Now that the Segundo had called their bluff, Ariizumi needed to appoint someone to represent them. Regulations stipulated that in such situations, the chief navigator should serve as liaison. But Bando’s English was poor. Nevertheless, Ariizumi wanted him to go.
“This is asking a lot, but please visit the enemy submarine,” Ariizumi requested. “We have no intention of living ourselves, and I don’t know what will happen to you amongst the enemy, but think of this as your final duty and go.”10
Ariizumi had always liked Bando even though some crewmen considered him a brown-noser. Still, the navigator was able to say things to the commander that Nambu could never get away with.11
Bando agreed to act as liaison, but that didn’t mean he had the authority to negotiate. The most he could do was communicate the commander’s wishes and relay the American response. He did not have the power to accept or change terms. That was Ariizumi’s call.
The biggest problem Bando faced was his weak command of the enemy’s language.12 Ariizumi knew Bando was deficient and questioned him about it.
“Can you handle them all right with your English?” he asked. “Why don’t you bring along a crew member who can translate for you?”13
Ariizumi was probably thinking of Masao Nishimura, a Canadian-born Nisei who spoke fluent English. Nishimura had monitored the English-language broadcasts aboard the I-401.14 His command of the language was excellent.
But Bando didn’t want an English speaker. He was concerned that a translator might inadvertently say something he shouldn’t or somehow take control of the negotiations.15 Importantly, Bando thought it best if the Americans didn’t understand everything he was saying. Obscurity could help in a situation where they had few advantages. If anything, he might be able to wear down the Americans enough that they’d grant a concession. It wouldn’t be the first time the Japanese had used such a tactic.
“I can’t let the enemy see our hand,” Bando replied. “I will handle this myself.”
Bando felt responsibility for their situation.16 After all, he’d convinced Ariizumi not to scuttle the sub. Staying alive had made sense at the time, since they still had options. Now that they might become prisoners, he wasn’t so sure. The obligation to bring matters to an honorable conclusion weighed heavily upon him. Nor did it help that he entertained thoughts of survival.17
If the Americans could be persuaded to allow the I-401 to continue on her own,18 Bando felt he could prevent Ariizumi from scuttling the sub. But if they refused, or negotiations broke down, all bets were off. In that case, Bando was prepared to die.19
The Segundo sent a small rubber raft to collect Bando. Manned by Lt. (jg) J. K. Brozo and rowed by Chief of the Boat E. A. Russell, it took the two men 15 minutes to maneuver the craft near the giant submarine. Entering a raft in a choppy sea is not an elegant process, and Bando undoubtedly got wet. Wearing shorts, a long-sleeved coat, and a short-brimmed hat, he sat in the stern practically in Lieutenant Brozo’s lap. As Russell pulled away from the I-401, the wind picked up and the sea with it.
It took another 15 minutes to return to the Segundo.20 During this time, Bando sat quietly in the raft, fearful about what might happen next. He was about to board an American submarine outmanned, outgunned, and far from help. The fate of the I-401 rested upon his shoulders. He didn’t want the crew to die in vain, but if it came to that, he wasn’t going without a fight. If the enemy sank them, he resolved to give the American captain a farewell punch in the jaw.21
By the time the raft bumped against the Segundo’s hull, Bando was seriously scared. When he saw the reception party, five crewmen each with a pistol waiting to search him, he realized the Americans considered him unpredictable. They needn’t have worried. Bando had every intention of conducting himself in a manner becoming an officer of the Imperial Japanese Navy, even with a .45 stuck in his back.
Johnson was waiting on the bridge. Wearing a dark navy jacket and his lieutenant commander’s hat, he maintained a casual pose as the navigator greeted him.
“I am Bando,” Bando said. He followed his broken English with a Japanese-style bow.
“Hello, Mr. Bando,” Johnson replied. “Nice to meet you.”22
He then shook the navigator’s hand, albeit awkwardly.23 Formalities finished, Johnson cut to the chase.
“You surrender.”24
“Look at my submarine,” Bando responded, uncertain of his English. “We not surrender, we hara kiri.”
