The Dirty Bastard
‘The bottom of the target resembled something like an underwater jungle.’
—Acting Leading Seaman James Magennis, HMS XE-3
‘Thirty feet, skipper,’ called out Kiwi Smith. Tich Fraser nodded. Above they heard the Japanese cutter’s little outboard engine drone past, its propeller thrashing the water. That had been close, too damned close, thought Fraser. A second or two longer and the cutter would have smashed into the XE-3’s periscope. Fraser tried not to think about the consequences had the Japanese been alerted to the presence of an enemy submarine, or if his vessel had had its one eye suddenly poked out. A single mistake and the Japanese would depth-charge them to the surface and either kill the crew or take them prisoner, and the XE-men all knew from their briefing that the latter option was really only delaying the former.
Fraser took a deep breath and cleared his throat.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘Magennis, the range is 200 yards. We should touch bottom in a moment.’ As the XE-3 crept up on the Takao the Johor Strait became shallower, posing an entirely new set of potentially life-threatening problems.
*
Aboard the XE-4 Max Shean prepared for his next task – finding and cutting the northbound cable that ran from Saigon to Hong Kong.
‘Slow ahead,’ ordered Shean. ‘Steer oh-seven-five degrees.’
‘Aye aye, skipper, oh-seven-five degrees,’ repeated Sub-Lieutenant Ben Kelly.
‘Take us up to periscope depth, Ben,’ ordered Shean a few minutes later. He quickly took a bearing before ordering the little submarine down deep. Shean glanced at his watch. 1.13pm.
‘Alter course to oh-four-oh degrees,’ Shean ordered, the XE-4 coming onto a bearing designed to take it across the buried cable at right angles.1
The submarine continued on its course, the grapnel dragging behind it, the hull vibrating and occasionally lurching from the movement of the heavy object through the bottom sediments. The minutes ticked by. The grapnel ploughed on without any result. Inside XE-4 the tension was palpable. Shean glanced from his watch to Jock Bergius’s face. The second diver was sweating inside his thick suit, waiting for his moment to come.
For thirteen agonisingly slow minutes the XE-4 ground on just above the surface of the seabed, hauling the peculiar contraption like the master of some truculent dog that was resisting the leash. Suddenly, the submarine came to a dead stop, as if it had been driven into a brick wall. The XE-4 heeled over to starboard before Kelly reasserted control on the hydroplanes and she settled, hovering just above the seabed with her grapnel cable taut behind her. Shean looked at his watch.
‘Thirteen twenty-six hours,’ he said. ‘Ship’s head?’
‘One hundred and eighty degrees, sir,’ reported Ginger Coles.
‘Depth?’
‘Depth 51 feet, sir.’ Shean grimaced. Fifty-one feet was too damned deep. Bergius would be taking a big risk working for even a few minutes this far down.2 Shean glanced at the diver, but his eyes, though tired, betrayed no emotion except a keenness to be on his way.
‘Take her down to the bottom,’ ordered Shean.
A few minutes later and the XE-4 was settled on the seabed, her motor running on dead slow to keep the grapnel cable taut. A weak tide was running past the bilges, but nothing to worry about.
‘Okay, Jock,’ said Shean to Bergius. ‘Good luck and be aware of the time.’
‘Right, skipper.’ They shook hands. Bergius clambered into the Wet and Dry Compartment and began the flooding process. Shean assumed his position by the compartment’s little window and watched as Bergius gulped air as the chamber filled with cold seawater. He then turned to the night periscope and watched as Bergius opened the hatch and clambered out onto the deck in the murky green water.
‘Diver out. Fourteen-oh-seven hours,’ said Shean, Ben Kelly making a note. Now it was just a question of waiting.
*
The XE-3’s bow struck the bottom of the Johor Strait with a bang, the crew thrown off balance by the impact. Loud scraping noises reverberated from below as the submarine’s keel bumped along the uneven bottom.
‘Depth?’ yelled out Tich Fraser above the din.
‘Thirteen feet, skipper,’ replied Kiwi Smith, struggling to trim the vessel. Fraser winced – the submarine was only just below the surface, and very vulnerable. Fraser pressed his eyes to the night periscope. The water was crystal clear, which was not good either. He could see the shimmering surface from below. Suddenly, the colour began to drain from the optics as the XE-3 passed into the great shadow cast by the Takao’s huge hull. A new sound merged with the scraping sounds from the keel, a horrid metal-on-metal squealing coming from the starboard side. Before Fraser could work out what was causing the racket the XE-3 crashed head-on into the Takao’s hull with a reverberating thud.3 The lights flickered several times before the submarine settled back onto an even keel. Fraser ordered the motor stopped. Something was wrong.
