Final Patrol (9 page)

Manning Kimmel was living his dream, following in his dad's wake, just as he planned. He had two brothers who also chose naval careers. Tom Kimmel commanded four submarines during the war and later skippered a heavy cruiser before retiring from the navy in 1965. The other brother, Ned Kimmel, entered the navy as a reserve ensign and was a lieutenant commander when the war came to a close.

All the time he was learning the ropes as a submarine officer, Manning Kimmel watched with pride—and absorbed the usual ribbing from his shipmates—as his father moved ever higher in the military echelon. In 1937, his dad became a rear admiral and served as head of the Cruiser Division and then as commander of Cruisers Pacific Fleet. Then, in February 1941, just months before his son would help to launch one of the world's most sophisticated new fighting vessels, Admiral Husband Kimmel became the senior admiral in the U.S. Navy as commander in chief of the Pacific Fleet. His headquarters were located in the strategically placed Pearl Harbor Naval Base on Oahu in the Hawaiian Islands. President Roosevelt, in announcing the appointment, praised the new four-star admiral as “one of the greatest naval strategists of our time.”

In the early morning hours of Sunday, December 7, 1941, 105 high-level Japanese bombers, 135 dive-bombers, and 81 fighter aircraft attacked the U.S. Fleet as it rested peacefully at Pearl Harbor. The attacking planes came in out of the rising sun, changing the course of world history as they did. Within two hours 18 warships, 188 aircraft, and 2,403 servicemen were lost in the vicious sneak attack.

Back in the States, Manning Kimmel was as shocked at the news as any of his shipmates, but he was happy to learn that his father was unscathed. There was no doubt about war now. The haggling was over. The Japanese had settled it once and for all. His country was about to enter the world war, and there was every indication that he, his crew, and their new submarine would head to the Pacific. He couldn't wait to shake his father's hand when he finally arrived in Pearl Harbor, to let him know that the first of a long line of new warships had arrived to help avenge the losses of that infamous Sunday morning.

But ten days after the attack, Admiral Chester Nimitz was made Commander, Pacific Fleet. Husband Kimmel was relieved of command and was reverted back to a two-star admiral. It was clear that Kimmel, along with his army counterpart, Major General Walter C. Short, were to be made the scapegoats for what happened at Pearl Harbor. The investigations that followed the attack found Kimmel guilty of errors of judgment, and of not coordinating army-navy efforts to defend Hawaii.

In May 1942, Admiral Husband Kimmel, his brilliant naval career most likely done, elected to take early retirement.

Young Lieutenant Manning Kimmel could not believe what he was hearing. He had no idea how the navy he loved so much could be doing this to someone who had served his country so well. Of course, he had no idea of the inner wrangling that was going on in the military in the wake of the surprise attack. Somebody had to take the blame, and it was clearly the two officers closest to the scene. Even today, it is not clear who was actually at fault, but it has become obvious that Kimmel and Short were not totally to blame for what happened. Records have confirmed that there was information available warning of this attack. That information, however, was never provided to either of the two officers, who were subsequently blamed for ignoring it. The United States had decoded Japanese radio message traffic describing the impending attack, yet intelligence at the time still placed the Japanese Fleet, with their aircraft carrier decks covered with aircraft, steaming south from the homeland, not eastward toward Hawaii.

Primarily in response to mountains of research and continual urging from Admiral Kimmel's family (including the grandson of the
Drum
's Manning Kimmel), Congress passed a resolution in 2000 declaring that Kimmel and Short were not guilty of dereliction of duty at all, that the two officers had performed their duties “competently and professionally.” As of this writing, the Defense Department still has not restored the officers' ranks or issued any statement in response to the congressional resolution.