Captain Johnson looked concerned. “Hara kiri no good,” he replied.25
Bando was surprised that an American sub captain would know the word hara kiri. Johnson had even used it in his reply, leaving no doubt he understood what the ritual act of suicide meant. Bando smiled inwardly. If Captain Johnson didn’t want the Japanese crew to kill themselves, it gave him negotiating leverage. He could use suicide as a threat to extract concessions from his foe.26 That, combined with the possibility the Americans didn’t know the sub had disarmed, meant they were in a stronger negotiating position than he originally realized.
As the conversation progressed, the mood remained hostile. Johnson told Bando he wanted the Japanese sub to proceed to Yokosuka accompanied by the Segundo. Bando refused, claiming the I-401 had only enough fuel to reach Ominato.* Johnson didn’t buy Bando’s story. Yokosuka was closer than Ominato; the I-401 should have no trouble reaching the sub base. The truth was Ariizumi didn’t want to surrender at an occupied naval base. He found it too humiliating. Nevertheless, Johnson had orders to escort the I-401 to Yokosuka whether they liked it or not.
If Johnson was surprised to be negotiating with a junior officer, he didn’t show it. Bando might have had less authority than Nambu, but Johnson seemed content to deal with him. Despite a somewhat flippant manner, the Segundo’s captain remained calm throughout the discussion. He knew the Japanese were in no position to negotiate. The Segundo had them at gunpoint. But Johnson was willing to hear them out, so long as he wasn’t played for a fool. At the end of the day, they would do what he said or he’d blow them out of the water. It was as simple as that.
Bando, however, proved difficult to understand. As the Segundo’s patrol report indicates, “A doubtful conversation [was held] in baby talk plus violent gestures.”27 It’s dangerous to negotiate with a foe you don’t completely comprehend. The cultural gap was wide enough, but the language barrier was almost insurmountable.
Despite the difficulty in communicating, the Segundo’s captain remained in control. Slouching against the bridge, his lieutenant commander’s hat tipped back on his forehead, Johnson towered over the Japanese navigator. He might not have realized that Bando didn’t have the authority to negotiate, especially since the chief navigator was negotiating with all his might. Nevertheless, Bando appeared almost comical. Aside from being small, he seemed exotic and out of place.
Handing him a map, Johnson pointed to where he wanted the Japanese sub to go. Yokosuka, he said. Even Bando could understand that. But the chief navigator had other ideas.
When he’d first climbed aboard the American sub, he was sure they were going to kill him. But Johnson had no more intention of killing Bando than he did of allowing the I-401’s crew to commit suicide. Perhaps there was an honorable alternative. If so, Bando was determined to find it.
Using pidgin English, Bando tried persuading the Segundo’s CO to let them go to Ominato. If he did, Bando promised, they’d turn their sub over as soon as they arrived. If Johnson insisted on the I-401 surrendering however, they’d have no choice but to commit hara kiri.
Johnson shook his head.
At this point in the discussion, a Segundo quartermaster pulled a KA-BAR combat knife from his belt and held it in front of Bando.
“Here, take this,” he said. “I’ve never seen someone commit hara kiri before.” Then, to emphasize the point, he shouted down the bridge hatch, “Send up a bucket of water! We’re going to have a mess up here.”28
The story may be apocryphal, since the crewman who
reported it was not on the bridge at the time, but it was indicative of the sour feelings that many of the crew felt for the Japanese. There might have been a cease-fire, but the war wasn’t over, not by a long shot. And these Japanese seemed intent on restarting it.
Johnson hung tough despite his crew’s doubts. Arguing that suicide would be meaningless now that the war was over, he told Bando the best thing to do was surrender and accompany him to Yokosuka.
“I’d like you to persuade your people of this,” he urged Bando. “There’s no point in killing yourselves.”
Bando didn’t understand everything the American sub captain said. Still, he sensed the man felt responsible for keeping them alive.
“They won’t commit suicide before I return,” Bando said, “so please don’t worry. The important thing is the result of our negotiation.”
But Bando was wrong. Unknown to the chief navigator, Ariizumi’s patience had run out. Determined not to surrender his flagship, the commander had grown so agitated, he ordered signal flags to be used to send Bando a message.
It read: “Tell them to hurry up and sink our sub.”
Bando was astonished. He’d boarded the American sub eager to save his crewmates. Now Ariizumi was telling him to facilitate their death.