He could see nothing through the periscope. But Fraser was experienced enough to realise that the scraping sound had probably come from one of the Takao’s huge bow anchor cables that he had noted during the run in. This meant that the XE-3 was too far forward along the heavy cruiser’s keel. Drop the side cargo here and all it would do would be to blow the Takao’s bows off, damage that would not be fatal. The two-ton explosive charge and the six limpet mines had to be placed amidships to tear the guts out of the behemoth and sink her where she lay.
‘Port 30,’ ordered Fraser, ‘half ahead group down.’ He had decided to veer away from the Takao, take a fresh bearing and then make another approach. But the XE-3 did not move. ‘Half ahead group down!’ repeated Fraser, the first signs of anxiety creeping into his voice. Nothing. The XE-3 refused to budge. The water’s depth was only fourteen feet.
For eight increasingly fraught minutes Fraser struggled to free his little submarine from beneath the 15,500 tons of Japanese warship that loomed above him like a giant metal cloud.4
The four men inside the tiny submarine listened as the XE-3’s electric motor whined and complained as Fraser repeatedly shunted the boat forwards and backwards, attempting to wriggle free from whatever invisible trap held them tight.
Then, like a miracle, the XE-3 was suddenly released, the submarine dragging itself back across the shallow bottom like a wounded animal, shingle grinding against her keel. Fraser ran a damp rag over his sweaty face and mopped out the inside of his cap before replacing it on the back of his head. No one cheered. Lieutenant Potter, 14th Submarine Flotilla’s intelligence officer, was amazed when he heard later that the XE-3 had managed to evade detection in only fourteen feet of water. He later wrote, ‘Considering that it was flat calm, it was surprising that the swirls of water were not seen.’5 Anyone looking over the side of the Takao would have seen a considerable disturbance, with white water foaming to the surface as the propeller spun desperately.
The crew of the XE-3 had just had a narrow escape, but Fraser’s next task was to take them back in towards the Takao and once more dive underneath her great bulk. Worse was sure to follow. Fraser altered course, steering for a position more on the Takao’s beam, aiming for the ship’s second funnel.6 This would mean a longer run over the shallow bank and more chance of being spotted by anyone looking down into the clear water. But Fraser knew that it was worth the risk, as it would place the XE-3 amidships of the Takao, the perfect position to plant the explosives. Slowly, the XE-3 backed away from the Takao, out into deeper water until she was 1,000 yards from her target.
*
Max Shean and his crew watched as the needles for the hydraulic cutter gauges jumped to life. It meant that Jock Bergius was cutting the Saigon to Hong Kong cable. Shean turned back to the night periscope and watched for Bergius’s return through the green murk.
Bergius was concerned about oxygen poisoning and was working as fast as he dared. The bottom was reasonably hard with a soft layer on top about eight inches deep.7 He watched as the bulky hydraulic cutters that he held in his hands did their work. With a steady hiss the blade moved slowly out from its guide towards the cable. Bergius depressed the large trigger on the cutters and the blade sank into the cable as if it wasn’t there. There was a crunching sound, followed by a snap and then, nothing.8 Something wasn’t right.
‘He’s back,’ exclaimed Shean to his crew as Bergius was sighted pulling himself along the XE-4’s casing dragging the cutter with one hand. He spent a few minutes fiddling with the hydraulic cutter before stowing it, gave Shean a quick ‘thumbs-up’ signal and then clambered back into the W&D compartment, closing the hatch behind him.
‘Diver in,’ announced Shean. ‘Time?’
‘Fourteen fourteen hours, skipper,’ replied Ben Kelly. Bergius had been outside the submarine for twelve minutes working on pure oxygen in 51 feet of water. It was close.9
Once Shean had the W&D compartment door open, Bergius, his lips slightly blue, pulled himself into the control room, panting for breath. He was shaking his head.
‘I cut the cable twice, Max,’ said Bergius, water dripping off his suit. ‘But the damned cutters are defective. The cable didn’t part.’
‘Damn it!’ exclaimed Shean. ‘Are you sure?’
‘I am. No doubt about it. The cable’s damaged, but it’s still intact.’10 Bergius looked crushed. ‘I’ve already fitted the spare cutters.’11
‘Well, we’ll have to try again,’ said Shean.
‘I’m rested up, skip,’ piped up the lead diver, Ken Briggs. ‘I’ll go out and have a crack at it, if you like.’
‘No, Max, I’ll do it,’ interrupted Bergius.
