by Peter Sasgen
Lockwood wasn’t sure what to expect from such a mission. He knew that Japanese ships were plying their routes in the Sea of Japan, carrying essential cargoes of food and raw materials back to mainland Japan. The big question was, How many ships were actively involved in this work, given that the bulk of the empire’s merchant marine was busy elsewhere in the Pacific? How plentiful would targets be in the Sea of Japan? Would there be enough to justify the risks entailed in sending a couple of subs up there on a raid? He and Voge wouldn’t know until they tried it. Furthermore, if submarines suddenly showed up in the emperor’s sea, would the Japanese rush to block its exits, trapping the subs inside until they ran out of food and fuel, to be hunted down and sunk? Lockwood mulled these questions over for a time, then decided that the risk was worth taking, if for no other reason than it would provide the Navy’s high command with vital information on the state of Japanese resupply operations at home. That information might influence future planning for an invasion of Japan, which would likely be necessary to end the war.
To avoid a prolonged operation in the Sea of Japan that would give the Japanese time to mount an aggressive defense, the plan Lockwood and Voge devised called for only a four-day hit-and-run raid that might just catch the Japanese napping and that would end before they could rouse their antisubmarine forces in strength. In May, Lockwood submitted his plan to Admiral King and Admiral Chester W. Nimitz, Commander in Chief, United States Pacific Fleet (CinCPac), for approval. A week later it came back with just one word over the admirals’ signatures: “Approved.”
In early July 1943, three submarines departed from Pearl Harbor bound for what some observers believed was a suicide mission into virtually unknown territory. Lockwood didn’t agree, though the uncertainty of it all stoked his three-pack-a-day habit. Two of the three subs were the older prewar-built USS Plunger (SS-179), commanded by Lieutenant Commander Raymond H. Bass, and the USS Permit (SS-178), commanded by Commander Wreford G. “Moon” Chapple. The third sub was the new-construction USS Lapon (SS-260), making her first war patrol under Lieutenant Commander Oliver G. Kirk. Bass and Chapple were seasoned skippers with exemplary combat records; Kirk, also a veteran, had less combat experience than either Bass or Chapple. Another submarine, the big, old prewar USS Narwhal (SS-167), skippered by Commander Frank D. Latta, was dispatched to create a diversion by bombarding the island of Matsuwa To in the Kurile Islands northeast of La Pérouse Strait. Shells lobbed ashore from her twin six-inch guns would keep the Japanese busy and help the three subs make their getaway after completing their mission.
The Sea of Okhotsk, even in summer, is cold and fogbound. The subs groped their way west through the Kuriles for La Pérouse Strait, where they made their run-in on the surface at night at full speed, dodging fishing craft and navigating the safe channel by sheer guesswork. Most but not all of the Russian ships they saw had their running lights on to identify themselves as neutrals. Since none of the subs hit a mine, they and Lockwood had evidently guessed right about the location of the safe channel and the depth of sown mines. Bass, Chapple, and Kirk agreed that it was a hair-raising trip.
The submarines took up their assigned areas and at the appointed hour (Chapple in the Permit jumped the gun) began looking for ships to torpedo. As it turned out bad weather and intermittent problems with the raiders’ vital SJ radar spoiled any chances they may have had to wreak havoc on the Japanese. Not only that, targets worthy of torpedoes proved scarce: Lockwood’s suspicion that the bulk of the Japanese merchant marine was busy in the greater Pacific turned out to be correct. The Permit and the Plunger sank only three ships totaling roughly five thousand tons; the Lapon, already bedeviled by SJ radar problems, suffered from an inoperative Fathometer, which impeded skipper Kirk’s determination to hunt for targets in foggy coastal waters off the coast of Korea. As it was, the Lapon encountered only sampans. Complicating matters, the Permit shot up a Russian trawler by mistake off Karafuto. Chapple, realizing his error, pulled thirteen survivors, including five women, from the frigid water. He considered landing them on Russian Kamchatka, but after a flurry of radio messages to Pearl Harbor, Chapple was ordered instead to off-load his passengers in Dutch Harbor, Alaska, to avoid a direct confrontation with angry Soviet authorities.
