Operation Storm: Japan's Top Secret Submarines and Its Plan to Change the Course of World War II (34 page)

The
Segundo
raced at flank speed, maintaining a small angle on the bow to keep her profile at minimum.
²⁷
At first Electrician’s Mate Bud Quam, the pointer on the five-inch gun, found it so dark, he couldn’t see what he was shooting at. The target was out there though because whatever it was, was firing back at him.
²⁸
Once the
Segundo
’s deck guns opened up,
²⁹
their tracer ammunition provided all the illumination Quam needed.
³⁰
Twenty-four minutes later both targets were destroyed.

Naturally, a crew wanted to celebrate an enemy being sunk, but nothing was supposed to be “dryer” than a sub on war patrol. Fortunately, this wasn’t always the case. Fulp kept a shower filled with Greasy Dick, a Pittsburgh-brewed beer. It was broken out only with the captain’s permission, usually on Sundays to and from war patrols, or after a successful enemy engagement. Crewmen were limited to one can each, which they could drink off duty and never
during battle stations.
³¹
No one recalls whether they drank a Greasy Dick that night. It wouldn’t have been surprising if they had. A seaman and his booze aren’t easily parted, and sinking two ships was reason to celebrate.

F
ULP PRIDED HIMSELF
on taking calculated risks. He knew how to analyze a situation, finding the right balance between aggression and winding up dead at the bottom of the sea. Some sub captains wouldn’t attack in less than 180 feet of water. Fulp wasn’t one of them. The
Segundo
spent a lot of time in shallow depths, since that was where coastal shipping was found. He wasn’t foolish, though. When the sun came up, he knew to head for deep water.
³²

You couldn’t always depend on Fulp’s brand of courage, however. One of the few times Fulp’s instincts let him down came in the Yellow Sea. He’d just sunk a Japanese freighter and was being pursued by her escorts into shallow water when the enemy inexplicably broke off their attack. Fulp couldn’t understand why until he realized they’d chased him into the middle of a minefield.
³³

Unable to see what lay in his path, Fulp had to maneuver with tremendous care. It was all too easy for the sub’s bow or stern planes to snag a cable pulling the attached mine against the hull where it would explode. And at that close range it only took a single mine to sink a sub.

Fulp spent the better part of a day working his way through the obstacle course.
³⁴
Once or twice his crew heard the terrifying sound of a steel cable scrape the length of the
Segundo
’s hull.
³⁵
The noise alone was enough to make your knees buckle. But Fulp managed to shimmy his way out of trouble. It wasn’t an episode he wanted to repeat, however. Perhaps that’s why his patrol report never mentioned it.

The final attack of the
Segundo
’s fourth war patrol turned out to be Fulp’s last. It began on Sunday, June 10, while the sub was still in the Yellow Sea. Once again Fulp found himself in only 90 feet of water. It was 10:35 in the evening when SJ radar picked up a contact
at 14,000 yards. The target proved to be the
Fukui Maru No. 2
, a Japanese freighter accompanied by two escorts.

It was a poor night for an attack. Fog reduced visibility to 500 yards, and the sub’s radar wasn’t working properly. A submerged approach would be preferable. Unfortunately, it was out of the question. But a surface attack was also dangerous, especially if the escorts had radar.

The night was so dark, Fulp couldn’t see the freighter at 600 yards. Using target bearing transmitter bearings to make his calculation, he launched four torpedoes shortly after midnight. Forty seconds later three explosions could be heard. Three minutes after that the
Fukui Maru
was gone.

The next day the
Segundo
was ordered to Midway. Her fourth war patrol was over.

T
HE SUB
’
S REFIT
lasted more than a month. There were problems with the main motors, and rust was found in the torpedo tubes.
³⁶
Nobody was disappointed, though. The
Segundo
had won her fourth battle star and added ten more enemy ships to her battle flag.

The crew loved Midway. A nineteenth-century coaling station about a third of the way between Hawaii and Japan, the island was a welcome break. The monk seals were so tame, you could walk right up and scratch their belly, and the gooney birds provided hours of entertainment.