‘Are you sure you feel up to it, Jock?’ asked Shean.
‘Aye, skipper, you don’t need to worry about me,’ replied Bergius fiercely.
Shean smiled. He could afford to wait a little while to give Bergius time to recover from the exertions of his first dive. The cable wasn’t going anywhere.
*
Jack Smart thumped the flat of his hand against the XE-1’s periscope standard in frustration. He was still one-and-a-half hours behind schedule. And now he faced a very difficult decision. His target, the heavy cruiser Myoko, was moored two miles beyond the Takao. Smart had to assume that Fraser in the XE-3 had managed to stay on schedule and had already laid his charge and limpet mines beneath the Takao and was on his way back towards the defence boom gate. The side charge and limpets were set to detonate six hours after emplacement. Smart had lost 90 precious minutes during the approach to the boom, 90 minutes that should have been spent racing up the Johor Strait ahead of the XE-3.12 He had two choices. He could continue with his mission and motor on towards the distant Myoko, use up more time placing his charge and limpets and then sail the thirteen miles all the way back past the Takao towards the distant boom gate. Or he could abandon his mission and go for his secondary target, the Takao.
The first option was looking increasingly unattractive. If Fraser was progressing with his mission on schedule, by the time Smart made it to the Myoko, set his charges and started back, darkness would have fallen. He assumed that the Japanese closed the defence boom gate at night. Though it was perfectly feasible for Smart to use his diver, Leading Seaman Walter Pomeroy, to cut a hole in the boom gate to escape through, the flotilla divers had not been trained to work in the dark. No artificial illumination would be possible, as the Japanese would see it immediately. Unable to pass through the boom the XE-1 would, in effect, be trapped in a narrow and shallow channel a few miles long when the XE-3’s explosives detonated beneath the Takao, scheduled to occur at approximately 9.00pm. It was a safe assumption that the Japanese would begin an immediate search of the area within the boom for enemy infiltrators or saboteurs.
The second option was much more attractive, though perhaps even more risky in some ways. Smart could divert towards the Takao, creep in and drop his charge underneath the warship, then exfiltrate back down the Strait and out through the hopefully still open gate before Fraser’s charges exploded. But Smart knew that there was great danger in approaching an already mined ship. The fuses on the charge and mines were not foolproof and they would already have eaten into a big chunk of their six-hour run by the time the XE-1 showed up. The mines in particular were a concern as they were fitted with anti-tamper devices that were set off by movement.
Smart discussed these problems with his first lieutenant, Harold Harper.
‘Alright, it’s decided,’ said Smart, grimly confident after a few minutes of animated conversation. ‘We’ll switch to our secondary target, the Takao.’13 Glancing at his charts Smart realised that he wasn’t far away from the big warship. Like Fraser in the XE-3, he constantly ordered his submarine to periscope depth to check his bearings and search ahead. He had no way of knowing that Fraser and the XE-3 had experienced similar delays to the XE-1 and had not yet mined the Takao. But Smart’s plan made sense. Better to make sure that the Takao was fatally damaged than risk almost certain discovery and destruction if he stuck to his original plan.14
Smart told Pomeroy to stand down. He wouldn’t be required to dive on the Takao. Smart’s concern was that using a diver on an already mined ship was asking for trouble.
The counter-mining device was terrifying. Once a diver had placed one of the rectangular-shaped limpet mines onto a ship’s hull all he had to do to start the preset timer was to pull a little cotton pin out of a hole in the weapon’s front. This started the time clock.15 The counter-mining device consisted of two needle heads stuck together with a sort of sleeve over them. Once the diver started the clock, the sleeve started to retract until the two needles were left sticking out. If an enemy diver got hold of the mine and pulled it or banged into it the needles would drop apart and the charge would immediately explode.16 Smart was not going to risk Pomeroy accidentally brushing against one of XE-3’s already live limpet mines while he swam around setting his own. A catastrophic chain reaction would not only cause the six already armed limpets, each containing 200lbs of high explosive, to detonate, but the XE-3’s two-ton side charge would also go up, along with that of the XE-1 as well. Smart and his crew would be vaporised in a fraction of a second. It would be dangerous enough just manoeuvring the XE-1 beneath the Takao without upsetting the XE-3’s limpets. The slightest bump or vibration could cause those delicate pins to part company with the mine. Smart tried to put these thoughts to the back of his mind.
‘Up periscope,’ he ordered. As he swung the lenses the Takao suddenly jumped into focus on the port quarter. She was several miles off, but she was very real.
‘Target sighted,’ said Smart, his bearded face creasing into a smile. ‘Down periscope. Time?’
