Operation Storm: Japan's Top Secret Submarines and Its Plan to Change the Course of World War II (52 page)

Later that night Johnson received a dispatch from Adm. William F. Halsey, commander of the Third Fleet, saying that the
I-401
was transmitting disturbing messages to Japan’s Naval Defense Command.
²²
Johnson suspected as much, though he thought it was Nambu (not Ariizumi) who sought to ignore his instructions. The
Segundo
’s captain certainly didn’t want an enemy sub broadcasting without his permission. Disgruntled forces might home in on the signal and launch an attack.
²³
Five minutes later Johnson ordered Balson to locate the radio and disable it. Once again Ariizumi’s plans had been thwarted.

T
HAT EVENING, AS
Nambu stood on the bridge, he felt a darkness inside that had nothing to do with night. He’d learned some
troubling news earlier in the day.
²⁴
The Sixth Fleet, the submarine arm of the Imperial Japanese Navy, had officially been disbanded.
²⁵
The news infuriated him. Sixth Fleet subs were still at large, yet their command had ceased to exist.
²⁶
These were the people who had micromanaged every operational detail since the war had begun. The same people who had ignored his advice, whether it was the difficulty in attacking a well-guarded anchorage, the need to target merchant rather than capital ships, or the foolishness of carrying out resupply operations. They’d refused to listen to the hard-won experience of their most seasoned sub captains, and he had paid the price. Now, during the sub force’s darkest hour, when they should be upholding naval tradition, the Sixth Fleet had washed their hands of him. It made a travesty out of everything Nambu believed in, and left him fuming.

Nambu had every right to feel betrayed. After all, he’d been on the front lines of Japan’s sub war since the attack on Pearl Harbor. He’d served on board the first sub to shell the U.S. mainland; he’d survived combat operations off Australia and mole ops in the South Pacific. Here he was, one of the war’s last surviving sub captains, with a nearly insane commander, yet he was still trying to conduct himself with honor and dignity. Where was the honor in disbanding the Sixth Fleet? Abolishing it violated everything the IJN represented. What in God’s name had they been fighting for?

Ariizumi was also topside that night. Standing on the deck beneath Nambu, he too stared into the darkness. Nambu was concerned with the commander’s increasingly strange behavior.
²⁷
Ever since the
I-401
had been captured, Ariizumi had wandered the sub as if he were lost. Wearing an undershirt and a white pith helmet he had worn in Penang, he haunted the compartments like a ghost.
²⁸
Nambu had informed him their surrender would occur the next morning. He’d also told him the Sixth Fleet had been disbanded. Both pieces of news must have been a blow, which was why Ariizumi was coming apart before Nambu’s eyes. Still, the question remained whether Nambu could maintain control of his sub long
enough to reach home. There were only a few hours left before the surrender. If he could prevent Ariizumi from taking any action, they just might reach Yokosuka, unless the commander had other plans. Unfortunately, “other plans” was exactly what Ariizumi was thinking about as he stared out to sea.

T
HE
I-401
WAS DUE TO ARRIVE AT
S
AGAMI
B
AY EARLY THE MORNING
of August 31. Nambu was to officially hand his sub over to Lieutenant Balson and then follow the
Segundo
into Tokyo Bay. Meanwhile, a feeling of dread pervaded the sub.

Nambu hadn’t slept for days, so he retired to his cabin to get a few hours of rest. He found it difficult to sleep knowing surrender was only hours away. The oppressive heat didn’t help. Suddenly, at 4:20
A.M.
, he was awakened by a shot.
¹

The sound came from Ariizumi’s quarters. Jumping out of his bunk, Nambu ran into the passageway and pushed open the commander’s door. What he saw was a grisly sight. The commander was seated in a chair wearing his formal naval uniform, a pistol in his right hand. The smell of gunpowder filled the cabin,
²
and the glass in the clock on the bulkhead behind him was shattered where the bullet had struck.
³

Despite the bloodshed, Nambu thought the commander looked dignified.
⁴
He sat upright, his medals and merit sash
⁵
testimony to his many accomplishments. The gun was still in his mouth, smoke from its discharge hung in the air. Though the back of his head had been blown off, he’d been careful to aim the pistol toward the ceiling before firing. Even in death Ariizumi was meticulous.

Otherwise, the commander’s cabin appeared tidy. A photo on his desk showed the nine war gods who, under his command, had bravely sailed their midget subs against Pearl Harbor. His service sword was also on the desk,
⁶
along with three handwritten notes.
⁷

Nambu examined the letters carefully. One was addressed to the
Imperial Japanese Navy, another to Nambu, and the third to Matsu, Ariizumi’s wife. Nambu fought back his emotions as he contemplated the commander’s suicide. He had not gotten along with Ariizumi, but Nambu could appreciate the courage it had taken to commit such a selfless act. It was not only a magnificent accomplishment,
⁸
it was the honorable thing to do, and Nambu admired him for it.

Picking up the letter addressed to the Imperial Japanese Navy, Nambu read Ariizumi’s final words.

Nambu wasn’t surprised it had come to this. He’d hinted to his officers that such a thing might happen.
¹⁰
But many of his men were caught off guard. Yata had been on the bridge standing watch earlier that morning when Ariizumi had appeared wearing his pith helmet:

“Gunnery chief, anything new?” the commander asked.

