Everyone fell silent when Ariizumi entered the room. He greeted each of his officers individually; then in a monotone devoid of emotion, he gave a short motivational speech. Takahashi felt the commander’s speaking skills left a lot to be desired.
He was in for a surprise though when Ariizumi asked him to stay behind.
“When I look at the personnel chart I see there are only four or five pilots with combat experience and only two with experience on submarines,” Ariizumi noted. “There’s going to be a lot that comes up, so please don’t hesitate to give your opinion. I ask you in particular because I think it will be the quickest way to success.”
Takahashi was pleased. It was unusual for a commanding officer to ask his subordinate for an opinion. Then again, they were so short on experience, Ariizumi needed all the help he could get.51
Ariizumi departed for Tokyo the next day. While meeting with the Naval General Staff, he ordered his assistant to visit the NGS reference room and collect everything he could find about the Panama Canal. It took the better part of a day to sort through all the books and naval charts. When the assistant finished, he had filled two parachute bags with documents.52 The material would prove critical for planning the mission.
ANOTHER SEIRAN WAS ready on January 13, 1945. But while Takahashi was on a train bound for Nagoya, a second earthquake struck leaving disaster in its wake. If the December quake had been bad, the Mikawa tremor was worse. The first thing Takahashi noticed was that the heavy doors to Aichi’s airplane hangar had been toppled. Seiran production was also impeded.53
As if the program weren’t bedeviled by enough problems, B-29 raids had begun in December. The Nagoya region generated more than half of Japan’s aviation production, so the U.S. Army Air Force had targeted the area for destruction. Fifty-six air raids followed over an eight-month period, burning the city to a cinder. Workers spent so much time huddled in air raid shelters that little got done. This meant the 631st had only five Seiran and six Zuiun for training.54 Additionally, problems with the Atsuta engine persisted. It was a constant battle keeping the few Seiran they had operational.55
On the morning of January 20, 1945, a Zuiun piloted by Warrant Flying Officer Suzuki was scheduled to fly a navigation exercise. Before he could take off, however, Suzuki’s observer reported in sick. Warrant Flying Officer Sasaki was on the reserve list, but nobody wanted him to fly since it was his wedding day. Sasaki volunteered anyway feeling there was enough time to complete the exercise before his bride arrived at the Kure train station.
When the exercise was over, Takahashi watched Sasaki return. The Kure mountains could make landing difficult and Sasaki’s Zuiun circled the bay four times. When it crashed behind a hangar, Takahashi jumped into an ambulance and raced to the scene.
Sasaki’s plane had smacked nose first into the front yard of a girls’ school. The crash site was surrounded by students, whom Takahashi warned to stay clear, since he feared a fire. Ambulance attendants worked more than an hour to free Sasaki from the wreckage, but to no avail; he was already dead.
It was the 631st’s first casualty. Nevertheless, Takahashi was more concerned about the bridal party, which was due to arrive at any moment. Sasaki’s in-laws were understandably shocked when told the news, and the bride wailed so uncontrollably, Takahashi felt responsible. Unfortunately, there was still the matter of the wedding to deal with. The shrine was understanding and canceled the ceremony, but the restaurant refused to refund any money. After consulting with Takahashi, the bridal party changed the wedding reception to a wake.
Takahashi wasted no time in preparing an altar, rounding up photographs of the two airmen, and arranging for sutras. When everything was ready, he called his colleagues together: “The purpose of tonight is to mourn our friends. It’s also important to console the family, particularly Sasaki’s bride. Do not forget this even if you get drunk!”
The guests lit slender sticks of incense as they arrived, and placed them in front of the altar. Two young airmen, handsome in their naval uniforms, looked out from the photographs. When the reception began, Takahashi offered a few words in honor of their fallen comrades.
When we pilots board our plane, we … lead the way to victory without concern for life or death. The battlefront holds no profit for us. Our fellow crew members are killed one after another … If I die in action, it won’t be surprising particularly now that tokko attacks are being carried out as a regular part of combat. Survival is but a dream. Today, Suzuki and Sasaki gave their lives. They went to that other world earlier than the rest of us. No matter how bad things get though, Japan will not surrender. In the end, there is no path for us but death. We will follow comrades, so please, wait for us.
