And Ariizumi was a true believer. As commander of the last operational Sixth Fleet unit,4 he wasn’t willing to lay down his sword. He’d been charged with a top secret mission, the last offensive action of the war. When it came time to make his decision, Ariizumi chose to proceed as planned. In 24 hours, they’d launch against Ulithi.
MASAO OKUI, THE I-400’s cook, knew something was wrong when the senior officers ignored their food.5 It was the evening of August 15, and he was serving dinner in the wardroom. Food was a high point aboard the sub, so it was unusual when somebody refused to eat. The entire senior rank was so dispirited, they hardly lifted their hashi.
Kusaka had chosen not to inform his enlisted men about the emperor’s announcement. It was the captain’s prerogative to withhold information, but Kusaka did so because he was having trouble accepting the news himself. He’d told his senior officers, of course, instructing them to keep quiet. Since orders from Japan were contradictory, he thought it best to see how things developed first.6
When the I-400 surfaced after sunset the next day, Kusaka finally received a message to cease combat activities and return to Kure.7 Instead of complying, he took the sub down to periscope depth and assembled his senior officers. Even though his orders were clear, their opinion still mattered to him. Losing the war was unprecedented. Kusaka wanted to know what his officers thought they should do.
The I-400’s chief navigator was first to speak. He argued they should attack Ulithi because it would be shameful to return to Japan. The I-400 was only hours from launching her Seiran when the surrender announcement came, it would be easy to resume their plans. If they survived, they could launch other attacks against the enemy, commandeering food and fuel along the way. If capture appeared imminent, they could always scuttle the sub.8
Takahashi had the opposite reaction. The chief navigator was too quick to sacrifice the crew, he argued. Some of the officers might want to fight, but many of the enlisted men would want to go home.9 If the chief navigator wanted to die, fine, but why should the rest of the crew be deprived of their lives?10 Importantly, Japan had surrendered. What was the point of dying if they’d already lost? Of course, the naval command had made a grievous error. Starting a war it couldn’t win had been foolish. Now that they’d admitted defeat, everyone should return home as quickly as possible.
Kusaka listened quietly with his eyes closed. When all his officers had had their say, he retired to his cabin to think things over.11 It didn’t take him long to make up his mind. He soon reassembled his officers to tell them they were returning to Kure.12
Though not everyone agreed with the choice (some officers even contemplated jumping into the sea wearing weights if they were captured),13 there was palpable relief. Kusaka informed the rest of the crew by intercom. Many were surprised by Japan’s defeat, but they were equally shocked to have survived the war. Takahashi was in the happy-to-return-home camp.14 At least he wouldn’t be throwing his life away to satisfy someone else’s notion of honor.
The next morning Kusaka set course for Japan. It’s unknown whether he feared capture because he’d massacred prisoners, but he certainly took precautions. Traveling underwater by day, Kusaka surfaced only at night, when the sub could go her fastest.15 Obviously, no self-respecting sub captain wanted to surrender his boat to the enemy. The ignominy could only be worsened by being captured in international waters. Ideally, they’d make it back to Japan without being spotted, where they could quietly melt into the countryside. If worse came to worst and they were intercepted, it had to be in Japanese waters. Otherwise, the loss of face would be too great.
THE I-14 WAS awaiting another recon patrol when Shimizu received a transcript of the emperor’s speech.16 He had his doubts about the message, just like the other sub captains. He even considered sailing to Singapore as originally planned.17 But when the I-14 was ordered to cease combat operations, Shimizu gathered his officers and read them the edict.
