Hellcats

by Peter Sasgen

  This will be a high-speed surface dash . . . speed to be designated by Pack Commander and with ships closed up in column as much as practicable. Be prepared to furnish gun fire support for each other if this becomes necessary.

  Now, on the eve of their breakout, Hydeman had to hope that the business about gunfire support wouldn’t be necessary: Nine subs armed with five-inch guns were no match for Japanese patrol boats. And he had to hope that the Japanese, who by then had recovered from the shock of U.S. subs shooting up their private lake, hadn’t sown surface mines to catch the raiders as they hightailed it through La Pérouse Strait.aa If they had there was only one way to find out—“All ahead flank and keep your fingers crossed.” As for the diversionary bombardment east of the Tsushima Strait,ab it remained to be seen if it would draw Japanese forces away from La Pérouse, as Tsushima was nine hundred miles away. From what Hydeman and his Hellcats had seen so far, Japanese antisubmarine activity had been relatively weak. Therefore, he was confident that they weren’t capable of stopping the Hellcats from making their escape.

  These were anxious hours as the Hellcats prepared to make their high-speed dash into the Sea of Okhotsk. Gun crews stood by. Watertight doors in all compartments remained dogged so that if a mine were to blow a hole in a sub’s hull, the men in other parts of the ship would at least have a chance at survival, slim though they’d be in waters with temperatures near freezing.

  At the appointed hour of departure urgent radio messages to the Bonefish still went unanswered. Apprehension over her fate had spread among the Hellcat crews as the clock ticked down. There could be any number of reasons why she hadn’t shown up—hull damage, engine failure, flooding—the possibilities were endless. Though it went unsaid, the submariners knew that there was a good possibility that the Bonefish had been sunk. Hydeman waited until 0300 Sonar Day for her to show up. When she didn’t, he had no choice but to order the Hellcats under way. Delay meant risking discovery and attack by antisubmarine units.

  George Pierce, Edge’s task group commander, asked permission to stay behind to wait for her and if necessary render assistance if Edge needed it. Hydeman gave Pierce the okay to wait outside La Pérouse Strait in the Sea of Okhotsk but only for two days. If the Bonefish didn’t show by then, Pierce was to make tracks for Pearl Harbor.

  After an all-day submerged crawl from their starting points in the western approaches to La Pérouse Strait, the eight Hellcats surfaced after dark. Formed up in two columns of four ships each, they began their dash to safety, diesels roaring at full song. A heavy fog provided cover for the subs, a fog that Hydeman claimed was the only good fog he’d ever seen. Up ahead there was no way to know what they might encounter. Anything was possible, from a flotilla of enemy patrol boats to drifting mines to a convoy of plodding marus. The Hellcats also had to stay alert to avoid any Soviet ships that might be in the strait.

  Hydeman and the other skippers would have to rely solely on radar bearings and ranges for navigation through the strait and for keeping position on the other Hellcats running in two columns two miles apart, a mile-and-a-half separation ahead and astern of one another. Their challenge was to keep from running into one another at night in fog in unfamiliar waters. Leading the way in the Sea Dog, Earl Hydeman’s job was to see that they didn’t.

  La Pérouse Strait is approximately sixty miles long, depending on where a navigator plots the start of its western end and cares to mark its eastern terminus. The fifty-mile-wide open crab claw of Karafuto lies north of the strait. Its twin-taloned points, Nishi Notoro Misaki and Naka Shiretoko Misaki, form a large bay trawled by fishermen. It also provided a base for Japanese patrol boats. One of those points, Nishi Notoro Misaki, protrudes into the strait, pinching its navigable width down to less than twenty-five miles. East of this point the strait opens wide toward the northeastern coast of Hokkaido and, beyond, the Sea of Okhotsk. For the Hellcats, passage through the pinched area around Nishi Notoro Misaki posed the greatest risk. If they didn’t run into any Japanese patrol boats there, it would be clear sailing all the way to the Sea of Okhotsk.

