<sigh> it seems like no matter my intentions, eventually I get bogged down by sick kids, and constant mommying. Or exhaustion.  I worked 20 hours a week through college, did extracirriculars, worked two jobs every summer.  I thought I was tired then!  It’s nothing compared to active young ones!  I love it, but I now must apologize to the men of USS E-2, USS S-26, USS S-36, USS Scorpion (I), and my readers.  To the subs and your crews, your stories are not forgotten and will be posted (albeit retroactively).  To my readers, I know, I keep apologizing.  One day, I’ll get this right! Thanks for the understanding.

USS Barbel, SS-316, was built and Commissioned April 13, 1944.  She actually commissioned with her sister Razorback (now on display at the Arkansas Inland Maritime Museum) and beat Razor to the war zone.

She had three successful war patrols under her commissioning officer, Cmdr. Robert A. Keating.  In an era when submarines were so successful they were starting to put themselves out of work, Barbel was a busy hunter.  During her first patrol she claimed four kills, three on her second patrol, and two on her third patrol, for a wartime total of nine ships in just five months.  Actually, rather impressive.  (The Joint Army-Navy Assessment Committee (JANAC) later lowered that total to six, discounting one on the first patrol and two on the second)

During this time, the Allies were storming the Pacific.  The battle of Leyte Gulf happened during Barbel’s second patrol, and by her third patrol, the Allies were already deeply in the Philippines, landing on Mindoro Island.  Soon, the Japanese would be completely cast out of that nation.

Submarine bases were changing and moving too.  When USS Flier was pulling out for her last patrol on 2 August 1944, there were really only three (maybe four, if you counted Midway and no one wanted to R&R there.  No girls, only gooney birds.  Lousy dates!) bases: Pearl Harbor, Freemantle/Perth Australia and Brisbane, Australia.  But so much changed in the few weeks between 12 August when Flier left for eternity and 21 August when Barbel came in from her first run that she actually had R&R on Majuro Atoll with the submarine tender USS Bushnell (AS-15) who set up base that much closer to the front lines only a short time earlier.

After her second patrol, she R&R-ed in Saipan Harbor where she was refitted and sent out on her third war patrol in just seven days.

After her third patrol, she pulled into Fremantle, where her CO was replaced by Cmdr. Conde Raguet, and she headed back into the fray on 5 January 1945.

She was assigned to operate in a wolfpack with submarines USS Perch (II) and USS Galiban,  guarding the western entrances to Balabac Strait.  Since the losses of USS Robalo and USS Flier in or near Balabac Strait  in August 1944, Navy HQ decided to close it to all Allied traffic, but since the Japanese laid the minefields in the first place, they still used it.  So, submarines were assigned to guard either the western or eastern entrances, both which provided lots of entertainment.

According to “The History of USS Barbel” filed by the Navy in 1956, on 3 February, Barbel radioed Galiban as well as Tuna and Blackfin (who must have been in the area) that she was dodging more aerial patrols that usual.  Three times already that day, planes had buzzed overhead, dropping depth charges which she thus far, evaded.  Cmdr. Raguet said he would communicate more the following night (presumably, the 4^th of February.)

No one heard from her that night.  Or the next.  On the 6^th of February, Tuna sent a message to Barbel, ordering her to surface and rendezvous at a particular place and time on the 7^th.  Barbel never answered and never showed.  This was reported to HQ and they listed Barbel as lost on 16 of February, 1945.

After the war, a record surfaced.  On 4 February, a Japanese pilot, spotting an Allied submarine SW of Palawan in the vicinity of Balabac Strait, dropped his two depth charges on her.  One missed.  The other hit the sub’s bridge, and she “plunged under a cloud of fire and spray.”  No other submarines were in that area or recorded an attack that day.  It’s likely this description was the Barbel’s fate.  Her loss date was therefore listed as 4 February 1945.  Her crew of 81 lie with her.

Following her loss, she was honored with a little sister: USS Barbel (II) SS-580.  The lead ship in the first designs of teardrop shaped hulls, Barbel (II) had an…interesting career.  Reading what little is in the public domain about her reminds me why I so admire the men (and now women) who crew these boats, and why I could never do what they do.  Barbel was decommissioned in 1990 and sunk as a target in 2001, but her triplet sister, Blueback (SS-581), is on display at the Oregon Museum of Science and Industry, if you ever want to see her.

Barbel (I)’s memorial is along the Oregon Trail Veterans Cemetery near Evansville, Wyoming.

To her 81 men, may I say, “Sailor, Rest Your Oar” and thank you, from a grateful citizen.

Photos of USS Barbel’s Memorial

Deck Logs of USS Barbel, including her official history (first three pages)

The Lost crew of USS Barbel

Just a quick note to anyone who is interested in the discovery of USS Flier, the show Dive Detectives: Submarine Graveyard, which documents how the USS  Flier’s wreck was discovered and documented, will show at 10 a.m. on the Smithsonian Channel on Monday, January 16, 2012.  The entire series, including the Submarine Graveyard Episode is available on iTunes.  I loved the show when I first saw it, and I”ve studied it almost frame by frame since then, so look into it if you’re lucky enough to have Smithsonian Channel!

It’s easy for me sometimes, to forget that there was a whole other submarine war taking place during WWII.  After 1942, all American submarines were sent to the Pacific front to fight the Japanese, leaving the British, French, Italian and German submarines to entertain each other.

There were many close calls, fascinating rescues, and hundreds of losses (which I’m only just scratching the surface of).  Discoveries of lost submarines in the Atlantic are frequently announced, including the week: the HMS Olympus has been found.

Olympus was commissioned in 1931 and spent her first ten years in China and Ceylon (modern Sri Lanka).  Redeployed nearer home in 1940, she became part of the blockade runners of Malta

Malta was under assault in 1942.  A British territory before the war, she was a military base, but so close to Italy and parts of the North African theater that she was very strategic, and therefore, under assault.

British soldier Charles Maw remembered being stationed on Malta at first wasn’t so bad:

At this time there were not too many air raids as this seemed to be great as the Italians used high level bombing and most of their bombs fell into the sea. We felt fairly safe. We could get food in the main town, pork chop and chips, it was great. They bred pigs, goats and rabbits that they bred on the island. Unfortunately the German Luftwaffe took over the bombing raids from the Italians. We then knew what bombing was all about. We got bombed day and night, sometimes as many as 7 days on the trot. We had good air raid shelters under the rocks and the bombs couldn’t penetrate into them.

Indeed, the British garrison on Malta was able to disrupt enough German convoys that Albert Kesselring, Hitler’s commander of the Mediterranean, decided to ‘wipe Malta off the map’.   Between the Luftwaffe and the assaults from U-Boats cutting off outside supplies, the Maltese and the troops stationed there were in for a rough 18 months.

Maw remembered how different Malta looked at the height of the blockade.

The Germans had by now got us pinned down and we were now on siege rations. We used to lay on our beds and talk about food and women but that didn’t fill our bellies. We lived on 4oz of bread a day. The bread was made from potato flour that was often sour from being kept. We had no freshwater to we resorted to boiling sea water during the day on wood fires…In Valetta people slept in the old underground railway tunnels which were safe except for the entrances. Lots of civilians were killed by blasts and we were called out to bury them when they were found under the rubble. It was very eerie.

Actually, it got so bad, that King George VI awarded the entire island and her people, the George Cross, the highest civilian award in the British Empire. This was the first time such an award was given to an entire population rather than individuals, and it has since appeared on the flag of Malta.

