Sunday in Hell, page 73
I ask that the Congress declare that since the unprovoked and dastardly attack by Japan on Sunday, December 7, 1941, a state of war has existed between the United States and the Japanese Empire.57
President Franklin Delano Roosevelt signs the Declaration of War against the Empire of Japan. NPSAM
On Oahu 8 December, dawn passed without the reappearance of the enemy, but early morning airborne patrols were launched, searching for the Japanese strike force. At Bellows Field, several of the 86th Observation Squadron personnel, including First Lieutenant Jean K. Lambert, spent the night in the operations shack listening to the radio. The Hawaiian Department Headquarters alerted them to begin reconnaissance flights after dawn. Between 0600 and 0700 preparations were underway for the first missions when a call came from the control tower alerting them to “something strange in the water, out by the reef, of the beach end of the runway.”
Major Charles B. Stewart, the squadron commander, sent Lambert and First Lieutenant James T. Lewis up to see what it was. As soon as their 0-47 aircraft was airborne, Lewis began circling the reef area while Lambert crawled down into the “greenhouse,” the plane’s observation belly, to get an unobstructed view. It wasn’t light enough to use the aerial camera, so he just scanned the ocean with his naked eyes and quickly saw a Japanese midget submarine.
A Japanese midget submarine lies beached near Bellows Field the morning of 8 December, on the windward side of Oahu. The midget’s mother boat was submarine I-22. NPSAM
The surf was high, and the big waves rolled the sub to an upright position, allowing Lambert to see the conning tower. The sub was obviously hung up on the reef, and there was no sign of life. Lambert immediately called Major Stewart on the radio to describe the scene below and told Stewart he would make one or two sketches of the sub, since the light was insufficient to take pictures. Stewart approved and gave instructions to them to get back after they had seen enough. They circled at low altitude for another ten to fifteen minutes, returned to Bellows and briefed the major, who then called Department Headquarters to report the situation.
In the meantime, Lieutenant Paul S. Plybon, Executive Officer of G Company, from the 25th Infantry Division’s 298th Regiment - which had bivouacked for weeks in the ironwood grove at the end of the Bellows runway, took Corporal David Akui with him on beach patrol just before dawn. When it was light enough, he scanned the bay through his high-powered binoculars and saw what he believed to be a lobster stake near the entrance to the reef. As they watched, a wave broke on the “stake,” revealing the top of the submarine’s conning tower.
About that time, there was a flash of white when a big comber broke in front of them, and they saw it was a man struggling in the surf. They waded out and brought him in when the next wave washed him closer to shore - and learned they had captured the commander of the sub, Ensign Kazuo Sakamaki. He had been fighting against the giant waves for some time and finally lost consciousness.
They took him to the operations shack and provided him a blanket, as he was cold and exhausted. Major Stewart again called Hawaiian Department Headquarters, this time to report the sub’s officer was in custody. In a very short time, Second Lieutenant Lee E. Metcalf of the 23rd Bomb Squadron at Hickam Field arrived at Bellows, accompanying a military intelligence staff member, to pick up the prisoner.
In the course of his interrogation, Sakamaki stated he was twenty-four years old, an officer of the Japanese Navy, and a graduate of the Imperial Naval Academy. He was the commanding officer and navigator of the midget sub. His shipmate, Kiyoshi Inagaki, was the engineer, and had drowned in the rough surf. (His body washed up on the beach three days later.)
Sakamaki was greatly distressed over the “disgrace” of being captured and begged to be killed. He stated that he wished to commit suicide and had not done so at the time of landing on shore because the possibility had remained of making good his escape and rejoining the Japanese Navy. Now that he was disgraced he did not want his name or ship information to be sent back to Japan. Ensign Kazuo Sakamaki was the first prisoner of war captured by the United States in World War II and became known as POW No. 1.