Finally, the reception got under way. Sake was dispensed; military songs were sung, and there was even dancing. When the bride suddenly smiled, Takahashi felt relieved. Her family expressed gratitude for his efforts.
Unexpectedly, two officers appeared and began haranguing them. “What is the reason for this commotion?” one shouted. “Two of our comrades have died! Shame on you!”
Seeing that the outburst shocked the bride’s family, Takahashi lost his temper. “You may be our superiors, but I can’t stand you lecturing us. Tonight’s reception is held at the request of the bereaved. If you have a problem with that, tell it to the Commander.”
The officers knew Takahashi had a close relationship with Ariizumi and left, but Takahashi doubted that was the end of it. After all, he’d publicly rebuked two senior officers. They wouldn’t let him off lightly.
A memorial service was held a few days later for the airmen. Ariizumi attended the ceremony, which took place in an aircraft hangar on the Kure naval base. When the service was finished, he sent for Takahashi.
Assuming he was to be reprimanded, Takahashi defended his behavior at Sasaki’s wake.
“Don’t give it a second thought,” Ariizumi said. “That’s not why I called you here.”
Takahashi was surprised, but what came next surprised him even more.
“Have you ever launched a torpedo from an airplane?” Ariizumi asked.
Takahashi’s grin was the only answer the commander needed.56
* According to Takahashi, the 631st had six Seiran and five Zuiun by February 1, 1945. See Takahashi, Shinryu Tokubetsu Kogekitai, p. 176.
CHAPTER 19
FULP ON PATROL
WHILE THE I-400 SUBS WERE STILL UNDER CONSTRUCTION, THE Segundo’s first war patrol got off to a shaky start. Captain Fulp and his crew were in the Surigao Strait near the Philippines when two friendly aircraft appeared out of nowhere and strafed the surfaced sub.1 Though the shots fell short, it wasn’t a good omen for Fulp’s first patrol. Then three-quarters of the way through their deployment, a Japanese aircraft dropped two bombs on them. It was the morning of Friday, October 6, 1944.2 Fulp had just been promoted to commander and was eager to show his acumen, when a Japanese plane was reported six miles distant. Forced to sound the dive klaxon, Fulp cleared the deck and ordered the sub’s watertight hatches closed. The Segundo had only a few inches of water overhead when the first bomb struck. A loud explosion rocked the sub, followed by a second blast.
“That’s all for him,” a veteran submariner remarked. “He only carries two.”3
Had they been depth charges instead of bombs, the damage could have been fatal. As it was, the explosions damaged the Segundo’s deck gun, blew one of the four mufflers off her engine exhaust, and broke the foundation mounts on the generator powering her torpedo data computer.4 Worse, was not finding any targets. The Segundo was patrolling in support of the Palau invasion, but since the IJN didn’t oppose the American landing, Fulp had nothing to shoot at. As one officer put it, “We were there—it was the enemy that didn’t show up.”5
After ComSubPac released the Segundo from her responsibilities, Fulp made a beeline for the Luzon Strait. Located between the northern tip of the Philippines and Formosa (now Taiwan), the deep-water passage was the perfect pl
ace for a sub to attack. The majority of Japanese shipping passed through the bottleneck, which was nicknamed “Convoy College.” Unfortunately, the Philippine invasion temporarily curtailed enemy shipping. Once again, Fulp found nothing to sink.6
Finally, the Segundo’s wolf pack had modest success. The USS Seahorse (SS 304) sank an 800-ton escort, while the USS Whale (SS 239) sank a 1,200-ton tanker.7 The Segundo came up with a big, fat goose egg.
Approximately 70 percent of all ComSubPac patrols came home without sinking a single ship during this period,8 slim pickings compared to what an aggressive skipper hoped for. Sixty days at sea was just long enough for the Segundo’s oranges to go bad. Fulp ended his first war patrol without having fired a single shot.