Part of the supply chain to keep Malta going was submarines who could sneak past the blockade.  Of course, there were submarines in and around Malta anyway, as it sat in the center of the Med. One, HMS P 39 was severely damaged on March 26, 1942, too damaged to do much with.  Most of her crew survived.  Then on 1 April 1942, the HMS Pandora in Valetta Dockyard and HSM P 36 in Silema Harbour were both sunk by Luftwaffe raids.  Each of these three boats had highly experienced crews who were now stranded, and Britain sent HMS Olympus to bring them home so they could serve on new boats.  Dropping off her supplies, the Olympus took on an estimated 43 experienced submariners in addition to her 55-man crew and on 8 May 1942, set out for a quick trip to Gibraltar.

HMS Olympus , in a photo from the Imperial War Museum

Seven miles out to sea, while (thankfully) travelling on the surface, Olympus hit a mine.  Whatever damage she initially took, she apparently sank slowly enough that most of her crew was able to get to the deck.  Below, the electrical equipment began to short out and worse, the seawater was leaking into the batteries, flooding the interior of the submarine with lethal chlorine gas.

On deck, the officers urged everyone to keep their sweaters and gear on, but remove their shoes before diving in the cold water.

“One of these [survivors] was the famous Gordon Selby. A legend in the submarine service for surviving the sinking of several boats during the war. Gordon once told me that his lasting memory of the sinking of Olympus was looking back at the submarine as she settled in the water and there he saw a mass of boots and shoes neatly placed in one long line on the upper deck casing. The footwear was placed there by the survivors of the initial mine explosion before they abandoned the submarine and took to the water. “  –George Malcomson, Archivist, Royal Navy Submarine Museum

Sadly, under wartime blackout, there was little light to lead the survivors to land.  Just the faintest glow at the horizon hinted where Malta, the nearest shore, might be.  No one knows how many men were able to escape Olympus, but by morning, nine to twelve survivors (accounts and records recall various numbers, most often 9 or 11 men) managed to stagger back onshore to an island that must have seemed determined to forever keep them.

Once informed of Olympus’s loss, HQ was highly upset-the boat’s loss was nothing to the loss of many experienced submariners.  Due to the sheer number of passengers aboard, the Olympus’ loss of 89 men became the greatest British submarine disaster of WWII.

And so the story remained until 2008, when a side scan sonar image revealed what might be the Olympus in 115 meters (377 feet) of water.  Technical divers Mark Powell and Stuart Jones of Dive-Tech in the UK together with  Jonathan Thomas of Tec Deep Blue in Malta went onto the wreck and took  photos, but visibility was too poor to be able to confirm identity.  In 2011, a team from Aurora Trust, an American company, relocated the wreck and documented it with ROVs.  These images confirmed what was suspected since 2008, the wreck was the HMS Olympus.

She sits upright, in good condition, the mine damage located mainly beneath her on her keel.  Hopefully, now that her location is known, and considering her deep depth, she will be left in peace.

For more information:

Charles Maw’s memory of the siege of Malta

Article on Olympus’s location, including photo of deck gun of wreck

2008 announcement of possible discovery

Interesting post on Olympus and crew including survivor Gordon Selby

Best quick article about the development and end of the siege of Malta

discovery of the HMS Olympus

Obituary of Gordon Selby, who survived P 39, Olympus, and had a number of close calls in his long and fascinating career

The Swordfish started her life by setting an inadvertent record.  The color photograph taken of her launch on 1 April 1939, is the oldest color photograph in the Navy’s collection that can be definitively dated.  Swordfish was a Sargo-class submarine, one of the last two classes designed before the war began.  Designed to dive 250 feet, with a crew of (generally) 54 men and 5 officers, Swordfish had just over a year’s experience before going to war.

And here's that photo. US Navy Photo from navsource.org

On 3 November 1941, Swordfish, along with her sisters Salmon, Sturgeon and Skipjack, escorted their tender USS Holland to Manila for a new assignment.  The Navy was bolstering the defenses of Manila, where, they believed, an attack from Japan was most likely to occur.  (Some believed the target was actually Pearl, few imagined that the target was Pearl AND Manila AND Midway AND Wake AND Guam and a number of other places).   On the morning of 8 December 1941 (Day of Pearl Harbor attack, due to the International Date Line,) she set sail on patrol and therefore missed the attack on Manila.

On December 9, she fired two torpedoes at a steamer, but had to dive to avoid a gun counter-attack, and never knew the results.  On 11 December she sighted another freighter, but the torpedoes either both missed, or were duds (a sadly common occurrence for the next two years).

Swordfish kept busy, and in these, the opening days of the war, and with unrestricted warfare on the menu, there was no shortage of targets provided by the world’s second largest Navy and arguably largest civilian fleet.  She fired again  on the 14^th but wasn’t able to see any damage or destruction by the night’s light.

Finally, on the 16^th, Swordfish sighted rich pickings: six freighters accompanied by two destroyers.  The lead freighter was the ATSUTASAN MARU, and Swordfish sent three torpedoes sailing her way.

“Hit amidships, ATSUTASAN MARU eruped in a cloud of smoke, flame and escaping steam as she settled by the stern at (18°-06’N; 109°-44’E).”  –Official Navy History of USS Swordfish, SS-193

ATSUTASAN MARU ended up being the first confirmed sinking of a US Submarine after the start of the war.

Shortly after this, on 22 December, Swordfish was ordered to return to Manila.  The Japanese invasion was too strong, and the military and government, in an effort to minimize civilian casualties and unnecessary destruction of the city, abandoned Manila and declared it an “Open City” on December 24. (In essence, allowing the Japanese to come in freely in the hopes that no civilians would be harmed or have their property damaged.  This type of tactic was common, and happened several times in the European theater for both the Nazis and the Allies).  The Filipino government and military were not tucking tail, but reinforcing Corregidor Island and the more sparsly populated and defensible peninsula of Bataan.  But in the process of doing all this, the US lost Cavite Naval Base and the Nichols Air Base, and there was no space for submarines.  They were being moved to the Dutch Naval Base in Java.  Swordfish’s return order was to pick up Captain John Wilkes and his staff and taxi everyone to the new base.  She safely arrived there on 7 January, which is considered the end of her first war patrol.

Two weeks later, she was out again, and quickly re-routed back to Manila…again.  This time, her guests were Philippine President Manuel L. Quezon and his family, leading the Philippine Government in exile.  Quezon, his wife, their two daughers and son were joined by the Vice President Osmena, Chief Justice Santos, General Valdes, Colonol Nieto and their chaplain Captain Oritz.  The political party were headed to Australia and eventually America where they were re-set up the Philippine government in D.C., but Swordfish was needed for only two days, dropping them off at San Jose on the Philippine Island of Panay.  Sent straight back to Manila, she now picked up the Philippine High Commissioner, his wife, and nine more governmental officials.  Enroute to the Dutch Submarine Base in Java, Swordfish was re-routed to Fremantle.  The Japanese were already taking Java, and the Dutch Base was abandoned for Australia.

Corrigedor fell, and the Philippines completely taken before Swordfish could return with the supplies she had for the men trapped there. Still, she went on to finish ten more patrols, sinking at least 12 vessels, and earning an impressive eight battle stars.  Her age, however, was showing.  Now an old boat among the increasing crowd of new boats rolling off the ways at the rate of nearly two a week, Swordfish’s aging and battered hull and equipment sometimes forced her to terminate her patrols early for repairs.  But she and her crew kept going, getting some impressive scores.  They avenged the invasion of the Philippines by sinking the Japanese destroyer Matsukaze, which landed troops on Luzon.

