Operation Storm: Japan's Top Secret Submarines and Its Plan to Change the Course of World War II (53 page)

The
Sen-toku
subs proved to be a popular attraction. Over the next few days, they were visited by a bevy of navy brass, including Halsey and Lockwood. Lockwood was present for the
I-400
’s arrival. When he boarded her for inspection, he immediately noticed the “lousy appearance of the enemy crew.”

“Normally, a Jap is clean,” Lockwood observed. “These were filthy in clothing and person.”
⁶

Sen-toku
crews also lamented the condition of their maintenance-deferred subs. When compared to the spic-and-span standards of Allied ships, they made a poor showing.
⁷
Even Asamura noticed the difference. Considering the almost unlimited supply of paint they were given to refresh the
I-401
, Asamura concluded the United States must be a truly rich nation.
⁸

The true purpose of the underwater aircraft carriers remained hidden, at least for a while. Lockwood was under the impression that the
I-400
had been on a supply trip to Truk. He also couldn’t understand why Captain Kusaka hadn’t seen any American warships en route.
⁹
Of course, the answer was clear—Kusaka was lying. Though Kusaka had spoken honestly when he’d said the
I-400
had never sunk an Allied ship, he’d most certainly seen them. Though it was easy to mistake the
I-400
’s airplane hangar for a warehouse, especially since the planes had been replaced with supplies, it’s surprising that the commander of Pacific Fleet subs didn’t learn of
Kusaka’s mission until later. Unless the Japanese were launching food at captured islands, there was no reason for a catapult other than for aircraft. It’s hard to imagine how anyone bought the story that the
I-400
was a cargo sub.

Not surprisingly, U.S. sailors didn’t just want to see the world’s largest submarines—they wanted to take a piece home with them. The
I-401
’s medical officer was so concerned that the wardroom’s Japanese doll would be stolen that he burned it.
^*
10
Nevertheless, American sailors proved innovative scavengers. Swords and sidearms were first to go, but items necessary to the operation of the sub, including the
I-401
’s chronometer, compass, barometer, and binoculars, soon followed. It goes without saying that any sake or scotch that was discovered also disappeared.
¹¹
Later choices were of more dubious value. When the crew’s personal razors went missing, it redefined the meaning of acceptable war booty.
¹²

A cease-and-desist order was issued before things got out of hand.
¹³
This wasn’t done so much to protect the personal belongings of Japanese POWs as to ensure that the good stuff wasn’t looted before higher-ups got their chance. The
I-401
’s sidearms and service swords were eventually distributed according to rank, but even Balson wasn’t able to hold on to Nambu’s service sword for more than a few hours. As soon as Lew Parks, commander of SubRon 20, saw it, he took it for himself.
¹⁴

Not all the pillaging happened without consequence, as Hi Cassedy soon learned. Quick to confiscate the
I-400
’s service swords, he had planned to personally redistribute them. When Halsey got wind of it, Cassedy became the highest-ranking officer to fall afoul of souvenir fever. Though Cassedy wasn’t in the doghouse long, it must have given the
Blue
’s skipper some satisfaction to know that Cassedy was the only U.S. officer ever relieved of command
of a Japanese sub.
¹⁵
Still, it didn’t slow the stripping of the
Sen-toku
subs.

There were generous acts amid the looting. After their arrival in Yokosuka, Johnson gave Bando his Zippo lighter and invited the chief navigator to visit him in the United States after the war.
¹⁶
Bando still remembered the kindness 65 years later, suggesting that Johnson could build bridges, not just destroy them.

In fact, many of the
Segundo
’s crew had to admit they’d been wrong about Johnson. No matter what their concerns had been at the beginning of the patrol, there was no denying that he had handled himself well. He’d shown surprising restraint while chasing an unknown sub for four hours, and foresight by consulting with ComSubPac before taking action. Furthermore, he had remained calm during negotiations with a wily enemy, despite mixed signals. He’d been tough when necessary, insisting on escorting the
I-401
to Yokosuka; flexible when it came to Japanese face saving. Another skipper might have plunged them into a shooting war, but Johnson had shown grace under pressure while never letting his guard down. In other words, Stephen Lobdell Johnson had achieved something very important for a sub captain: he’d earned the respect of his crew.

L
OCKWOOD MAY HAVE DESCRIBED
Ariizumi’s suicide as “the happy event,”
¹⁷
but it was not so for everyone. The commander’s family was devastated. Matsu was every bit as much a product of the Imperial Japanese Navy as her husband. She had lived within its strictures and was proud of his success. He had not only become one of the navy’s most trusted operational officers, he had done so while remaining true to his creed. Now he was gone, dead by his own hand. Yet by sacrificing himself, he’d brought honor to his family.

As much as Matsu grieved for her husband, she knew he had done the right thing. Now she resolved to join him. Just as the 47 Ronin had killed themselves after avenging their master’s death, Matsu would make the ultimate sacrifice and follow in her husband’s
footsteps. Even though the Japan she had grown up with now lay in ruins, Matsu would uphold tradition.

For not only was Matsu going to end her own life—she was going to take the lives of her five children as well. It was a horrific decision for a mother to make, but in her mind, it was the only choice she had left.

T
HE
I-401
’
S COMMUNICATIONS CHIEF
, L
T.
(
SG
) G
OICHI
K
ATAYAMA
, brought Matsu her husband’s suicide note.
¹
He’d served aboard the
I-8
with Ariizumi and felt close to the commander. The note expressed Ariizumi’s wish for a better life for his children, but Matsu could not ignore the fact that her husband had killed himself.

