The Fujita Plan: Japanese Attacks on the United States and Australia During the Second World War

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The Fujita Plan: Japanese Attacks on the United States and Australia During the Second World War Page 14

by Mark Felton


  Once darkness had fallen on 25 February Tagami determined that the sea conditions were now right to send Fujita and Okuda on their way. The I-25 came to the surface and spent an hour navigating through reefs and shoals before reaching a position ten miles off Cape Wickham. The sea was calm, a light fog partially concealed the submarine and the white aircraft busily being assembled on its huge deck, and Fujita had a good navigational marker in the Cape Wickham lighthouse whose automated beam projected out to sea, an ideal point when searching for the submarine after completing the reconnaissance of Melbourne. Tagami turned the submarine’s bows into the wind and increased the I-25’s surface speed to create an updraft to assist the E14Y1 into the air, and in the predawn darkness of 26 February the submarine’s crew listened to the aircraft’s engine sound fade into the fog as Fujita headed north across the Bass Strait towards Cape Otway. On reaching Otway, Fujita turned north-east and followed the coastline to another blazing lighthouse at Point Lonsdale at the entrance to Port Phillip Bay. Tearing through heavy cloud cover, Fujita took the floatplane north-north-east towards Portarlington. The heavy cloud cover proved to be a hindrance to Fujita’s mission, as it was impossible for him to fix his position. As Fujita flew along the western shore of Port Phillip Bay at 4,500 feet he decided to rapidly descend and obtain an exact fix on his position before returning to the cover of the clouds. Dropping through the clouds the floatplane finally broke free at 900 feet, but when Fujita and Okuda pulled back the cockpit canopy and looked below panic immediately gripped them both. They had emerged directly above a Royal Australian Air Force base. RAAF Laverton was home to a dozen Wirraways, an armed Australian version of the American Harvard training aircraft, ‘…famous for its engine noise, which sounded uncannily like a motorbike’.3 The base was also home to a few of the more potent Lockheed Hudson maritime bombers, each armed with six machine guns, and some Avro Anson trainers. Australian personnel on the ground spotted the low and slow flying Yokosuka floatplane, and a pair of aircraft were scrambled to attempt to intercept and shoot the interloper down. The cloud cover, which had proved such a problem for Fujita’s navigation, now proved to be his salvation, as he immediately turned away from La verton and into the clouds. Neither of the Australian aircraft located Fujita, who continued with his mission, though now much more wary of breaking cloud cover on the flight in to Melbourne to check his position. Okuda undoubtedly had taken to fingering the trigger on the single, rear-facing 7.7mm machine gun, the floatplane’s only means of defence, though in the event of an entanglement with an enemy fighter both men knew the most likely outcome was a foregone conclusion.

  Although appearing over an Australian airfield had proved alarming, Fujita next emerged from the clouds above Williamstown, close to a battery of four anti-aircraft guns. The gunners immediately identified Fujita’s aircraft as Japanese, but in the excitement of actually being confronted by the enemy over home territory the officer commanding the battery decided to telephone headquarters for instructions instead of opening fire immediately. By the time permission had been granted to commence firing Fujita was gone, heading straight over the city of Melbourne without further challenge from the city’s defences. From only 900 feet Okuda had an unobstructed view of the entire city and surrounding areas, as he eagerly leaned out of the cockpit with his binoculars. Okuda saw central Melbourne and the major dockyards at the mouth of the Yarra River, many houses and facilities showing lights even though the city was supposed to be under a ‘brownout’, with only essential lighting used and everything else switched off or blacked out. Okuda could even discern large flocks of sheep as their aircraft approached the city. Through his binoculars Okuda counted nineteen ships moored in Melbourne Harbour, and a light cruiser and five destroyers steaming into the harbour in a neat line.

  Once again the regions’ many lighthouses would prove to be excellent navigational beacons for Fujita as he banked his aircraft around the Cape Schanck lighthouse and headed back towards Cape Wickham. After passing over this lighthouse Fujita located the I-25 without undue difficulty, landed, and the aircraft was smartly recovered from the sea and disassembled. Tagami now set a course to take the I-25 back down the west coast of Tasmania on the surface. His next target for investigation was the port city of Hobart.