Admiral Husband Kimmel retired from the navy in 1942. He passed away in May 1958. Until he died, Admiral Kimmel maintained that the secret message had deliberately not been delivered to him and Major General Short. Someone in the government was afraid the two might have done something to deflect the attack. And, the speculation continues, if the Pearl Harbor attack had not happened, that might have delayed the entrance of the United States into the world war even longer. There was a strong feeling among many Americans that the United States should have begun the fight against Hitler and Mussolini much earlier. And a declaration of war against Japan—a member of the Tripartite Pact with Germany and Italy—amounted to entry into the war on all fronts. Article Three of that pact reads, “[The three countries] further undertake to assist one another with all political, economic and military means when one of the three contracting powers is attacked by a power at present not involved in the European war or in the Chinese-Japanese conflict.” Many still believe those who wanted America involved in the war needed the attack on Pearl Harbor to bring that end about.

Manning Kimmel did not have much opportunity to reflect on what was happening to his dad. Now, with war declared, he and his
Drum
shipmates were busier than ever, getting their boat ready for combat. After training, sea trials, and a series of shakedown cruises and dives, they finally arrived at Pearl Harbor on April Fool's Day 1942, just less than four months after the attack, but Manning's father was no longer in charge there by that time.

The transit through the Atlantic and the Panama Canal had its moments. The
Drum
, along with new sister boats the
Flying Fish
(SS-229) and the
Greenling
(SS-213) were attacked and bombed by friendly aircraft. Luckily there was no damage. Such things happened more often than the navy wanted to admit. Aircraft on patrol for German U-boats would sometimes mistake American subs for enemy boats. At least one submarine, the USS
Dorado
(SS-248), was sunk by friendly fire while making the trip to the Pacific, and that was two years after the
Drum
and her sisters almost met the same disastrous fate.

It is also interesting to note that Manning Kimmel's mother, Admiral Kimmel's wife, was the launching sponsor for the USS
Flying Fish
. That boat's launch had come in July 1941, five months before Pearl Harbor and six months before Mrs. Kimmel's husband's demotion.

There is one more truly tragic note in the Kimmel story. Lieutenant Manning Kimmel served aboard the
Drum
for her first three war patrols. After a short tour of duty with Submarine Squadron Four, which was then based at Pearl Harbor, he returned to the mainland—having been recently promoted to lieutenant commander—to become executive officer on a new construction boat, the USS
Raton
(SS-270). After two war patrols on that submarine, Manning finally got his first command, the USS
Robalo
(SS-273).

It was happily apparent that the fallout from his father's ordeal was having no effect on his son. And the experience he received on the
Drum
and the
Raton
was going to come in handy now that he had his own boat. The
Robalo
was bound for one of the most dangerous parts of the Pacific, and the young officer knew he would need all the smarts he could get—as well as any of the great strategy he may have inherited from his father.

On the
Robalo
's first patrol under Kimmel (the boat's second war patrol), they attacked several enemy vessels and were credited at the time with sinking one of them. They came under heavy air attack on the way home and had damage to both periscopes, but Kimmel, using the skills he had picked up on his previous boats and relying on the coolheadedness of his crew, managed to nurse her safely back to Australia for extensive repairs.

Kimmel and the
Robalo
next departed Fremantle on June 22, 1944, for her third war patrol in the South China Sea. She was scheduled to arrive on station about July 6, but on July 2 a contact report stated the
Robalo
had sighted a trio of interesting targets, a battleship with air cover and two destroyers that were riding along for escort, and they were passing just east of Borneo.

That was Kimmel's last message. When she did not return from patrol, the
Robalo
was reported as “presumed lost with all hands.”

It was later learned that the submarine apparently struck a mine as she was maneuvering for an attack on the enemy vessels. She quickly sank. A few of her men were able to get out of the boat and swim ashore. There the Japanese soon captured them, and all of the sailors eventually died in a POW camp. In the end, none of the
Robalo
's crew survived to the end of the war to tell the full story.

The
Drum
has another interesting footnote to her story. Nowhere in her official history do we see mention of a top secret mission in which she participated before she even began her first official war patrol.