“Please wait, we are negotiating,” Bando signaled back.29
As far as Ariizumi was concerned, it was too late. The negotiations had gone on long enough. If the Americans wouldn’t torpedo Ariizumi’s sub, allowing him an honorable death, then he would take matters into his own hands.
“Open the Kingston valves!” he commanded.30
Ariizumi would sink his flagship himself.
* Some accounts suggest Captain Johnson initially told Bando he wanted the I-401 to go to Guam. However, according to the Segundo’s Fifth War Patrol Report, August 29, 1945, 0539 and 0609, Tokyo and Yokosuka were the only destinations Johnson mentioned.
CHAPTER 36
SPOILS OF WAR
NO ONE WAS MORE SURPRISED THAN THE I-400’S CAPTAIN TO SEE their torpedoes jump out of the ocean, make a 180-degree turn, and head back toward the sub. Circular torpedo runs were rare in the Japanese Navy. When they did occur, they were a much-dreaded event. Kusaka immediately called for evasive action. He wasn’t worried about the torpedoes exploding; they’d been disarmed before launching. But you didn’t want a two-ton, steel-jacketed battering ram slamming into your hull at 50 knots, especially more than once. Even unarmed torpedoes can do damage.
Unfortunately for Kusaka, the torpedoes hadn’t gone very far before circling back. He didn’t have time to dive and wasn’t even sure he could get out of their way, especially since their paths were officially unpredictable. His only choice would have been to make the sub’s profile as small as possible. Careful not to show his starboard or port sides, he would have headed his sub straight into the oncoming weapons.
As the torpedoes began their half circle, the I-400’s crew would have rushed to close the watertight hatches. Next, they would have braced for impact. Fortunately, just before the first torpedo reached the sub, it headed for the bottom.1 The others soon followed. When it was clear the sub was out of danger, Kusaka hissed a sigh of relief.
The I-400 had avoided disaster for the time being, but the Sen-toku subs still had to get to Ominato without being discovered. A fleet of enemy ships awaited them, many looking for stragglers. To avoid this dragnet, they needed more than just luck—they needed the gods to help them.
Though accounts differ, the Sen-toku subs appear to have received orders to return to Ominato on August 20.2 If not, it’s a remarkable coincidence that all three subs set sail for the same destination of their own accord (rather than Yokosuka or Kure). There’s no indication that Ariizumi was in contact with his squadron, and even if he was, he seemed more interested in disembarking along the Sanriku coast than docking at Ominato. Either way, none of Ariizumi’s subs were ready to surrender.
LT. ROBERT T. Mahoney was piloting a Grumman TBM Avenger when he spotted what was later described as a great whale half awash.3 It was August 27, 1945, and Mahoney was leading an air patrol off the USS Bennington (CV-20).4
“Japanese sub flying surrender colors,” he reported.5
The first thing Kusaka did after Mahoney spotted him was put on speed. Hoping to escape before a U.S. ship intercepted him, he ordered 18 knots. Realizing that Kusaka was trying to escape, Mahoney did his best to intercede. But there’s only so much an airplane can do to stop a sub. At first Mahoney used a blinker light to tell the I-400 to reverse course. When that didn’t work, he dropped a message on her deck ordering her south. Unwilling to concede, Kusaka ignored it.6
Takahashi watched from the I-400’s deck as the American pilot repeatedly signaled the sub. He could easily tell the Grumman wanted them to turn around. After circling the I-400 several times, Mahoney grew so frustrated, he executed a reverse turn 100 feet off the sub’s bow. When that didn’t work, he buzzed the boat, leaned out of his cockpit, and jerked his thumb south.7
Kusaka eventually gave in, but not because of anything Mahoney did. When the I-400’s captain radioed Naval Defense Command for instructions, he was told to obey the American pilot.8 Even after Kusaka turned south, he still had thoughts of escaping. Slowing to six knots, he’d drag the voyage out, wait until sunset, then submerge and sneak away.9 In the meantime, he threw his code books overboard.10
Mahoney was not alone in pursuit of the I-400; the USS Blue (DD-744) and USS Mansfield (DD-728) were also dispatched. The two Sumner-class destroyers were making 30 knots in an effort to catch the sub. At 5:30 on the evening of August 28, they sighted her 200 miles off the coast of Honshu. The I-400 was bigger than either destroyer. That didn’t prevent the Blue from signaling to “stop or be fired upon.” Having no choice, Kusaka complied. The two destroyers began circling the sub, their deck guns at the ready.11
Gordon Hiatt was one of at least 37 prize crew members on board the Blue. A motor machinist’s mate first class, he’d originally been stationed on a submarine tender in Guam. Every morning for three months, he’d mustered with the relief crew to see what needed to be done. So far there hadn’t been much. Once the call for a prize crew went out,12 Hiatt figured it was his last opportunity to see some action.13 As luck would have it, he soon found himself on the Blue speeding toward a Japanese submarine the likes of which he’d never seen.