  On Tasmania’s east coast, close to the enormous island’s waist, is located Great Oyster Bay, over twenty miles long and seven miles wide. Surrounded by impressive red granite cliffs and steep headlands, Commander Tagami decided to use this natural cover as the base from which to launch Fujita and Okuda on their third Australian sortie. The I-25 slipped unnoticed into the moonlit bay on 1 March, and such was the seclusion offered by the location that Fujita requested that the floatplane be lowered into the water by crane, instead of the more usual high speed ejection along the I-25’s compressed air deck catapult. On a calm sea the little floatplane taxied clear of the submarine, and after a short run through the waves lifted clear into the sky trailing a great cloud of water spray draining from the surface of the floats as Fujita headed south towards Hobart.

  After a while, he banked to the north-west and circled around the Tasman Peninsula, completing a final turn to approach Hobart from the south. Moonlight made ground identification relatively simple for Okuda, who spied only five merchant ships in Hobart’s harbour, with no sign of any warships. Fujita made one pass and then turned about and retraced his route in to rendezvous with the I-25. When Fujita landed early morning light had appeared, and the crew were anxious to recover the plane and get on their way. Suddenly, the XO, Lieutenant Tsukudo, up on the conning tower, let out an exclamation and pointed to the south. A small freighter was lumbering her way along, and for a few moments all eyes turned to the distant vessel, followed by anxious moments as the submarine’s crane was winched out over the floatplane, and the aircraft attached and made ready for winching aboard. The sea was becoming rougher, and as the crane took up the slack, and the aircraft began to lift clear of the water, the action of the waves on the floats caused Fujita’s aircraft to pendulum backwards and forwards. With a nasty crunch a wooden wingtip connected with the crane arm. It was possibly a mission ending accident, for the I-25 was unable to carry large spares such as aircraft wings. However, over the next four days, as the I-25 made her way to New Zealand, the aircraft mechanics managed to patch the plane up sufficiently for Fujita to be able to take to the skies again, although Fujita voiced doubts about the plane’s airworthiness nonetheless.

  On 8 March Fujita and Okuda flew over Wellington, and this time the I-25 herself courted disaster. Spotted by two Royal New Zealand Navy anti-submarine patrol boats, the Japanese submarine was slightly damaged during the subsequent depth charging she received. On the 12th Fujita took to the skies above Auckland, and then Tagami moved on to the British colony of Fiji. His target was the port of Suva, and on 19 March Fujita made a pass over the base, Okuda noting a British cruiser moored below them, before a searchlight illuminated their aircraft. Okuda thought fast, and grasping a signal light he flashed a meaningless Morse code message at the searchlight crew, who obligingly responded by switching their light off when confronted by what they evidently perceived to be a friendly aircraft. By 23 March the E14Y1 was in need of proper repairs, for when Tagami ordered Fujita aloft for a reconnaissance of Pago Pago the floatplane’s engine refused to start. In the end Tagami had to resort to an inadequate periscope sweep of the island before heading for the Japanese naval base at Truk for fuel and provisions. The I-25 then left for Japan, and a refit and overhaul at the Yokosuka Naval Base south of Tokyo.

  Sunday is the traditional day of rest and 31 May 1942 found both the citizens of Sydney and many members of the crews from the collection of Allied warships drawn up in the harbour taking the day off and enjoying themselves. The cinemas, dance halls, restaurants and brothels of Sydney were all doing a good business from seamen on shore leave in the city. A feeling of unease, however, did permeate the fun, a feeling that the Japanese were coming to spoil the party
. Nobody knew when and how the enemy may have arrived on the shores of Australia, but rumours of an imminent invasion abounded in the pubs and teashops, the newspapers and cinema newsreels fuelling the anxiety as Australians followed the progress of the Japanese advance towards their shores. The government of Prime Minister John Curtin had issued several warnings of an imminent Japanese attack on the continent since early 1942, fuelled by the deteriorating Allied situation in the Far East as the colonial powers, Commonwealth forces and the United States faced defeat after defeat from Hong Kong to the Philippines. At the time of the Japanese midget submarine attacks on Sydney Harbour, Australia appeared isolated and in imminent danger. Darwin, Derby and Broome in the north had all suffered heavy Japanese bombing raids. Malaya, Hong Kong and Singapore had all fallen to the seemingly relentless Japanese war machine, and thousands of Australian servicemen had become prisoners-of-war at the mercy of a contemptuous enemy. New Guinea was under heavy attack as Australian troops slogged it out with the Japanese along the Kokoda Trail as the Allies sought to hold onto Port Moresby. The Battle of the Coral Sea had been a close run thing for the United States and Australia. As Japanese submarines approached Sydney Australians felt their backs were against the wall, a feeling already experienced by their British cousins in the late summer of 1940, as Germany had seemed poised to invade across the English Channel.

