Operation Storm: Japan's Top Secret Submarines and Its Plan to Change the Course of World War II

by John Geoghegan

  Corrine Johnson pleaded her son’s case in a letter to the superintendent. “I do so deeply regret this whole affair … the finest citizens of Lafayette know [my son] to be honest, straightforward and worthy … if you would be so kind as to allow him to graduate with his class, I shall be truly grateful to you.”7

  The superintendent was not reassuring. “Your son’s future as a naval officer depends entirely upon himself,” Brown responded. If that was the case, Johnson’s goose was cooked.

  That same day Superintendent Brown sent a memo to the acting secretary of the navy arguing Johnson be given a diploma but denied a commission. “There is doubt as to his … general dependability,” the superintendent wrote. Fortunately for Johnson, the request was denied, and he received both a bachelor of science degree as well as a commission in the U.S. Navy, despite earning three more demerits for being late to formation.

  Johnson boasted of being his class’s “anchor man,” but, though he graduated near the bottom of 581 midshipmen, he wasn’t last. There were five academic offenders with worse records behind him. He spent the next year and a half serving aboard the USS Oklahoma (BB-37) and the USS Anderson (DD-411).8 Then he applied to the officer’s basic course at the U.S. naval sub school in Groton, Connecticut. As he later noted, “Many former friends consider the fact that I completed the course to be newsworthy.”9 It should come as no surprise that Johnson graduated thirtieth out of a class of 43.

  It wasn’t until he was assigned to the USS Shad (SS 235) and became a full lieutenant that Johnson began to distinguish himself. His characteristic aggressiveness helped. Good grades don’t necessarily make for a good sub captain. Many COs excelled academically, only to be dismissed during the war for excessive caution. Johnson understood excessiveness, but caution usually failed him. After the Shad’s sixth war patrol, he was awarded the Silver Star for conspicuous gallantry in “render[ing] invaluable assistance to his CO in conducting aggressive torpedo attacks.”10 It was just the kind of thing he excelled at.

  During this period, Johnson married an admiral’s daughter, which certainly didn’t hurt his career any. After serving aboard the Shad, he returned to sub school to qualify for command and was eventually named executive officer of the USS Tunny (SS 282).

  Johnson spent seven months aboard the Tunny, during which time his aggressiveness paid off. Earning a Gold Star (in lieu of a second Silver Star), Johnson was cited for his “coolness and high devotion to duty” as well as his “excellent judgment and thorough knowledge of attack problems.”11 After his stay aboard the Tunny, Johnson finally received orders for his own sub command. In June 1945 he replaced Fulp as captain of the Segundo.

  Despite seven war patrols under his belt, Steve Johnson could still lose his temper. A future crew member nicknamed him “Screaming” Steve Johnson for his profane outbursts.12 The Segundo’s crew had yet to experience a Johnson tirade. He might have captained two old-fashioned S-boats and been XO of the Tunny, but the Segundo marked the first time he’d ever captained a frontline submarine. Perhaps it was Johnson’s enthusiasm for commanding his first combat sub that made him so gung-ho, or perhaps it was his gunslinger disposition. Whatever the reason, it made his crew nervous as they prepared to depart on the Segundo’s fifth war patrol.

  It would also be their last.

  * It was also Johnson’s eighth war patrol in total.

  CHAPTER 28

  OPERATION STORM

  CANCELING THE PANAMA CANAL MISSION MADE SENSE UNDER the circumstances. If the special attack force left immediately, it would take until the end of August before it was in position to bomb the canal. By that time, Japan feared, the U.S. invasion could be well under way, rendering a canal attack moot. Additionally, the Allies were sending European theater ships into the Pacific, either by circumnavigating Africa or by transiting the Suez Canal. Destroying the Panama Canal would do nothing to stop these ships from reaching the Pacific; nor would it impede the considerable number already there.

  The anchorage at Ulithi had been an important staging area for the U.S. invasions of Iwo Jima and Okinawa.1 Presumably it would remain so for the invasion of Japan. It could easily handle 1,000 ships, more than Pearl Harbor, and additional ships were on the way. Given the declining war situation, it made sense for Japan to destroy as many of these ships as possible rather than close the route for those coming later.