‘Fourteen forty hours, Jack,’ said Harper.17 Altering course, Smart began his slow and methodical approach run towards the Takao. He had just bought himself some time, now it was up to him to make sure that it wasn’t wasted.
‘Prepare to begin attack,’ he said in a low but confident voice.
*
One minute after Jack Smart first sighted the Takao, Jock Bergius left the XE-4 on his second dive to sever the Saigon to Hong Kong cable. He swam over to the storage bays on the side of the submarine and retrieved the spare hydraulic cutters. Working fast, he quickly swam down the grapnel cable to the seabed where the flat-fish had hauled a large section of the thick telephone cable up out of the mud. Bergius moved over to where he had already made two incisions with the defective cutters and went to work once more. In just a few seconds the cutters had sliced through the cable, Bergius cutting away an entire one-foot section as proof, just as Ken Briggs had done with the Saigon to Singapore cable.18
‘Diver in,’ said Shean, once Bergius was safely inside the W&D compartment with his prize. ‘Time?’
‘Fourteen fifty-two hours, skipper,’ said Kelly. Bergius’ second dive had lasted nine minutes. Shean was ecstatic – his principal objective was now fully complete.19
*
‘Half ahead, group down,’ ordered Fraser, his eyes once more glued to the night periscope. It was 3.03pm. The XE-3 began her second attack run, grinding across the rough bottom like a shark nosing towards its prey in the shallows, her little propeller almost silently cutting through the sparkling water. The Takao sat astride a trench in the bottom of the Johor Strait, surrounded by relatively shallow water. Fraser intended to creep into this deeper hole directly beneath the warship’s keel to lay his charge.
The XE-3 slid through the shallow approach water. In one place the depth was only thirteen feet. Fraser prayed that no Japanese sailor was looking over the side of his ship. Once again, the great dark keel of the Takao came into view as the XE-3 passed into her shadow, and at the same time the depth gauge began to register deeper water.
‘Fifteen feet, Tich,’ said Smith in a concerned voice as he watched the gauge. ‘Eighteen feet … twenty feet.’ Smith sounded relieved. Fraser remained at the night periscope. He glanced up briefly through the submarine’s small upper viewing window, watching it fade to black as the XE-3 passed directly beneath the massive Japanese warship.
‘Stop the motor,’ ordered Fraser. ‘Depth?’
‘Twenty-two feet, skipper,’20 replied Smith. The propeller stopped.
‘Full astern,’ ordered Fraser. As the XE-3 reversed, tendrils of light started to fill the window and Fraser’s night periscope. ‘Stop the motor!’ ordered Fraser.21 The XE-3 was in position. There was a little light for the diver to work in, but they were still well beneath the warship’s keel.
Fraser and his crew looked up through the little window at the dim outline of the Takao floating just a foot or so above them. The entire underside of the Japanese warship was festooned with marine life – barnacles and thick seaweed that drifted lazily in the current with green and brown tendrils.22 It was like looking at an upside down coral reef, hardly recognisable as a man-made object except for the way the weed-encrusted bottom tapered away neatly towards stem and stern.
Fraser decided to let each man have a quick look at his prize.
‘Christ, what a dirty bastard!’23 exclaimed Charlie Reed when he took a look. The Takao was indeed a ‘dirty bastard’ – she evidently hadn’t been dry-docked and properly cleaned in years. When Mick Magennis saw the state of the warship’s bottom he knew that it spelt trouble for him.
‘Raise the bow antennae,’ ordered Fraser.
Smith reached over and pulled down a lever that raised the two bow antennae. They were designed to allow the submarine to rest against the bottom of the target vessel, leaving a sufficient gap for a diver to open the W&D compartment hatch and exit the boat.24 Because of the angle of the submarine in relation to the Takao, Fraser didn’t bother to raise the aft antennae.
Once everything was ready Fraser gave his diver a nod.
‘Magennis,’ said Fraser, as the Irishman finished strapping on his DSEA apparatus. ‘Place all six limpets as quickly as you can, and for God’s sake don’t make any noise.’25
‘Right, sir,’ replied Magennis. Fraser fitted the diver’s Perspex window before clapping him on the shoulder.
‘Good luck,’ said Fraser. Magennis grinned and raised his thumb then clambered awkwardly into the W&D as Fraser closed the door behind him. For a moment Fraser actually felt a little jealous of Magennis, for soon he would be out of the overheated, stuffy boat and swimming in the cool water. But then he thought about what Magennis was about to do, and of the very great dangers that he faced.26
Fraser crouched down and watched as Magennis flooded the chamber, the water quickly rising to cover the diver’s dark-clad body. Fraser noted that Magennis was breathing steadily – he didn’t appear apprehensive in the least. The boy from the Falls Road was about to make history.
