Indeed it was remarkable that so large a ship could vanish into thin air. Even the Segundo’s radar man had to look twice after a final massive explosion blew the ship to kingdom come. The only thing left was her outline burned into the lookouts’ retinas.30
Fulp wasn’t finished, though. One of his torpedoes had hit another vessel, which was rapidly sinking.31 A few minutes later she too was gone.32 Fulp now returned to the first ship he’d hit, ablaze from stem to stern.33 Before he could polish her off, however, the Razorback finished the job.34 It was a disappointment for the Segundo’s fire control party,35 even though the crew was pleased with the overall results. They’d sunk two, possibly three enemy vessels in one night. Success made them feel indomitable.
The next morning the Segundo was surrounded by wreckage.36 It was hard to know for sure who had sunk which ship in all the confusion. In addition to sinking the ammo ship, it appeared the Segundo had holed both the Yasukuni Maru, a 5,794-ton freighter that was later abandoned, as well as the Kenjo Maru. Though the Kuretake managed to escape, she didn’t remain free for long. The Razorback sank her three weeks later,37 while the Segundo continued on patrol.
A COMBAT HIGH pervaded the sub for several days. Though it eventually passed, one thing that didn’t let up was the weather. Typhoon might be just another name for a Pacific-born hurricane, but weather conditions made life impossible for Fulp and his crew. Come December 9, winds were running at eight on the twelve-point Beaufort scale, making it difficult for the Segundo to travel on the surface.
Wallace Karnes was in the control room when Fireman First Class G. H. Saunders arrived to relieve the last watch of the day. Karnes didn’t know Saunders well.38 Like Horgan, he was a new recruit who’d come aboard at Majuro. He’d been with the Segundo less than 30 days.
It didn’t help that Saunders said so little. He might have seemed calm as he donned his foul weather gear, but Karnes was glad he wasn’t the one going topside on such an ugly night. The crew was sick of being tossed around by the storm, and a bridge watch marred by gale force winds and heavy seas wasn’t anyone’s idea of a cakewalk. Saunders thanked Karnes after he finished dressing, and disappeared into the conning tower. Though there was no better experience than on-the-job training, the new guy was about to get a full dose.
When Saunders climbed out the bridge hatch, he was immediately drenched by spray. Even the heartiest sailor would have felt seasick on such a miserable night. It’s hard to imagine a new recruit feeling any different atop the periscope shears.
When the Segundo suddenly lurched to port two hours later,39 the darkness made it impossible to see what was going on. A giant wave had broached the sub’s starboard side, tipping her over at a 35-degree angle. A lookout heard a cry,40 and moments later Karnes heard a thud strike the hull.41 An alarm sounded, and the engines stopped. A float light was thrown overboard.
The waves were so enormous, it was impossible to see where Saunders had gone. Fulp circled back, but all the search light illuminated besides good intentions was a driving rainstorm and mountainous seas.42 Thirty-seven minutes later Fulp called off the search. It wouldn’t take long to attract enemy notice with their signal light blazing. Besides, finding a man in the middle of a typhoon was next to impossible, especially at night.
Nobody was sure what had happened. The lookouts had a bar to tie into while standing watch. Whether Saunders failed to hook in, or he accidentally unlocked himself, or his line failed was never reported. Whatever happened, Saunders was probably knocked out by his fall. Even if he was conscious, it wouldn’t have taken him long to drown in a typhoon.
Fulp held a short memorial service.43 After reading from the Bible,44 he asked for a moment of silence and hung his head in prayer.45 Despite being stoical, Fulp felt an emptiness that night.46 It was tough losing a crew member, nor could it have helped that Saunders was the Segundo’s first casualty. They had finally been blooded.
THE PATROL WAS subdued after that. The weather remained so poor, lookouts were ordered to wear a whistle around their neck in case they fell overboard. When their watch finished, brandy was served to revive them.
An even more violent typhoon swept down unexpectedly on December 17. Sustained winds of 145 mph were recorded, with gusts up to 185.47 The Segundo submerged during the worst part, but the ocean was so turbulent that Fulp had difficulty maintaining depth control.48 Once the sea calmed around Christmas, everyone hoped to sink a Japanese warship, but the holidays brought an unpleasant surprise.