Swordfish after a refit and overhaul stateside in 1943. This overhaul fixed some things, but apparently broke a whole lot more. Her patrol after the refit went well, but during her next one, the ninth patrol, she had so many problems, she was back in port after only three weeks. During the tenth patrol, she had so many mechanical problems she nearly was sunk a few times. But her men kept her going. In this photo, notice how much the conning tower has been cut down and re-shaped from her launch photo. US Navy Photo, from navsource.org

On 22 December 1944, Swordfish departed Pearl Harbor for her thirteenth patrol.  Besides the normal “if it flies the Japanese flag, sink it” general order, she had a special mission: photographic reconnaissance of Okinawa in preparation for the Okinawa campagain.

She stopped by Midway, and regueled on 26 December, and was ordered to delay her reconnaissance work until 11 January.  Swordfish acknowledged this change in orders on 3 January.  It was the last anyone heard of her.

After not responding to repeated radio calls, she was presumed lost by 15 Februrary.

So why is her loss date listed as 12 January?  Another submarine, USS Kete, was on her first (and, as it turned out, only complete war patrol)  in the area.  On 12 January, she noted the following in her war patrol report:

12 January

0508 (hours)      Friendly intereference -282°T

0759                 Submerged off passes-Received part of message while going down telling of PUFFER’s patrol craft contact between OKINOYTERNBU and YORON SHII-nothing in sight in our immediate vicinity

0949                 Heard about 15 distinct depth charges-Patrol craft were still around.

That “friendly intereference” at 5 am was supposed by the Navy to be the Swordfish, and her fate possibly also recorded by Kete, around 9:50 that morning.  The rest of the day, Kete reported seeing far more patrol planes than they had recently.  It’s possible that Swordfish was sunk by aerial attack, but Japanese records don’t mention anyone attacking any submarine on the morning of 12 January near Okinawa.  There were a number of mines planted around Okinawa, in anticipation of an attack, which may have taken Swordfish, or she could have sunk somewhere en route to Japan from Midway Island.

Until she is discovered, these questions will remain unanswered, but the Navy selected 12 January as the date of Swordfish’s loss.

The crew of the Swordfish with their battleflag sometime after their tenth patrol. I am unable to discover whether this flag was preserved, or went down with her.

Swordfish was honored with a younger sister, Swordfish (II) SSN-579in 1957.

The memorial for USS Swordfish stands at the Como Park Zoo and Conservatory in St. Paul Minnesota.

USS Swordfish’s lost crew

Article about one of Swordfish’s CO’s and the challenges they faced

Swordfish’s first War Patrol Reports and the Official Navy History of USS Swordfish

We’ll return to the Pearl Harbor story in a bit.  I love researching, and often find answers quickly to some questions, but the lead up to Pearl and resulting Blame Game have lead me down a bit of a rabbit hole and I’m really deep in.  I haven’t forgotten, but today, I’m starting the new year on the lost submarines of the US Navy and some unique stories.  I still will follow and bring to light more about Flier, but she had a number of remarkable sisters, whose stories also deserve to be told, and Pearl Harbor deserves a thorough post(s), and I have to thoroughly understand what I’m finding before I can write about it coherently, so I shall return to it soon

USS Argonaut was in a class by herself when she rolled down the ways on 10 November 1927.  The largest submarine yet built by the US Navy (and still the largest non-nuclear submarine built by the USA), she was designed to lay mines and have more powerful engines.  But like many good-idea-on-paper- projects, Argonaut and her sisters Narwhal and Nautilus, soon proved to be more problematic than they were worth.  While the minelaying devices were “ingenious” they were also “extremely complicated”. They also took up the final two compartments of the submarine.

Diving slowly, and cumbersome underwater, Argonaut and her sisters quickly became the only submarines of their class, and the submarine designers moved on to the Cachalot class boats, and soon, the Salmon class boats, working their way to the classic Fleet style submarine which would become the workhorse of WWII.

With such difficulties, Argonaut was moved to Pearl Harbor, and carried out routine duties, patrols, and participated in the Navy games.  A young officer, Richard “Dick” O’Kane came aboard in 1938 and qualified and served on Argonaut for four years.  (If you’re new to submarine history, just Google his name, as well as the names USS Wahoo and USS Tang—he had an interesting career!)

At the same time, a young radioman named Walter Klock, commonly called “Bud”, was assigned to the Argonaut for his first sub assignment.  Klock had a camera, and, prior to the WWII restrictions, photographed a bit of life on Argonaut, including what must have been a “Crossing of the Line” ceremony. This ceremony, which generally takes place any time a ship or sub crosses a main line, (Equator, Arctic/Antarctic circles, International Date Line, Prime Meridian, ect.) allows those men who have crossed said lines before to introduce the new guys, or “polliwogs” to it.  Prior to WWII on a submarine, this ceremony could get quite…interesting…and Klock sent home the photos to prove it.

Anyone recognize your ancestor?

On the left, may I present, ladies of King Neptune's Court. (Not sure about the other two...or the "ladies"...or anyone in this series of photos...) In the center...at least he looks like he's having fun. On the right...I don't know, and I don't know that I want to. I've heard guys say it takes a special kind of person to be a submariner...this might be proof! The Crossing of the Line Ceremony was already well established by 1938 when these series of photos were taken, and continued though WWII on some surface ships, though submarines could not risk being on surface for long enough to do this. Some captains banned them, some did small things, I've only heard of one sub doing a full on Neptune's Court and gauntlet INSIDE the submarine during WWII. Sometimes I wonder if they still do this sort of thing. Then I re-look at these and the other photos and think,...maybe what happens at sea, REALLY ought to stay there. Photos courtesy of family of Walter "Bud" Klock.

There were other times.  Shirley Temple visited the men of Argonaut as well, and Klock wrote to his mom about the many fine dances and other things to do in Hawaii.  A native Minnesotan from St. Paul, he stayed in Honolulu so long he said 60 degree Januarys were freezing him to death!

Shirley Temple and Argonaut next to an older S-boat (possibly the S-28, or S-26, it's hard to see). From the collection of Watler "Bud" Klock

Klock eventually moved on to the S-28 and was in San Diego in November1941, but his old boat remained behind.  The morning of December 7, she was on patrol near Midway Island, where she reported hearing many explosions.  Fearing that the Japanese were attacking Midway in addition to Pearl, HQ ordered Argo to take a close look, where she discovered two Japanese destroyers bombing the island, but doing little else.

Argonaut, with her difficulties, was not as suited to do the same patrolling that her Fleet sisters were assigned, but the Navy had special plans for them.  Shortly after Argo’s return following the attack on Pearl Harbor, she was shipped Stateside, where her minelaying equipment was removed, her troublesome engines replaced, and her new job revealed: troop transport.   Her large size made her and her sisters ideal for getting troops and supplies in and out of enemy controlled areas, and her first mission was urgent.  So urgent, that Argonaut had little time to drill before she, her crew, and their top secret guests headed out to sea.

On December 10, 1941, the Japanese invaded the small Makin Atoll (Now Butaritari Island) and took it over (no resistance made it easy).  It would be a seaplane base, extending Japanese reach over Allied held territories, and was fortified with about 160 troops, planes, machine guns and a few ships.  By August 1942, the US Navy, needing Japanese attention as splintered as possible during the initial landings on Guadalcanal and Tulagi, decided to send 211 Marines to Makin to destroy the fortification, take prisoners and gather intelligence.  Such a surprise attack required a submarine landing and pickup and the Nautilus and Argonaut, were ready (though barely).  121 Marines boarded the Argonaut, 90 on Nautilus, and on August 8, they left Pearl heading for Makin, near (modern) Papua New Guinea.

