still survived to be present for a momentous event in world history. The Cavalla was among the armada that sailed into Tokyo Bay on August 31, 1945, and she was berthed there not far from the battleship USS Missouri (BB-63) for the Japanese surrender ceremony on September 2.
Maybe it was luck that placed the Cavalla near the San Bernardino Strait not far from the Philippines in June of 1944, but it required skill and determination to accomplish what Captain Kossler and his crew did on that trip. On her maiden run, she ran headlong into a submerged whale. For a while, the skipper was afraid damage had been done to his new vessel, but everything seemed okay. Not so for the whale. That animal broached in a pool of blood, quite dead. The Cavalla was ordered to proceed to a rendezvous point to relieve another submarine, the Flying Fish (SS-229). Before she could get on station, though, the Cavalla received an abrupt change of orders, a course correction that would make history for the new submarine.
The Flying Fish reported some big news back to Pearl Harbor. The Japanese attack force was out of harbor, on the move from Tawi-Tawi between the Philippines and Malaysia, crossing the Celebes Sea and possibly heading toward the Mariana Islands. If so, that meant they were on the way to try to repel “Operation Forager,” the American offensive that was already taking place there. It was expected that the enemy would attack the Allied Fleet with its deadly dive-bombers once they got close enough to send off the aircraft. The truth was, the Japanese had decided to launch a devastating attack, called Plan A-Go, and destroy the American Pacific Fleet in one glorious blow.
Admiral Charles Lockwood had a plan, though, and “the Lucky Boat” was a major part of it. He wanted the Cavalla to stop and lie in wait for the enemy fleet to come her way. They were not necessarily there to attack but to observe, to report on exactly how big the enemy contingent was, what its components were, and how fast and which way it was headed.
If the enemy could surprise the American fleet it might, indeed, be the turning point in the war that the Japanese so desperately needed. But if the Allies only knew what was coming and when, they could prepare for it.
It was about eleven p.m. when the Cavalla’s radar operator let out a gasp and breathlessly reported what he saw on his tiny scope.
“Convoy, bearing two-nine-zero. Looks like a couple of tankers and three escorts.”
Captain Kossler grinned. This
was not the main component of the IJN fleet, but it still looked like a bunch of promising targets were about to parade right past them. They were almost certainly the forerunners of the big group of warships, sprinting ahead with precious petroleum to fuel the ships and aircraft that would try to knock out the Allies.
Kossler hastily maneuvered on the surface for an attack, making an “end-around” run to get ahead of the ships, bathing the enemy vessels with his radar to keep them within range. But just as he was ready to dive and prepare to shoot, one of the escort destroyers peeled off and headed directly for the Cavalla. Either the submarine had been spotted on the surface already or it would be as soon as the destroyer got close enough.
Kossler lost his grin.
“Take her deep. He’s probably seen us or detected our radar. Either way, he knows we’re here now.”
It was almost two hours later before they could surface with any reasonable safety and see if the convoy was still up there. It wasn’t. The sea was empty.
All Captain Kossler could do now was report what he had seen to Honolulu, then stand by, as originally ordered, to wait for the rest of the enemy fleet to possibly come his way. Losing such a group of delicious targets had Kossler and his crew deeply depressed.
Here they were, just out on their initial run with a chance to send three tankers loaded with precious fuel to the bottom and deal a big blow to whatever the IJN fleet’s plans were. But all they had been able to do was turn tail and hide from the sharp-eyed destroyer. There was little chance of doing any damage at all while they stayed deep and waited for the targets to steam away.
But back at headquarters, Admiral Charles Lockwood had another thought for Kossler and the Cavalla.
When they were finally able to surface, the sub’s radio operator copied the cryptic message from the big boss and sent it up to the skipper.
“Destruction those tankers important. Trail. Attack. Report.”
Lockwood, though a man of few words, suspected the loss of the fuel in those ships could do a lot to disrupt the Japanese attack, wherever it might be planned to take place. Airplanes and ships had to have fuel. Without it, they were nothing more than ballast.
Spirits rose quickly aboard the submarine when the word inevitably spread up and down her 310-foot length. They were going to do more than simply sit there and bob peacefully, waiting on enemy ships that might never show up. They were going to try to go after them. Still, the chase was rough going. Every time they began making progress, enemy aircraft forced them to dive for cover. When submerged, they could only make less than half the speed they could reach while running on the surface.
Finally Kossler received orders to simply trail the convoy as best he could and continue to report its direction and progress. That was still valuable information since it appeared the enemy ships were headed directly for where the American fleet was positioned. There was little speculation about the destination or purpose of the Japanese now.
But then, about ten o’clock that evening, the radar operator once again sang out some good news.
“Captain, I got targets all over the scope!”
Kossler came down the ladder from the bridge in one leap. He looked over the youngster’s shoulder. Sure enough, there were blips galore, of varying sizes, pocking the screen.
The night was dark, so the Cavalla stayed on the surface, all the better to keep the returns on the radarscope. Now, what to do?
His orders were to tag along and report information on the main fleet. But Kossler and his crew knew they could easily line up for a shot, and with all those potential targets out there, it would be hard to miss something. The convoy did not seem to be in any particular hurry, and most of the vessels were steaming in a straight line, not taking the usual zigzag evasion course to avoid attack by submarines.