The seas were again running high on December 26, with 40-foot crests. Vic Horgan was resting in his bunk while the Segundo made 12 knots on the surface.49 Feeling the ocean’s peaks and valleys, Horgan realized the sub was getting out of sync with the waves.50 Moments later the Segundo plunged into the trough of an enormous roller. Before she could recover, a second wave broke over her sail, forcing water down the bridge hatch. So much saltwater poured through the main induction valve that the forward engine room was flooded, sweeping away a machinist’s mate struggling to close the valve. An avalanche of ocean also cascaded into the control room, knocking Wallace Karnes into the pump room, where he landed in three feet of freezing water.
The quartermaster quickly dogged the bridge hatch, while the engine room secured the main induction valve. Before they could do anything else, a powerful wave drove the Segundo 36 feet underwater, smashing instrument panels and thoroughly shaking up the crew. Meanwhile, Fulp fought to gain control.
It didn’t take a damage report to reveal an inch of water carpeting the control room. A few short feet away, Karnes was having little success draining the pump room. The Segundo’s ventilation system had siphoned seawater into several parts of the sub including the radio shack, which was partially flooded, and the after battery compartment.
Karnes plunged his arms into the pump room’s icy brine, searching for the strainer. When he found it blocked, he cleared it of the obstacle, which brought the water level down. Despite the crew’s quick action, however, the master and auxiliary compasses were knocked out, leaving only the magnetic compass for navigation.51 Luckily seawater hadn’t contaminated the batteries; otherwise there might have been an explosion. As it was, the radio was on the fritz and navigation unreliable.
The most important question, once the Segundo surfaced, was whether the lookouts were still alive. Fulp doubted it.52 It would take more than a whistle to survive two monster waves and a five-fathom dunking.
Turning to the officer of the deck (OOD), Fulp ordered the bridge hatch opened and an inspection made. When the OOD gave his report, Fulp must have felt relieved. All lookouts were present and accounted for.53
The quartermaster’s quick action in dogging the bridge hatch had saved the sub.54 Nevertheless, it was the nearest the Segundo had come to being sunk.55 Regrettably, it dulled the shine of their earlier accomplishments.
The rest of the patrol was uneventful.56 Fulp encountered so few targets, it seemed like the Imperial Japanese Navy had gone home. When orders arrived to head for Guam,57 they were happy to go.
Fulp might have sunk more than three ships if the weather hadn’t proven a far worse enemy than the Japanese. The cigar-smoking captain was still put in for the Navy Cross. The recommendation stated: “The fighting spirit and exceptional skill displayed by the Commanding Officer … were particularly outstanding and merit special recognition.” Fulp may have been credited as an inspiration to his men,58 but Vice Adm. Charles A. Lockwood, commander of the Pacific submarine force, didn’t agree, and turned him down for the Navy Cross.59 In its place, Fulp was awarded the Silver Star for valor, the military’s third-highest decoration given to a U.S. serviceman. It was still an important acknowledgment of what he had done.
By the end of the Segundo’s second war patrol, Fulp was doing an excellent job shaping his men into a high-functioning combat unit. His coolness under fire, combined with his undeniable competence, demonstrated he could take his crew into battle, rack up victories, and bring them home saf
ely.
It was a strong start for Fulp, who remained eager to engage the enemy. All signs might have pointed to the war winding down, but as far as the Segundo’s skipper was concerned, their fight had just begun.
CHAPTER 20
KURE
THE I-14 WAS THE LAST UNDERWATER AIRCRAFT CARRIER COMPLETED. Captained by Cdr. Tsuruzo Shimizu, the sub was commissioned during the first half of March 1945. Shimizu was a veteran sub commander—he’d captained three boats before the I-14.1 But there was another reason Shimizu skippered a Sen-toku sub. He already knew Ariizumi.