Taken from Argo's sister Nautilus, the Marines exercising on the sub decks in preparation for the raid, and the Marines disembarking on the morning of 17 August for their rafts and Malkin. Photos from National Archives

For five days, they pushed hard without diving, trying to make the best time possible and allowing the Marines to exercise on the deck.  But August 16, they sighted Makin, and at 3 am on August 17, the raid began.  The men on the Argonaut couldn’t do much after the Marines headed ashore on their rubber rafts except lay low, watch, and pray.  By 5:43 am they had their first message: “Everything lousy.”  Four minutes later: “Situation expected to be well in hand shortly.”

Nautilus, relying an order from the Marines, asked Argonaut to fire on a ship in the lagoon, but most of the day was spent just watching.

By 7 pm, the Marines were straggling back.  Initial information was good: they’d managed to destroy move of the Japanese garrison, and kill the vast majority of the soldiers stationed there.  But in other ways, it was a failure: no POWs and little intelligence. Several boats were reported having trouble working against the waves to get out to the Argonaut and Nautilus, and the submarines decided to stay on station another day looking for stragglers.  The next night, another four rubber boats, and a native boat with more Marines onboard came alongside.  Some of these Marines were seriously wounded and transferred to the Nautilus who, for this patrol only, had a doctor onboard.  Everyone arrived back in Pearl on 26 August.  Argonaut’s hasty prep work, however, had shown.  Between her arrival home and the 31^st of August, her CO submitted over 58 work items that needed attention, including a serious leak from a fuel oil tank which would requite  a 6-7 week repair.

On the left, a returning Malkin Marine shows off the Japanese rifle he took, and ended up using to defend himself with. Center, sailors of the Argonaut read their mail that accumulated the three weeks they were out at sea. It's one of my favorite photos of the crew together. On the right, the Malkin Raiders and Argonaut crew retuning to Pearl. All photos National Archives

After repairs, she was sent to Brisbane, Australia, and from there she went out on her third war patrol on 2 January, 1943.  Before leaving Pearl, however, Argonaut’s crew decided to leave her bell behind, a move that would have interesting implications.

On 10 January 1943, Argonaut was in the Bismark Sea, and attacked five freighters and their escorts.  An American Army plane spotted her attack, and saw one of the escorting destroyers take a direct hit from Argo’s torpedoes.  The destroyers went on the offensive, launching a depth charge attack which apparently, destroyed Argonaut.  This attack perhaps broke her back (or rather, broke her keel, breaking her into two or more pieces. ) forcing Argo’s nose to break the surface for a moment.  The destroyers continued to fire at her until she slipped beneath the waves, never to surface again.  All 102 of her crew remain with her.

The Army plane, returning to his station, reported what he had seen, and also reported her loss, leading to Argo’s loss being reported relatively quickly by 26 February.  Due to his report, she was credited with damaging that destroyer, but after the war this score was revoked, since none of the ships in the convoy reported being damaged on 10 January.  It’s possible the torpedo was a premature explosion, which plagued many sub commanders early in the war.

Klock heard about the loss of his old boat while serving on his new one, Flier, in New London.  Since censorship of the war forbade all mentions of ship names, he normally could not tell his mother what had happened, but fate intervened.  A friend of his was going on leave back home, and Klock wrote a letter to his mother in plain language, hoping his friend could sneak it out and deposit it in the civilian post without the censors intervening.  It must have worked, for found among Mrs. Violet Klock’s papers was the following letter dated Easter, 1943: (Excerpt of full letter)

A friend of mine is flying out of the war zone tomorrow so I’m going to take a chance on getting this letter out.  Don’t repeat any of this or my name will be mud.  We are doing okay out here-the job gets rather tedious at times, but we are winning.  We sank four ships on our last two runs out.  We had one close call but nothing to become alarmed about.  That made a total of six sunk for this particular ship.  Not bad-huh? 

There isn’t much chance of me returning to the states for quite a while as we are operating out of a pretty hot spot.  But don’t worry about me—submarines are the safest thing to be on-we’ve only lost two or  three.  Incidentally, the one I as on for so long in Honolulu, the Argonaut got sunk.  She sunk [sic] several ships first though so paid her way fully.

The raid on Makin had unusual ramifications: the Japanese returned and REINFORCED the island with nearly four times the original troops the Raiders faced, forcing the Marines to return in November 1943 and thoroughly clean the place out.  The graves of the 18 Marines confirmed dead were found as well as the grave of one of the 12 Marines formerly listed as MIA.   Of the other 11, they were never located.  Eventually, records were found that show at least nine were captured by the Japanese and executed on Kwajalein Atoll.  The fate of the other two remains unknown.

Nearly 20 months after Argonaut’s loss, a Submarine Memorial Chapel was built and dedicated on the Submarine Base in Pearl.  (The story of how that got built is another whole post) The bell hanging in her steeple comes from Argonaut, and still rings today for services. As the bell is considered the “voice” or sometimes “soul” of a boat, it’s probably one of the more touching memorials a sub could ask for.

Finally, in honor of the lost Argonaut, a new Tench-class submarine was named in her honor:  USS Argonaut (II) SS-475 was commissioned on 15 January 1945, just over two years since the loss of her older sister.  Argo II actually made it to the Pacific theater for one patrol, rescuing a downed American pilot and sinking a 25-ton fishing vessel with her deck guns (for which she received no JANAC credit since they apparently didn’t consider anything lighter than 500 tons as a “ship”).  Argo II later served in the Atlantic during the 50′s and 60′s with the occasional Medditerranean deployment.  Sold to Canada in 1968, she served them a further six years as the HMS Rainbow before being scrapped in 1977.

After the war, Argonaut (I)  and her crew were assigned to the state of California for their memorial.  Dedicated in 2001, the USS Argonaut and USS Grampus combined memorial stands in the National Submarine Memorial West in Seal Beach, California.

The resting place of Argonaut and her crew has yet to be found.

Memorial page for USS Argonaut and the Malkin Raiders lost on Malkin

The aftermath of Pearl Harbor was an overwhelming task. Only the drydocks, Fuel farm and Submarine Base were untouched.  Unknown to those recovering from the attack, they’d only suffered two-thirds of the total plan.  The Japanese had planned to send a third wave, which was assigned to destroy the fuel farm, and the drydocks, but, in December 1941, no one had yet managed to land on an aircraft carrier at night, which the third wave would be forced to do.  Since the second wave of Japanese planes had been shot down in a much higher number than the first surprise wave, the Japanese officers decided to spare their pilots for further fighting, rather than smash an enemy who was already fairly well destroyed.

It proved to be a crucial error.

With the fuel still intact, and the drydocks operations, the recovery effort began immediately.  The submarines at the Submarine Base were quickly fueled and sent to sea, assigned to sink anything flying the Rising Sun flag and report anyone else.  The Aircraft carrier Enterprise, nearly two days late getting to port (she was supposed to be in Pearl on December 6) entered on the 8^th, and despite the wreckage of Pearl, the sailors managed to refuel her, restock her, and send her on her way in 24 hours, to protect what was left.  Pearl could still function, and her people threw themselves into recovery and support.

By some accounts, the burned and scorched oil was several inches thick in many parts of the harbor.  Ships that were only lightly damaged were quickly overhauled, fueled and sent to the States for final repairs.  Others, West Virginia, Oklahoma, California, would take longer.  Arizona and Utah’s fate was still unknown in those first days, and would end up resting in Pearl forever.

Edward Beach, who would become a celebrated submarine commander, and later author, recounted his feelings on nseein Pearl harbor in late May, 1942, nearly six months after the attack, in his book, “Submarine!”

“No one who saw it will ever forget the awful vista of Pearl Harbor. Although we had been prepared for it, the sight of four of our great battleships lying crushed in the mud staggered us.”

He further described the scene in his novel, Run Silent, Run Deep.