The Cavalla was still undetected.
“We put our stern to the Japanese fleet and ran with them for about an hour,” the skipper later wrote in his patrol report. “They slowly caught up with us. When the fleet was comparatively close to us, we dove and let them pass over us.”
As the Cavalla hovered there, a safe distance below the surface, the massive enemy fleet rumbling along overhead, they carefully counted each vessel, made the best estimate of its size, and made an educated guess about the type ship it was. A well-trained, sharp-eared sonar operator was able to discern a remarkable amount of detail about a ship simply by the distinctive sounds of its engines, its screws, and other telltale bits of sonic information.
Over two hours after ducking beneath the oncoming fleet, the Cavalla finally surfaced and relayed to headquarters by radio the information it had gained from sonar and radar. There was no doubt now. The Japanese had sent out its massive fleet for far more than a nice, leisurely cruise. They obviously had their eyes on the main American battle group, Task Force 58, and they were headed that way to do as much damage as they could manage.
But once again the excited crew of the Cavalla was disappointed. In following orders, they had lain in the weeds and watched without firing a shot as a long, long line of perfect targets steamed right on past them. They were beginning to seriously doubt their supposed good luck.
Of course, there was no way for them to know at the time that the information they had already provided would allow Task Force 58 to anticipate the coming attack. Or know that the specific details they had provided would enable the Americans to win one of the most decisive and crucial victories of the war. Although the official name of the sea engagement would be the Battle of the Philippine Sea, it would also come to be called the Marianas Turkey Shoot.
Thanks to the data from the Cavalla and her sister submarines, the final destruction of the American fleet did not occur. Instead it was the Allied forces that claimed the stunning victory.
By the morning following their tedious observation of the Japanese fleet on the move, all the submarines in the area received new orders that lifted the spirits of their crews considerably. They were no longer required to hang around, be quiet, and observe. They were now free to do what they did best—hunt and shoot at any enemy vessel they could find.
It was not long before the Cavalla ran right smack into something at which they could definitely shoot. Again it was the radar operator who saw the blips appear on his green-tinted scope, even before the sharp-eyed lookouts in the shears above the bridge saw them. And once again, they indicated big targets. Very big.
Captain Kossler quickly ordered the boat down to periscope depth so they would remain unobserved if possible. When he raised the scope above the surface of the ocean, he couldn’t believe what he saw.
It was the masts of what was obviously a very large ship, and aircraft buzzed about the vessel like bees around a hive.
He raised the scope again a few minutes later, after they had crept closer still. What he saw would not fit within his viewer.
“The picture was too good to be true,” he later wrote in his report. “It was a large carrier and two cruisers ahead on the port bow and a destroyer about a thousand yards on the port beam.”
He and his officers quickly consulted their identification manual and compared what they were looking at to the images of known enemy warships that were pictured in the book. There was no doubt. It was a Shokaku-class aircraft carrier and she seemed too busy at the moment recovering aircraft to pay them any attention. The cruisers were far enough out of the way to not cause them any trouble for the time being, too. But the destroyer, should it determine the Cavalla was there, would definitely be able to bestow upon them some kind of headache.
“Boys, I think we say to hell with the destroyer,” Kossler told those men working beside him in the cramped conning tower. “Let’s get ourselves a carrier and let the chips fall where they may.”
There was no hesitation, only smiles and a few excited whoops up and down the length of the boat. After missing out on shooting at the tankers and allowing a whole fleet of sitting-duck targets to steam right over their heads, the
y were itching to launch some torpedoes at something that flew the enemy flag.
Kossler took one more look through the periscope to make sure he was seeing what he thought he was seeing. They were only twelve hundred yards away, less than a mile. It was a carrier, all right.
There was no mistaking the rising-sun flag on her masts, or the insignia on the tails of the planes on her deck, either. The captain allowed his executive officer and the gunnery officer to take peeks, too. It was rare to get such a perfect setup against such a desirable target.
Now within a thousand yards of the carrier, with the destroyer looming menacingly, and Ensign Zeke Zellmer calmly calling out the coordinates from the ring around the attack periscope’s base, Kossler calmly shouted out the command to fire at will the first four torpedoes.
He hastily swung the scope around to peer at where the destroyer was by then. It still had not seemed to notice them, but that would change quickly. The trails of the torpedoes would lead right back to their periscope. If they hit their point-blank target, this whole part of the ocean would know a sub was in the neighborhood.
In the same breath, the commander gave the order to fire two more fish and then to immediately take the submarine down and deep. At the same time, they would drive away from that spot on the Philippine Sea as quickly as the batteries and the electric motors would take them.
As they fled, they heard what sounded like three of their torpedoes exploding as they struck the big carrier. But only moments later, the explosions they heard were much closer, and obviously aimed at them. About half of them were close enough to shake the boat violently. Seemingly close enough to buckle the decks and crack the pressure hull.
But it was not only their nerves that got rattled. The depth charges soon put their sound gear and hull ventilation out of commission. They were now virtually deaf, and it would be very hot and uncomfortable in the interior of the submarine until they could repair the damage or get to the surface to ventilate.