by Peter Sasgen
Hitler is dead!p I do hope so! I don’t care how he died, just so long as he is really dead. I have no interest in his dying a death of torture, because he could not be tortured enough . . . to pay for the torture of [those] he and his henchmen brought to so many millions of people.... At least we can say there is a vast difference in his death and in that of F.D.R. I wish I could have more faith in the results of the San Francisco Conference [to establish the United Nations], or any world peace movements.... Not that I’m not all for trying to gain it in every way possible—as long as we don’t lull ourselves into too great a disarmament too soon.
Well, this patrol is rapidly drawing to a close, and not too soon for any of us, either.... Anyhow it’s going to be very, very good to get in—and best of all receive your letters, my dearest wife.
I know you were probably disappointed by my last letter before departing, the one in which I told you the admiral himself told me this was not to be my last patrol after all.... I still don’t like these things and it will be a relief to feel that the bosses feel I’ve done my share of it, or at least can now serve in as useful a capacity elsewhere.... Anyhow, I guess I’m good for at least one more, which is what he [Lockwood] said when we left. Maybe it can be a good one, although from now on, I fear my main worry will still be to get back safely—which is not the way heroes are made. . . .10
Now that we are actually out of the area and well on the road to the base, I feel slightly like a different person already! Every minute is busy these days, though getting all the various reports together, cleaning the ship, qualifying new boys [in submarines], giving exams, making track charts, etc. Nearly everyone is busier than while actually on patrol. We were told to hurry back, and that is what we are doing, with the result that there is less time than usual to do all these things. [When I get back to Guam] what I really want is you. But maybe it’s better that you won’t be there, because I’d probably find it impossible to leave on another patrol . . . !
Bye for a little while, my loveliest one; I’ll be writing again soon.... With all my deepest, dearest love and warmest kisses,
Lawrence11
In San Diego, Lockwood had received reports on the Seahorse’s excellent mine recon and near-fatal run-in with Japanese patrol boats. Then from the Bonefish came Edge’s radio message outlining the stunning success he’d had plotting mines off Danjo Gunto. Lockwood was flush with pride over the two skippers’ work. He was proud, too, that he’d not wavered in his belief that FMS held the key to Operation Barney’s success and that it was the best of the competing sonar systems he and his colleagues had come to the West Coast to evaluate. Even the Seahorse’s plight—he was relieved that she’d made it back at all and impressed with the performance turned in by Greer and his crew (there’d be medals for everyone)—didn’t slow his drive to get the operation under way on time. Another sub, the USS Sea Dog (SS-401), and her fine skipper, now on their way to Guam from a war patrol, would have to take the Seahorse’s place.
Despite all the unfinished business awaiting his return to Guam, Lockwood relished the three days he’d spent at sea testing sonar systems aboard the Flying Fish with her skipper, Robert D. Risser of Chariton, Iowa, and aboard the Redfin with its CO, Commander Charles K. Miller. Lockwood had been joined by Harnwell and Henderson, as well as officers, scientists, and electronics specialists from other research facilities and Navy bureaus. Lockwood had also brought along George Pierce of the Tunny, who, with his firsthand experience running minefields, could explain the practical side of the business.
The tests conducted off the coast of California were exhaustive and exciting for naval officers and landsmen alike; it was an adventure in submarining and mine-detecting procedures some had never had before and might never have again. The tests proved conclusively that FMS worked better than the other competing systems, which had major drawbacks in their operation, display, maintenance, and especially sensitivity. In the end, Lockwood had his way: FMS was what he wanted and what he got. There was no turning back; he’d staked everything on FMS and it had come through for him when it had to.
In an interesting footnote to these tests, Frank Watkins in Washington sent a letter to Lockwood that must have pleased the admiral no end.
“SORG has submitted a study of British Mine-Detection results to Cominch,” wrote Watkins. “This study reputedly shows that British subs can do a fine job of mine detection. They conclude the study with a recommendation that British subs run interference for you thru Tsushima to chart the fields.