It was a rule never to take one’s eyes off the horizon when on watch, so Yata remained glued to his binoculars and answered, “No, sir.”
¹¹

Yata later realized that he was probably the last person to converse with the commander, and that the crumpled paper he saw Ariizumi throw into the sea had been an early version of a suicide note. Ariizumi was a stickler for discipline; no litter was allowed inside or outside the boat. Still, his strange behavior had gone unnoticed.
¹²

Ariizumi asked that his last words be shared with the naval high command.
¹³
Unfortunately, this request was impossible to fulfill, since the Sixth Fleet had already disbanded. But Nambu felt compelled to honor the wish even if it only meant sharing Ariizumi’s
words with the
I-401
’s crew.
¹⁴
The second note, addressed to Nambu, was also written in Ariizumi’s careful hand. In it, he made clear the reason for his death:

Warning Nambu to “refrain from any rash or irresponsible actions until the crew had returned home,” Ariizumi concluded by promising to watch over the reconstruction of Japan from his resting place in the Pacific.
¹⁵

Ariizumi’s note to his wife was written in the third person and further explained the reason for his death. “Ariizumi is sorry from the bottom of his heart for losing the war,” he penned. He finished with a farewell poem outlining his hopes for their family:

They hardly seemed the words of a murderer.

The
I-401
was the world’s largest sub, but it was a small boat when it came to gossip. Word that the commander had killed himself spread quickly.
¹⁷
Nambu was particularly concerned about the
Segundo
’s reaction. If the Americans learned that Ariizumi had killed himself, they might treat his body disrespectfully. Therefore, Nambu decided not to inform them of Ariizumi’s death and to secretly bury his commander at sea.
¹⁸

While the
I-401
’s medical officer filled out a death certificate, Nambu and Bando covered the commander’s body in a blanket.
¹⁹
Next they wrapped him tightly in a Japanese naval ensign,
²⁰
its 16 rays matching the number of petals on the emperor’s chrysanthemum seal. When they were finished, they changed into formal naval dress.
²¹
Meanwhile, one of the
Seiran
mechanics made an ossuary box, using wood from a
shoji
game board, for presentation to Ariizumi’s family.
²²

It took several men pushing and pulling to get the commander
through the number-two deck hatch. Though Ariizumi had lost weight, he was still stout.
²³
Keeping his voice low to avoid alerting the prize crew, Nambu presided over a brief funeral ceremony. When it was over, they saluted their commander one last time before silently committing his body to the sea. A weighted bag ensured he sank to the bottom.
²⁴

By the time Nambu finished his silent prayer, the sun was coming up. Though Ariizumi’s burial was without benefit of sutra or song, it had been a warrior’s funeral nonetheless.
^*
25
He had died as he had lived: fierce, unwavering, and committed to his principles. His decision to kill himself must not have been easy, but it was consistent with the values he professed and the honor he passionately embraced. Commander, mentor, loyal subject, faithful officer, father, husband, butcher, friend—Ariizumi had been all these things and more. He’d earned the respect of his men as well as their fear and had fought as valiantly as any officer in the Imperial Japanese Navy. Now he was gone to rest at the bottom of the sea. But who would forgive him his crimes?

L
IEUTENANT
B
ALSON ORDERED
Carlucci to lower the
I-401
’s naval ensign and raise the American flag at 5:00
A.M
. Carlucci knew it was a slap in the face to the Japanese,
²⁶
and he performed his task with relish. Though the ceremony was largely symbolic, it meant the
I-401
was no longer a Japanese sub—she was officially an American war prize.

With Mount Fuji in the background, Nambu watched as the flags were exchanged, chafing at the sight.
²⁷
Bando wasn’t about to let the Japanese naval ensign fall into enemy hands, so when the flag came down, he secretly ordered the signal officer to burn it.
²⁸

The
I-401
wasn’t ready to concede, even in surrender.

W
HEN THE CREW OF THE SUBMARINE TENDER
P
ROTEUS
SAW THE
I-401
approach, they began cheering with all their might.

“Wonderful! Big one!” they cried.

Yata, the
I-401
’s gunnery officer, was proud his sub caused a commotion. After all, it was the the
Sen-toku
squadron’s flagship, it was only right that the Americans found her impressive.
¹
But Nambu’s sub almost hadn’t made it to Tokyo Bay. The
Segundo
had been escorting the
I-401
when Johnson received orders to immediately reverse course and take her back to
Sagami-wan
. Adm. William “Bull” Halsey had received reports from Japanese naval officers that the
I-401
was dangerous and that U.S. ships should avoid her at all costs. Since Johnson had also reported the
I-401
as hostile and Lieutenant Balson felt the situation was not well in hand,
²
Halsey didn’t want the rogue sub anywhere near his Third Fleet.

Of course, Nambu had no intention of resisting. As a sign of compliance, he’d presented Balson with his service sword at 11:00
A.M.
, turning over command exactly as promised. Balson informed the
Segundo
that the “formal surrender had been received.”
³
By then, it was too late. The USS
Gatling
(DD-671) and USS
O’Bannon
(DD-450) had already arrived. Sent as a show of force, the Fletcher-class destroyers had orders to escort a compliant
I-401
into Tokyo Bay or blast her out of the water. With Ariizumi dead, all Nambu wanted was to return his men to Japan. Unfortunately, no one believed his good intentions after the sub’s previous recalcitrance. At a time when things should have been settling down, they were heating up all over again.

Sagami Bay was crowded with Third Fleet ships, each a tempting target if Nambu had wanted to ram one. U.S. naval officials remained concerned right up to the point when the
I-401
docked near the
Proteus
. But Nambu was a man of his word. He maneuvered alongside the giant American sub tender without incident.

The biggest surprise for Nambu’s crew was finding the
I-400
already there. There was sadness amid the joy, however. Both the
I-13
and the
I-14
were absent. When Takahashi tried asking the
I-401
’s crew about the missing subs, he was stopped by American MPs.
⁴
The
I-14
arrived shortly thereafter,
⁵
but the
I-13
, a casualty of war, would never return home.