“The stench of crude oil was everywhere.  It struck my nostrils with almost physical pain.  The shoreline, wherever it could be seen was black; filthy; and the water was likewise filthy, and here and there a  coagulated streak of black grease clinging like relaxed death to bits of oily debris…The pictures showed a lot, but they could never show the hopeless, horrible desolation and destruction, the smashing, in an instant, of years of tradition and growth. 

California’s cage masts had seemed canted a bit peculiarly when we first caught sight of them, and now we could see why.  Her bow was underwater

…astern of her lay the bulging side and bottom of a great ship with one propeller sticking out of the water…this was Oklahoma…

another shattered sunken hulk showed its gaunt sides: West Virginia, once the pride of the fleet…a grimy dirty waterline, now high out of the water, showed how far she had sunk.  She was obviously afloat again, but horribly mangled. We could see some of the shattered side, gaping above the cofferdam built around it.

Abaft West Virginia, a single tripod mast stood in the water.  Below it a silent gun turrent, water lapping in the gun ports and around the muzzles of the huge rifles.  Nothing forward except a confused mass of rusty junk. A flag floated from the gaff of the tripod mast, symbol that the United States would never surrender. Arizona…”

It would take years.  By May, when Beach observed this scene, battleships Pennsylvania, Nevada, Tenessee, Maryland had already been recovered and sent to the States. Maryland and Tenessee were repaired and on patrol.   Pennsylvania, repaired, was testing of California.  Nevada was in Puget Sound being overhauled.

California would be refloated and on her way by June of ’42.

When  West Virginia was refloated in May of ’42, sixty-six bodies of her sailors were discovered.  While all the recovered ships had such sad recoveries to make, the Wee Vee had a few shocks within her.  The following is an excerpt from her salvage report.

29. Recovery of Bodies: During the salvage operations sixty-six bodies were recovered from the West Virginia. These were found widely scattered throughout the ship…

30. There were evidences that some of the men had lived for considerable period and finally succumbed due to lack of oxygen. In the after engine room, several bodies were found lying on top of the steam pipes, which areas were probably within the air bubble existing in that flooded space.

31. Three bodies were found on the lower shelf of storeroom A-111 clad in blues and jerseys. This storeroom was open to fresh water pump room, A-109, which presumably was the battle station assigned to these men. The emergency rations at this station had been consumed and a manhole to the fresh water tanks below the pumps had been removed. A calendar which was found in this compartment had an “X” marked on each date from December 7, 1941 to December 23, 1941 inclusive.

The “Wee Vee” would finally be stable enough to go to the States in May 1943, and would eventually participate in the Leyte Landings.

 Oklahoma would take months to roll over and refloat, and her hulk was still being salvaged when Flier entered Pearl Harbor December 1943.  She’d ultimately prove a total loss.

Utah, already an old target ship when she sank in the first moments of Pearl Harbor’s attack, was not to be salvaged. After Oklahoma was rolled over, the cranes were moved to Utah, rolling her over and out of the traffic lanes.  There, she was left to rest with her 54 lost crew, and the ashes of a baby girl.

Arizona, of course, never moved again.  Her hull was so shattered and broken it was thought she could not be salvaged even if she was refloated.  Nearly half of the Pearl Harbor casualties rested inside.  By the first anniversary of the attack, the decision had been made.  She would rest where she fell.

Her superstructure and guns were removed, to place most of her hulk underwater.  Her aft main guns became a battery protecting Kaneohe Bay.  Another set of guns, after being repaired, were placed on her sister Nevada, and fired against the enemy during the battles of Iwo Jima and Okinawa. (Today, yet another set of her guns lie rusting in the East coast.  The state of Arizona is seeking to bring them to her namesake state as a memorial.)

And the country of course advanced steadily into war, hundreds of ships running in and out of Pearl Harbor the whole time these repairs and salvages doggedly continued.  By 8 December, while Roosevelt and Congress declared war on Japan, the Japanese were landing on Wake Island, Guam, the Philippines, Thailand, and Maylasia.  By the time German and Italy declared war on the US and had the offer accepted and reciprocated on December 11, 1941, the Japanese military had expanded their reach beyond what most military strategists had assumed was possible so quickly. The American military, with their back broken in the form of battelships and destroyers, scrambled anything that could still move and sent it out on orders to conduct “unrestricted warfare.”

And the submarine, a curious misfit with little use on December 6, 1941, (according to some commanders) came into its own.

But Pearl wasn’t over.  The blame was beginning to settle.  But where? And on whom would it rest?

The following is film footage shot at Pearl just days after the attack

I went to bed last night, warm and feeling safe. Despite the cloud of anxiety I often see in the news in places like Afghanistan or the election result and riots throughout the Middle East, I still slept soundly, knowing that though those events could have a deep impact on my life, I did not fear that I would awaken to find soldiers on my front lawn, attacking, shooting, hurting my family.

I awoke this morning, safe and mildly rested (children didn’t have a restful night).  Still, it was a nice morning, not too cold, though a dusting of snow lay on the tips of the grass and my resting flower beds.  I made a special breakfast for my family, due to a family birthday, then my husband set off for work, like he does every weekday, and I set about my daily tasks, or would have, if I wasn’t so sick with a cold. A morning so unremarkable that if it wasn’t for the birthday and the cold, I’d soon forget all about it, and it would blur into hundreds of other mornings that have happened in my life. (And despite the cold and the birthday, the details of today will soon blur anyway)

Why do I mention these inanities on the 70^th anniversary of Pearl Harbor?  Because, the more I learn about history, the more I realize that while each individual person is unique, people and the human condition is so similar thoughout the centuries that history can, and sadly often does, repeat itself.

The people of America and even Hawaii probably felt, on the night of 6/7 December 1941, as I did on this night of 6/7 December 2011.  Storm clouds were swirling, but whether in the Pacific or Europe, they were swirling OVER THERE.  Not here. Most slept well, got up, made breakfast, went about their day’s work.  Since 7 December 1941 was a Sunday, not a weekday, many people were out and about to church, getting breakfast, just enjoying the lovely weather that a Hawaiian December was.

Yet their fate as drawing closer, and by 7 am, though the official attack was well over an hour away, it was already nearly inevitable. But they still felt secure that today was any other day.

That is why Pearl Harbor still reverberates to this day.  The most thorough shattering of a person’s world happens when they discover nothing was as it appeared.  Things appeared safe that morning, but before dawn, at least one enemy submarine was already in the harbor, possibly two. Another sub had already been attacked and sunk by 7 am, though no one believed the report that came in from the WARD.  Enemy submarines at Pearl Harbor?  Unbelievable.  Hundreds of planes were already in the air, roaring towards their target. But no one knew it, and when they were spotted on Radar, they were mistaken for a group of American bombers that were due to land that morning.

Everything, in fact, appeared safe and normal until the last second, when the planes roared over Pearl Harbor.

And the world Americans believed they were inhabiting, one in which life was calm and safe, if difficult,  shattered. Distance was no barrier any longer, and if we could be struck at Pearl, then our territories of the Philippines, and Guam, and Wake Island, and Singapore, and Malaysia, in just 48 hours, where else could the seemingly invensible and innumerable Axis armies strike next?  A U-Boat strike off of New York, or Washington DC? Invading Japanese soldiers in Los Angeles?  Sometimes, we can laugh now at the thought, since we knew the end of the story of WWII, but back then, it was a real fear.

Few historians today doubt that America would eventually be drawn into WWII, it was just a matter of when the danger from the outside would loom large enough to overcome the resistance from within.  As Germany and Japan advanced, soon the Americas would have to defend themselves, but if it took too long, some feared, the Axis would be too strong to defeat by just the Americas alone, and some countries in South America had strong ties to the Axis-maybe they would fight with them instead of with us.