The Blue was first to arrive on the scene. A new 2,200-ton destroyer, she appeared too small to take on the giant enemy sub. Hiatt was in the mess hall when the Blue began circling what looked like a floating island. Fortunately, she soon had the Mansfield for company.
Nobody knew what to expect from the sub, so both destroyers kept their deck-mounted torpedo tubes armed and ready.14 A member of the Blue’s gun crew asked rhetorically, “Why don’t we just blow them out of the water?” He wasn’t the only one who felt this way. An officer told him to keep quiet.15
After half an hour of circling, the Blue’s captain told his boarding party to capture the I-400.16 Lt. John J. Rowan and 36 other men including Hiatt climbed into a 40-foot whaleboat, which was lowered into the water.17 Hiatt had no idea what to expect as they approached the sub. Japanese submariners were thought to be part of a military elite reluctant to surrender. And since the U.S. Navy had little experience boarding enemy subs, Lieutenant Rowan wasn’t sure either.
The sea was calm as the whaleboat approached. A lifeline was dropped over the I-400’s side, but only one man at a time could climb it. Hiatt was one of the first. Handing his rifle to a colleague, he took hold of the rope and began scaling the side. Between the bobbing launch and the slipperiness of the hull, he found it tough going. If it hadn’t been for the sub’s degaussing cables, he might have fallen into the sea.
Japanese sailors watched curiously as the U.S. boarding party climbed on deck. The sailors in the whaleboat kept their guns trained on the enemy crew, but the deck was so high, it was like aiming at the rooftop of a three-story building. P2/c Tos
hio Azuma felt sorry for the Americans. Although they were armed with Thompson submachine guns, M-1 carbines, and .45-caliber pistols, they looked nervous as they stood around on deck.18 Hiatt now found himself surrounded by the enemy without the benefit of his rifle. No wonder Azuma thought they looked scared.
Kusaka met the boarding party on the foredeck.19 Accompanied by an interpreter, he listened grimly as Lieutenant Rowan explained his demands. According to a pugnacious account later filed by Rowan, Kusaka “was immediately made to understand that I was in charge and that he would follow my orders.” This included leaving the bridge hatch open, as well as all the interior hatches, so the sub could not submerge. Kusaka was also read the terms of surrender and asked whether he accepted them.20
Things did not go smoothly, according to Japanese accounts. Takahashi says Kusaka demurred when Rowan ordered the I-400 to Guam. Arguing they only had fuel to reach Yokosuka, Kusaka refused to back down. Rowan did his best to make himself understood by drawing pictures and writing key words.21 Kusaka remained firm.
Though ComSubPac headquarters was located at Guam, it’s surprising that Rowan suggested the I-400 should travel there. U.S. Naval Command seemed more intent on corralling Japanese subs at Yokosuka than at U.S. ports in the Pacific. Whatever the reality, it was eventually agreed that the Blue would escort the I-400 to Yokosuka. Not surprisingly, Kusaka proved more cooperative than Ariizumi.22
Though some Japanese accounts claim the boarding party never went below deck,23 this wasn’t the case. Rowan sent two-man teams to secure the I-400’s radio room, torpedo compartment, conning tower, and bridge. Rowan also assigned Hiatt to find the engine room and stand guard. This wasn’t as easy as one might think. Although the I-400’s engines were where you’d expect them, the two compartments were cavernous. It was certainly more than one man could watch on his own.24
But Hiatt was in for a bigger surprise. As he climbed down the engine room deck hatch M-1 in hand, a Japanese crewman reached for his gun.
Operation Storm: Japan's Top Secret Submarines and Its Plan to Change the Course of World War II Page 32