The ‘Perfect Enemy’
William R. Walsh
In regards to James M. Scott’s worthwhile article on the Pacific submarine campaign (“America’s Undersea War on Shipping,” December, pp. 18–26), Japan was, indeed, the “perfect enemy.” Despite well-earned antisubmarine-warfare (ASW) experience in World War I in the Mediterranean, the Imperial Japanese Navy (IJN) did not develop or conduct an effective ASW program in World War II until it was much too late. The IJN’s sole myopic focus was on the “decisive fleet battle” when the U.S. Navy was supposed to blindly steam into the western Pacific to save Guam and the Philippines.
After sorting out the three torpedo problems that plagued the U.S. Navy’s early efforts—faulty depth setting, faulty magnetic influence detonator, and faulty contact detonator—the U.S. submarine service got into its stride in late 1943 and, as pointed out in the article, became a very efficient instrument of annihilation. The point bears emphasis that we are talking of the efforts of less than 2 percent of all naval personnel that accomplished so much with little fanfare; the “silent service,” indeed.
Lieutenant Commander Joel I. Holwitt, U.S. Navy
James M. Scott’s “America’s Undersea War on Shipping” perpetuates the long-held misperception that the U.S. decision to conduct unrestricted submarine warfare in World War II was an act of reprisal for the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor.
This is puzzling, because the article cited Samuel Flagg Bemis’ unpublished essay “Submarine Warfare in the Strategy of American Defense and Diplomacy, 1915–1945,” which concluded that U.S. unrestricted submarine warfare was not an act of reprisal but a calculated and prearranged strategy. Indeed, following a year of strategic and legal debate within the highest levels of the Navy, Chief of Naval Operations Admiral Harold R. Stark decided to commence unrestricted submarine warfare almost immediately upon the outbreak of hostilities and issued preparatory orders to that effect on 27 November 1941.
In a memorandum written while preparing his essay, Bemis concluded: “The fact is that the orders of December 7 would have been issued even if there had been a Japanese declaration of war. The sneak attack on Pearl Harbor only triggered off a command to set up strategic zones in the whole Pacific Ocean and to sink all Japanese ships within sight of that area of naval operations, a command that had already been prepared and sent out, awaiting only the outbreak of war between Japan and the United States.”
Readers who are interested in additional details in the planning behind the U.S. decision to execute unrestricted submarine warfare against Japan would be well served to read Janet Manson’s Diplomatic Ramifications of Unrestricted Submarine Warfare, 1939–1941 (Praeger, 1990), or, if they’ll forgive my shameless plug, my own book, “Execute Against Japan”: The U.S. Decision to Conduct Unrestricted Submarine Warfare (Texas A&M University Press, 2009).
Mr. Scott responds:
I appreciate Lieutenant Commander Holwitt’s thoughts on my article and congratulate him on his fine book, which I consulted in the course of my own research several years ago. With all due respect, however, I never asserted that the decision to use unrestricted warfare was an “act of reprisal” for the attack on Pearl Harbor (even though Fleet Admiral Chester Nimitz characterized it as such in his 11 May 1946 testimony for the International Military Tribunal at Nuremburg).
Did the surprise assault on Hawaii change the political calculus and make such a policy feasible? Certainly. No less than the nation’s survival was at stake. Until the attack on Pearl Harbor, however, America’s possible use of unrestricted warfare was a policy debated only within the Navy, despite the fact that such a strategy would have far-reaching affects for other areas of the government, including the State Department.
According to the essay Lieutenant Commander Holwitt cites, the first time Chief of Naval Operations Admiral Harold Stark briefed President Franklin Roosevelt about his proposed order for unrestricted warfare was at 1428 on the afternoon of the attack on Pearl Harbor.
Only then did Roosevelt, as commander-in-chief, give his approval, telling legislative leaders that same day: “The Japanese know perfectly well that the answer to her attack is proper strangulation of Japan—strangulation altogether.” Roosevelt’s approval, of course, is the pivotal moment—particularly, since as Holwitt notes in his own book, the president was a strong advocate in the freedom of the seas up until the day Japanese bombers darkened the skies over Pearl Harbor.
As my article goes on to explain—and is developed in even greater detail in my book, The War Below (Simon & Schuster, 2013)—America’s decision to unleash its submarines against both Japanese naval and merchant ships ultimately was the culmination of decades of significant advances in policy, strategy, and submarine technology.
But there is no denying that the attack on Pearl Harbor figured into the arithmetic.
