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

by John Geoghegan

  There’s a lot of adventure in Kerby’s background. He spent four and a half years in the Coast Guard, where he served on a cutter in Alaska and trained as a navigator. “It was an exciting time,” Kerby says, “Alaska has the worst the sea has to offer.”

  After leaving the Coast Guard, he attended the Coastal School of Deep Sea Diving in Oakland, California, eventually becoming a salvage diver. After working in the San Francisco Bay Area, he journeyed to Hawaii in 1976.

  “I drove by the Makai pier one day and saw them offloading a submersible,” Kerby recalls. “I’d always been fascinated by ocean exploration. I had the qualifications that the company, Deep Water Exploration, were looking for, so they hired me. That’s when I started working with the Star II.”

  Kerby was eager to learn about submersibles. In 1980, he was hired to pilot one for the James Bond movie For Your Eyes Only. The next year he was contacted by HURL.

  HURL’s two submersibles were built by International Hydrodynamics in Vancouver; the Pisces IV in 1972 and the Pisces V in 1973. The core of Pisces V is a command sphere made of high-end steel, seven feet in diameter, with room for a pilot and two observers. The pilot kneels in the middle of the floor while operating its propulsion, ballast, and other systems. The two observers lie on vinyl-covered benches on either side of the pilot. The sphere is attached to a steel frame that contains batteries, hydraulics, ballast, and propulsion systems. There are also three forward-looking viewports made of acrylic. The centermost viewport is for the pilot; each observer gets his own 14-inch-wide window as well.

  Kerby describes both Pisces, which are nearly identical, as workhorses—utility players that can adapt to a variety of needs. It might be challenging to fly them, but Kerby appreciates their flexibility. “They can spin like a top,” he says enthusiastically—something most people are happy to take his word for.

  Each submersible weighs 13 tons and is 20 feet long, its most fascinating feature being its manipulator arms. Configured with parallel jaws, the manipulators collect samples off the bottom, which are then deposited in a steel basket attached to the sub’s undercarriage. Both submersibles carry a battery of lights to illuminate the darkness underwater and two high-definition cameras to record what they see. Both subs are also self-propelled, meaning there is no umbilical cord tethering them to their mother ship. The Pisces IV was bought from the Canadian Navy in 1999 for $500,000, even though it cost $4 million to build. It’s a bargain Kerby is proud of.

  Except for a brief leave of absence to teach Ed Harris underwater dive technique for James Cameron’s The Abyss, Kerby has spent 30 years at HURL. He’s not only its director of operations but its chief submersible pilot as well. Part of HURL’s research program is to study the susceptibility of coastal zones to pollution, but in March 2005 Kerby set their sights on another discovery: finding the I-400 subs.

  There’d been one previous attempt to find a Sen-toku sub. In April 2004 William Bryant, an oceanography professor at Texas A&M, launched an unsuccessful search for the I-402 in collaboration with The Discovery Channel. Though he found 12 of the 24 submarines sunk off Japan during Operation Road’s End, he did not find the I-402.

  Once again cost was a concern. Kerby and his team hoped to find at least one of Ariizumi’s subs while breaking in a new NOAA-funded navigation system. But three days of test dives is not a lot of time. A submarine can plane a good distance after being torpedoed, and U.S. Navy coordinates don’t necessarily reflect where the Sen-toku subs came to rest. There was no guarantee Kerby would find anything.

  The ocean bottom around Pearl Harbor has historically been a dumping ground for the U.S. military. Tanks, amphibious assault vehicles, trucks, ships, piers, landing craft, airplanes, and aircraft parts have been piling up for decades, making it hard for sonar to identify specific targets. The sea floor is also littered with unexploded ordnance, including Hedgehog depth charges and chemical explosives dumped by the army. You have to be careful what you approach.

  The first two days of dive operations did not go well, with sonar giving many false positives.

  “We used up a lot of our test dives chasing down rock formations,” Kerby recalls. “A limestone reef with an outcropping on top can look a lot like a giant submarine on sonar.”