Shimizu had first met Ariizumi when they were stationed at Penang. A 1930 graduate of Etajima’s fifty-eighth class, Shimizu had served aboard four subs before receiving his first command.2 In May 1943 he was named captain of the I-165 and assigned to SubRon 8, the same sub squadron as Ariizumi.3
Shimizu was an impressionable young officer when he burst uninvited into Ariizumi’s quarters one night. It was a serious breach of etiquette even though Shimizu was just seeking advice on becoming a better skipper. Instead of scolding Shimizu, the normally stern commander chose to mentor him. Ariizumi was strict when it came to official business, but he could be big-hearted when it came to junior officers wanting guidance. As a result, Shimizu felt nothing but respect and affection for the commander.4
The square-jawed officer with narrow eyes and thinning eyebrows almost didn’t make it to Penang, however. While en route, an Allied sub fired three torpedoes at him, all of which missed.5 The next month, while operating in the Indian Ocean, he sank a 10,286-ton British freighter on its way to Calcutta. The ship’s radio operator managed to get an SOS off, and her crew escaped unharmed, despite the ship’s cargo of ammunition.6 The freighter, however, was a total loss.
Ariizumi and Shimizu had something else in common besides captaining Indian Ocean subs. Two weeks before Ariizumi sank the Tjisalak, Shimizu torpedoed the British merchant ship Nancy Moller. The Moller was hauling coal from South Africa to Ceylon when Shimizu put two torpedoes into her.7 It was March 18, 1944, as the I-165 surfaced 50 yards from the Moller’s, lifeboats and took six survivors on board. A Japanese officer gave orders to shoot two of the survivors, both of them Chinese. One died instantly, while the other suffered a chest wound. Next, the I-165 partially submerged, leaving two Indian lascars to be washed overboard. One of the Moller’s lifeboats rescued the lascars as well as the wounded Chinese. But the sub didn’t leave the scene. Instead, Shimizu took a page out of Ariizumi’s book. When he was only 200 feet from the Moller’s lifeboats, Shimizu’s bridge guns opened fire. Thirty-two out of the Moller’s 60-plus crew were killed in the fusillade,8 putting Shimizu in the select group of sub captains who massacred survivors. Four days later the HMS Emerald pulled 31 castaways from the sea.9
In July 1944 the I-165 was diverted to mole operations ferrying supplies in the Pacific. Shimizu didn’t like mole ops any more than Nambu did. He’d even come close to losing his sub during one mission. Finally, in November 1944, Shimizu returned to Japan.10 He was assigned the I-14 in March 1945, the last sub captain to join Ariizumi’s squadron.
Before the I-14 departed Kobe in March,* Shimizu raised the Hirihokenten banner. Designed to inspire warriors going into battle, the flag quoted an ancient Chinese text: “Right Triumphs over Wrong, Law Triumphs over Right, Power Triumphs over Law, and Heaven Triumphs over Power.”11 Clearly, Shimizu was determined to triumph.
Since the I-14 was delivered late, Shimizu had little time to train his crew. Forced to rely on his experience, he devised a schedule condensing everything he knew into an intensive training program.12 With Japan’s air and sea capability diminishing by the day, and Allied strength growing exponentially, the crew of the I-14 would have to perform flawlessly to complete their mission. Long-term survival wasn’t even a consideration.
Shimizu wasn’t just an experienced sub captain—he was lucky, too. The day after the I-14 departed Kobe, B-29 bombers attacked the harbor. The I-15, a Sen-toku sub that was 90 percent complete,13 was severely damaged, while the I-14 escaped unharmed.14 Luck was to become Shimizu’s defining characteristic.
THE 631ST AIR group also continued training. Takahashi got some additional dive-bomb practice, despite Kure’s ever-present mountain hazard. But when a midair collision resulted in two more casualties, Lieutenant Asamura was dispatched to find a safer place to train.15
There are so many islands dotting Japan’s inland sea that at times it seems more like the land of a thousand lakes than an open waterway. Yashiro Island was one of them and was quickly deemed a suitable location for training. The island was accessible by floatplane and ferry and even had private homes for rent. A base was constructed, and flight operations were ready by mid-March.16
The 631st had ten Seiran by now. Engine malfunctions were still a problem, though flight time was increasing.17 Seiran were pulled out of their hangar sheds every morning by tractor. Each plane rested on a steel-framed dolly that could be towed to shore, where the aircraft was floated off into the sea. When they returned from training, saltwater was carefully hosed from their fuselage and wing joints to minimize contamination.
Nobuo Fujita, who had dropped incendiary bombs on the Oregon forest, was busy training seaplane pilots at Kashima during this period. Some postwar accounts claim he was a Seiran pilot as well. Though Fujita’s teaching skills would undoubtedly have been needed, he was never officially a member of the 631st. It is possible that he taught Seiran pilots as a member of the 634th air group, which lent Zuiun to the 631st for training, but he was never officially part of the mission.
