Comments by "Sar Jim" (@sarjim4381) on "Mark Felton Productions"
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Thanks for another interesting video. The Japanese had plans for a really huge submarine on the drawing boards in 1944. It would have been nearly 500 feet long, have a submerged weight of about 9,000 and, except for two torpedo tubes and as many as fourteen 25 mm machine guns for self defense, it was strictly a cargo submarine. It had two eight foot hatches and disappearing 10 ton cranes to handle the expected load of nearly 1,000 tonnes of cargo. The Germans badly needed tungsten, tin, rubber, and opium for making morphine. Due to the active fighting on the Eastern and then the Western front as well, the Germans were going through morphine faster than they could produce opium poppies. The Japanese needed the high quality aluminum and steel the Germans were producing, plus plans for the Tiger tanks, propeller and jet aircraft, and German radar. I doubt the idea of shipping a complete Tiger tank to Japan was ever a serious proposition with the I class subs. Needless to say, the Japanese cargo submarines were never built.
The Japanese did have one success transporting cargo when they converted the I-351 from a seaplane carrier to an oil tanker. She made a successful transit from Singapore to Japan carrying 500,000 gallons of high octane aviation gas. This could only be produced by former British Singapore refineries because Japanese refineries were built to produce larger quantities of lower octane gas. This was fine for earlier Japanese planes, but not for the larger, higher horsepower liquid cooled inline engines being built from German plans. The I-351 was headed back to Singapore on July 14, 1945 when she was sunk by the US sub Bluefish.
I'm sure you already know this, but the only navy to produce pure cargo subs in WWII were the Italians. Only having some antiaircraft machine guns for self defense if caught on the surface by allied aircraft, these 2,100 ton R class boats were built for trade between Italy, Germany, and Japan. They could carry 600 tonnes of cargo and could travel 14,000 miles unrefueled. They were potentially valuable transports, but the only two completed boats were sunk, one by the British sub HMS United and the other by allied aircraft within days of each other in July 1943 before they could complete any missions.
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By far the most successful interceptor against the V-1 was the old twin engined wooden Gloster Mosquito with any non-essential equipment stripped and carrying four 20mm cannon and four 12.7mm machine guns. It could fly at 420 mph, within the cruise envelope of the V-1. Mosquitos would take off from RAF bases carrying 2,500 pounds of bombs and rockets. They would attack any identified V-1 launch sites in France or Holland with their bombs and rockets. Once they were gone, the Meteor had the endurance to loiter over France, looking for the telltale plume of black exhaust from a V-1. Once one was spotted, the Mosquito pilots would accelerate to maximum speed and wait for the point the V-1 started to level out. It was at it slowest (350 mph) speed then and its most unstable. The Mosquito would come right up on its tail and fire a three second burst. THe combination of the armor piercing 20 mm rounds and incendiary 12.7 mm rounds was generally enough ot bring the V-1 down. Several kills were made by the same wing flipping technique as used by the Meteor when the ammo was exhausted. The Meteor was the glamour place of the fight against V-1's, being the world's first operational jet interceptor. However, it shot down or otherwise destroyed only 13 V-1's due of the issues Mark described in the video. The sturdy Mosquitos, taking on yet another new role, was the almost unsung hero, destroying 623 buzz bombs. Unfortunately, no aircraft could help once the V-2 ballistic missiles started falling on the UK.
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Another part of this story is the heroic rescue carried out by a Martin PMB-R Mariner flying boat. She was the transport version of the armed patrol bomber. She happened to be in Fiji on a refueling stop on the way back to Hawaii. The naval commander in charge at Fiji, having heard of the Cape San Juan sinking and being in possession her last known position from the RNZAF Hudson, asked if the Mariner could help. Neither Captain William W. Moss Jr., the plane's commander, or his crew had any training in ocean rescues. They were merely freight pilots, flying supplies between Hawaii and our Pacific outposts. Still, Capt. Moss, a Pan Am Clipper pilot before the war and pressed into service at the start, was an expert at handling big flying boats in rough water, so he was willing to give it a try.
