Chameleons, a Novel Based Upon Actual Events Page 15

  “A telephone line between the control room of I-16 and my midget submarine, which has been assigned the designation I-16-tou, will allow us instant communications with the captain of I-16 until the release point. Once we break away the cord will detach and communications cease; until we eventually surface and can employ our radio transmitter.”

  “We are provided a thorough briefing of the battle plan, along with several maps of Oahu, which, among other things, provide me with numerous navigation landmarks. I will need to recognize them if I am to successfully steer an underwater course into the harbor.”

  “We are also advised our intelligence is uncertain as to the exact depth of the entry channel into the harbor. The depth of the anti-torpedo and submarine nets at the channel entrance is also unknown. The nets present a serious deterrent to our successful harbor penetration, for even if the net cutter on our bow cuts them, an alarm would most certainly be raised and the element of surprise lost. Regardless, I am assured there will be enough clearance for me to steer my boat safely under the nets.”

  Ken pauses a moment. “Kamita and I determined in the event should we find it impossible to safely penetrate the harbor, we would slowly make our way to the pick-up point. It was our hope perhaps a fleeing warship would present itself as a target so our sacred mission would not be a complete failure. All the commanders harbored similar plans as sinking enemy ships was our objective. But I digress again. Back to the story!”

  “A week passes and it is time to begin the three week journey to Oahu. Kamita and I are on the bridge of the I-16 and are staring at the empty horizon. Japan is already starting to feel like a distant memory when the Captain approaches and extends a dinner invitation. As we turn to follow him below deck Kamita makes a final observation: ‘the next time we see our homeland, we will be veterans.’”

  “During the long voyage to Oahu we spend as much time as possible in our midget sub, checking and re-checking. As we creep closer to the patrol zones where we might make accidental contact with the Americans, or with commercial shipping, we begin to operate submerged during the days and run on the surface only at night. This reduces the time we can spend in our boat.”

  “After a week at sea we find ourselves in very rough weather. If the much larger I-16 could be violently tossed to the extent we are experiencing, what damage might be happening to my little midget? There is nothing to do except wait and with the submarine being battered as if it is a sampan, we dare not go on deck, let alone venture into our little boat. However, the inclement weather does provide me with more time to memorize charts of the harbor, lists of safe contacts should we need to abandon ship and swim ashore, maps of Oahu and additional time for meditation.”

  “I meet with the captain of I-16 several times a day and we come to know each other very well. More than once he makes it very clear he will be waiting for us after the attack and will remain at the pick-up point as long as he possibly can. He, like Admiral Yamamoto, does not consider our mission to be suicidal.”

  “Shortly before we departed Kure we were advised the mission would be canceled if a diplomatic solution could be achieved. On one hand, I prayed for such a solution but on the other, we were being sent on a mission of war, not diplomacy. Diplomatic failure would result in our full commitment to action.”

  “We have been at sea for about two weeks when the Captain hands me a radio message from Admiral Yamamoto which states: ‘Climb Mount Nittaka.’ This is the code term which confirms we are to proceed with the attack and, at this point, we have only a few days remaining before the opening battle. The message from Admiral Yamamoto brings with it a decidedly more somber atmosphere as war is now inevitable. Casual banter and joking all but disappear among the crew as we are all distinctly aware death now awaits, not just the enemy, but perhaps us as well.”

  “The day prior to the attack we load food, water, juice, sake, maps, charts, equipment, various tools, my pistol and a few other items we believe could be of use into our midget submarine. I save our orders, our list of safe houses, local maps and the like for the last minute. We are careful to properly secure everything we bring aboard should our departure from I-16 prove to be rough.”

  “Finally, the moment arrives. We surface shortly after midnight on Sunday morning, December 7th, Hawaiian time. As I clamber aboard our sub, I look at the cherry blossoms Kamita painted on the conning tower and am surprised how well they have survived the trip. We salute the Captain before each of us descends into our sub and secure the hatch behind us. We take our positions and I establish communications with the Captain using the hard-wired telephone. He advises me we are within seven miles of the harbor entrance and unless I state to the contrary, he is ready to commence diving.”

