There was a lot of traffic through the harbor as the United States made preparations for the inevitable invasion of mainland Japan. Or so we thought. But as you know, that never came to pass.
By late July of ’45 we had been out of drydock for several weeks and were heavily involved in post-repair shakedowns and training. A lot of the crew had been replaced and was being brought up to speed. The order came for us to deploy to the Okinawa area and join the fleet in preparations to support the invasion of the Japanese mainland.
While in route, the news came in about the atomic bombs being dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki and the impending Japanese surrender. During the time after the announcement and before the formal surrender, we were told to be on the lookout for renegade Japs who did not wish to surrender. Orders came in from Admiral Halsey that because of the sensitive nature of the surrender, and newly found peace between our nations, if we came upon any Japs not laying down their arms, to “kill them in a friendly fashion.” This was for political reasons, I guess.
It was a few days after the dropping of the atomic bomb on Nagasaki when I received the orders to proceed to a latitude and longitude that was somewhere to the southeast of Okinawa, to “find, rescue, and accept surrender from” a Jap submarine.
The Buffalo and the destroyer assigned to escort us found them right where they were supposed to be. I checked my forty-five, just to be sure. This smelled of a time that I might have to use it.
With extreme caution (to make sure this wasn’t some kind of ambush by a renegade sub captain), we approached them without incident. No sign of ships other than ours, no sonar contacts, and even better, no torpedo wakes.
As we came around to tie up next to them I turned to Major Johnson and addressed him. Right at this time, most of his unit was placed at strategic points all over the port side of the Buffalo, armed with as many thirty- and fifty-caliber automatic weapons as they could hold. And several of the twenty-millimeter guns were trained on the sub as well.
“Yes, sir?” The major asked.
“You know the Jap customs?” I asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“I want this to be perfectly clear, if just one of those Jap bastards even blinks wrong, I want you to cut that ship to ribbons. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” he said without hesitation or emotion of any kind that I could detect.
I looked over my shoulder for the destroyer that was escorting us. It was right where it belonged.
At least the sea was calm that day, not that it would do us any good, but maybe we could see any torpedo wakes in time to take some action.
The order to lower the liberty ladder to the deck of the Japanese submarine was given. Her crew was still immobile and resolute on her deck. I could see the expressions on their faces from my place on the bridge and could tell they obviously were not taking the circumstances lightly.
The major’s crew was crossing the liberty ladder to the Japanese sub. As expected, they executed their task with the brave professionalism and due diligence I had come to expect from the corps.
From my vantage point, I could see the major take several marines below, providing each other cover while numerous other marines stayed above deck guarding the sub’s crew. It would take awhile for the major to secure the sub and make sure it wasn’t somehow rigged.
The major gave no signals indicating a trap. Meanwhile, most of the sub’s crew was still in their place, at attention, on the deck of their ship. Several Japanese officers had been asked by the major to go below decks with him.
I tried to avoid tapping nervously on the pearl grips of my Colt forty-five as I rested my hand on it and waited for the signal from the major that either all was well, or it was time to fight. As the captain in a potential combat situation, you don’t have the luxury of letting the crew know how nervous you really are.
The seconds turned to minutes, and I waited.
After awhile, the major came back above deck and gave a hand signal that everything was well. I watched another marine come out of the hatch on the conning tower behind the major and climb down the ladder, cross the deck and head for the liberty ladder back to my ship. A few seconds later, I was facing a slightly out-of-breath marine sergeant who handed me a hand written note.
Thanking the sergeant and dismissing him, I read the note:
Have secured enemy sub. Fuel supply extremely low. Batteries the same. No detectable hidden purpose yet but still involved in searching the sub. Japanese captain and officers cooperating in every way. Captain speaks English well, attended University of Chicago. Expect ten more minutes to finish.
University of Chicago? I just couldn’t believe my eyes. Apparently everything good the Japs ever learned came from America. And those slant-eyed sons-of-bitches turned around and used it to bomb us. “Isn’t that about right?” I said out loud, no longer able to contain myself.
“Sir?” the officer of the deck replied.
“Major Johnson tells me the Jap bastard captain of that sub went to the University of Chicago.”
“Really?” replied the lieutenant.
“Yes, apparently so. We should have just shot him when we had him the first time, don’t you think, Lieutenant?”
“Would have been a good idea, sir,” he said with a grin. “We could have saved all of those American war bond holders a lot of money on perfectly good ammunition since.”
“No doubt,” I replied, ending the conversation.
And the seconds once again turned into minutes. I gently tapped the grip of my holstered Colt forty-five.
After a short time, the marine sergeant returned to the bridge bearing another note from the major. I took it from him and told him to stand by while I read it.
Enemy sub secured. All weapons disabled and inert. The Japanese captain respectfully requests to come aboard and formally surrender.
“Sergeant,” I said, “run ahead and inform the major I will be on the quarter deck at the top of the liberty ladder in two minutes.”
“Yes, sir,” replied the marine; then, he departed the bridge.
I picked up the sound-powered phones that connected the bridge to the executive officer’s battle station, put them on, and keyed the microphone. “XO,” I said.
“Yes, sir,” came the usual acknowledgement of Commander Thompson’s voice.
“I’m leaving the bridge to go accept the sub captain’s surrender. You have the conn. Look sharp and keep your eyes peeled. I don’t trust these bastards.”
“Understood,” the executive officer said.
“Officer of the deck, XO has the conn. I’ll be back in ten minutes.”
“Yes, sir. The captain’s off the bridge.”
I turned, stepped through the hatch, then down the ladder and for the first time in weeks left the bridge area of my ship.
I arrived at the top of the ladder down to the sub just before the major and a Japanese officer with a samurai sword stepped onto it and began to climb up the steps.
Then they were at the top of the ladder. Ten feet in front of me. Five. Then three.
The Japanese officer reached for his sword. I shot a quick glance at Major Johnson as I felt the snap on the strap of the holster that held my Colt forty-five pop loose against my index finger. Ever so slightly, the major shook his head at me, his eyes slightly widening, as if reading my mind.
The Japanese captain unhooked the sword from his belt, still sheathed, bowed and holding it horizontally, offered it to me.
This was the first time in more than four years I had seen a Jap surrender without shooting at him first.