The boat arrived in Pearl Harbor, as noted, on April 1, 1942. Despite the damage inflicted by the Japanese, the naval base there was already back in full service and bustling. The Japanese had made a fatal mistake during the attack. They ignored the ship repair facility at the base, the petroleum storage tanks, and the submarine docks. Instead they concentrated on “Battleship Row.” Had the other resources been damaged, it would have been a long time before the sea war could have been waged out of Pearl Harbor. In incredible acts of bravery and skill, several of the battleship crews had managed to get their vessels to a spot where they would not block the harbor. If one of the ships had gone down in the ship channel, that, too, would have put Pearl Harbor out of business for a long time.

Several of the battleships had been repaired and were already back in service by the time the
Drum
arrived. As they approached the sub docks, the men on the bridge of the new arrival could see crews still scurrying to recover as many of the other ships as possible. We were at war—and for the first time in our nation's history, it was in an unrestricted way. On the afternoon following the attack, a stern order came down from the brass back in Washington: for the first time in American history, warships were ordered to fire at any vessels carrying the Japanese flag, be they military or merchant.

Unrestricted warfare was on in the Pacific.

But just before the
Drum
was to pull away for her initial patrol, Captain Rice received urgent orders to stand by, that there was another crucial mission she needed to attempt first. There was great speculation about the nature of their sudden change in orders.

Were they to go stalk one of the aircraft carriers that assisted the December 7 attack? Maybe join a “wolf pack” to attack the Imperial Japanese Navy main fleet? Go mine Tokyo Bay?

No, the
Drum
was deemed a “Transportation and Control” unit, designated to haul “critical stores” to Corregidor, a small island at the entrance to Manila Bay in the Philippines. The Allied forces there were making a last-ditch effort to hold on to the strategic sliver of land in the face of the Japanese invasion of the Philippines.

Lieutenant Manning Kimmel may have been the most disappointed man aboard the boat when he learned their first mission would be little more than delivering cargo. He wanted nothing more than to wreak havoc on Japanese shipping, to help clear the family name. But, as it turned out, that first patrol was to be delayed for a bit. They were to be a cargo vessel for the next few weeks.

The
Drum
's crew loaded every nook and cranny of the boat with medical supplies and what were later described as “millions of foul-smelling vitamin tablets,” and were off to rendezvous with a merchant ship that carried more supplies for the beleaguered island. They only made it as far as Midway. There they learned that Bataan, another crucial island, had fallen and that Corregidor would be given up as well. The
Drum
and her smelly cargo returned to Pearl Harbor, off-loaded the supplies, and quickly got ready for their first “official” war patrol. That began on April 14, 1942.

They sank a seaplane tender, and that turned out to be significant. The tender was the largest vessel sent to the bottom by any means up to that point in the war. Also during May, they torpedoed and sank three cargo ships. Next, on their second patrol, between July and September, they took down a freighter.

As was the case with many of the boats, the
Drum
and her crew were experiencing trouble with the accuracy and dependability of the torpedoes they were firing. They tended to run erratically, and, even if they did hit something solid, the weapons often failed to explode. It would be a year before better torpedoes allowed the submarine fleet to begin to reach its true potential. In the meantime, it was frustrating to expertly maneuver into position, risking life and limb in the process, launch the fish in the direction of the enemy, and then watch them run under or behind the target, or hit it directly amidships and bounce off.

The
Drum
also took part in the hunt for the “Wounded Bear,” the massive Japanese carrier
Shokaku
, which had been damaged at the Battle of the Coral Sea. Unfortunately, the navy had overestimated the damage to the carrier and thus underestimated the speed of which she was capable. Rice and his boat arrived on station hours too late to ever have any chance to chase down the highly prized target.

It was on her fourth patrol, now under the command of Captain B. F. McMahon (another
Drum
skipper who eventually made the rank of rear admiral), that the boat bagged what was perhaps her biggest target—and had what was surely her closest call. She was sent to lay mines in the Bungo Suido Strait, the narrow passage that led to Japan's Inland Sea. It was a very heavily traveled pathway for enemy shipping. But on the way, the lookouts and radar operators spotted something else, a particularly tempting prize.