It was not unusual for a wife to follow her husband in suicide, especially in a feudal structure like the Imperial Japanese Navy. Wives had been following their husbands’ example for centuries in Japan, and Matsu wasn’t just a navy wife—her husband was an Etajima graduate, had served on the Naval General Staff, and had commanded the last submarine squadron of the Great Pacific War. Matsu was a role model for many, her actions studied and critiqued. The psychological pressure must have been enormous.

Still, she faced a dilemma. If Matsu and her children died, no one would be left to carry on the family line. Children were necessary to venerate the memories of their parents and ancestors, so it was crucial that the family bloodline be continued. And so Matsu chose to spare her oldest son, Nobukazu, and her younger daughter, Yasuko. Her remaining three children would follow her into death.

When the fateful day arrived, Matsu gathered her elder daughter, Shizuko, and her second and third sons, Keisuke and Yosuke. Matsu had told no one about her decision save her mother, who waited quietly in the next room. The house remained dark in the shade of its garden, and the
tatami
mat floor muffled the small footsteps as the children gathered round.

Matsu used her cheeriest, high-pitched voice to address her children. Her message was honest if veiled.

“Let’s go join your father.”

But Keisuke, a chipper boy of four, was hungry.

“Not until we’ve eaten all the delicious things in our house, Mother.”

“Of course, let us eat it all,” she said choking back tears.

After a moment, Keisuke added, “Let’s be sure to eat the persimmons too, Mother.”

“Of course, the persimmons and the chestnuts,” Matsu responded, for she knew the chestnut tree, which had been planted in their garden by Ariizumi’s father, had borne fruit for the first time that season.

Before Matsu could make good on her promise though, Keisuke had one last question.

“Mother, the persimmons will grow again next year, won’t they?”

Matsu’s mother, who had been listening, was overwhelmed by the innocent question. The thought of this tiny child’s death was too much to bear. Yes, their persimmon tree would bloom next year, but her grandson would not. Struggling with emotion, she interrupted the gathering.

“Death is not the only way to serve [your husband],” she said, tears in her eyes. “Please do not die.”
²

Matsu must have felt terrible as her mother’s plea echoed in her ears. Sacrificing her children in the name of honor went against every maternal instinct. And yet she was the dutiful wife of a senior naval officer. She knew what she must do.

As her mother’s sobbing filled the room, Matsu considered her family’s fate. Her youngest son was but an infant, Keisuke no more than a toddler. Must she really sacrifice their lives to preserve the family honor? Or had Japan changed enough that her children might be spared?

Whatever else transpired in the Ariizumi house that day, Matsu decided that she and her children would survive. They would not follow her husband into death. They would live to taste persimmons another year.

S
EPTEMBER
2,
THE
day the Japanese signed the Instrument of Surrender, was Lockwood’s day in the sun. Twelve U.S. fleet subs, including the
Segundo
, were invited to participate in the ceremony and anchored in a nest alongside the
Proteus
in Tokyo Bay. Lockwood’s personal three-star flag hung from the
I-400
’s bridge during the ceremony. Though he later admitted he was “gloating … over the enemy,” Lockwood was proud of what he’d achieved.
³
One still has to wonder whether the commander of the Pacific sub force understood that he’d chosen the lesser of two submarines to gloat over. The real prize was Ariizumi’s flagship, the
I-401
.

The next day the
Segundo
departed Tokyo for Pearl Harbor. It took a week to reach her destination. When the sub arrived, her crew was in for one last surprise. While the
Segundo
was in dry dock for inspection, a large dent was found in her starboard hull. A closer look revealed a yellow smear between the forward and aft engine compartments, most likely from the warhead of an enemy torpedo.
⁴

Wallace Karnes remembered the bump they’d heard while approaching Sagami Bay and drew the simplest conclusion. “One of the
I-401
’s buddies must have snuck up and torpedoed us,” he said. “That was funny.”
⁵

Funny in retrospect, maybe. But if the torpedo, depth charge, or sea mine hadn’t been a dud, the
Segundo
’s last war patrol could have had a very different ending.

O
NCE THE
J
APANESE
surrender was official, learning how to operate the
I-400
subs became the next order of business. All the subs’ manuals, schematics, and diagrams had been thrown overboard, which meant U.S. submariners had to learn from scratch. Though Japanese sub design followed standard practice,
⁶
there was still a bewildering array of pipes, valves, dials, and switches to decipher. Turn the wrong valve, and you might flood the sub. It was time to learn how these monsters worked.

Japanese petty officers proved crucial to explaining how the subs operated.
⁷
They walked every inch of the surviving
Sen-toku
squadron with U.S. submariners in tow.
⁸
Ironically, the jailers soon learned that their prisoners were demanding taskmasters. U.S. prize crews produced drawings of every aspect of each sub’s layout and systems. A Japanese-English dictionary of submarine terms also took shape. It proved helpful in understanding the strange Japanese markings that appeared everywhere. Most terms were new to the American submariners, but there was the occasional amusing display of English without
l
’s—for example,
barasuto tanku
for “ballast tank.”
⁹

As the prize crews grew more confident, they began entertaining visitors with demonstrations of the sub’s catapult, raising and lowering her hydraulic crane, and opening her hangar door.
¹⁰
The Japanese petty officers were surprised at how fast the Americans caught on. Despite the language barrier, the learning process went quickly. After a week of training, Cdr. Joseph M. McDowell was ready to take the
I-400
out for sea trials—proof that submariners spoke the same language regardless of the country they came from.