All in all, the first foray by U.S. subs into the Sea of Japan didn’t break the empire’s back. Lockwood’s endorsement to the Lapon’s patrol report said it best: “Results were disappointing. 22 days of foggy weather did much to render operations difficult.... Contacts were meager.”3
As for the Narwhal, delayed by lousy weather, she arrived off Matsuwa To long after the three raiding subs had departed for home. Nevertheless, Latta swung into action. After dodging a Wakataki-class destroyer and a Mitsubishi 96 bomber, the Narwhal encountered a spate of clear weather and took advantage of it to battle surface six miles off the beach, and at2020 ... began bombardment of air field on Matsuwa To. Red rays of setting sun still visible in northwest. Eastern edge of Matsuwa in shadow. NARWHAL against dark background of eastern sky ... Our fire was slow but seemed accurate, using hangars as a point of aim. . . . Fire was concentrated on hangars and landing strip, hoping to keep planes grounded. . . . One large fire started ashore. Enemy returned fire after about four minutes from one gun and in ten minutes, fire was being returned from a battery of about seven five-inch guns. . . . Return fire was haphazard.
2030 Enemy return fire getting closer in range, shells whistling overhead.
2031 Enemy in range, splashes dead ahead ...
2032 Secured guns, changed course away and dived.4
“Where we had expected our submarines to find an abundance of targets, they found few worth the expenditure of a $10,000 torpedo,” said Lockwood. Disappointed with the results, he was cheered that the four subs had returned unscathed.
He and Voge immediately began planning a second mission, one that would build on and take advantage of the lessons learned. The most important lesson was that U.S. subs could operate in the Sea of Japan, proving that no part of the empire, no matter how remote, was immune from attack. Lockwood believed that the next time subs entered the sea they would sink everything in sight. He might have kept his fingers crossed that when they did, the problems still plaguing Mk 14 torpedoes would be solved once and for all. If the submariners were going to risk their necks again getting into the Sea of Japan, they had better have a reliable weapon to take along.
Ray Bass, skipper of the Plunger, immediately volunteered to go back in. Another volunteer was Mush Morton, skipper of the Wahoo, which had just arrived in Pearl Harbor after a West Coast overhaul. Even then Morton was one of Lockwood’s stars. He’d already sunk sixteen marus totaling about 49,000 tons and was clearly on his way to outpacing every skipper in the force.
Lockwood gave Bass and Morton the okay and saw them off from Pearl Harbor on August 8. Lockwood had confidence that the experience Bass had gained from the earlier raid would come in handy. According to their operation orders the Wahoo and Plunger were to enter the Sea of Japan through La Pérouse Strait on August 14 at night and on the surface via the safe channel that the Plunger, Permit, and Lapon had used in July and had plotted so other subs could use it in the future. According to the latest intelligence assembled by ICPOA, there was no reason to believe that the Japanese had made any alterations to the layout of the existing minefields or that they had sown any more mines below the surface of La Pérouse Strait. Like the Plunger, Permit, and Lapon that had ventured in before them, as long as the Wahoo and Plunger didn’t submerge in the strait and didn’t stray from the confines of the channel, Bass and Morton had nothing to fear. Furthermore, if ICPOA developed any information that the Japanese had altered the minefields, SubPac would alert the skippers by radio.
The Plunger developed engine and motor problems that crippled her port propeller shaft, forcing her to steam on only one screw, which delayed her entry into La Pérouse Strait for two days. Rather than turn back, Bass decided to run the strait submerged du
ring daylight rather than on the surface at night, which would require speed and maneuverability that the Plunger lacked. It was a death-defying decision on Bass’s part, given that any mines anchored at seventy feet—never mind any moored at forty feet—allowed only a five-foot margin of safety between the tops of the mines and the Plunger’s keel, which, when she submerged to periscope depth, measured sixty-five feet below the surface. It’s not clear whether Bass, knowing the high-low layout of the minefields, simply threw caution to the wind or if he assumed that the force exerted on the anchored mines by the outflowing Kuroshio Current, which made them lean over (a phenomenon called “mine dip”), gave him an extra margin of safety. Whichever it was, somehow the Plunger with her frozen port shaft got through in one piece.