  The first indication of trouble arrived when the Sea Dog’s radar failed—again—forcing Hydeman to slow down and drop astern of the Skate and relinquish the lead to the Crevalle. “A questionable distinction,” said Steinmetz, thinking about mines. Ozzie Lynch in the Skate coached the radar-blind Sea Dog into position behind the Skate as the pack sped southeast on a course that would keep them away from the coast of Hokkaido.

  Then, at 2245, more trouble—radar contact on a big ship due east of the Hellcats and on a course opposite their own. Was the ship Russian or Japanese? Steinmetz in the lead closed in on the contact. He saw two lights that he judged too bright for masthead lights. He decided that the ship was either a Russian freighter or a Japanese hospital ship. He peered into the gloom. Or was it a Japanese destroyer trying to sucker the Hellcats? Had it spotted them racing east low in the water? There was no way to tell. Steinmetz relayed his assessment down the line to the Skate and to Hydeman in the blind Sea Dog. Like Steinmetz, the other Hellcats watched the blip on their radar screens grow bigger and bigger as the unidentified ship approached. Still hidden by fog except for two muted running lights, the ship plodded steadily west without any sign of having spotted the band of submarine raiders, now less than a half mile distant, coming up on her port side.

  All at once she loomed up out of the fog, machinery pounding away, propeller thrashing, dazzling lights haloed by swirling fog. To make certain there was no confusion over her nationality, the crew had rigged a bright light to shine on the Russian flag flying from a staff at her stern. And, as if curious about all that noise growing louder and louder off her port side—the muffled pulse of thirty-two diesel engines running wide-open—the Russians snapped on a big searchlight whose fog-streamed loom of white light they played over the Hellcats.

  “Shut that goddamned thing off or I’ll shut it off for you,” Steinmetz raged. A gunner’s mate on the Crevalle’s bridge caressed the triggers of a .50-caliber Browning machine gun, ready to hose down the Russian ship if Steinmetz gave the order. As if the Russians had heard Steinmetz raging, the searchlight snapped off, plunging the strait into full dark. The Hellcats jinked to the right to give the ship a wider berth, then jinked back on course. As the ship vanished into swirling fog, Operation Barney came to an end.

  “It was fantastic to believe,” Steinmetz later wrote in his patrol report, “that we could have gotten away with what we did against even mediocre opposition.” But, he warned, “The Japs won’t be napping next time, if there is a next time.”

  At daybreak on the twenty-fifth the Sea Dog, her radar back online, resumed the lead. After clearing the strait, Hydeman radioed Lockwood with an after-action report that included more information on the missing Bonefish. Worried that she had been damaged and unable to radio for help, Hydeman still held out hope that she might show up. He cautioned Pierce to stay alert for Japanese sub hunters while he stayed behind to wait for word from the Bonefish. When the forty-eight hours allotted for this by Hydeman were up, and if there was no contact, Pierce was to get under way for Pearl Harbor.

  Lockwood received Hydeman’s latest report with jubilation. They had done it! They had proved that subs could get in and get out of the Sea of Japan relying on FM sonar. The gadget worked. It proved too that Lockwood’s plan was sound and that there was no way the Japanese could stop future raids. Their fate was sealed. All the hard work he and his staff had poured into Operation Barney had paid off. The submarine force was assured of having an important role to play in the final downfall of Japan. His submarines would finish off the Japanese by strangling them in their island bastion.

  Lockwood drafted a rousing reply to Hydeman’s message, which he intended should set the stage for their homecoming. They were due in Pearl Harbor for a grand reception by Lockwood and his staff. Clear of La Pérouse, seven Hellcats set their courses for Midway to refuel and take on torpedoes. Pierce waved them on as h
e dropped out of the pack to begin a vigil for the Bonefish. If Edge showed up needing help, Pierce would assist if he could.

  His vigil proved lonely and fruitless. Hour after hour Pierce urged the Tunny’s radiomen to peak the ship’s transmitter to the tactical frequency and to try again and again to raise the Bonefish. “Tunny 62V607 to Bonefish 67V607—62V607 to 67V607.” But hissing static and the silence of the missing submarine confirmed what they’d suspected all along. When Pierce stopped by the radio room the radiomen just shook their heads. “Sorry, Captain, nothing.” Reluctantly, sadly, Pierce shoved off to rejoin the Hellcats.