  “I agree and soon Kamita and I sense the angle of our little sub is starting to tilt as the I-16 slips beneath the waves. The Captain calls for a final status check and, yet again, assures me he will be waiting at the rendezvous point. The phone cable snaps away and we are released to our own power.”

  “We hold our breaths as the steel retraining straps scrape along our hull and set us free from the I-16. We begin maneuvering to periscope depth and our mission officially begins! I congratulate Kamita on his fine job of so perfectly arranging the ballast.”

  Ken makes a moment for himself to enjoy another sip of iced tea. “Any questions for me?”

  “No grandfather, but I do wish I had recorded all of this so someday I could play it for my own grandson. Please continue.”

  Ken settles deeply into his chair and closes his eyes. Gary considers how much younger his grandfather appears; almost as if he were a young lieutenant, junior grade, all over again. Indeed, Ken is reliving history while Gary listens, as if mesmerized.

  When we achieve periscope depth and check our location through the viewer I am pleased to discover our luck is good and we are, thanks in large part to the maneuvering of I-16’s captain, perfectly aligned with the landmarks which signal the location of the harbor entrance. It is now barely after one in the morning and I have all the time I need.

  “Kamita, we are commencing our approach to the harbor entrance. Make five knots. Lowering periscope!”

  “Aye, five knots, lowering periscope,” he replies.

  “We shall proceed for one hour on this course, at which time we will check our position.”

  Kamita is already sweating from every pore in his body as the temperature inside our iron tube steadily rises to more than one hundred twenty degrees Fahrenheit. He continuously checks each of the gauges while listening to the quiet hum of the electric motor, wary of any sound or reading that might be the least out of sync.

  I make good use this time to again review the charts of the harbor and the expected mooring positions of the battleships and aircraft carriers. I, too, am immersed in sweat as stripping our uniforms affords only minimal relief. While waiting the next opportunity to plot our location I discreetly observe Kamita as he diligently checks and re-checks every dial, gauge and valve. He has proven to be an excellent engineer and I thank the Emperor for blessing me with him.

  “Kamita, it has been one hour, raising periscope.”

  “Aye, raising periscope.”

  I strain my eyes as I attempt to pierce the darkness and congratulate myself for I discover we are almost perfectly aligned with the harbor entrance.

  “We are about one mile away and there are lights on shore everywhere,” I cannot hide the excitement in my voice. “Clearly the Americans suspect nothing.”

  I slowly sweep the periscope almost three hundred sixty degrees, but before I can complete my search I come to an abrupt stop.

  “Kamita, a destroyer is approaching. Lowering periscope, stop engine! We shall wait and see what he is up to.”

  “Aye, lowering periscope, engine stopped,” whispers Kamita.

  “Let her slowly drop to fifty feet.” My voice is also a whisper.

  “Aye, fifty feet,” he whispers back.

  The whir of the air c
irculation system ceases, along with the hum of the electric propulsion motor. We are drenched in sweat while we sit and listen in the semi darkness of our metal tube. Suddenly we hear the faint sound of propellers and I wonder whether the sound will grow louder, meaning the destroyer is steering towards our position, or will it fade away? There is nothing we can do except wait. It is possible a particularly astute lookout aboard the destroyer spotted our periscope and should that prove to be the event, I must abort and quickly move away from the harbor.”

  Several minutes pass when the sound of the propellers begins to fade. We have not been spotted and can proceed on our mission.

  “Make five knots and bring us to periscope depth.”

  “Aye, five knots and periscope depth,” Kamita replies.

  After a few minutes, Kamita announces: “Periscope depth.”

  “Raising periscope.” I peer into the viewer and sweep the horizon. No ships in sight. Perfect!

  “We are not more than five hundred meters from the torpedo nets,” my voice gives away my excitement.