Unlike the first raid, this time targets were plentiful. Regrettably, torpedo performance was abominable. Bass, plagued with faulty Mk 14s, managed to sink only two cargo ships. Morton, meanwhile, was bedeviled with duds, broachers, and erratic runs. His and Bass’s patrol reports are a litany of miss, miss, dud, broach, miss, miss.... Furious, Morton sought permission to end the mission and return to Pearl Harbor to have his remaining torpedoes examined. Lockwood, deeply disturbed by this unexpected turn of events, approved. So far the two forays had been miserable failures.
Back in Pearl Harbor, Morton barely contained his anger when he powwowed with Lockwood to curse the lousy torpedoes he’d lugged all the way to the Sea of Japan. His boss was sympathetic—he’d been wrestling with torpedo problems ever since taking over in Fremantle, and more than anyone, Lockwood wanted Morton to succeed. When the irate skipper insisted on going back with a load of freshly overhauled Mk 14s and a batch of new Mk 18 electrics, Lockwood gave his approval. This time he tapped the USS Sawfish (SS-276), skippered by Lieutenant Commander Eugene T. Sands, to accompany the Wahoo. The Sawfish, like the Wahoo, carried a mixed load of Mk 14s and Mk 18s.
Both submarines departed Pearl Harbor on September 10, arriving off La Pérouse via different routes. The Wahoo headed in first, then made tracks to patrol her assigned area in the southern part of the sea; the Sawfish , assigned the northern part, followed three days later. Morton had orders to conduct operations as he saw fit, after which he was to depart the area on October 21 and report his position by radio after transiting the Kuriles. The Sawfish, which during the patrol had no contact at all with the Wahoo, kept to her own schedule. Lockwood and Voge expected that the Japanese would be on guard for more submarine intruders and had so briefed Morton and Sands.
There were plenty of targets, but once again poor torpedo performance thwarted success, at least for the Sawfish. Sands made numerous attacks that should have resulted in sinkings. Instead he was plagued by duds and erratic torpedo behavior. He reported that on firing, several of his Mk 18s struck the bow torpedo tube shutters—the streamlined outer doors covering the tubes’ muzzles—sending them wildly off course. Fortunately the tin fish were designed to arm only after completing a four-hundred-yard run or they might have blown the Sawfish to bits. In seven attacks on eighteen ships Sands failed to sink a single one.
On October 9, after sixteen miserable days on station, Sands, with Lockwood’s permission, pulled out with several Mk 18s still in their tubes for the torpedo experts to examine. Making good speed through La Pérouse, the Sawfish encountered patrol boats and twice escaped a bombing by patrolling aircraft.5
The Wahoo, meanwhile, had vanished.
On October 5, four days before the Sawfish departed enemy waters, the Japanese news agency Domei announced the torpedoing of the eight-thousand-ton passenger steamer Konron Maru in the Tsushima Strait. Lockwood acknowledged that since there were no other subs in that area it had to have been the work of the Wahoo. Unlike the Sawfish, maybe this time her torpedoes had worked.
On October 7, the Honolulu Star-Bulletin published an article about the attack. It read in part:An Allied submarine, slipping boldly into the waters off Japan’s west coast, sunk a Japanese steamer Tuesday in an attack which took the lives of more than 500 persons, Tokyo broadcasts said today.
There was little doubt the submarine was American....
Despite the strenuous efforts by warships and naval planes to rescue passengers and crew, Tokyo said only 72 of 616 persons aboard have been reported saved.
Rough seas and communication trouble were said to have hampered rescue work. The announcement said the steamer was hit by a single torpedo and sank “after several seconds.”...6
When the Wahoo didn’t report to Pearl Harbor by radio as scheduled on October 21, Lockwood began to worry. Of course, she could have been delayed as the Plunger was by an engineering casualty that had forced the Wahoo to lie doggo for a few days while her crew made repairs. Lockwood chain-smoked and waited. As the days dragged by without a word from Morton, Lockwood feared that something serious had happened to the Wahoo, something he didn’t want to admit was possible, even as he held out hope that she might limp into port, perhaps damaged but still intact. After all, he knew from experience that whenever the Japanese thought they had sunk an American sub—and they thought they had sunk hundreds—they were quick to announce it, even though more often than not the submarine had returned to its base with all hands safe aboard. In an unusual step, Admiral Nimitz approved a request by Lockwood for a search by air of the most likely route home the Wahoo would travel. A careful search of an area hundreds of miles west of the Hawaiian Islands returned without finding a trace of the sub. Distraught, Lockwood confided to his diary, “No news of Mush. This is the worst blow we’ve had and I’m heartbroken. God punish the Japs! They shall pay for this....”7
In early November Lockwood had no choice but to report that the Wahoo was overdue and presumed lost with all hands. Reluctantly he took down the little magnetic submarine silhouette engraved with the Wahoo’s name from the wall map in his office. He had a hard time accepting that Dudley Morton and his crew were gone and it left him badly shaken. For Lockwood, Morton’s and the other skippers’ raids into the Sea of Japan, or Lake Hirohito, as it was now dubbed by U.S. submariners, ranked up there with German U-boat ace Günther Prien’s raid on the British fleet at Scapa Flow in 1939 and with Jimmy Doolittle’s raid on Tokyo in 1942.