He gathered his crew together to tell them of the mission. He said they may never find the sinking ship and, if they did, he might not be able to get the plane safely down in the huge waves out there. Getting the plane back in the air was even more doubtful. He was only asking for volunteers, Not only did his entire crew raise their hands, several other naval officers also wanted to risk it. Knowing the capabilities of the Mariner, Capt Moss was forced to turn down these offers as well as leaving being three of his own crew so there would be maximum room for survivors. The crew hurriedly stripped everything from the plane not absolutely needed for flight to give them their best chance of getting back in the air if they made it safely down.
After getting as much fuel as possible into the main tanks and two auxiliary tanks, the Mariner lifted off shortly after noon Fiji time. After a rough five hour flight through tropical rain squalls, they were at the last known position of the ship. They could see nothing through the squalls until there was what one crewman called a "miraculous break in the clouds" and right below them lay the Cape San Juan. Capt Moss could see many men in the water with very little hope of survival in the 15 foot swells. At the time, he didn't know about the shark carnage beneath him. Two more RNZAF Hudsons were circling about eight miles south of the Mariner, vigorously wagging their wings. Moss decided to investigate and found the Hudsons pointing out an eight mile long streak of floating oil, the slick reducing the waves from 15 feet to "only" 5 feet. After checking with his copilot, First Officer Frank Saul, they decided that the oil slick was their best chance and prepared the crew for landing. As he got closer, he could see black dots floating the slick, the dots being survivors in the water. He managed to set the plane down at the head of the slick and bounced along wave crests for almost the full length of the slick before finally settling down on the ocean.
A quick check showed the boat was not significantly damaged, so the next task was rescue. The crew threw out a liferaft at the end of a 100 foot line of rope. They taxied to the area where they had seen the most men in the water and killed the engines, fearing some men could be killed by the spinning props as the plane was coming down into the trough of a wave. For the next two hours, Capt. Moss kept the nose pointed into the wind as the plane surfed the waves.The survivors grabbed the lifeline and then pulled themselves into the raft. When the raft was full, Mariner crew hauled the raft to the plane and unceremoniously dumped the men into the plane. They repeated this five times until they had taken 48 survivors onboard. The plane was far over the normal maximum takeoff weight by then.
One of the Hudsons fired two red Very flares. Moss didn't know what they meant, only that red meant danger, and there might be another sub in the area. Since the plane was already overfilled anyway. Moss ordered the auxiliary tanks jettisoned and prepared for takeoff. The helpful Hudsons once again circled the best slick, and the Mariner taxied over and pointed the nose into the wind. Spooling up the engines to full power, the takeoff run began. It took a full 50 seconds by Saul's watch. The plane once again was gyrating wildly from wave to wave, one time almost dipping the port wing into the sea. Finally, one more collison with the top of a wave tossed the Mariner 50 feet into the air, and the Mariner started to fly. After another five or so miles of flying in ground effect 100 feet above the top of the waves, the boat was finally able to climb and turn for Fiji.
A last minute addition to the crew was Pharmacist’s Mate A.C. Burress, and he treated the injured men, some with shark bites, on the way home. In addition to bandaging wounds and setting broken bones, some got morphine and some got swigs of Admiral Halsey's whiskey, pressed into Moss's hands by one of the officers that had volunteered but had to be left behind. The rescued men were grateful for both types of medicine. The men were further treated at the naval hospital after a safe and relatively easy landing in the Suva lagoon. Capt. Moss and First Officer Saul were both technically civilians so not eligible for medals. The best they got was a commendation letter from the Navy. Moss had a half bottle of whiskey left which he intended to share with the crew. By the time he got to his quarters, it was near midnight. As he sat at the end of his bunk, he started to take a swig of the whiskey, but ended up downing the entire half bottle. He then fell into a deep and dreamless sleep, yet another unsung hero from that war so long ago. Sorry for the length of this, but I felt like this was a story that needed to be told.
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