  The Hellcats arrived in Pearl Harbor in two separate groups on the fourth and fifth of July. Though the missing Bonefish dampened the jubilation of their arrival, they nevertheless received a tumultuous welcome. Admiral Nimitz, a submariner himself, was there to shake hands with each member of the Hellcat crews. Lockwood and the ComSubPac staff had streamed out of their offices en masse to meet the returning Hellcats at the sub base piers. Lockwood had even rounded up another bevy of good-looking nurses to join the homecoming festivities, which included a Navy brass band playing “Anchors Aweigh” and Broadway show tunes.

  Though Lockwood was a realist when it came to submarines that were overdue from patrol and presumed lost, he held out hope that the Bonefish might yet show up. Despite her apparent loss, he pronounced the mission a complete success, believing that Japan had been irrevocably weakened by the sinking of twenty-eight more ships and numerous small craft she could not afford to lose. He allowed that in the midst of rejoicing over Barney’s success, there was no time for mourning losses or to question whether the sinking of a Hellcat submarine was a price worth paying to prove that FM sonar worked, and to avenge Mush Morton and the Wahoo.

  Lockwood wasn’t then in the mood to reflect on such matters. That would come later. He was too busy laying on a meeting in the sub base auditorium, which he filled with the officers of the sub force. Barney Sieglaff introduced the Hellcat skippers, each of whom got to tell his story, which they repeated during a formal press conference that followed the meeting between the skippers and the staff. Reporters were not informed that Edge and the Bonefish were missing. ComSubPac allowed that the eight skippers present at the news conference were the only ones involved in the raid. The reason for not revealing that a sub had been lost was to protect the identities of any possible Bonefish survivors captured by the Japanese, slim as those chances were. Speaking at the press conference, Lockwood announced that more subs would soon follow the Hellcats into the Sea of Japan. In fact, he’d already compiled a list of seven FMS-equipped boats slated for training and deployment as soon as the Hellcat skippers underwent debriefing by the Office of Naval Intelligence (ONI). As the news conference ended, and to groans of displeasure from the assembled reporters, the ComSubPac press officer announced that the Navy had embargoed the release of all news stories about Operation Barney until further notice.

  After concluding the grueling business of meetings, news conferences, and debriefings, Lockwood hosted a dinner dance for the skippers. Lockwood, still the big-picture man, saw to it that each officer had a lovely female companion to keep him company. Enlisted men from the Hellcat boats made do with beer and booze on notorious Hotel Street in Honolulu. As for female companionship, they probably had the better time of it.

  Soon enough it was back to work for the Hellcat submariners; there were still regular war patrols to prepare for, and, for Lockwood, more FMS training at sea. Lockwood was as busy as ever; demands on his time had not slackened a bit. Toward mid-July he had to face the fact that continuing to hope for the Bonefish’s return was futile. If she’d been able to get out of the Sea of Japan or radio for help, she would have by now. As for the possibilities of survivors, he was certain there weren’t any. Decrypted Japanese reports of attacks on the Hellcat subs during their raid had been so garbled that no information concerning the Bonefish could be extracted from them by the experts at ICPOA. Her loss remained a mystery.

  Lockwood had no choice but to send a letter to Admiral Nimitz that served the purpose of formally recording the Bonefish in the official casualty record kept by the Pacific Fleet. Lockwood titled his letter, “The USS Bonefish (SS-223)—loss of.” In it he wrote, “It is with the deepest regret that I report the USS Bonefish is overdue from patrol, and must be presumed to be lost. This was the eighth patrol of the Bonefish and the fourth patrol for Commander Lawrence L. Edge. Commander Edge was an exceptionally brilliant officer, and had been awarded a Bronze Star for the Bonefish’s fifth patrol and the Navy Cross for the sixth patrol. He was awarded but not presented with a Gold Star in lieu of a second Navy Cross for the Bonefish’s seventh patrol. The Bonefish has a long record of many successes during her war career. She is credited with inflicting [heavy] damage upon the enemy.”4