“Their study is based upon operational reports which show mine detection successes. Unfortunately, they do not have reports of the unsuccessful runs.”
Before returning to Pearl Harbor and then Guam, Lockwood told Risser, CO of the Flying Fish, to unload the test gear and swap it for FMS, then get his sub out to Guam as soon as possible. It was already May and Risser’s crew would need all the training they could handle; the other subs Lockwood had selected to take part in Barney were beginning to assemble in Guam.
Flying west from California, Lockwood consulted a list of his Barney skippers, looking for the man among them who could lead the operation. Every skipper on the list had the necessary experience. They had also proven that they wouldn’t buckle under pressure. They were an aggressive and tenacious lot, each man equipped with a sub commander’s most valuable asset: brass balls. Lockwood may have had in mind a man like Dudley Morton of Wahoo fame, but without his dash and his propensity for taking risks. The man he was looking for had to have something special: maturity. Running a finger over his list, Lockwood came to a name, stopped, and put a check mark next to it. He had his man.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Hydeman’s Hellcats”
BULLETIN by Edward Kennedyq
(Associated Press Correspondent)
REIMS, France, May 7, 1945—Germany surrendered unconditionally to the Western Allies and the Soviet Union at 2:41 A.M. French time today. The surrender took place in a little red schoolhouse that is the headquarters of Gen. Dwight D. Eisenhower.
At Pearl Harbor the surrender of Nazi Germany added a sense of urgency to the launching of Operation Barney. Lockwood was impatient to finish the job U.S. subs had started, and to do it without help from Halsey and Spruance, much less the Russians. The possibility that the USSR would declare war on Japan, once thought remote, might happen any day. That country’s entry into the Pacific war increased the likelihood that the Sea of Japan would have to be divided up into zones of operation for both the United States and the Soviets. It also increased the possibility that a Soviet Far Eastern offensive would overrun Manchuria, even Korea. If that happened, Stalin would establish a Soviet-dominated sphere of influence as well as military bases in a region the United States expected to control. Worse yet, Stalin had the will and the necessary forces to launch an invasion of Japan through Hokkaido, from staging areas on Sakhalin Island. For now the attitude in Washington was “wait and see.”
Lockwood balked at the idea of Soviet naval forces, particularly Soviet submarines with little or no experience with war patrols, operating in the Sea of Japan. He feared that Soviet submarines would further complicate the already thorny business of identification of ships and units, which in turn could lead to disastrous consequences for U.S. sub crews, never mind Soviet ones. The only assistance Lockwood wanted from the Russians was an agreement that if an Operation Barney sub became disabled, it could seek refuge in Vladivostok. Otherwise Lockwood had no use for the Russians. Nimitz, despite his earlier aversion to this plan, was again making sounds that Lockwood should start thinking about how to divide up the Sea of Japan into U.S. and Soviet areas. Lockwood hoped that if he dragged his feet long enough, the whole stinking idea might be dropped.
The Bonefish arrived in Guam the day Nazi Germany surrendered. The long-expected news of Germany’s defeat, when it arrived, rather than inviting celebration among all the military personnel on Guam, evoked a mood of somber restraint. Welcome as the news was, every A
merican soldier, sailor, marine, and airman, from the top brass down, knew that the war was only half won, and what it might take to end it.
This was the underlying mood as the Bonefish tied up at the sub base in Guam. Lockwood was not there to greet her, as was his custom when subs returned from patrols, especially one as important as the Bonefish’s had been; he was still in San Diego and wouldn’t return until the eighteenth. Barney Sieglaff, covering for Lockwood, and accompanied by staff and a Navy still photographer to record the Bonefish’s homecoming, came aboard to greet Edge and his crew. As Edge, Sieglaff, and the other officers gathered in the sub’s wardroom over coffee and cigarettes, the two Japanese prisoners Edge had captured were escorted topside for transfer into the custody of waiting U.S. Marines. Suddenly, in an unguarded moment, one of the prisoners, the quiet one who had not begged Edge to kill him, bolted. Diving over the side of the sub into the water, he quickly swam away from the ship and drowned himself. The Marines and sailors who witnessed this event were stunned. A small boat put out after the prisoner, but it was too late.