  On March 17, the last day of test dives, Kerby and pilot-in-training Colin Wollerman conducted emergency tracking exercises in the Pisces IV. Tracking exercises are a safety protocol done to test a pilot’s ability to find her hypothetically stranded sister sub, in this case, the Pisces V. When the Pisces V settled on the ocean floor, pilot Max Cremer turned off her lights while pilot-in-training Steve Price activated the 27 kHz pinger that Kerby would use to locate them. The pinging sounds a lot like a cardio monitor, only faster. If the danger of dying at 6,000 feet doesn’t focus your attention, the sound of a heart monitor will. At maximum dive depth, the Pisces experience 3,000 pounds of pressure per square inch—a fact that’s enough to concentrate even the most distracted passenger.

  Once tracking exercises were finished, Kerby worked his way along the ocean floor. The bottom off Barber’s Point has occasional rock formations but otherwise is featureless. At 2,600 feet, the water is also silty with plankton. The submersibles’ headlights make it look like you’re driving through a snowstorm.

  Depending on dive conditions, Kerby can see up to 20 feet underwater with the lights on. Sonar can see farther, in some cases as much as several hundred feet. Still, the I-400 subs are such large targets, Kerby believed sonar would pick them up at 300.

  Looking for wrecks is a dangerous business. Kerby knows it and is especially careful. The biggest danger is coming in too low and getting snagged on something. The current can also be a problem, especially if it changes on you. Kerby insists on approaching wrecks from downstream. That way if anything goes wrong, the current pushes you away from the wreck.

  You can almost feel your brain struggling to make sense of the images on the monitor as Kerby searches for the I-400. The underwater hues of gray, dark blue, and green are so limited, they don’t help much. It’s not until Kerby says “We have it in sight!” that you even know he’s found something.

  Once pattern recognition kicks in, the distinctive shape of a submarine lying on its side begins to emerge. But it’s not clear which sub he’s found. Getting situated on a wreck in what appears to be the dead of night, especially when you don’t know what shape it’s in, is intimidating. Any number of objects, including floating cables, bent piping, and twisted hull plating, are waiting to grab you. Once a wreck is located, the lead submersible comes in, sits on the bottom, and conducts a sonar survey to outline the perimeter. Meanwhile the second submersible waits as backup in case anything goes wrong.

  It’s important to get a sense of a wreck’s size and dispersement before taking a closer look. A preliminary survey helps. Though Kerby always plans for safety, accidents can happen. Backing away from the wreck, Kerby calls Cremer in Pisces V to announce he’s found the bow section. Once he has a decent sonar signature, he’ll make an initial tour to determine if there are any entanglements. The cleanest way is to fly over the wreck, but for now Kerby studies the sonar data.

  As lights from the Pisces IV abruptly illuminate the sub’s bow, Kerby spots a launch ramp. A few minutes later he’s identified the hydraulic crane used to lift the sub’s Seiran. You can also see where the plane’s pontoons were stored between the catapult rails. Clearly, he’s discovered one of the Sen-toku subs, but which one? It’s hard to tell in what passes for day at 2,600 feet.

  As Kerby flies farther down the sub, he soon makes a surprising discovery. The sub is broken in two just short of the sail, robbing him of a chance to identify which of the three Sen-toku subs he’s found. The section where the bow has separated looks like the worst sort of industrial accident. Piles of tangled metal litter the bottom some 30 feet high, suggesting the destructive forces at work. The torpedoes that sunk the sub have broken her in two. It’s almost painful to see.


  Kerby enters the debris field to see where it leads him. A piece of deck section, with its triple-mount antiaircraft gun intact, appears in his viewport. There’s some marine growth on the barrels, otherwise they’re easily recognizable. As Kerby moves in for a closer look, one of his thrusters raises a cloud of sediment, obscuring his view. To the novice, it looks like Pisces IV is in trouble. There are lots of jagged pieces to damage a submersible, so Kerby backs away, giving the sandstorm time to disperse. As he later notes, “It’s always important to know where safe water is.”

  The next big surprise comes when Kerby discovers the sub’s aircraft hangar. Separated from the rest of the hull, it’s planted in the ocean bottom like a javelin. You can barely make out its giant door buried in the sand. The rest of the hangar stands upright at a slight angle.

  At some point during Kerby’s inspection, Cremer reports from the Pisces V that he’s found another sub east of his position.

  “I think you’ve found this sub’s stern,” Kerby responds.