Once the air group was established at its new location, Ariizumi called NGS Staff Officer Fujimori: “We’ve built a new base on Yashiro Island. I want you to come down and watch the training.”
Fujimori agreed and even hitched a ride in a Seiran for the last leg of his trip. After a day of observation, he expressed some concern. “The water landings look pretty bad,” he said candidly.
Ariizumi laughed. Takeoffs were more important than landings. “Obviously, they can’t be flipping over, but don’t worry. We’ll carry the mission out in style.”18
Rough-water landings weren’t the only problem though. Yashiro’s sandy beaches quickly fouled the Seiran engines and jammed the wing joints, making it difficult to open and close them.19 Before long the 631st needed to move again.
Takahashi grew increasingly unhappy with the situation. He doubted the ability of their current officers to pull off a raid on the Panama Canal. His skepticism can be viewed either as pragmatic or as characteristically negative; either way it held a kernel of truth. For example, Asamura, the I-401’s air group leader, had the necessary seaplane experience but no experience launching from submarines. Yamamoto, Takahashi’s observer, had limited hours in the cockpit and no combat experience.20
But Takahashi reserved his most withering scorn for the 631st’s executive officer, Lt. Cdr. Masayoshi Fukunaga. As far as Takahashi could tell, Fukunaga had no experience with submarines, Seiran, or air combat. Furthermore, Takahashi had never even seen him fly. When Fukunaga didn’t show up for night training, Takahashi began a whispering campaign accusing him of collecting hazardous duty pay without flying. As far as Takahashi was concerned, Fukunaga was a thief and a coward. How could the 631st expect to succeed with this kind of leadership?21
Takahashi’s “take no prisoners” attitude was typical of his personality, which was one reason he had difficulty getting along with Asamura. Competitive feelings, bad chemistry, and Asamura’s seniority also played a role—as the Chinese say, two tigers cannot share the same cave. Not even Ariizumi was exempt from the ensign’s harsh assessment. The commander had extensive experience in submarines, but when it came to overseeing an air group, Takahashi felt he was a neophyte.22 Though not entirely fair (there’d been a floatplane aboard Ariizumi’s I-8), nobody had ever commanded anything like the Sen-toku squadron. No doubt Takahashi thought he could do it better.
THOUGH TRAINING FOR t
he Panama Canal attack continued apace, Vice Adm. Jisaburo Ozawa, vice-chief of the Navy General Staff, had other plans for the Sen-toku subs. Nicknamed “the Gargoyle,” Ozawa was considered one of the ugliest flag officers in the Imperial Japanese Navy.23 That didn’t stop him from being creative, and his plans for the Sen-toku subs were just that.
Ozawa proposed sending the underwater aircraft carriers to the American west coast, arming their Seiran with biological weapons, and unleashing germ warfare against a populous U.S. city.24 The idea had first surfaced in December 1944, when the I-400 subs were beginning to deploy. The navy soon took it up, establishing a room in NGS headquarters for planning the operation. But the navy’s biological weapons program was uncooperative,25 forcing Ozawa to turn to the army for help. Relations between the army and navy were never cordial. Nevertheless, the army appointed Capt. Shirou Hattori to help with the program. The person Hattori turned to for advice was the infamous Dr. Shiro Ishii.
Dr. Ishii was Japan’s top virus expert. He’d commanded the army’s notorious 731 Unit near Harbin, Manchuria. Organized in 1936, the secret laboratory had conducted germ warfare experiments on Chinese and American prisoners, infecting them with various diseases, including cholera and typhus.26
The joint army-navy undertaking was named Operation PX. Ishii recommended that aircraft drop fleas infected with bubonic plague, something he’d already tested with some success in China. Several cities were considered as targets, including San Diego, Los Angeles, and San Francisco. One source suggests east coast cities might have been considered as well.27
The navy approved Operation PX in early March 1945.28 Ariizumi was probably unaware of the change, since target selection was the provenance of naval higher-ups. Meanwhile, he continued preparing for the Panama Canal attack.
Operation Storm: Japan's Top Secret Submarines and Its Plan to Change the Course of World War II Page 19