*
Although the principal objectives of Operation Sabre had been achieved, Max Shean harboured a nagging worry: although Jock Bergius had cut the northbound Saigon to Hong Kong cable on his second attempt, he was not one hundred percent sure that it was actually the right cable. The area had several disused cables, so Shean decided to double-check his charts. After a further perusal everything appeared to be correct. He decided to trust his navigation. Bergius had cut the right cable. But being a methodical and cautious man, Shean decided to cut it again, just to be absolutely sure. He would navigate the XE-4 into a fresh position over the northbound cable where it was marked on his chart and then detail one of the divers to go out again.
The chart stated that the cable crossed a shallow patch in the position Shean had decided to cut it, but when the XE-4 manoeuvered into position it didn’t look promising.
‘Depth?’ asked Shean.
‘Sixty feet, skipper,’27 replied Ben Kelly, screwing his face up as he spoke. Shean sighed. Sixty feet was twice the safe operating depth for divers using the DSEA rebreather apparatus. The previous four dives had lasted between six and twelve minutes each. More than ten minutes at 60 feet would cause the fast onset of oxygen poisoning. And the divers were both tired, meaning that they would have even less resistance than before. It would be asking for trouble. No, Bergius had cut the right cable, Shean assured himself. He told himself to stop worrying about it. The operation had gone off like a charm so far, so why risk an accident at this stage? Shean stared into space for a few moments, his mind turning over the situation.
‘Let’s call it a day, gentlemen,’ said Shean confidently.28 There was a definite lessening of tension inside the boat after he spoke. But they were not out of the woods just yet. Shean’s secondary mission was to enter Saigon harbour and sink Japanese ships, but he was required to first rendezvous with HMS Spearhead and receive the latest intelligence summary, whereupon a decision would be made over whether to proceed.29 The XE-4 was certainly well prepared for such a mission. Clamped to the outside of the hull were two side cargoes, each containing six 200lb limpet mines.30
Shean gave orders for the XE-4 to shift position further away from the coast of Indochina, away from possible observation by the large numbers of junks plying the waters off Saigon.
The air inside the boat was becoming so bad that Shean realised he needed to ventilate the submarine, and soon. But this presented an entirely new set of challenges, and dangers. As the XE-4 crept away from the Cap St Jacques sandbank into deeper waters Max Shean’s face, his eyes ringed by dark shadows of exhaustion, was set once more deep in thought. The air inside the XE-4 was as thick as molasses. It was hard to concentrate, even to stay awake. Something had to be done, and done very soon.
Rear-Admiral James Fife, commander of submarines, US 7th Fleet (left) with Captain Fell (right) on the bridge of HMS Bonaventure, Brunei Bay, July 1945.
The attack and passage crews of XE-1 and XE-3 being addressed by Rear-Admiral Fife on the quarterdeck of HMS Bonaventure shortly before departing Brunei Bay for Singapore, 26 July 1945.
Rear-Admiral Fife and Captain Fell bidding a final farewell to the attack and passage crew of one of the XE-craft involved in Operation Struggle. The crews are assembled on the casing of the towing submarine, Brunei Bay, 26 July 1945.
XE-craft interior: the crewman in the foreground mans the steering position while right aft sits the planesman who controls the submarine’s depth with the hydroplanes and pump. The engine and main motor are further aft of a white timber bulkhead. On the extreme right is the commander’s tiny chart table.
VJ Day party aboard HMS Bonaventure, Brunei Bay, 2 September 1945. For the XE-men, the war was finally over and they would shortly be heading home.
The VJ Day party one hour later. The men are pictured in high spirits in the Bonaventure’s wardroom.
Jimmy Fife salutes the quarterdeck as he departs HMS Bonaventure for the final time in early August 1945. During his time with 14th Submarine Flotilla the American admiral had formed close bonds of friendship with many of the ‘little guys with a lotta guts’.
An XE-craft surfaced in Brunei Bay shortly after the end of the war. Sadly, almost all of these amazing little submarines would soon be scrapped following the end of hostilities.
The two officers who shaped the midget submariners into one of the conflict’s most potent fighting units photographed at Buckingham Palace just after the war: Captain William Fell (left), commander of 14th Submarine Flotilla and the man whose persistence brought his men glory; and Captain William Banks (right), commander of 12th Submarine Flotilla, who used X-craft to attack the Tirpitz in 1943 and laid the foundations for XE-craft operations against the Japanese.