Fulp was awarded a Gold Star in lieu of a second Silver Star for conspicuous gallantry in his penetration of “shallow enemy-controlled waters and … skillfully executed gun and torpedo attacks which resulted in the sinking of 14,000 tons of enemy shipping.”
³⁷
But the glow didn’t last.

On June 29, in a brief formal ceremony, Cdr. James Douglas Fulp, Jr., in accordance with Commander Submarine Force Pacific Fleet, Subordinate Command, Navy No. 1504, Serial 403, was relieved as commanding officer of the USS
Segundo
. Having completed his duty as sub captain, Fulp was returning to Pearl Harbor, for a staff job. In other words, he was being kicked upstairs.

The
Segundo
’s crew were sorry to lose their captain.
³⁸
Fulp had proven both capable and reliable, attributes they’d come to appreciate. Importantly, he’d shaped them into a fighting machine that could handle just about anything thrown their way.

Unfortunately, their new captain, Lt. Cdr. Stephen L. Johnson, didn’t make the same impression. Instead of coming across as calm, cool, and collected, Johnson seemed young, arrogant, and impetuous. It was not a good combination.

What kind of skipper have we got now?
the crew wondered.

They would soon find out.

T
HE DAY AFTER THE
S
EGUNDO
SANK ITS SECOND FOUR-MASTED
schooner, Nambu’s
I-401
arrived in Nanao Bay. The
I-13
and
I-14
were already there waiting. The
I-400
was due to follow the next day.
¹
Finally, all four submarines would be together, with a full complement of
Seiran
to practice attacking the canal. Considering that three of the four subs had been commissioned by early January 1945, it was late in the game to be fully operational.

Nanao Bay is located in the crux of the Noto Peninsula. Extending into the Sea of Japan like a curled index finger, the peninsula stands halfway up the west coast of Honshu opposite Korea. Noto was sparsely populated in comparison with Kure. Except for the town of Anamizu, there was hardly anyone about. It was perfect for secret training.

Ariizumi’s hope was that the region’s deep water and hidden coves would protect them against enemy air raids. Still, the trip there had been discouraging. Everywhere they looked, they’d found America’s handiwork. Sunken ships littered Japan’s shoreline, and what traffic continued to ply the waters hugged the coast. The enemy had never seemed closer.

They didn’t have to look far for an explanation. Once Germany surrendered, America no longer had to split her forces between the European and Pacific theaters. Japan could now expect the full force of the United States military focused against her. If the
Sen-toku
subs didn’t close the Panama Canal, tens of thousands of men and countless tons of ships, planes, tanks, bombs, and ammunition would flow uncontrollably into the Pacific. Ariizumi had to put a stop to these reinforcements, otherwise Japan would
be invaded before the year was out. Destroying the Panama Canal was the only action left that could prevent defeat.

After successfully refueling at Chinkai, the
I-13
and
I-14
had arrived at Nanao. It was June 1, 1945, and the bay was covered in fog, forcing them to wait for it to clear.
²
Three days later, while the rest of the fleet was still in transit, the
I-14
craned her two
Seiran
on board. It was the first time Captain Shimizu had his full complement of aircraft.
³
The
I-14
was finally fully operational.

The 631st air group had already established a new base. While Nambu had been making his way up Japan’s west coast, the
Seiran
pilots had settled into their headquarters. They didn’t have long to wait. Joint training began on June 6.
⁴
The subs practiced rapid surfacing and
Seiran
assembly, followed by a swift catapult launch and crash-diving to escape detection. When the drill was complete, the subs resurfaced; the
Seiran
landed in their wake, taxied up their port side, and were craned on board, where the process was repeated all over again.

Perhaps the most labor-intensive part of
Seiran
assembly was attaching the floats. Everyone knew when the time came that the
Seiran
would launch without them. They needed them for training though. There was no way for a seaplane to land safely and be retrieved without them. Securing the floats took a ten-man team at least two and a half minutes
⁵
—one reason
Seiran
launchings didn’t go as quickly as Nambu would have liked. Of course, eliminating the floats would reduce precious launch time, but that was reserved for the mission.