So today, I write this post, on an average day.  My husband is safe at his workplace, the downtown of my city is as quiet as it ever is. We go about our business unperturbed, despite taking the time to remember a day when our world changed forever, leaving a scar on our history, and in the minds of those who still live today. And studying Pearl Harbor and the rest of WWII makes me grateful for the peace and quiet, and so deeply thankful to those who woke to something different in Oahu that morning.  To all those, military, civilian, children, medical teams, who experienced that day, I say, ‘Thank You.’  Not only for what you had to live through, but how you kept going, cleaned up the harbor, repaired those ships, took care of our men for four long years, and now, preserve the history for my and future generations.  I thank those who signed up to protect your family and friends and community, putting yourselves in danger and sacrificing the comforts of home so the rest of us can now live.  I thank you, for giving me, 70 years on, my average, quiet day.

And for those of you who now, sit on the front lines, in our submarines, in our military camps, in our outposts, behind our computer systems, on our planes and base camps, here at home, and around the world, I also say thank you.  For standing in the gap, like your predecessors.  While we stop today to revisit a national tragedy of Pearl Harbor 70 years ago, may we not forget the modern soldiers, marines, air force, coastguardsmen, and sailors, who are doing their best to keep such a thing from happening again.  And may those of us who live under your protection remember you ore often than a few days a year.

Memorial Day, (in America celebrated on the last Monday in the month of May) began as a way to honor the fallen Union and Confederate soldiers. The concept developed further in the aftermath of WWI.  While the final treaty ending WWI wasn’t signed until 24 July 1923, the fighting ended (temporarily then permanently) on 11 a.m., November 11, 1919.  On the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month, arms were laid down and the soldiers began the long process of returning home, and remembering the nearly 35 million souls, both civilian and military who had perished.

It became known as Armistice Day at first, and was celebrated as the end of the War to End All Wars.  The effects of WWI were long, and far reaching, even in 1919.  Discounting the events leading up to WWII, people all over the US and Europe sought a way to celebrate and commemorate their men.

The concept of a Tomb of an Unknown Soldier was also started at this time.  A British Chaplain by the name of David Railton was working in France and came across a rough wooden cross marking a grave.  The cross read “An Unknown British Soldier”, and Railton had the idea of bringing one of these unidentified boys back and burying them in Westminster Abbey, alongside the Royalty, artists, explorers, authors and other notable and distinguished personages of Britain, to stand for all the men who would never come back home.  It took a very short while for the idea to take root and get going, and on November 11, 1920, both Britain and France laid an unidentified man to rest in locations befitting the highest honors their countries could bestow. (In England, inside Westminster Abbey, in France, Under the Arc de Triumphe.)  In the British case, a set of unidentified remains were exhumed from their battlefield grave, covered with a Union Jack flag and taken to a chapel where Brigadier General Wyatt and Colonel Gell of the Graves Registration Department chose one, neither knowing anything about which remains came form which battlefield.  Those  remains not selected were respectfully reburied, but the chosen one was placed in a plain coffin and escorted with full honors to a castle in Bologne. There, the coffin was further enclosed    casket made of timbers from the Royal Palace of Hampton Court, bound with iron and a Medieval sword, selected by King George V from the Royal Collection, and a shield bearing an inscription “A British Warrior who fell in the Great War for King and Country.” He was laid to rest, after a long, ceremonial trip, in the West Nave of Westminster Abbey, where soil from each major battlefield covered his grave and 100 women who had lost their husband and all sons to the war stood in attendance, along with the Royal Family.  Today, he rests beneath a black granite stone, engraved with brass melted down from war ammunitions, and wreathed with silken poppies.

I got to see the grave a few years back when I spent an incredible five hours touring Westminster (and it wasn’t nearly long enough).  There are graves EVERYWHERE there, and despite what my parents taught me about being polite in graveyards and not deliberately walking on anyone, you can’t help it.  Except for that grave.  No one, king or commoner, Brit or foreigner, is allowed to step on it, and it’s just incredible how it sits at  the Western door to the Abbey and despite the babble of voices checking out the graves of the Tudors, Edwards the Longshanks, Oliver Cromwell, Chaucer, Dickens, and so so so so many more, that section of the church, voices just fall silent, and people so very carefully, respectfully, move around the soldier, and give him his peace.  Royal Brides, beginning with the Queen Mum, have laid their bridal bouquets there (Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon lost her brother in WWI), including the most recent Royal Wedding this past April.  Foreign heads of state often lay wreaths at the Tomb of the Unknown Warrior, and he has been decorated with many foreign decorations in the 91 years he’s slept, including the American Medal of Honor. (The only time any of this caused a problem was when a Nazi official laid a Swastika wreath at the tomb in 1933.  A British WWI Veteran  threw it in the Thames.)

The idea soon inspired America.  Four of its warriors from different battlefields were disinterred  and brought to a city hall in Chalon-en-Champagne, where US Army Sgt. Younger laid a spray of white roses on one casket, which was returned to the USA and laid in state until Armistice Day, 1921, when he was laid to rest among the best and brightest of our honored military dead in Arlington National Cemetery.  The ceremony was attended by US President Harding, and, representing WWI ally Britain, Admiral of the Fleet Lord Beatty, who awarded the American Unknown with the highest honor Britain can bestow, the Victoria Cross, which was placed with him before burial.  The marble sarcophagus was built over top his grave in 1926.

After WWII, the Tomb was expanded.  One unidentified soldier from the European Theater and one from the Pacific Theater was exhumed, placed in identical caskets aboard the USS Canberra, where corpsmen and Medal of Honor recipient William Charette, not knowing which casket was from which theater, chose one to join his WWI brother.  A similar method was used to selected the Korean unknown from four candidates as was the Vietnam Unknown.  (In 1998, using DNA technology, the Vietnam unknown was identified and released to be buried with his family)

The Tomb of the Unknown Soldier is guarded 24 hours a day, seven days a week, no matter the weather, and the assignment to guard the Tomb is considered one of the highest honors in the military. Those who complete the rigorous training never wear any insignia of their own ranks, lest they inadvertently outrank the Unknowns.

In 1954, America even founded a Tomb of the Unknown Revolutionary Soldier in Philadelphia, and the Tomb of the Unknown Confederate Soldier in Biloxi Mississippi in 1981.  (Arlington National Cemetery, of course, was founded as a burial site, originally, for Union Soldiers, many of whom were also unidentified.)

Armistice Day was supposed to help us remember the war that ended all wars, but sadly, WWI ended up being a prelude.  How Armistice Day was remembered developed in many countries, but today, it is the National Day of Veterans Remembrance in many countries of the world.  It is Remembrance Day in the United Kingdom which celebrates with two minutes of national silence, and, since the US already had a “Memorial Day” it is called Veterans Day in the USA, celebrated through a variety of observances, the most famous of all has to be the laying of the wreath at the Tomb of the Unknowns.

So today, I honor all those who have served, are serving, and will someday serve in our Armed Forces, keeping us safe and defending our freedoms with their years, training, and sometimes, their lives. May we keep reminding ourselves of history so that you may never again find yourselves in another World War.

You are Never Forgotten.