  On 10 April 1942 the commander-in-chief of the Japanese Combined Fleet had issued the following to the 6th Fleet, ordering the submarine units:

  1.

  To reconnoitre the enemy’s fleet bases in the Indian Ocean and the South Pacific

  2.

  To destroy the enemy’s maritime commerce

  3.

  To lend support to the Port Moresby (MO) Operation.4

  Submarines were immediately dispatched along with midget submarines from the tender Chiyoda, all coming under the designation Eastern Advanced Detachment (submarines I-22, I-24, I-27, I-28 and I-29) and headed for Australia and New Zealand. The I-29, under Lieutenant-Commander Juichi Izu, arrived off Sydney on 13 May, and three days later attacked her first ship. Izu intercepted a Soviet freighter, the 5,135-ton Wellen fifty miles south-east of Newcastle, New South Wales, and launched two torpedoes at her. Both missed their target, so Izu surfaced the I-29 and had his deck-gun brought into action. Japan and the Soviet Union were not at war at this time, so Izu’s actions were dangerous and could have caused a diplomatic row with the one power Japan was keen not to antagonize. Although three Russian sailors were wounded, no significant damage was done to the Soviet ship, and Izu gave up and submerged.

  The significance of this action was the suspension of all ship movements between Sydney and Newcastle for twenty-four hours, while a group of Australian corvettes searched in vain for the Japanese submarine. The I-29 motored quietly back to Sydney and launched her aerial reconnaissance of the port. As a result of the I-29’s aerial reconnaissance of Sydney Harbour on 23 May, the Eastern Detachment Commander, Captain Hankyu Sasaki, ordered the force to begin making preparations to attack the large force of Allied warships noted to be in the harbour. Sasaki, aboard the I-21 then engaged in reconnoitring the city of Auckland in New Zealand, sent a report of the reconnaissance mission to Admiral Komatsu, a radio transmission that was picked up and partially decoded by the joint US and Australian Navy’s Fleet Radio Unit, Melbourne (FRUMEL). However, even though the Allies had broken the Japanese codes, no action was taken to stiffen the defences around Sydney. The I-29’s Glen floatplane piloted by Chief Warrant Officer Susumu Ito had recorded a collection of warships and merchant vessels inside Sydney Harbour. Ito and his observer had seen the heavy cruisers USS Chicago and HMAS Canberra, along with the light cruisers USS Perkins and HMAS Adelaide. Other warships in the harbour included the minelayer HMAS Bungaree, the armed merchant cruisers Kanimbla and Westralia, and the corvettes HMAS Whyalla, Bombay and Geelong. On 29 May a further aerial reconnaissance by an aircraft from the I-121 revealed that the aforementioned enemy warships were still present, and the Eastern Advanced Detachment was given the go-ahead by Admiral Komatsu to attack the anchorage.5 On this day both Komatsu and the detachment commander, Sasaki, sent radio messages of support and encouragement to the men who would undertake the assault on Sydney, and once again these communications were intercepted by FRUMEL and partly decoded. Once again, no action was taken to tighten security at the naval base in the light of obvious Japanese submarine activity close to Sydney.

  Aboard the Japanese submarines I-22, I-24 and I-27 preparations were underway for the coming mission, the midget submarines carried aboard were being prepped and the crews briefed. The Japanese were waiting for the weak autumn sun to set, the midget submarine crews completing their final rituals before setting out to attack the enemy. All six men who would take the three midgets into Sydney Harbour that night were keyed up and also reflective about their chances of returning alive. Some quietly worshipped before small Shinto shrines erected inside the larger ‘mother’ submarines, following this with a farewell meal hosted by each submarine skipper. On board the I-22, the midget’s navigator, Petty Officer Masao Tsujuku, carefully penned a farewell letter to his brother in Japan. Part of Tsujuku’s letter read: ‘When you receive this letter you will know that I was killed in the Australian area on 31 May. I have nothing to regret. Today I will enter [censored] harbour in order to strike an enemy battleship. Take care of my parents and sisters.’