With little information to go on and lacking U.S.-decrypted radio messages from Japanese antisubmarine forces, Lockwood naturally blamed the Wahoo’s loss on mines. He was convinced that the Japanese, stung by the two earlier forays by U.S. subs, and perhaps anticipating future incursions, had sown more contact mines in the straits, one of which must have destroyed the Wahoo. Unknown to Lockwood, Morton had sunk four ships, among them the aforementioned Konron Maru. His bold attacks had indeed put the Japanese on full antisubmarine alert. Yet the alert had not, as Lockwood assumed, prompted more mine laying.
The mystery of the Wahoo’s loss was solved at the end of the war, when intelligence officers combing through tons of Japanese documents seized at the naval ministry in Tokyo for information on the fate of missing men and ships found a report describing an attack on a submarine in La Pérouse Strait. The date of the attack matched the date that the Wahoo was supposed to make her exit.
The report stated that on October 11, at 0920, a floatplane had spotted an oil slick on the surface of the strait. The Wahoo, perhaps damaged by an earlier depth charging or a bomb, must have been leaking diesel fuel. Then at 0945 Circling, the pilot identified a black conning tower and after calling in more planes, dropped a bomb on what he described as a black hull with a white wake. A second bomb brought up more oil. Aircraft number two arrived and dropped four small bombs which brought up more oil.
1025 Second floatplane dropped more bombs.
1135 A floatplane guided Submarine Chaser No. 15 to the area of the attack. It dropped nine depth charges followed by seven more.
1207 In the eruptions a large piece of bright metal identified as a propeller blade was seen.
1221 Another submarine chaser arrived and dropped six depth charges.
1350 S
earching aircraft reported that neither the submarine nor her wake was visible.8
The Wahoo had made her last dive.
After the loss of the Wahoo Lockwood grappled with several important issues that would have an influence on decisions he would make regarding future raids into the Sea of Japan. Despite the small number of ships sunk on the three raids launched so far (he nevertheless regarded every sinking as another nail in the emperor’s coffin), he had to question whether the experience the sub force had gained toward future raids had been worth the lives of Morton and his crew. It might have been hard for Lockwood to weigh this objectively, for despite his sorrow at the loss of so many other submarines and their crews and his deep affection for every man in his force, Morton was clearly Lockwood’s favorite. He was unique. He possessed all the skill, daring, and tenacity that Lockwood sought in his skippers and that Morton had amply demonstrated during the battles he’d waged against the Japanese on earlier war patrols.
Lockwood expressed his deepest feelings about Morton when he said, “. . . I resolved, there would come another day—a day of visitation—an hour of revenge. In time we would collect for the Wahoo and Commander Dudley Morton and his men, with heavy interest. And in time we did.”9 He had no way of knowing whether there had been any survivors from the Wahoo, but experience told him that it was unlikely. When submarines were hit, they went down fast—too fast for the men inside to escape. With the Wahoo’s loss, Lockwood reluctantly decided to put an end to operations in the Sea of Japan—for now, at least. He knew that if his subs were to return to sink ships and exact revenge for Morton and the Wahoo, they would have to have special equipment that could accurately plot the location of the minefields to give the raiding submarines a greater margin of safety. Lockwood knew that a submarine’s greatest attribute is stealth. He believed that if submarines could find a way to penetrate the minefields submerged without alerting the enemy to their presence, next time they would deliver a blow from which the Japanese might not recover.