Ashore after all the commotion had settled down, Edge found a pack of letters waiting for him, which he hungrily dug into for news about Sarah and Boo. In an earlier letter, one that arrived before his departure on the mine recon, she told him that Mack Tharpe, the husband of their close friend, Jane Tharpe, one of Sarah’s bridesmaids, had been killed aboard an aircraft carrier. Even before answering Sarah’s letters, Lawrence wrote a letter of condolence to Jane. His remarks shape a perfect coda to his own life: He had no way of knowing that he and Mack would share the same fate.
Dear Jane,
My boat and I have just recently returned from another war patrol, and I am hastening to write now before the press of events again becomes too strong for me to compose my thoughts well enough to write coherently.... Words cannot possibly undo . . . the pain.
I guess all of us out here give some thought to dying, and we all feel, I think, that if the war brings it to us that, even though we do want to live out a long life as much as anyone, leaving early in a cause which is after all, to us individually, one which is primarily to secure for you, our wives and kids (and their kids), the kind of life we’ve all known and [loved] in the U.S. [our] whole lives. If that cause should bring our death, then to say the least it is just about the best cause for which one can die young.
Mack must have felt that way, I know. He didn’t have to go to war, as he did.... Therein lies the pity of it—but therein also lies the greater honor of it, that which made his sacrifice of the very highest. I was always proud of knowing Mack. I was never so proud as now.
It is the unfulfilled promise for the future years of life . . . which makes it hard to bear the loss of a young man’s life. Mack’s life was certainly one of those filled with all the brightest of promises.... To you who loved him and gave him a family it is more than that, I well know. It is part of your own life that went with him, and the sacrifice is no less yours. I hope time will make it easier for you to bear, even though the loss itself can not possibly grow less. I hope the baby will make it easier, too. Your courage in starting your family in the midst of the war will give you that reward, I am somehow sure.
In as much as Mack died for you and the baby, so did he also die for my two Sarahs, and for all of us because we all reap the benefit of his sacrifice. So I humbly thank God for Mack and the thousands of others who have died in this war. They perhaps even more than the living make our lives and our country what they are and what they will be.
Very sincerely,
Lawrence1
Writing to Sarah, Lawrence told her about the suicide of the Japanese prisoner he’d brought to Guam for interrogation. In another letter he told her that he’d
Received the unwelcome news today that an official investigation is being made of the escape of our prisoner that day we got in. As a result I’ve got to spend tomorrow . . . on our tender at the hearing, darn it. Next time I may not bother to pick up any darn prisoners. . . .2
Edge and his crew transferred temporarily to the submarine rest camp for a few days of relaxation before returning to sea for training and FMS trials. They knew that they had been tapped to become part of a special mission everyone was openly referring to as Operation Barney, and that it would entail dodging minefields and penetrating the Sea of Japan. The details of the operation were still under wraps. Even so, Edge knew they’d soon be on the table. Scuttlebutt had it that Lockwood planned to conduct a comprehensive mission briefing and that the initial jump-off date for the first group of subs had been scheduled for May 27.
With the clock counting down to that jump-off, Edge wrote to Sarah during the little spare time he had, given the demands that training and preparation for Barney had imposed.
Dearest Angel,
Out here the only news is that we’ve been back on the boat now for several days of training. The period at [rest] camp certainly seemed short, but it couldn’t be helped, and even full periods always seem short too; so I guess it really makes no difference anyhow. Wish someway this next patrol could be a short one too, but I don’t foresee it. Certainly, it is scheduled to be a regular full-time one.... At the moment, I really feel more like going on patrol this time than I did last time, maybe because I had been away from it long enough to lose a bit of confidence—although I think I can truthfully say that I’ve never been over confident on the eve of departure.
. . . I love you and miss you almost too much to bear at times, but I’m just living for the time when I can return to you and Boo. . . .