Sakamaki’s midget sub, which had an inoperative gyrocompass, had been depth-charged by two destroyers, twice struck a reef at the Pearl Harbor entrance, and finally drifted east until it lodged on the coral reef off Bellows Field. About mid-morning on 8 December, some Navy officers arrived at Bellows to look at the submarine, then recommended to their senior officers that the sub be freed from the reef by dive bombing around it. A little later, a Navy plane flew over and dropped a few bombs in the vicinity of the submarine, with no visible effect. It was almost noon.
The 86th Observation Squdron had a huge raft, constructed of heavy lumber with empty 50-gallon drums as flotation gear, which was usually anchored out by the reef for swimming and other activities. That day, however, it was up on shore for maintenance. Practically everyone in the squadron donned swimming trunks and helped launch the raft, after first affixing a steel cable to the submarine’s bow area, then attached the other end of the cable to a huge bulldozer used for construction work at Bellows.
The bulldozer then reeled in the cable on the drum attached to it and dragged the midget off the reef and up onto the beach. Shortly afterward, a Navy technical intelligence unit from Pearl Harbor arrived with an 18-wheel flatbed trailer and hauled away the sub. So it was that little Bellows Field in Waimanalo had the honor of capturing not only the first prisoner of war for America but also the first “prize” of war. This, after a long day of tragedy, confusion, loss of life, and despair, provided a glimmer of optimism and hope. It was another step on the long road back.58
While the early morning sighting of the midget submarine was generating excitement at Bellows Field, on board the Maryland, where the crew could see the fires still burning on the shattered Arizona, at 0930 hours, a message to the Pacific Fleet in Pearl Harbor, from Admiral Kimmel, was posted throughout the ship. “Your conduct and action have been splendid. We took a blow yesterday. It will not be a short war. We will give many heavy blows to the Japanese. Carry on.”59
Divers Arrive to Aid in Rescue and Salvage Work
During the same period, the big, four-engine PB2Y seaplane carrying nine Navy divers, four Army colonels, three Navy captains and several civilians from San Diego was nearing Oahu after a long, overnight flight.
Metalsmith First Class Eward C. Raymer, the senior petty officer among the divers, carried with him the records of Robert “Moon” Mullen, his closest Navy “buddy,” plus those of Tony Salvatore, Andy Davis, Bill Rush, Ben Apple, Jimmy Willson, Martin Palmer, and Cameron Walker.
The aircraft commander came on the speaker, reporting that the landing site had been changed from Ford Island in Pearl Harbor to NAS Kaneohe Bay, on the windward side of the island. He told the passengers there were a lot of nervous gunners in and around Pearl Harbor and four or five carrier aircraft from the Enterprise had been shot down the previous evening. He also noted that during night patrols armed sentries were shooting first and asking questions later. The pilot advised them that dawn would be breaking soon and he would make a flyby of Pearl Harbor, keeping out of gun range on the way around the island to Kaneohe Bay.
Edward Raymer recalled his reaction as he peered out the window during the flyby.
We were awakened by the pilot’s voice. He reported that he had just made contact with two U.S. Navy fighter aircraft that would be escorting the plane into Oahu. Our estimated time of arrival was thirty minutes away…The sun was just coming up out of the ocean when Oahu came into view. I was numbed by shock and disbelief at the panorama of wholesale destruction below. The airfields of Wheeler, Hickam, and Ford Island had been burned out. Damaged planes were tossed about like abandoned toys on their runways. Pearl Harbor was a disaster. Although the ships could not be identified, it looked as if there were at least twenty, either damaged or sunk, and most of these appeared to be the pride of the Navy, the battleships…I stared in horror at America’s terrible loss. There is no longer any doubt in my mind about our final destination or what our job would be.
After their plane landed, a Navy bus transported them across the island to the Receiving Station at Pearl Harbor. They were issued lockers and bunks in the last barrack in the row of buildings, and were the only occupants. The Officer of the Deck directed them to report to the newly formed Salvage Unit at the Pearl Harbor Naval Ship Yard. Warrant Officer Albert Calhoun, the designated officer in charge, looked tired and harassed. He told his new charges he hadn’t closed his eyes for twenty-four hours.