Sub Chaser’s Maine Memorial
Chief Warrant Officer 3 Robert J. Baumert, U.S. Marine Corps Reserve (Retired)
Robert Cressman’s August “Historic Fleets” column, “Prepared for the Work of War” (pp. 14–15), was most interesting. As he notes, one of the World War II “Eagle boats,” PE-56, was sunk by a U-boat two weeks before Germany surrendered with the loss of 49 crewmen. The tragic incident took place nine miles southeast of Cape Elizabeth, Maine, where a memorial sits.
All in the Family
Captain Bill Heard, U.S. Navy Reserve (Retired)
What a coincidence to read Jamie Malanowski’s December story about the Naval Academy “adventures” of William B. Cushing (“A ‘Talent for Buffoonery,’” pp. 58–63), and then see the national news coverage about President Barack Obama’s presentation of the Medal of Honor to descendants of Union Army Lieutenant Alonzo H. Cushing, William’s brother.
Alonzo Cushing was posthumously awarded the Medal of Honor in a White House ceremony on 6 November—151 years after his artillery unit played a key role in breaking Pickett’s Charge on the third day of the Battle of Gettysburg. The 22-year-old was just two years out of West Point but already had served gallantly as an artillery officer in the battles of Antietam, Fredericksburg, and Chancellorsville. That he could maintain a cool head under pressure from a determined enemy proved his courage and tenacity.
At Gettysburg, he initially set up his six cannon 20 yards behind a stone wall on Cemetery Ridge. But within a short time, the Confederate artillery barrage had put four of his guns out of action. Despite his commander’s prediction that an enemy advance was imminent, Cushing moved his two remaining cannon forward to the stone wall.
In this new position closer to enemy fire, Cushing was wounded in the shoulder and then in the groin. Despite these wounds, and with the advancing Confederates only 400 yards away, he ordered his men to open fire with deadly canister. At 100 yards, he ordered double and then triple canister. Hardly had this order been given when a bullet tore through his head, killing him instantly. After the Confederate retreat, 600 Southern soldiers lay dead in front of his cannon.
In the aftermath of the battle, Cushing’s bravery and determination were recognized, but he was not nominated for the nation’s highest honor. The Medal of Honor had been created only the year before, and the criteria for awarding it were not well understood.
A third brother, Army First Lieutenant Howard B. Cushing, also sustained the family’s warrior reputation. In 1861 he volunteered as a private in the 1st Illinois Light Artillery, and later was commissioned as a second lieutenant in the 4th U.S. Artillery after Alonzo was killed. In 1867 Howard was promoted to first lieutenant in Troop F of the 3rd Cavalry and was posted to forts in West Texas and Arizona. His Indian-fighting prowess earned him the moniker “the Custer of Arizona,” and it was said that he and his troopers killed more Apaches than any others on the frontier. He was killed 5 May 1871 while pursuing an Apache element in the Whetstone Mountains, near present-day Fort Huachucha, Arizona. His remains now lie in the San Francisco National Cemetery in the Presidio of San Francisco.
A monument—an obelisk with memorial plaque—to the three brothers is located in Cushing Memorial Park in Delafield, Wisconsin, the town where Alonzo and William were born.
War (of 1812) Games
John E. Meyer
As a frequent reader of Naval History, I was very excited to see so much of the October issue devoted to the War of 1812 in the Chesapeake. Having grown up in Maryland, it has a special significance to me—especially Fort McHenry and the Battle of Baltimore. As a tribute to the city of Baltimore and the bicentennial of this battle, I created a military simulation, or war game, in its honor. This lengthy project included the help of many, including Scott Sheads, and won an award at our national convention in Fredricksburg, Virginia, this past summer.
The Constitution Gets ‘Gunades’
Commander Tyrone G. Martin, U.S. Navy (Retired)
In regards to Spencer Tucker’s “Armaments & Innovations” column (“The U. S. Navy’s ‘Smashers,’” December, pp. 10–11): Sir William Congreve—he of “rockets’ red glare” fame—sought to ameliorate the admitted range deficiency of the carronade (about 600 yards maximum effective range) by designing a shorter-barreled “long gun,” which, by the reduction in weight, would make it more readily usable on upper decks while having an improved range (about 1,000 yards) over the “smasher.” The result was called a “gunade,” and went into production for the Royal Navy. In the summer of 1814, a privateer took a British merchantman heading for Jamaica with a number of these weapons on board slated for a new construction unit at Kingston. The prize made it safely home to Salem, Massachusetts.
Captain Charles Stewart, then in command of the blockaded Constitution in Boston, and himself an innovator, soon learned of the booty and arranged to have a pair of the weapons delivered to his ship. He emplaced them, one forward and the other aft where they could be readily shifted from side to side as desired, in lieu of four 32-pounder carronades. When he went into battle against British foes in February 1815, he had 30 24-pounder long guns, 22 32-pounder carronades, and 2 24-pounder “shifting gunades.”