With all my dearest love,
Lawrence3
Lockwood returned to Guam from San Diego. Aboard his flagship in Guam, the old sub tender USS Holland (AS-3), he looked out over Apra Harbor at the tender USS Apollo (AS-25), her fleet of nine FMS subs nested alongside. Lockwood had reason to be pleased. All of his and his staff’s hard work was about to pay off. The plan they’d developed for the execution of Operation Barney was ready for presentation to the nine skippers. The increased tempo of FMS training had resulted in a marked improvement in the sub crews’ attitude toward FMS. They might not all be converts, but even so, requests for transfers had petered out. As for FMS itself, the Flying Fish had turned in some of the best results that Lockwood and Sieglaff had ever witnessed, better even than the Bonefish. Robert Risser, her CO, had no combat experience with FMS, but was eager to have the opportunity to use it to get at those ships in the Sea of Japan. Lockwood noted with satisfaction that Risser’s buoyant enthusiasm had infected the other skippers.
One of them was Commander Earl T. Hydeman, skipper of the Sea Dog, Lockwood’s choice for the job of task force commander of Operation Barney. Hydeman’s sub had been outfitted with the FM sonar suite removed from the damaged Seahorse, now undergoing battle-damage repairs in one of Guam’s big floating dry docks. Lockwood had announced the skipper’s selection upon returning to Guam from the West Coast sonar competition. Sieglaff and Voge knew Hydeman well and heartily concurred in their boss’s decision.
Lockwood could not have made a better pick. A Midwesterner from St. Louis, Missouri, the thirty-four-year-old Hydeman had graduated from the United States Naval Academy in 1932. After a typical tour of duty aboard a battleship, he reported to submarine school for instruction, then for duty aboard the S-18. In the mid-1930s, Hydeman, like most young submarine officers, had tours of duty in a variety of subs, both S-boats and fleet boats, including Lawrence Edge’s first sub, the Narwhal . After a stint aboard a destroyer and then a detour ashore at BuPers, by 1944 Hydeman itched for a command of his own. To achieve his goal he spent six weeks at PCO school, after which he completed a tour as a PCO aboard the USS Pampanito (SS-383). He then took command of the Sea Dog after she had completed her second war patrol out of Pearl Harbor under Commander Vernon L. Lowrance. Hydeman skippered the Sea Dog on her third patrol in the Nampo-Shoto area and the east coast of Kyushu in command of a three-sub wolf pack he named “Earl’s Eliminators.” Despite
having sunk only one Japanese ship, a big 6,800-ton freighter, Hydeman turned in an aggressive and well-conducted patrol.
In making his decision to name Hydeman as Operation Barney’s overall commander, Lockwood weighed several important factors in his favor. Hydeman, the senior CO in the group, had proven by his record of achievement that he possessed the requisite maturity, experience, and sound judgment. He also possessed something else, something special that the leader of this mission would need, and which Hydeman had in abundance: iron nerve.
Having spent a good part of the war in New London and Washington, D.C., Hydeman had had little combat experience, far less, in fact, than some of the other Hellcat skippers he would command. But he knew submariners—what made them tick and what made them successful. He’d gained this knowledge as personnel officer for ComSubLant, where, among other things, he detailed enlisted crews to new-construction subs. Therefore he understood the importance of having highly qualified sailors, not just volunteers right out of boot camp, to man the boats. Hydeman was a crusader on matters of personnel selection and training. Lockwood knew what Hydeman had accomplished and the benefits of it that had accrued to the sub force, and to the FMS sub crews themselves.4
Hydeman, like Lockwood, never doubted that Operation Barney would succeed. The only concern he had, which he expressed to Lockwood and Sieglaff, was that his and the Sea Dog’s arrival had been a last-minute affair and that the Sea Dog’s substitution for the Seahorse hadn’t allowed much time to train on FMS and to get the hang of locating mines. Sieglaff waved Hydeman’s concerns away, saying that Hydeman’s crew would get the hang of it in no time, which in fact they did, despite numerous equipment failures and the corresponding repairs that often lasted until dawn.