  Additionally, an immense amount of fuel would be required for four underwater aircraft carriers to make the round trip to Panama. The Naval General Staff knew there wasn’t enough left in Japan to support such a mission. However, if Ariizumi’s special attack force was redirected against Ulithi, they might slow down, if not prevent, an impending invasion.2

  Bombing raids had recently burned the navy ministry to the ground.3 Nagoya had taken another pounding, further disrupting Seiran production, and even Nanao had been hit. By June, U.S. incendiary raids had become such milk runs that ComSubPac had forbidden submariners from hitching rides on B-29s to view the destruction.4 When Allied raids struck Kure on June 22, two more Sixth Fleet subs were lost.5 Although accuracy had improved between January and June 1945, it still didn’t qualify as “precision bombing,” and many Japanese cities suffered the same fate as Dresden.6

  While Ariizumi met with the Naval General Staff, he ordered his assistant to collect all the materials he could find on Ulithi.7 The fires inside the Naval Ministry had grown so intense, the safes inside had melted. As a result, the most important documents, including maps, navigation charts, and files, had been hidden in a nearby bomb shelter for protection. But the surviving papers had been moved in such a hurry, they were in complete disarray. When Ariizumi’s assistant searched for documents related to Ulithi, he found nothing and returned to Nanao empty-handed.8

  WHEN THE I-13 and I-14 abruptly left Nanao, Takahashi became suspicious. The whole point of their training was for subs to practice with their aircraft. When the two subs left their Seiran behind, it suggested something was up.9 Takahashi asked around, but nobody knew why they’d departed. As it turned out, his instinct was right.

  Ulithi had been a thorn in the side of the Imperial Japanese Navy ever since it became the primary anchorage for the U.S. Pacific Fleet. A circle-shaped coral atoll in the Carolina Islands, Ulithi was about halfway between Palau and Guam. The Imperial High Command was convinced that Ulithi’s harbor, with its enormous armada of ships, aircraft, and troop transports, was the main staging area for the Allied advance on Japan. Such an advance had to be stopped if Japan were to remain a sovereign nation.

  The IJN had begun attacking Ulithi in November 1944. First, it launched kaiten against the defended anchorage, with middling results. A second kaiten attack in January 1945 fared no better, and a third attack, which included tokko aircraft, was only slightly more successful. Of the 24 Japanese bombers sent to attack Ulithi in March 1945, only two survived the long journey. It was dark when they arrived, but the anchorage was illuminated. U.S. sailors were watching a movie when one bomber dove into the starboard side of the USS Randolph (CV-15). There was so little fuel left in the plane’s tanks that when she hit the carrier, she failed to catch fire. Her bombs exploded though, igniting the planes on the hangar deck. Despite being badly marred, the Randolph was soon repaired and served as Task Force 58’s flagship, the same task force that would soon run rampant up and down the east coast of Japan. As for the second Japanese bomber, she mistook a nearby island for an aircraft carrier and dove headfirst into its baseball field.10

  The Ulithi attacks were strong on bravery if short on results, but that didn’t stop Ariizumi. As soon as he returned to Nanao, he gathered his officers to brief them on the new target.*

  “I would like to attack Panama,” he said stiltedly, “but Okinawa has already fallen. The final mainland battle is near.… The U.S. military’s advance base is Ulithi [which includes] aircraft carriers and troop transports. We need to sink [those] ships!”11

  ATTACK ORDERS WERE issued on June 25 by Vice Ad
m. Jisaburo Ozawa, commander in chief of the Combined Fleet. The Ulithi mission was divided into two phases. Phase one was called Operation Light (Hikari) and called for the I-13 and I-14 to transport four high-speed reconnaissance aircraft named Saiun to Truk. The two subs were to arrive at Truk by the end of July, where the four planes would be uncrated, assembled, and flown over Ulithi to determine the disposition of enemy ships.12 Once the information was collected, it would be relayed by radio13 and used by the I-400 and I-401 to finalize their attack.