The Segundo docked at Majuro in the Marshall Islands on October 21, 1944. A relief crew from the USS Bushnell (AS-15) came aboard, while Fulp and his men went to Myrna Island rest camp for two weeks of relaxation. Meanwhile the Segundo went into dry dock to have her badly nicked propeller blades fixed.9
A little R&R helped the Segundo’s crew to forget their failure. The men played volleyball, swam in the ocean, and wrote long letters home. One pastime that proved popular was Gilly ball. It was played just like baseball, except that a coffee can filled with Gilly juice was placed at each base. Gilly juice consisted of 180-proof ethyl alcohol (normally used for torpedo fuel) cut with fruit juice. When a player came to bat, he took a swig of Gilly juice. If he made it to base, he got another swig. Pretty soon a high-scoring team began to falter, giving the other side a chance to catch up. When a Myrna Island rest officer happened by, he was invited to join the game, but when he saw the inebriated condition of both teams, he gave it a pass. Gilly ball was fun to play, even if no one remembered the score.10
Wallace Karnes had an atypical experience at rest camp. Told he had to check his .45 sidearm during his stay, Karnes complied. Unbeknownst to Karnes, however, Chief “Doggy” Downs signed the gun out, and carried it to the mess tent. When Downs couldn’t get a waiter’s attention, he pumped six rounds into the air. It didn’t improve the service, since the waiters were cowering under a table, but it was good for a laugh. After that a new regulation was issued: submariners shall refrain from discharging firearms in the mess tent.11
The Segundo’s crew returned from rest camp recharged if hung over. Combat subs experienced personnel turnover of 10 to 25 percent at the end of a patrol, so it wasn’t unusual to pick up new crew members. Victor Horgan was one of them. A scrappy little ensign from Portland, Oregon, Horgan had been skiing on Mount Baker when he first heard the news about Pearl Harbor. His NRTOC commander, a former sub captain, had inspired Horgan to apply to sub school. A year later he was assigned to a sub relief crew on Majuro.
Horgan wasn’t quite sure why he’d been selected for the Segundo. Some of the guys in his relief crew had been working as long as a year without permanent sub assignment. In contrast, he’d only been there a single day before being assigned. There was something special about Horgan, though. He might have described himself as a slow learner, but he was determined. One incident stood out in particular.
During a class on approach technique, Horgan’s sub school instructor chose him to perform an exercise on the attack simulator. Informed his sub was at 300 feet, Horgan was tasked with bringing her to periscope depth without the benefit of several ballast systems his instructor had deemed inoperable. Horgan’s peers chuckled at his predicament. None of them believed he could solve the problem. Horgan wasn’t sure he could either. Still, he wanted to do his best.
Careful not to make a mistake, he slowly worked his sub toward the surface. His timidity only convinced his classmates that he was inept, and they ribbed him all the harder. It was a while before Horgan brought his sub to periscope depth. When he did, his instructor was impressed. Grace under pressure was a highly valued quality in a sub officer and Horgan hadn’t cracked despite his classmates’ abuse. Later, when Horgan graduated from sub school, the same instructor asked what assignment he’d gotten.
“Relief corps,” Horgan said, disappointed.
“What did you want?”
“Combat sub.”
Nothing more was said. When Horgan arrived at Majuro, he moved to the head of the line and was assigned to the Segundo.12
Fulp’s sub left for Saipan on November 16, 1944. After topping off his fuel tanks, Fulp joined a three-sub wolf pack called “Roy’s Rangers.”13 The pack, which was led by the USS Trepang (SS 412) and included the USS Razorback (SS 394), had orders to prevent Japanese reinforcements from reaching the Philippines. When the Segundo arrived on station December 1, she immediately began patrolling the Luzon Strait.14
Fulp’s luck was better this time, but not by much. He had multiple ship contacts in the early part of his patrol, but couldn’t launch an attack. December was typhoon season, which hampered his ability to operate. Every time the Segundo surfaced, she was swamped by heavy seas. It was difficult enough finding enemy targets, let alone launching torpedoes, in such conditions. Finally, on the evening of December 6, the Trepang spotted seven Japanese merchant ships with three escorts.15 It was the biggest shooting gallery Fulp had ever seen.
The Trepang’s commander might have been called the “praying skipper” for his religious beliefs, but Fulp would be damned before a God-fearing zealot stole his glory. With high seas and an overcast sky, conditions were poor for a surface attack. Fulp chanced it anyway.16
Hiding in front of Luzon’s dark background, Fulp crept along the surface. But as gale force winds whipped the sea into a frenzy, what had begun as an advantage soon turned against him.17 Though Fulp managed to close the distance without being spotted, conditions were so rough, he worried they’d impede the accuracy of a surface-fired torpedo. He also had to be careful not to sink one of his own subs—always a danger when operating in close proximity.