Lt. Michio Takamatsu, the I-14’s gunnery officer, was crushed by the news. This was how German naval officers must have felt at the end of World War I, he thought. Germany had paid a heavy price after the war, and Takamatsu feared the same for Japan. Shoganai, he said to himself—there was nothing he could do.18
Some of Shimizu’s officers entertained wild ideas, like blowing up the sub or attacking Saipan.19 When the Sixth Fleet ordered the I-14 to return to Yokosuka,* Shimizu finally accepted that the war was over. The news might have depressed him, but he was ready to comply. It was time to go home.20
As the I-14 departed Truk, one of its reconnaissance planes circled overhead. Though he accepted the cease-fire, Shimizu was intent on avoiding capture. Navigating underwater by day, he darkened the I-14’s navigation lights when traveling on the surface at night. His priority was to “bring every last crewman safely back to the mainland.” The only way to do it was to avoid the enemy.21
Meanwhile, tempers were running hot in Fukuyama. Some of the 631st’s younger officers wanted to commandeer a boat, pack it with weapons, and attack Allied ships in the Tsushima Strait. It was a joke at first. Then Lieutenant Yamamoto found a boat, loaded it with supplies, and headed for the Inland Sea with a few supporters. Things didn’t end there, however. The air group’s maintenance chief was so upset by the emperor’s broadcast, he threatened suicide. Thinking more clearly, he packed his bags and deserted the unit instead. His colleagues took mercy on him since his Hiroshima home had recently been destroyed. Two men went to bring him back. The incident was indicative of the difficulty many had embracing defeat.22
THE I-401’s SEIRAN were readying for their attack on Ulithi when Nambu received orders to cease all combat activity. The blanket message was quickly followed by another specifically canceling the Ulithi mission. SubRon 1 was now ordered to Kure.23
It was nine o’clock the evening of August 16 when Nambu learned the attack had been canceled.24 The order had come not a moment too soon, since the sub was close to launching her planes. Had the message arrived seven hours later, an attack so provocative it could have endangered the cease-fire agreement would have commenced. As it was, the I-401 barely avoided disaster.
There were no rules in the Japanese Navy for dealing with surrender. The samurai code taught that when given a choice between surrender and death, it is best to choose death. Imperial Naval tradition reinforced this thinking, but Nambu was too relieved to kill himself. It might have been cowardly, still he was glad to be alive.25
After receiving orders to stand down, Ariizumi convened a meeting in the I-401’s wardroom, with Nambu and his senior officers in attendance.26 It had been nearly two days since the emperor’s announcement, a seeming eternity in the minds of those who knew the truth. Now, as they squeezed around the wardroom table, their faces shiny with sweat, the officers of the I-401 expressed their opinion about what to do next.27
“We can’t return to Japan with our tail between our legs,” one officer argued. “We should scuttle the sub instead.”28
Ariizumi dismissed the idea. German captains who scuttled their ships at the end of World War I had demonstrated admirable fighting spirit, he explained, but their actions had resulted in higher war reparations for Germany. The commander didn’t want to increase Japan’s burden, especially after losing a war. Instead, he suggested they kill themselves.† 29
“Even if we return to the mainland all soldiers will be executed as war criminals,” he added.30 Mass suicide was a better idea.
Individual accounts of the meeting vary, but Nambu’s officers had little heart for such drastic action.
“Even if we commit suicide we only have six pistols,” one officer pointed out. “Senior officers have a sword but their death would be messy and might discourage the [enlisted men from following their example]. It’s just not practical for 200 people to kill themselves. Sinking the sub would be better, even if it burdens Japan.”31
Ariizumi continued to disagree. He might not have realized, however, that some of his officers prefe
rred not to die by their own hand. Though they were ashamed to admit it, it created a dilemma. If a consensus emerged that suicide was best, the reluctant officers would be obligated to go along. In the meantime, many hoped to avoid death by coming up with an alternative solution.
One officer suggested they hide out on a Pacific island.32 The idea was dismissed as impractical because they couldn’t survive on an island without supplies.33 Another officer, desirous of breaking the tension, suggested they become pirates.34 With three attack planes, 20 torpedoes, and months’ worth of provisions, they could sail the high seas capturing ships along the way. It was a funny idea, and no one took it seriously.35
If Nambu felt anything during the meeting, it was the shame of defeat.36 It was bad enough that Japan had lost the war; the fact she had surrendered was enough to choke him. But the more Nambu thought about the situation, the more he realized what he should do. The emperor had called upon Japan’s fighting men to return and rebuild their nation. Perhaps they should heed that call. Certainly, their lives would be better spent helping their country recover from a devastating war than sacrificing themselves for a cause already lost.