  I have studied reports which state the nets are only thirty five feet deep with about a sixty five foot channel depth and yet other reports state the nets penetrate to forty five feet deep and the channel has a seventy foot depth. After studying the practices of my own Navy, as well as the English, I have concluded the nets likely are forty five feet deep and decide to act on that assumption.

  “Lowering periscope! Make depth sixty feet and proceed at two knots!” I turn to Kamita and observe him as he swings into action.

  “Aye, lowering periscope; setting depth for sixty feet and making two knots!”

  “We shall slip beneath the American nets as a venomous snake slips between the rocks.” I am watching the hands of my stop watch as I calculate the remaining distance to the nets.

  “Sir, passing fifty five feet.” Kamita’s eyes are glued to the depth gauge. “Leveling at sixty feet,” Kamita’s voice is an excited whisper.

  “Good, now hold tight. If we do not clear the nets, or should we strike the bottom of the channel, it could become a rocky ride!”

  “We will not fail the Emperor and we will slip below the nets!” Kamita cannot hide his excitement.

  I smile at his enthusiasm as I firmly grip the wheel, holding the sub steady on the course I anticipate will take us under the nets and into the main channel of Pearl Harbor itself. From time to time I glance at my stop watch and make a mental calculation as to our distance traveled and the distance needed to reach, and then clear, the nets. I soon realize we must be very close and decide to slow the pace in the event we find ourselves too close to the bottom of the harbor channel or strike the metal netting.

  “Slow to one knot!” I find myself whispering, though there is no need to.

  “Aye, one knot.” Kamita wipes his hands and arms of sweat. I realize I am gripping the wheel so hard my hands are beginning to ache, so I loosen them and take several deep breaths. I make a mental note to watch for such behavior in the future, lest it be picked up by my shipmate and interpreted as fear, for fear can be contagious. Time appears to have slowed to a crawl as I repeatedly glance at my stopwatch and perform the calculation of time and distance. I am aware that should we strike the nets they may well contain an alarm system which would signal our presence to the Americans and ruin the surprise attack.

  “The nets should be above us about now,” I whisper.

  We instinctively look up, as if our vision could penetrate the iron hull. Will we collide with the nets and perhaps become ensnared? Are we too deep, or perhaps not deep enough? The next few minutes will reveal the answers.

  The constant and reassuring hum of the electric engine and air filtration system are the only clues available to the Americans as our little submarine quietly slips beneath the Pearl Harbor anti-submarine defense, undetected. It is not yet four in the morning and I liken us to a venomous snake intruding deep into Pearl Harbor where thousands of sailors are sound asleep aboard the largest single gathering of warships, submarines and support ships in the Pacific Ocean. We have achieved the first half of our goal. Death is now creeping forward at one knot and closing on the Pacific Fleet of the United States.

  “Periscope depth, increase speed to three knots,” I quietly order.

  “Aye, periscope depth, increasing speed to three knots,” whispers Kamita.

  I pull open the handles of the periscope, peer into the viewfinder and find myself smiling.

  “Maintain three knots as I steer closer to the battleships. There are lights everywhere, my friend; clearly the Americans do not expect us. This is good, Kamita, this is very good!”

  “Lowering periscope, stop engine. Settle us to the bottom where we will await our attack at daylight.” I am satisfied with our location, the only trick now is how well we will settle when we reach the harbor floor.

  “Aye, stopping engine, taking on ballast. Depth, forty feet and slipping, Sir!” Kamita, though whispering, is clearly excited.

  “Fine, hold tightly, the bottom must be close at hand.”

  Both of us experience a mild shudder as the sub reaches the muddy bottom of the channel and lists ever so slightly to starboard.

  “I believe it is time for some sandwiches and juice.”

  “Aye!” Kamita retrieves a package, pulls out a sandwich and hands it to me. I pull a bottle of apple juice from a clever little cubicle Kamita crafted for exactly that purpose. The two of us temporarily forget the heat, even as it now approaches one hundred thirty degrees and consume our little feast. Between the heat, having just eaten and the stress, we soon fall asleep.