While the floats were being attached, the rest of the team swarmed over the planes completing their prep work. As soon as the first
Seiran
launched, its rail cart was removed, the surrounding area was cleaned up, and the second plane maneuvered into launch position. The real problem came after the second plane was catapulted into the sky. The
I-400
subs had originally been designed to accommodate only two aircraft. When the third
Seiran
was added, the resulting design changes did not allow for the same kind of smooth launch process as the first two planes. One reason was that the sub’s deck could only accommodate two planes at a
time, leaving the last plane stranded in the hangar. This meant both planes had to be in the air before the launch crew could turn their attention to prepping the third. Considerable time was lost.
^*

Ariizumi made his sub captains drive their crews relentlessly. He had to. The
Sen-toku
subs were so far behind schedule and Japan was so badly losing the war, there was little time left. This meant training was around the clock. The subs left port every day between two and three in the morning and often didn’t return until ten that night.
⁶
Training in darkness was critical, since it simulated the conditions under which the
Seiran
would launch. Still, the schedule was grueling. The mechanics had the most difficult time. Up all night launching planes, they’d spend the morning performing maintenance to make sure the
Seiran
were ready for the next practice. They got little sleep, no time off, and even less sympathy, since they were under pressure to speed up the launch process. At one point, the stress became so great, Nambu heard a maintenance man shout, “I will never be a mechanic on a submarine again!”
⁷
Maybe he was kidding—Nambu wasn’t sure. Either way, he admired their determination.

At first it took the better part of a day to launch three planes.
⁸
But as aircrews became more adept, they managed to get it down to 45 minutes, then a half hour. Finally, after six weeks of training, they were able to catapult the first two planes in as little as four minutes.
^†
9

The problem was the third plane, which took up to 20 minutes to launch.
^‡
10
That was nearly three times longer than the first two planes combined. They may have cut total launch time to 28 minutes, but that was a lifetime in enemy waters.

Despite the complaints of a few mechanics, the
Sen-toku
crew were in high spirits.
¹¹
After so many delays, they were finally training without interruption. Nambu felt proud to lead these men. They’d been called upon to save their country and would selflessly heed that call. But he harbored no illusions. He knew their chances of survival, let alone success, were shrinking by the day. Still, he’d overcome any obstacle, suffer any deprivation, in order to succeed. The mission was everything.

And so the
Sen-toku
squadron practiced over and over again. As Nambu reduced launch times, a symphony of coordination began to take shape. Despite his best efforts though, the
Seiran
continued to be plagued by problems.
¹²
Sometimes an aircraft’s wing would be damaged during launch preparation, leaving the pilot to fume while repairs were made. Other times the engine didn’t work as designed.
Seiran
engines tended to overheat at full throttle, and there were still many oil leaks.
¹³

One day shortly after takeoff, Asamura was surprised by hot oil geysering into his cockpit.
¹⁴
The
Seiran
’s canopy was so obscured by the viscous black liquid that he was forced to make an emergency landing near his sub. Asamura’s piloting skills saved him from disaster, but he was lucky. Some
Seiran
pilots were forced down so far from their sub that precious time was lost retrieving them.

Not every mishap was easily remedied. It was bad enough that the maintenance crews had to operate in darkness, sometimes the sub’s pitching and rolling threw them overboard. Timing the catapult launch was also a challenge. A
Seiran
had to be launched into the wind to ensure enough lift for it to climb. Nambu did his best to steer accordingly, but wind and wave direction could change without notice, putting the
Seiran
in jeopardy.
¹⁵
Furthermore,
Seiran
pilots needed to see the horizon when launching, which was difficult at night.
¹⁶
It was easy to get disoriented and crash upon takeoff, which was one reason the pilots received six-yen hazard pay each time they launched.
^§
17