It was at this moment that Nambu decided what he must do. The war was over; the emperor had deemed it so. He would return his 204 crewmen safely to Japan.37 And since the Sixth Fleet was no longer in existence, there was no one to tell him to do otherwise—no one except Ariizumi.
It was hard to know where the commander stood after the debate. After all, his first instinct had been for everyone to kill themselves. Would he back a consensus to return to Japan, or would he overrule them? There was no way to know for sure.
After the initial wardroom meeting, Muneo Bando, the I-401’s chief navigator, went to Ariizumi’s quarters for a private audience.38 Like many of the I-401’s officers, Bando was relieved the war was over.39 Newly married, he was inclined to accept the emperor’s edict.
“Commander, regarding suicide …,” Bando began.
“Ah, you weren’t at the meeting, but I think suicide is the best choice for us.”
“What do we do about the submarine, Commander, if we commit suicide?”
“We’ll leave the sub afloat, so it won’t cause problems for Japan in the future.”
It was now or never, so Bando screwed up his courage. “There’s no need to go to these lengths [i.e., kill ourselves] … We have fought for the emperor … but this time, the emperor has ordered our submission.… Committing suicide against his wish … may mean death for nothing.… We should follow orders and return to base.”
“Do you think so?” Ariizumi asked. “No such opinion was expressed in the meeting.”
“Commander, we need to think about the future of the Japanese race. It took Germany only 10 years to recover from World War I.… You devoted half your life to the navy, but I and the crew are young. You may have no regrets, still …,” Bando stopped talking to examine the commander’s face.
Much to Bando’s surprise, Ariizumi seemed to be taking what he said seriously. Sensing an opportunity, Bando pressed on.
“We must be the ones to rebuild Japan. Why not sail the sub to an unpopulated part of the eastern seaboard, split up, and disappear? That way we could arrive home safely and avoid surrendering to the Americans. If the enemy intercepts us, we can always submerge with the hatches open. Barring capture, we should try to get home no matter what.”40
Yata, the I-401’s gunnery officer, was not senior enough to have been told of the emperor’s announcement when it first happened. Now that he knew, he was glad the war was over. Nobody had thought they could win anyway, so it was a relief to hear they might be returning home. But could the I-401 really get through such heavily guarded waters? Yata wondered. Surely the United States would catch them along the way. What would they do then?41
Bando’s suggestion to return to Japan was the simplest, most direct response to an ambiguous situation, but the problem of how to avoid capture by the Americans remained. If they were discovered while too far south, they might be diverted to an American naval base like Saipan or Guam. Alternatively, they couldn’t head for Yokosuka or Kure because both were likely to be occupied.42 Fortunately, their classified mission gave them options. The I-401 was a top secret sub, few people knew she existed. This meant they could go anywhere they wanted and nobody would be the wiser. Being a well-kept secret had its advantage.
Alternative accounts suggest that the idea to return to Japan was not Bando’s alone. Whatever the truth, the consensus was fragile. There had been so much back-and-forth, and so many conflicting opinions, that Nambu wasn’t sure which agreement would stick. The commander had always been difficult, and his sense of pride naturally favored death.
Surprisingly, Ariizumi agreed to return to Japan. They would continue traveling underwater by day to escape detection, even though such an act was considered hostile. They would avoid Yokosuka, Kure, and Sasebo. Instead, they would head for the Sanriku coast, a remote area on Honshu’s northeastern seaboard that the enemy was likely to overlook. Once they arrived, they would disembark and quietly scuttle the sub. Since few people knew the I-401 existed, let alone her whereabouts, they might just get away with it.43 The two wild cards were the Americans and Ariizumi. Unfortunately, there was nothing Nambu could do about either one. If they ran into the enemy, all bets were off. He just hoped it didn’t come to that.