  The final time aboard the larger submarines was spent changing into clean uniforms and in performing the Way of the Tea ceremony. Following Shinto rites, the crewmen’s bodies and souls were now clean. Clambering through the hatch connecting Midget A21 to the submarine I-22, Lieutenant-Commander Ageta of the I-22 was almost reduced to tears as he bade farewell to Sub-Lieutenant Keiu Matsuo and Petty Officer First Class Tsuzuku, urging both men to try and regain the I-22 after completing their mission. For their part, Matsuo and Tsuzuku thanked Ageta for his efforts in bringing them this far and allowing them to undertake the coming mission. At 5.21 p.m. Midget A21 began to motor towards the eastern entrance to Sydney Harbour, the crew of the I-22 listening to their propeller sounds fading away into the night. The two crewmen of Midget A14 aboard the I-27, Lieutenant Kenshi Chuman and Petty Officer First Class Takeshi Omori, had undergone similar rituals and farewells to Matsuo and Tzukuzu. At 5.28 p.m. their midget parted company with the I-27 and set off for Sydney. Last to go was Sub-Lieutenant Katsuhisa Ban and his navigator, Petty Officer First Class Mamoru Ashibe, in Midget A at 5.40 p.m. from the I-24. Although their midget carried a number, that number remains unknown, so historians have referred to their craft as Midget ‘A’ since the attack. All three midgets motored the seven miles to the harbour entrance. At 7.45 p.m. Midget A14 from the I-27 slowly headed at periscope depth towards the entrance to the harbour, while the other two midgets waited.

  The Sydney Harbour defences were not, according to the local anti-submarine officer, up to scratch. Acting Commander Harvey Newcomb had written to the Commodore-in-Charge, Sydney, Commodore Gerard Muirhead-Gould, warning him in January 1942 that enemy midget submarines could theoretically penetrate the harbour defences. Newcomb was a professional Royal Navy officer who had been dispatched from Britain in 1938 with orders to found an anti-submarine establishment at Edgecliff in Sydney. This facility had subsequently been named HMAS Rushcutter. In 1942 the means for detecting a submarine penetration of Sydney Harbour were in place. At the centre of the detection precautions were six electrical cables thousands of feet in length, laid on the seabed covering a wide expanse of the harbour approaches and entrance. Known as ‘indicator loops’, each cable would record electronically at a special shore station the passage of a ship or submarine over them. All contacts were automatically registered at the naval facility at South Head, close to the harbour entrance. The indicator loop system protecting the harbour was backed-up with an almost finished, and intended to be complete, antisubmarine and torpedo-net boom. One section of the net and boom could be
opened and closed by small tenders, allowing vessels to enter the Harbour between Georges Head and Green Point. There were, however, some sizeable gaps in the net where the laying had not been completed by the time the Japanese attacked.

  Newcomb’s 20 January letter to Commodore Muirhead-Gould, who was also a Royal Navy officer, outlined concerns over efficient watch keeping and monitoring of the indicator loop system by naval personnel at South Head. In theory the harbour’s early warning system allowed the Royal Australian Navy to combat any enemy penetration of the harbour, and careful attention needed to be paid to every contact recorded. The Japanese midget submarine attack on Pearl Harbor in 1941 had, if anything, driven this point home to Newcomb. The system, however, was not functioning correctly and crucially the first loops would fail to alert the Australians to a submarine penetration of the harbour. On the evening of 31 May 1942 the three Japanese midget submarines approaching Sydney Harbour were not detected by the first stages of the indicator loop system, because parts of the system were out of action. Midget A14 passed over several more indicator loop cables as she made for the west-gate boom and net opening. At the naval recording station at South Head a contact was noted several times, but was dismissed as probably one of several ferries and patrol boats moving about the harbour. This point highlights Newcomb’s very real concerns over correct monitoring and recording by local naval personnel. Part of the problem was the fact that the system was unable to differentiate between different types of vessels, so it was down to the operator and his superiors to determine a likely cause of the contact.

 

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