  Ken moves forward in his chair, blinks his eyes a few times, pulls a tissue from his pocket and wipes away a few small tears. He’s sweating profusely, despite the air conditioning.

  “Gary, this next part is most difficult as it still causes me very unsettling nightmares.” Ken is unconsciously wringing his hands.

  “Do you need to stop? I don’t want to cause you grief, you know.” Gary has never heard such anguish in his grandfather’s voice.

  Ken shakes his head side-to-side.

  “Bear with me a moment while I pull myself together,” he says.

  “No problem, grandfather. Can I bring you something from the kitchen?”

  “Not necessary.” Ken waives his hand to the negative and decides to continue.

  “We were awakened from our nap by the repercussions of bombs and torpedoes. In fact, once we were underway we were almost hit by one of our own torpedo bombers. When I next looked through the periscope I observed towering black clouds of smoke rising from several battleships, as well as from Ford Island. I immediately targeted the West Virginia, but the torpedo malfunctioned. The Oklahoma was the recipient of my second torpedo which exploded with catastrophic results.” Ken closes his eyes as he struggles with his emotions. Gary notices tears and discovers his own eyes are swelling up.

  “She almost immediately began to capsize to port. Forever scorched into my memory is the sight of small, white-clad bodies scampering over the rails and crawling along the hull as the ship was rolling over. In only a matter of moments the Oklahoma was completely upside-down, one of her mighty propellers glistening in the sunlight.”

  Ken, wiping tears from his eyes with a tissue, stands and walks over to the French doors leading to the backyard with Gary close behind.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  NO ESCAPE

  Ken and Gary are facing each other as they sit in a pair of lounge chairs on the backyard lanai. Ken appears to be staring into space as he slowly strokes his beard and Gary is without words. As his eyes close, Ken picks up the story from where he left off.

  Following the sinking of the Oklahoma I found it necessary to spend a few moments meditating, but the continued vibrations coming through the hull as other ships were bombed and torpedoed quickly snapped me out of it. I mustered all the strength I could and began searching for an escape route.

  “Lowering periscope,” I notic
e my voice is very subdued as is Kamita’s reply:

  “Aye, lowering periscope.”

  “Executing a hard turn to port.” I strongly desire to take the two of us out of the harbor and believe it a good time to escape, while confusion is our friend.

  “Reduce speed to two knots.”

  “Aye, Sir, two knots.”

  We remain silent as I begin to steer a course into the main harbor channel which will lead us to the open ocean and escape. Suddenly our little sub shudders as a loud explosion shakes us to the bone. We look at each other in alarm, wondering what just happened.

  “Was that a depth charge?” Kamita sounds anxious.

  “I do not believe so, but perhaps I should take a look.”

  I grab the view finder’s handles as the periscope rises into place and anxiously sweep in all directions. I breathe a sigh of relief as, for the moment anyway, the channel ahead is clear. But when I sweep to our port side I witness a tremendous ball of fire and smoke rising further into the sky than my viewer allows and appears to be originating where the Arizona should be moored.

  “Kamita, the explosion came from the Arizona. She is ablaze as if a volcano!” Kamita stares at his feet as the thought of the sailors aboard the burning ship is very sobering. Neither of us take joy in the destruction of an enemy, for it is strictly a matter of duty, and one day it could just as easily be us under attack.

  I swing the periscope around to scan the channel leading to the sea only to experience every nerve ending in my body suddenly on fire; a destroyer is rapidly bearing down on our position, clouds of black smoke billowing from her funnels and depth charges starting to explode in her wake!

  “Lowering periscope, set us on the bottom and be quick, we are going to be depth-charged!” I am almost paralyzed by fear but manage not to allow emotion to sneak into my voice.

  “Aye Sir” The words are barely out of Kamita’s mouth when the churning sound of propellers passing directly overhead sends chills up our spines.