  Phase two of the mission was called Operation Storm (Arashi). It was appropriately named, since Seiran means “storm from a clear sky,” and they were responsible for leading the surprise attack on Ulithi. The order specified that the I-400 and I-401 were to rendezvous near the U.S. anchorage in late July or early August and then, using the information gathered from Saiun reconnaissance, launch their six bomb-carrying Seiran. The planes would depart on a moonlit night, fly the short distance to Ulithi, and crash into the largest American ships they could find, preferably a battleship or an aircraft carrier.14 Another sub employing kaiten, or human torpedoes, was scheduled to attack Ulithi at the same time.15 If all went well, the Japanese would materialize out of nowhere. It would truly feel as if U.S. naval forces had been struck by a storm out of a clear sky.

  The plan was both desperate and dangerous. The route from Japan to Ulithi passed Okinawa, Saipan, Guam, and the Marshall Islands. Not only did the U.S. military control these islands, the shipping lanes connecting them were a major route for the U.S. Navy. Additionally, security was hardly lax at Ulithi, especially after three enemy attacks. There were regular air and sea patrols, an antisubmarine net across the harbor entrance, and military forces on round-the-clock alert. Despite all the security, it was decided that Ariizumi’s strike force would rendezvous south of Ulithi.16 Though Japanese intel suggested American security was weakest there, the mission would not be easy. They would surely encounter the enemy. As usual, Ariizumi was undeterred.

  THE I-13 AND I-14 spent ten days in Maizuru loading supplies.17 Meanwhile the I-400 and I-401 continued training in Nanao Bay. Once Takahashi learned the target was Ulithi, he recommended a change in their training regimen. He wanted to practice flying at low altitude to avoid radar, reasoning it would be difficult for U.S. fighters to spot a Seiran only 100 feet above the water. Even if they were discovered, it would be nearly impossible for a fighter to attack them without the risk of crashing into the ocean. Asamura agreed, and training changed accordingly.18

  Additionally, Takahashi had come to accept the necessity for suicide. He hadn’t believed in sacrificing aircrews to attack the Panama Canal, but now that they were sinking a capital ship, there was no alternative. The only way to ensure success was to turn his plane into a giant bomb and crash it headlong into an aircraft carrier. Given that most flights were tokko by this time, he really had no choice.

  When aircrews from the I-13 and I-14 came to say goodbye, Takahashi couldn’t help but notice their guilty expressions.19 Their sub’s new reconnaissance role meant they were no longer going to die, a Truk-based aircrew would fly in their stead. As the Seiran pilots crowded around Takahashi, they tried cheering him up. “We’re praying for your success,” they told him, adding, “We’ll be following you soon.”20

  The parting proved so difficult, Takahashi thought he’d prefer dying than having to say goodbye again.21 It was an uncharacteristically sentimental feeling for a man known to be critical. Then again, they’d trained so closely, the pilots seemed more like brothers than colleagues. He couldn’t help but feel emotional.

  AFTER TRAINING WAS complete, the I-400 and I-401 left Nanao Bay for Maizuru, keeping a lookout for U.S. subs along the way. It was July 13, and Takahashi was confident that their skills had improved enough that the Ulithi mission stood a chance of success.22

  When the I-400 arrived at Maizuru, Captain Kusaka pulled Takahashi aside and gave him 300 yen and a four-day pass. Considering that a pilot’s monthly salary was 122 yen, this was a large sum of money. Kusaka told him the pass and extra pay had come from Vice Admiral Daigo, commander in chief of the Sixth Fleet.

  Takahashi knew why he was getting them. Might as well have a good time, he thought.23 After Maizuru, it would be too late.

  Four days later, when Takahashi returned from shore leave, he noticed a Seiran being repainted. The plane wasn’t just receiving a touch-up coat of green—its fuselage was covered in silver, to resemble an American fighter. When Takahashi saw Japan’s red sun emblem being replaced by the blue and white naval star insignia of a U.S. aircraft, he became indignant.

  “Who is responsible for such a cowardly act?” he demanded.24

  Painting the Seiran to look like American aircraft was a blatant violation of international law. It wasn’t so much this violation that infuriated Takahashi—it was the disgrace of flying such an important mission in aircraft disguised to look like the enemy. It was downright shameful.