  Submersible pilots don’t talk much. Motivated by the spirit of exploration, they’re sober minded in the driver’s seat. They don’t leap to conclusions, since the last thing they want is to make a scientific claim they can’t support. Kerby cautions Cremer to watch out for obstructions and then continues through the debris field. Both men sound professional, though Cremer can’t quite keep the enthusiasm from infecting his voice. Aside from the clicking and whirring of machinery, the submersibles are quiet.

  Once Cremer begins flying down the stern section, he can see that the hatches were left open to assist her sinking. An occasional shrimp attracted by the lights swims into view, and a ray can be seen gliding across the aft deck. The teak planks have long since rotted away, leaving only the metal cross braces, which could easily snag the skids on the Pisces V if Cremer gets too close.

  When the boat’s 5.5-inch deck gun comes into view, there is surprisingly little marine growth, save for two sea fans on its barrel. The juxtaposition is almost funny. Unfortunately, the gun can’t identify the sub, since virtually all Japanese fleet boats carried the same weapon. HURL will have to proceed further if it hopes to make a positive identification.

  Finally, as the Pisces V passes the sub’s midsection, video footage shows what appears to be her sail rising from the darkness. It’s speckled with yellow and red marine growth that looks surprisingly vibrant against the dark hull. The rungs of a ladder can be seen climbing up the outside just below where the sub’s designation should be. The laser dot triangle of the Pisces’s rangefinger shines against the plating like an alien targeting system.

  As the high-def camera begins to pan, the characters “I-4” come into view. Part of the sail’s plating has peeled away, however, obscuring the rest of the ID. Which sub has HURL found? Is it the I-400 or the I-401? A long-legged crab clinging to the hull tries skittering out of view. When the Pisces maneuvers to get a better angle, the lights finally illuminate what’s been hiding behind twisted steel. HURL has found Ariizumi’s flagship.

  Incredibly, the single white “I” character followed by three numerals can still be read 59 years later. The boat’s designation was most likely painted by Americans, since the Japanese would not have drawn such a sloppy “I.” Nevertheless, there is no doubt this is Nambu’s sub, the same sub that he captained on the Storm mission and that the USS Segundo persuaded to surrender.

  In subsequent video footage, one of the Pisces approaches the I-401’s bridge for closer inspection. The first thing you notice is that the sub’s periscope, a shiny sliver of silver, is fully extended. It positively gleams in the underwater lights; not a trace of corrosion mars its shaft. You can also see that the bridge hatch is open. Part of a ladder leading into the conning tower can be seen disappearing into the darkness. The bridge compass is missing, but a set of pressure-proof binoculars remains, ready to spot enemy ships on the horizon. You can also make out the voice tubes where Nambu would have shouted his orders while navigating on the surface.

  After several hours inspecting the sub, it’s time for the Pisces to head upward. As they begin their one-hour ascent, they leave the I-401 in darkness. It’s the same darkness that envelops Ariizumi on the other side of the world. In both cases, it’s a suitable resting place.

  EPILOGUE

  AT THE START OF THE GREAT PACIFIC WAR, THE IMPERIAL JAPANESE Navy had one of the best submarine forces in the world. The Sixth Fleet’s approximately 60 submarines were on par with many of the latest U.S. fleet boats.* As the war progressed, the Japanese built an additional 126 boats, for a total of nearly 200 submarines.1 Yet by August 1945, the Sixth Fleet had only 50 subs left, and most of them were obsolete, damaged, or inoperable.2 The Japanese lost at least 127 submarines during the war, including the unlucky I-33, which, after being sunk and refloated, was sunk a second time.† 3 By comparison, the U.S. Navy lost 52 subs.4 The casualty rate for U.S. sub crews might have been the highest of any U.S. military branch,5 but the number of Sixth Fleet deaths was staggering by comparison.

  Western historians point to these statistics when dismissing the Sixth Fleet as ineffective. And though it’s true the IJN made glaring errors in administering its sub force, the courage and resolve of Sixth Fleet crews was impressive, as were their accomplishments in the face of declining resources, poor management, and a resourceful enemy. Certainly, Japanese sub technology did not keep pace with the United States. Despite this drawback, the Sixth Fleet managed to produce the I-201, one of the world’s fastest submarines, as well as the I-400s, suggesting that a touch of not-invented-here syndrome colors the historical assessment.