Raymer handed their records to his new supervisor, and inquired of their diving assignments. The bosun ordered them to take a truck and pick up four sets of diving gear from the submarine base. When they returned he sent them to 1010 dock, where they selected a suitable sampan from the dozen that were tied up. Alien Japanese fishermen had owned them but they had been confiscated earlier by the U.S. government. Aliens weren’t permitted to own boats in Hawaii.
They selected a seventy-foot craft, installed a diving air compressor, and outfitted it with two complete sets of deep-sea diving gear. After spending three hours equipping the boat, they reported back to Calhoun. They took seats in a room adjoining his office, and Raymer gazed out the large windows lining the room, aghast at the morbid scene of destruction in the harbor.
Before I start on the list of damaged and sunken ships, I need to find out a little more about each of you. Right now all I have is a list of names and a pile of service records. My boss, Lieutenant Howard E. Haynes, whom you will meet later, will want to know about your Navy background, what your specialties are, qualifications, et cetera. So just hit the high points and keep it brief. Raymer, let’s start with you and work clockwise around the room.
“Raymer, metalsmith first class. Much of my experience has been welding, and I am a qualified pressure hull welder. I served aboard the Vestal. I have practiced underwater arc welding and cutting with a gas torch.” Following his remarks, the rest of the divers indicated their repair specialties and work experiences.
Calhoun then said, “Welcome aboard the Salvage Unit. You will be attached to this command on temporary additional duty, which may not be so temporary judging from the amount of diving work you see before you.” The bosun read them a directive from the commander in chief, Pacific, that ordered all repair facilities to get the least damaged ships back in fighting condition first. He also told them that their primary work would involve raising the sunken battleships, since few of the ships afloat suffered underwater damage.
To the best of Raymer’s knowledge no one had ever raised a battle-damaged battleship before. No salvage histories or guidelines were available to educate the divers. The divers’ perceptions of what was involved in raising such a ship were very restricted. From a practical and logical viewpoint, Raymer opined the exterior holes in the hull must be made watertight first. Then the interior of the ship would be emptied of water by pumping or being blown dry with compressed air. But Raymer had no idea how all this would be accomplished or how long it would take.
Calhoun then launched into an account of the attack the day before and reviewed the damage suffered by the sunken battleships. The last ship on the list was the Oklahoma. He said she was struck amidships on her port side by seven torpedoes. A gash two hundred feet long had been opened in her hull and she took a thirty-degree list to port, bursting her mooring lines to the Maryland, inboard of her, and rolled upside down. Four hundred men were trapped inside and maximum efforts were under way to rescue them.
The bosun gave them their assignments for the afternoon. They were to proceed to the Oklahoma and report to Commander Kenworthy. If he had no diving work for them, they would proceed to the Nevada and report to Lieutenant Commander Thomas. They climbed into the sampan and headed out through the dead sea of bunker oil strewn with flotsam and wreckage. Bill Rush inched the sampan through the debris until they reached the Oklahoma. As they pulled alongside, Raymer wondered out loud if it was possible that anyone was still alive in the hulk.
There was tremendous activity around the Oklahoma. Floodlights had been set up and the bottom hull was crawling with sailors and shipyard workmen. Pneumatic hammers reverberated against the steel bottom plates, beating out a cadence that could be heard around the harbor. It sent a message of hope to the men trapped below, assuring them that help was on the way. Raymer’s buddy, “Moon” Mullen, asked one of the workers why they were chiseling out holes in the bottom when a cutting torch would be so much faster. The worker replied that they had tried that yesterday and the toxic fumes from the burning paint killed two trapped men. Now the only safe way to rescue the men was to chisel holes in the bottom hull. The nine divers also learned eight men were rescued just thirty minutes before the divers arrived and had been sent to the hospital for observation after their terrifying experience. Commander Kenworthy didn’t need the divers on Oklahoma, so they proceeded to the Nevada.
All told, thirty-one sailors were released from their underwater tomb before rescue efforts were abandoned. Machinist Mate Second Class W.F. Staff, was one of the last men rescued at 2:00 a.m., Tuesday, 9 December 1941. His statement testifies to the mounting terror the survivors experienced.