  Takahashi knew it was useless to complain. No one was going to pay attention to the inflamed sensibilities of a pilot. In the spirit of protest, he drew a picture on the prop spinner showing a heart with an arrow through it and the words “Hit to Kill.”25

  Asamura didn’t share Takahashi’s concerns about the ruse. They only had one shot at attacking Ulithi, and the odds were against them. Yes, it was a “dirty play,” but if U.S. fighters mistook the Seiran for friendly aircraft it might buy enough time for him to crash into a ship. There was no point in worrying about international sensibilities.26 They needed every advantage they could get.

  THE I-400 AND I-401 spent seven days at Maizuru loading three months’ worth of supplies.27 Enough food, ammunition, and fuel were boarded to get them to Ulithi and, assuming everything went right, to Hong Kong and Singapore after that.28 So many crates, canned goods, and rice sacks were stacked in the corridors that traversing the sub was difficult. To ease the congestion, wooden planks were laid on top so the crew literally walked over their food.29 It raised the height of the deck so much, the planks were almost even with the bottom bunks in the crew quarters.

  Though wartime food was deplorable, the I-401 didn’t lack for delicacies. Among her stores were bread, Inari sushi, sekihan (red sticky rice), dried squid, hindquarters of lamb, curry powder, onions, canned spinach, parsley, soy sauce, whiskey, and straw-covered flagons of sake. Staples such as canned sweet potatoes and white rice were loaded in great quantity, since they made up a significant part of the crew’s diet.

  As the day of their departure grew near, everyone made preparations for their death. Asamura entrusted a dagger with a note stating “Stake everything you have” to a friend for delivery to his parents in Osaka.30 Nambu led a delegation of the I-401’s officers to pray at Shiraito Shrine. When they finished, they received inspirational headbands to wear into battle.31

  Unknown to his officers, Nambu invited their families to say goodbye.32 When their mothers, fathers, and wives suddenly appeared in Maizuru, there were moments of tear-filled joy. Nambu made it clear that this was the last time they were likely to see their son, husband, or brother. Japan’s position was so desperate, he even feared America would invade while they were away. Nambu could only guess what would happen to his family if they fell into enemy hands. He hoped his wife would hide in the mountains.33 In the meantime, he preferred not to think about the consequences.

  Yata had written a farewell note to his mother, but when she surprised him by coming to say goodbye, he chose not to send it. She assumed that Yata, her only child and last living relative, would not be returning from his mission. What Yata didn’t know was that his mother planned to hang herself after they said goodbye.34

  The I-400 and I-401 finished their preparations by July 19.35 That night 12 members of the Seiran aircrew were invited to a farewell banquet with the head of the Sixth Fleet, Admiral Daigo.† Ariizumi, Nambu, and Kusaka, the I-400’s captain, arrived at Shitairo, a traditional Japanese restaurant, at 6:00 P.M.36 Senior Staff Officer
Shojiro Iura, who had briefed Fujita on bombing Oregon, attended as well. Geishas kept the cups filled, as toasts were drunk in honor of the 12 brave men. It was a solemn occasion, and a poem recognizing their sacrifice was recited. As the night grew late alcohol flowed freely and the men indulged in camaraderie and sentimental song.37

  The high point came when the Seiran aircrews were invited to approach Admiral Daigo. One by one each man came forward and stated his rank, name, and sub designation. Daigo then handed him an empty cup, which a geisha filled with sake. After the pilot had drunk his share, he returned the cup and thanked the admiral for his support.38

  Daigo could see the determination written on each man’s face.39 These were the finest young men Japan had to offer. Ariizumi’s four subs represented a quarter of all the operational combat subs left in Japan. Surely, those present felt the ultimate sacrifice would soon be shared by everyone around the table.

  THE NEXT MORNING the Seiran aircrews assembled on deck alongside the I-401’s catapult.‡ Nambu wore his dress uniform for the ceremony. The senior officers of the Maizuru Naval Base wore the same. The crew of the Sen-toku squadron also gathered to watch as Commander Ariizumi presented each member of the Seiran aircrew with a short sword, a parting gift from Admiral Daigo.40 The scabbard of each sword was engraved with the words “Divine Dragon Special Attack Unit.”41 Ariizumi had come up with the designation based on the first character of his name.42 It was a bit of bravado, since the unit had not received any official designation. By this point Ariizumi was more concerned about inspiring his men than about navy protocol.