  Admiral Nimitz forwarded Lockwood’s letter to Admiral King, saying, “Forwarded with profound regret. The combat records of both Bonefish and her Commanding Officer, Commander Edge, were in accordance with the high standards of the Submarine Force, Pacific Fleet. The loss of both will be keenly felt.”5

  On July 28, one month after the Bonefish’s disappearance, with Admiral King’s approval, BuPers sent missing-in-action telegrams to the families of the men lost aboard the submarine. It was Navy policy to list men who had disappeared under such circumstances as missing, not dead. They would not be officially listed as killed in action until after a full year had passed from the time of their disappearance. This wording of the telegrams served to keep hopes alive among the families that at least some of the men might have been taken prisoner and that, with the war coming to an end, they might be found in POW camps. At the time of the announcement, no one, least of all ComSubPac, knew the facts surrounding the loss of the Bonefish. It would take many postwar months of searching through Japanese records to learn her fate.

  An official telegram informing the families that their loved ones were missing in action was a cold, impersonal, and heartbreaking thing. It didn’t tell the whole story of Edge’s and his men’s sacrifice; only Lockwood could do that. He noted in his diary what he had to do to rectify that situation: “Must send a letter to Mrs. Edge.”6

  Even as Lockwood made this note, events that would change the world forever began to unfold. And as they did, Operation Barney passed into history.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The Long Search

  Lightning erupted across the night sky. The rumble of distant thunder portended a possible break in the terrible heat and humidity gripping Atlanta. It couldn’t happen soon enough for a very pregnant Sarah Edge. Though a fan moved the soupy air around in the apartment on Collier Road, the rooms still felt like ovens. Uncomfortable as Sarah was, it hadn’t diminished the joy she felt over the pending birth of her and Lawrence’s child, and her eagerness to share that joy with her husband. It had been two months since she’d received a letter or cable from Lawrence, longer than any period so far. A dram of fear began gnawing at her. Perhaps writing a letter to him would make it go away.

  Thursday—11:10 p.m.

  July 26, 1945

  Dearest Sweetest Love,

  Only a note tonight, because it is late again. Went to Dr. Upshaw today and think I’ll stick to him for the delivery. Today he listened to the heartbeat and said, “Well, I think it’s a boy!” . . . But I said, “You’ve been saying a girl.” He said, “I say it’s a boy now.” Time will tell! About three more weeks to be exact!

  Shug, you must come in before then, because you must have the news promptly! Gee, time is flying and no cable [from you] yet. I [contacted] W. U. again today asking if they had one for me. Guess I should stop asking and see if one comes. The office which delivers to Collier promised to phone me here first, and today the girl remembered my name and still has the note on it, so I’ll just sit and wait.

  I went home after I left Dr. Upshaw and looked for one stuck under the door, but no envelope! I also looked up to see the extent of your long
est patrol. A few more days and this will equal it! . . .

  Think I’ll stop and go re-read some more of your last group of letters to me. They are such a help when I can’t get new ones.

  Good night, dearest, and sweetest of dreams, always.

  [Sarah]1

  Sarah never mailed this letter. Before she could post it she received that telegram from the Navy with its awful, heart-stopping news that Lawrence was missing in action.

  Desperate for information, she had no one in the Navy to turn to for answers in her moment of agony. What kind of mission was Lawrence on when his submarine disappeared? Had the Bonefish been sunk by the Japanese? Or had it been an operational disaster, flooding or fire, or something equally terrible? Were there any survivors? If so, had they been captured by the Japanese? Who could answer her questions and those of the families of the men under Lawrence’s command? Sarah was a woman of deep faith. Until she had answers she would have to pray with all her heart and soul that somehow Lawrence was still alive somewhere, even in a POW camp. She told herself that as long as she clung to her faith things would work out okay. She had to believe that Lawrence would return home and wrap her, Boo, and their soon-to-be-born son in his arms.

  Thousands of miles away on Guam, just days before Sarah Edge received her world-changing telegram, Admiral Nimitz and his invited guests, Admiral Spruance, General Curtis LeMay of the AAF’s XXI Bomber Command, and certain officers of their respective staffs, received a visit from Captain William S. Parsons, a naval ordnance expert assigned to the Manhattan Project. He had come to brief the officers on recent developments concerning the atomic bomb.