More Links:

Photos of WWI Battlefields, 90 years on

Underground tunnels discovered in WWI Battlefields

Newly uncovered WWI Diary with haunting drawings made at the front

Tomb of the Unknown Revolutionary Soldier

Facts about Tomb of the Unknown Soldier

Website of the Old Guard, the men who guard the Tomb of Unknown Soldier

Other photos and links to various Tombs of the Unknowns around the World

Years passed, relatively uneventfully-save for the Great Depression.  Most countries continually scrambled to find ways to keep food, warmth and shelter together.  It’s a bit funny to note that following WWI, most countries agreed to a limitation on the number of people and ships and units in any given country’s military to make sure that no one could be a strong aggressor again, but once the Depression happened, the military was one of the best places in many countries for a young man to get three squares, a roof and work.  Looking through the letters of some of the men who would one day man the submarine USS Flier, you see that theme a lot.  The Chief Radioman of Flier, “Bud” Klock, joined the military to relieve his single mom of his room and board expenses, as well as try to pay off some medical debts he’d accumulated and then help out mom and younger brother. He wasn’t alone in this type of motivation.

Ordering ships, submarines, planes, and other military accoutrements from various governments also put people to work in mines, smelters, factories, shipyards, and shipping companies.  There were some exceptions: ammunition and bombs were still expensive, leading to many war exercises in the 30s being conducted with flour bags rather than blank or live ammo.

Yet, the anti-war sentiment remained strong in many countries as well, leading to the irony of having fully-staffed, fully-updated military always on standby, always practicing, and utterly forbidden to do anything other than keep everyone employed.

Not shockingly, this raised a number of tensions as everyone watched everyone else with a wary eye.

Japan now had Manchuko firmly in its grip, and sadly for the Chinese residents of the area, it was not a pleasant experience. ( It’s at points of history like this that, as a researcher, and artist, I must be very careful.  Atrocities must be explored, documented and remembered, if only to attempt to stop such from happening again, but it’s far too easy to delve so deeply in horrors like this that sleep and peace is destroyed by these images. So, if it sounds like I’m glossing over some things, I am. I’ve learned where my “horror level” is and I try not to violate it, for my mental sake, and my family’s. ) Every year the Japanese Army pushed out further, to the Great Wall, to just outside Beijing, and with each push, people were murdered, raped, tortured,  and mutilated in such ways that are unimaginable. The foreigners in the area documented many things, and those images and accounts are easily available on the web.

In July of 1937, Japan took advantage of the fact China was fragmented, had a weak government and even weaker military which was already trying to fight wars with Russian Communists, (Xinjian War), and nationalist Tibetians, among other small conflicts that slowly bled what little military there was.  This was the beginning of the Second Sino-Japanese War and the infamous Rape of Nanking.

During this whole conflict, Americans watched. Many American diplomats, ambassadors, military advisors, were in China at this time. Since America was technically a “neutral nation” these people were mostly safe, though in December 1937, a Japanese aircraft destroyed the American gunboat SS Panay, and killed American men. If FDR truly wanted to go to war, this might have started it, but few lives lost so far from home, didn’t resonate enough with the press, especially after the Japanese government, who wanted to avoid a direct confrontation, apologized and paid reparations. (The accounts of what was happening in Nanking and other places were widely reported on and condemned, but that wasn’t enough to overcome the anti-war view either)

While Japan flexed her muscles in the East, the US Navy had their annual War Games. Admiral Ernest King was assigned to take back Pearl from an aggressive force. (Hmmm….that sounds familiar.) Apparently, the defense at Pearl learned exactly nothing from the Navy exercises of 1932, because King followed Yarnell’s plan to a T, then for fun, bombed” the Naval bases in Alameda and Mare Island on his way back to San Diego.  King, like Yarnell was trying to make the point that air attacks would be a major vulnerability, and the Navy should expand in Air Craft Carriers. But when $500 million dollars were appropriated by Congress to beef up the military most of it went to newer, bigger battleships (like the Missouri). Japan watched this buildup with alarm: with most of the British Navy in the Atlantic, the American Navy was the only large threat in the Pacific, and now it was expanding.

Then on September 1, 1939, Germany invaded Poland. Europe was plunged into WWII, but the American public were firm.  “We’re not getting entangled in another war OVER THERE.” So the USA remained officially neutral, despite some curious programs that leant help to England.

Japans military was also growing, though the extent was a secret and many began to fear it was as big a threat as Germany, if not bigger.. The American government would soon have to do something, but without the military. What could they do? And would it be enough to stop the expansion without risking American lives and lands in the Pacific?

So back to Japan and Manchuria and what’s happening there.

Following the original invasion of Manchuria in September 1931, China applied to the League of Nations to stop them and force a withdrawal.  That was, after all, what the League had been founded for, to stop wars through interaction and diplomacy.

Of course, there were major problems.  One was the sheer time delay for messages to get to the League headquarters in Europe.  Another was the severe anti-war sentiment in both the USA and Europe. The horror of WWI and the mark it left on the soldiers destroyed both physically and mentally from the new weapons like tanks and poison gas made a lot of people strongly against fighting war for any reason.  Nothing could possibly be worth asking our boys to go through something like this again-or worse.

The League of Nations issued a verbal reprimand to Japan. Some sources say that the Japanese government agreed and said they’d withdraw from the conquered areas of Manchuria back to the rail zones, but the military ignored the government. Other sources say that Japan rejected the proposal out of hand, saying that they were simply protecting their own people from violence done to them by the few communities of Chinese that inhabited the area, and were now strengthening their position to make sure there were no repetitions.  In any case, in six months, Japan had firm control of the whole region, installing a Japanese friendly government and renaming it Manchuko.

The League decided the only fair thing to do was send a delegation to Manchuko and listen to both Chinese and Japanese sides of the story and see if they could mediate a solution. Months passed again, as the delegation transported to Manchuko and began their investigation.

The story the Japanese originally circulated about Chinese dissidents blowing up the rail line had quickly fallen apart.  There was strong evidence that some low-level lieutenants had done the damage themselves to try and instigate an incident with the local Chinese forces (you remember, the one with dummy rifles?) Whether this was to vent steam or part of a full plot to purposely invade and hold Manchria/Manchuko again depends on the source one finds.

In the end, the League delegates issued the Lytton Report, stating that though China had goo d complaints, it also had ambiguous ownership of Manchuria to begin with. It also stated, as gently as it could, that Japan, had acted in an aggressive measure and needed to withdraw from Manchuria. In light of the issues with China’s apparent ambiguity to Manchuria, the Lytton Report also suggested that Manchuria establish itself as an independent nation.  (Sounds a bit like my parents presiding over my siblings and me…”If you can’t play nicely and treat things properly, I’ll take it away from both of you!”)

At this point, the delegates expected Japan to respect the findings of the report and f0llow the recommendations if they wanted to maintain their position in the League. Japan left…the League.  It kept Manchuko.

The League wasn’t out of options yet.  According to their pact they could attack Japan itself and force it to obey the League ruling, or they could cut Japan off from the economic trade of all League members and starve it into submission.

And that’s when the real problems began.  Because it’s 1933. In the middle of the global Great Depression. What trade is going on in the world, all countries are eager to continue, if not increase any trade they have going to strengthen their respective economies. There were enough members in the League to make things problematic for Japan, but not for long. There were enough other countries with the goods and services that Japan was looking for who would happily increase trade in a heartbeat, especially with Japan consuming about as much as it could get its hands on.

The League nations knew it too, and were not about to cut their trade down for a country that would be hurt only temporarily.  So that left war.

Being the Great Depression, most League nations had a fully staffed military.  After all, it was a steady, if small, paycheck  and at least you had three square meals, clothes and shelter every day, which was more than many folks had.

But there was that anti-war sentiment. And the League nations knew that no matter what had happened in Manchuria/Manchuko, it was not outrageous enough, nor close enough to home, to get their citizens willing to go to war.

So it turned out, that the League was a toothless lion. Japan kept Manchuko. And soon realized that there was potential for much, much more.