Sunday morning at 0750 on 7 December 1941, I was in the Carpenter Shop when the general alarm was sounded. I immediately went along the starboard side of the third deck to my battle station. I felt several explosions on the way to Repair II. When I got to Repair II I took my phones and went to get a flashlight but they were locked up so I went on down to A-28, the forward air compressor room, and started to set Zed. There was an electrician’s mate and fireman also, Centers, J.P., Machinist Mate Second Class and myself in the compartment. When the lights went out the fireman and electrician’s mate started to go out the Zed hatch which had been set by Repair II; they were yelling and screaming. Water and fuel oil were coming down the hatch. I tried to stop them from opening the hatch, but couldn’t.
The next thing we knew we were all under water and oil. Centers and myself were the only ones that came up. It took us some time in the dark to find out that we were back in A-28 and the ship had capsized.
We then tried to get into the linen storeroom. It was on the starboard side and was out of the water. The storeroom was locked and it took several hours to beat the lock off with a wrench that we found on the air compressor. We could not get into the storeroom as gear must have been wedged against the door.
We tried to get into a small storeroom which was in the overhead, but it was also locked and we could not get into a position to beat it off.
About Monday noon we heard tapping and we answered them. After so long they were right overhead and we could hear them talking. When they started to cut into us it let out air and we were under air pressure, the water came up as our air escaped.The water came up and ran out of the hole they were cutting, and they left. But we still had about six inches of air space. We tried the linen room again and it gave a little. Apparently the water had cleared the gear away from the door, we went in and started tapping again.
The rescuers soon got out to us again, and we left the ship at 0200 Tuesday morning. I wish to thank these men for their hard work in rescuing us: Chief Bosun Mate Keenum, Shipfitter First Class Thomas, Carpenter’s Mate Second Class Harris.
When the nine divers arrived on Nevada, the senior officer aboard, Lieutenant Commander Thomas, directed them to sound the sunken hull at thirty-foot intervals. To accomplish this, they lowered a diver from the sampan to a depth of twenty feet. Swinging a five-pound hammer, he rapped the hull three times, then stopped and listened for an answering signal. They took turns for five hours. No answering signal was ever heard. Tired and filthy after their disappointing mission, they piled into the sampan and headed for 1010 dock. Tuesday, they met their new diving officer, Lieutenant Haynes, and in a session with all nine, he gave them new assignments - and later had a private session with Raymer.
Haynes told the divers about some of the hazards they could expect to encounter on the ships, but he was careful to point out that no one could identify all the dangers because few, if any, divers experienced diving inside a battle-damaged ship strewn with wreckage. He emphasized that floating oil, sediment, and debris in the water would make underwater lights useless. Diving inside the ships would be done in complete and utter darkness, requiring them to develop a keen sense of feel, great manual dexterity with tools, and a high degree of hand-to-brain coordination. Since the Navy had no safety precautions for such a situation, they would be required to devise their own.
Lieutenant Haynes then took Raymer aside to speak to him privately. He explained to Raymer the diving crew would rarely have a diving officer attached, and even then, he would not be experienced in salvage work. He then paused, lit his pipe, puffed a few times until the tobacco glowed, and told Raymer that over his objections, the senior salvage officer had assigned the exterior hull work to the Pacific Bridge and Shipyard’s civilian divers. Interior work on the ships was to be the responsibility of the Navy divers because they were familiar with the insides of battleships.
Afterward, Haynes gave the nine divers their assignments: dynamite the concrete quays that pinned the Tennessee against the West Virginia, and sound the hulls of the sunken ships to insure that no one was trapped inside them. Rescue of any possible survivors took precedence over every other operation. He also pointed out they would not be diving deeper than forty-five feet within the ships, and could stay down all day and not be concerned about bends or other diving illnesses. Raymer noted that he neglected to discuss the possibility of performing their necessary bodily functions after hours underwater, but they soon learned how to cope with that.60