  The Japanese sub force ultimately failed for a number of reasons. Subservience to the surface fleet, midwar deployment as cargo carriers, and the IJN High Command’s almost total lack of adaptation when it came to changing circumstances all played a role. Failure to listen to the hard-won knowledge of Sixth Fleet sub captains combined with a penchant for back seat driving also didn’t help. The greatest failure however, was the IJN’s inability to fully utilize the submarine as a combat weapon, making Japanese sub crews (as one Sixth Fleet sub captain put it) “just so much human ammunition.”6

  SEGUNDO OFFICERS AND CREW

  All five members of the I-401’s boarding party received the Bronze Star with combat V (for valor), including Lt. John E. Balson. After the war, Balson remained in the navy, became captain of another Balao-class sub, and retired as commander in 1961. He enjoyed a career at Electric Boat in Groton, Connecticut, as a quality control officer inspecting newly constructed submarines. As of this writing, he is retired and lives in Florida with his wife.

  Capt. Stephen Lobdell Johnson received the Legion of Merit with combat V, “for exceptionally meritorious conduct in the performance of outstanding services.” His citation states that “as Commanding Officer of the USS Segundo [he] contact[ed the] Japanese submarine I-401 [and] accepted the hostile ship’s formal surrender and brought it safe to port.”7

  Clearly, Johnson’s firm hand and quick thinking saved both the Segundo and the I-401. Lt. (jg) Victor Horgan and Lt. (jg) Rod Johnson weren’t alone in sharing this conviction—the crew did as well. Though Johnson’s naval career would include the occasional stumble, no one could deny he’d earned the Legion of Merit.

  Stephen Johnson captained the Segundo until February 1946, when he was replaced by Cdr. H. M. Lytle. Two years later he was assigned command of the USS Bergall (SS 320), where he earned his second nickname, “Screaming” Steve Johnson, for surfacing under a tuna boat in 1949. Contrary to regulations, the tuna boat had been operating in a restricted area near Barber’s Point. Ironically, it was the same area where the I-401 had been sunk by the U.S. Navy two years earlier. The tuna boat was drifting with its engines turned off, which might have been why the Bergall failed to pick her up on sonar. While Johnson was surfacing his sub, he called “Up scope!” immediately followed by “Holy shit!” and an emergency dive order.8

  The tuna boat sheared off the Bergal
l’s periscope, causing water to pour into the conning tower. Fortunately, the sub’s pumps took care of the flooding and no real damage was done.9 It was the kind of mistake that either costs a sub captain his command, leads to court martial, or both. But it didn’t hurt Johnson’s career any. Having an admiral in the family must have helped.

  The self-admitted nonstudent later went on to earn a master’s degree in international relations from American University and was awarded France’s National Order of Merit for his service as naval attaché at the U.S. embassy in Paris. Johnson retired from the navy in 1969 and died in Virginia Beach, Virginia, in April 2000.

  Cdr. J. D. Fulp’s distinguished naval career lasted a total of 30 years. His final posting was as base commander of the U.S. naval station on Kodiak Island in the Gulf of Alaska. When a tsunami driven by a 9.2 earthquake destroyed Kodiak City in March 1964, Fulp was instrumental in aiding its recovery. After retiring from the navy, he took a job in the private sector and died of a sudden heart attack in 1979.

  Lt. Victor Horgan and Lt. Rod Johnson, childhood pals from Portland, Oregon, went their separate ways after the war but kept in touch. Horgan had a successful career as an executive in the fish canning industry. He eventually sold his company but continued traveling the world, returning to Japan, which he’d first visited aboard the Segundo. He died in Seattle, where he lived with his second wife, Mary Lee, shortly before this book was completed.

  QM3c Carlo Carlucci returned to his former construction job after being honorably discharged. He married and raised a family and is currently living in New Jersey. Carlucci won the Bronze Star for his time aboard the I-401. Sixty-four years later he proudly notes, “I didn’t get it for washing dishes.”10 Surprisingly, the Segundo’s prize crew received their Bronze Stars through the mail rather than in a formal ceremony,11 which seems understated considering what they accomplished.