(As an end note, seven months after Japan left, Germany also walked out. Barred from having a military after WWI, it sought to increase its military under the League’s rules, but realized that the other European powers were not going to let it have a military on par with the rest of Europe. So it walked too, and started building what would become one of the most feared militaries in history. Once again, the League’s hands were tied, verbally, economically, and certainly, militarily.  Germany began her growth and Europe looked on, hoping it wouldn’t come to the worst…again.)

British website about the Manchuria incident and the League response

Timeline of the development and dissolution of League of Nations

Day of Infamy Project: Longtime readers will recognize some of this post, thought I’ve found more information since I originally wrote this last year.  Still, for those who are interested, this is the first time Pearl Harbor was attacked, and it was not in 1941.  IT was in 1932.  The attack itself will sound familiar to those who are familiar with the MO of the December 7, attacks, and it should.  Admiral John H. Towers, who commanded the Air Forces of the Pacific during WWII, dined with a Japanese vice admrial in Tokyo in the 1950′s who had helped plan the attack on Pearl.  According to Towers, “He told me they had simply taken a page out of our own book!”

I’m also trying a Twitter Project for the months of November and December.  Leading up to December 7/8, I’ll be tweeting the events that lead up to Pearl Harbor and the attack itself.  Eventually, by mid-November, these tweets will be in real time.  i.e. I’ll tweet about the Japanese fleet leaving Japan ON the 70th anniversary of that happeneing on November 26, and we’ll track the attack fleet together. as they launch and attack.  Thus far, there are two feeds:

Twitter: Day of Infamy: Japan (To watch Pearl HArbor unfold from the Japanese point of view)

Twitter: Day of Infamy: Pearl (To watch Pearl unfold from Pearl)

Some of these Tweets will be stand alone tweets, others will link to articles, photos or things related to the attack on Pearl, some will link back here to blog posts I write (or ask guest authors to write)  But I think the ferocity of the attack can be experienced through Twitter in an interesting way.  We’ll see.  If you’re not into Twitter, that’s okay, a lot of that information will be here still.  And look for more Day of Infamy tweets.  Washington DC up next.

In honor of all who lost their lives in the opening salvos…we retell the story.  And in the retelling, we’ll remember.

It was a quiet Sunday morning.  The winter storms that routinely lashed the sea northeast of Oahu were at it again, pouring rain on Kahuka Point and obscuring most of the horizon with low clouds, though right over Pearl Harbor, the sky was clear.  The fleet lay at anchor, in the neat double rows on Battleship Row, at the small Submarine Base, and even in the dry docks, having their hulls scraped and checked for the corrosion that the saltwater carved into their sides.

The sun had only just risen.  A minimum of crew was on call.  Some were in their racks, sleeping off the effects of the night before.  Others were already out, attending early Mass and church services.  A few were already stumbling into kitchens and restaurants and Mess Halls, seeking that morning cup of coffee and a bite of breakfast.

Suddenly, airplanes shot out of the clouds, strafing the ground, dropping bombs on the peaceful ships at harbor.  In moments, the harbor was in disarray, men scrambling to gain their battle stations, but it was already too late.  The ships were already damaged, some severely, both at anchor and those in the dry docks.  Nothing was spared.

The planes headed back out to sea, and there, in the midst of the storm, a small group of ships waited for their return, hiding in the rain, safe from the eyes of radar.  The planes landed safely on the two carriers.

In the Bridge of the lead carrier, the admiral listened with satisfaction to reports of the damage.  When presented with the final report, he smiled, and signed it:

Adm. Harry E. Yarnell

USS SARATOGA

Sunday, February 7, 1932

In the beginning of the 20^th century, the backbone of the Navy was the behemoth battleships and destroyers.    Battles consisted of larger and larger and larger ships and guns squaring off and blasting each other and their surroundings to pieces.  He with the largest gun (and support platform, i.e. the ship itself) generally won.  Aircraft Carriers and Submarines were considered little more than niche vessels which had limited uses, mostly reconnaissance for said big guns.

But one admiral, Harry Yarnell, believed that the Navy had more to fear from an aerial attack delivered from the deck of a carrier, than from ever larger confrontations between larger and larger ships and deck guns. During the annual combined Navy war games at Pearl Harbor, he set out to prove his point.  Every year, Yarnell’s ships in California would leave for Pearl, “attacking” the battleships stationed in Pearl.  (at this time the military’s main Pacific base was in San Diego, not Pearl Harbor, so Yarnell had the larger fleet.)  Usually, the radio traffic between the massive fleet would be intercepted by Pearl, their battleships would leave harbor, and everyone would “battle” out in the open sea.

In 1932, the Navy proposed the scenario that “the enemy” (in this case, the Pearl Harbor force, the smaller fleet) had taken over Hawaii, and Yarnell’s much larger San Diego fleet, was assigned to take out the Pearl fleet and recapture Hawaii.  Pearl prepared, searching the seas, the air, the radio signals, looking for the full strength of Yarnell’s fleet.

Yarnell did something totally unexpected: he left most of his ships home.  Taking only Aircraft Carriers SARATOGA and LEXINGTON out to sea with a small escort of three destroyers, everyone maintained strict radio silence and traveled miles away from the well-traveled shipping lanes. During the winter months, storms routinely popped up near Oahu, and inside one of those, Yarnell’s fleet hid, knowing the radar couldn’t see them through the storm.  To top it all off, he also decided to attack on Sunday, a day he knew most sailors would be off duty, and also most likely to be off-ship.  It would take a long time for anyone to fully man the waiting ships, or get them underway in defense.

The “bombs” and “strafing” were just flares and bags of flour, but the referees of the war games judged that Yarnell had been more than successful, sinking EVERY ship in Pearl Harbor, as well as figuratively destroying every land-based plane in Oahu.  In addition, 24 hours after the attack, using what few battleships that had already been at sea during the simulated attack, the Pearl Harbor team still hadn’t found Yarnell’s small fleet.  From Yarnell’s point of view, it had been a complete success, and he and his officers argued that, having proved the effectiveness of an aerial attack from a carrier, those ships should become more central to the plans of the military, instead of outlying support vehicles for the battleships.

But it was also an idea ahead of its time. The other admirals, who believed that the battleship was still the workhorse of the navy, protested the results, insisting that if this was a real scenario, their battleships would have found the aircraft carriers and destroyed them before they got near enough to do damage-especially a foreign fleet who would easily be spotted by the dozens of freighters, tankers and fisherman that routinely worked around the islands.

Yarnell argued his point, saying that in years past, during war games, when each team had one aircraft carrier, it was the primary point for both teams to “destroy” the other’s carrier, usually resulting in both teams losing their carrier early in the game. To him, it was obvious: in war the side with the most aircraft carriers would have the advantage, and more funds should be allocated to build six to eight carriers, rather than larger dreadnaught battleships and destroyers.

In the end though, the battleship officers won, and in the years between 1932 and 1941, the military and FDR ordered the construction of another twelve battleships but only four aircraft carriers, the YORKTOWN, ENTERPRISE, WASP and HORNET.  (and only the ENTERPRISE was supposed to be assigned to the Pacific Fleet, where Yarnell feared a Japanese attack.) The Navy was growing, but the retired Yarnell feared that it was growing the wrong sectors.

What few knew, was the Japanese paid attention to this particular war game, and the Japanese Consulate in Honolulu sent a detailed record to Tokyo about how the surprise was accomplished.  Records later showed that the Japanese War College studied this attack in 1936, coming to the following conclusion:

“In case the enemy’s main fleet is berthed at Pearl Harbor, the idea should be to open hostilities by surprise attack from the air.”

To give one a point of view on the growth of battleships in just 30 years (including WWI) these historical photos have been scaled to the right size for each vessel: from the Pre-WWI Utah to the USS Missouri, under construction on Dec. 7, 1941.