WHEN NAMBU FINALLY informed his crew that Japan had lost the war, it was nearly 30 hours since the emperor had broadcast the same message. Many had guessed the truth. Certainly no one complained about not having been told. They were happy just to have survived.44
The crew might have been glad to be alive, but their mood was hardly festive. A depression descended upon the sub and deepened the farther north they got. The shock of having survived the war was replaced by the uncertainty of what awaited them at home. Were their families still alive, or had they been incinerated by B-29s? Would they be welcomed back, scorned as “ghosts” or worse, seen as responsible for the empire’s defeat? After so many years of warfare, the men had difficulty grasping a future that didn’t involve death. The uncertainty of postwar life weighed on them like a black cloud.45
Nambu received a second Imperial Rescript on August 18, this one addressed “To the officers and men of the Imperial Forces.”
Three years and eight months have elapsed since we declared war on the United States and Britain. During this time our beloved men of the army and navy, sacrificing their lives, have fought valiantly on disease-stricken and barren lands and on tempestuous waters in the blazing sun, and of this we are deeply grateful.
Now that the Soviet Union has entered the war against us, to continue the war under the present internal and external conditions would be only to increase needlessly the ravages of war finally to the point of endangering the very foundation of the Empire’s existence.
With that in mind and although the fighting spirit of the Imperial Army and Navy is as high as ever, with a view to maintaining and protecting our noble national policy we are about to make peace with the United States, Britain, the Soviet Union and Chungking.
To a large number of loyal and brave officers and men of the Imperial forces who have died in battle and from sicknesses goes our deepest grief. At the same time we believe the loyalty and achievements of you officers and men of the Imperial forces will for all time be the quintessence of our nation.
We trust that you officers and men of the Imperial forces will comply with our intention and will maintain a solid unity and strict discipline in your movements and that you will bear the hardest of all difficulties, bear the unbearable and leave an everlasting foundation of the nation.46
Nambu had little difficulty understanding this rescript. Enough time had passed that he’d accepted Japan’s defeat, and the edict, though sad, was designed to persuade the military to accept a cease-fire. Not everybody was content to surrender though. Two days later the I-401 received a message not only diverting her from Kure to
Ominato but demanding she reveal her position as well.47
The request put Ariizumi in a quandary. If he revealed the I-401’s location, the sub could be directed to an enemy port.48
“As a soldier of the Imperial Navy, I cannot let one of his majesty’s ships fall into enemy hands,” he told Nambu. “There is no need to give them our location. We’ll just keep silent and return to the mainland.”49
Clearly, Ariizumi was still in command. Deciding to attack Ulithi after the emperor’s broadcast, returning to a port of his own choosing, and now refusing to reveal the sub’s location were strong indications he was no longer following orders. It was remarkable in some ways that a loyal commander of the Sixth Fleet, one who had consented to massacring prisoners even though he knew the policy was despicable, behaved in this manner. Then again, they were living in remarkable times. Ariizumi was calling the shots.
A third Imperial Rescript, also addressed to the military, was received on August 25. Written to suppress the pockets of resistance that continued to plague the empire, the emperor again thanked his fighting men for their sacrifice, reminded them to cease combat activity, and made it clear that demobilization was under way. The navy minister followed up the rescript with his own message. Praising the emperor’s gracious edict, it reminded IJN personnel to follow the emperor’s words and focus their efforts on rebuilding the nation.
By now, the message was clear. The war was over; the Imperial Japanese Navy was no more. Nambu took the messages as evidence that he was correct in returning his crew to Japan. After posting an inspirational note to the I-401’s mast,50 he retired to his cabin to pen his last poem of the war:
Operation Storm: Japan's Top Secret Submarines and Its Plan to Change the Course of World War II Page 30