Picking what appeared to be a troop transport, Fulp ordered the torpedo gyros set nearly at zero and launched six Mark 18s from the Segundo’s bow tubes. Given the storm-tossed seas, it was a wonder the torpedoes ran true. A few minutes later the first of three fish slammed into the ship’s engine room. A massive eruption of water, flame, and molten metal leaped into the sky, followed by two more explosions. As the ship lay smoldering, her escort began circling like a calf around its wounded mother.
Fulp was confident the transport was disabled, so he took the opportunity to attack a second vessel. Using the cover of darkness, he wove between two escorts, one of which was only 400 yards away.18 It was such an audacious move that Fulp’s officers were wide-eyed in disbelief. One of the defenders was the Kuretake. More than 20 years old, she wasn’t exactly a state-of-the-art destroyer.19 But she was accompanied by the CH-33, a modern sub chaser.20 Either ship could have had radar. Still, Fulp was undeterred.21
After dashing through the defense perimeter, Fulp ordered engines to one-third to give the torpedo room time to reload. When all six tubes were ready, he maneuvered into firing position.
Most subs fire from a range of 1,800 to 2,000 yards. But Fulp had had such bad experience with navy torpedoes, he didn’t trust them. He’d fired 11 Mark 14s on the Sargo’s first war patrol, some at point-blank range, and none had detonated. Torpedo failure had plagued the sub’s next six war patrols. Now Fulp had his chance to make up the misses.
While Fulp conducted his attack approach from the bridge, Ens. Rod Johnson operated the torpedo data computer (TDC) in the conning tower. The TDC performed the trigonometric calculations necessary to compute a target intercept course for a torpedo. Inputs for the primitive computer included the enemy’s range, speed, and bearing relative to the Segundo. Once the calculations were complete, the TDC estimated a moving target’s constantly changing position and provided the correct angle settings for a torpedo’s gyroscope.
Johnson hadn’t had much experience in the conning tower and was probably cautious working with Fulp. He had a good idea though of what a comfortable distance for an attack was. An overcast ni
ght might have been ideal for up close and personal fighting, but once the Segundo closed to within 1,800 yards, Johnson’s confidence began to slip.
“Fifteen hundred yards, captain.”
“Proceed,” Fulp replied.
“Thirteen hundred,” Johnson reported.
“Closer.”
“Twelve hundred.”
Johnson’s voice betrayed his concern. Fulp remained unmoved. As they passed the 1,000-yard mark, Johnson protested they were too near the target.22
Fulp responded calmly: “We’re gonna get close enough to throw stones at ’em.”
Fulp finally fired at 900 yards. Keeping the spread small, he launched three torpedoes, at least two of which hit home.23 The target wasn’t an ordinary freighter though; it was a giant Japanese ammunition ship.
The first explosion was so powerful, it knocked the Segundo’s chief torpedoman out of the conning tower and into the control room.24 When wreckage began raining down upon the sub, one of the lookouts panicked: “Oh my God, they’re firing at us!”25
But the ship wasn’t returning fire. It was too busy disintegrating.
The concussions were so immense, those on deck had to grab the railing to keep from falling. When the heat wave reached their faces, it felt like their eyebrows were being singed.
Since water conducts sound faster than air, the experienced hands inside the sub knew what they were hearing. “Ammunition ship,” one remarked.26 Seconds later the smell of cordite wafted through the bridge hatch.27
As explosions consumed the ship, bright yellow flames lit up the night, and tracer ammo arced into the sky. Strangely, the ammunition ship continued plowing a path through the sea, even as she was being ripped apart.28 Then in an instant she was gone.
A sub’s patrol report is not known for exaggeration, yet the Segundo’s entry states: “the quickest … most devastating explosion imaginable [tore the ship apart] … it just did not seem possible that anything could be obliterated so instantaneously.”29
Operation Storm: Japan's Top Secret Submarines and Its Plan to Change the Course of World War II Page 18