30 July 2010
Welcome Aboard
(USS Oklahoma capsized at her berth in Pear Harbor. Official US Navy Photo.)
I looked with dismay at the plastic bag from Bed Bath and Beyond that Mac placed on the tall cocktail table. There was a book about the Berlin Airlift I don’t have time to read, and the CIA monograph that I will make time for. I waved at Peter to get a glass of the loss-leader Pino Grigio.
“The CIA publication only has about fifty pages of text,” said Mac. “But the exhibits in the back are reproductions of the original documents- minutes of meetings and policy memos- they are fascinating. It shows how Truman made his decisions to use The Bomb against the Japanese. Our estimates played a key role in that process, even if we are mentioned by name.”
“Yeah,” I said, smiling as Peter filled the bubble-shaped wine glass to precisely one-third of its depth. “But we talked about the end last week and missed the beginning. I want to hear about 1942, when you first got to Pearl. I want to know what you did, what the job was like, what your battle rhythm was.”
Mac nodded and took a sip of his Virgin Mary. “Did you know that at one point I had four military identification cards with four different colors of eyes?” He took off his glasses and leaned forward. His blue eyes sparkled with amusement. “Blue, Gray, Brown and Hazel. What do you think?”
“I would say blue,” I said, wondering if the pork spring rolls were on the neighborhood bar bistro menu. “Though I suppose they could be hazel or gray. I have never understood the color hazel.”
Sara-with-no-H wandered by, pert and trim in her black shirt and slacks, and asked if we were hungry, and we were. Her eyes were dark as coal and just as mysterious. Really a cute gal. We ordered a couple of the tapa-sized snacks. “So we have done the big stuff, the pivot points of history and all that. What was life like? What did you really do?”
Mac contemplated the question, since he was usually asked about the matters of primary interest for those of use who came after, the sinking of mighty aircraft carriers and the mushroom clouds. “Well, after I was abruptly dismissed by that cowboy Officer in Charge of the Honolulu detachment of the Navy Investigation Service, I was sent out to the Shipyard at Pearl. The Cowboy figured he could use me to fill a lingering requirement levied by the staff of Admiral Nimitz.
It was February, 1942, you know. The big boats are still on the bottom of the harbor. USS Oklahoma still presented her keel and one massive brass propeller pointing to the puffy clouds. Nevada was just being re-floated, and came back into the harbor for dry-docking in the middle of the month. I arrived at the Admin Building at the shipyard, presented my orders in triplicate at the quarterdeck, and was eventually shown down to the basement and presented to Commander Joe Rochefort, the OIC.”
(USS Nevada entering dry dock, 18 Feb 1942 near the 14th Naval District HQ and CIU/Station HYPO. Official Navy Photo.)
My ears perked up. “So you went to work for him?” I made a note on the napkin in front of me, nearly knocking over the wineglass, which was wedged against the plates and cloth napkins and silverware we don’t use to eat the snacks. “At the Fleet Radio Unit- Pacific?”
“No,” said Mac with mild irritation, as though he was talking to a slow-learner. “We were known as the Combat Intelligence Unit, the CIU. No, Joe Rochefort just said “Welcome Aboard, Ensign. He knew that I didn’t have any Japanese language training or expertise with the IBM ECM Mark III ppunh-card tabulating machines. CDr Rochefort gave me over to Jasper Holmes, and I started to make files.”
“Files?”
“Yes. Ditto files. Do you know what that is?”
“Like mimeograph machines? I remember those from grade school. And the smell.” I wrinkled my nose with the memory.
“Our fingers were purple at the end of the day from the fluid. I will get to how we eventually got inside the Japanese code system, but I need to explain how this all worked.”
I nodded. “That would be useful,” I said and winced as I bit into a spring roll that was still blazing from the hot oil of the wok in the kitchen. Damn, those things are tastey.
“The Japs had introduced what we called the JN–25 code system in mid-1939. It consisted of about 33,000 words, phrases, and letters and was the primary code they used to send military, as opposed to diplomatic, messages. After Pearl Harbor, the CIU focused on cracking that code, though we also had success with a lower-grade code the used for controlling their merchant ships. That is what we gave to the submarine force.”
“When did the CIU get into the code?” I asked, swirling a little of the dry white wine in my mouth to assuage the burn. I noticed there were some very attractive women at the bar, concentrating exclusively on one another and I wondered if Willow was attracting the lipstick lesbian crowd. If it was, I was all in favor of it.
“CIU had some success starting the month before I got there, in January. But it was hard. That is why the files were so important. But let me explain the way it worked. OP-20-G was the staff number assigned to the Code and Signal Section of the OpNav staff at Main Navy back in Washington. It changed to the Radio Intelligence Section the month I was welcomed aboard. We were station HYPO, named for the first letter in Hawaii. Station CAST was on Corregidor Island in the Philippines, and so on. NEGAT was at the former girl’s school on Nebraska Avenue in Washington. There were over seven hundred people assigned to the effort.”
“Was it NEGAT that got the “East Wind Rain” message that signaled the attack?”
Mac snorted. “There never was an East Wind message. That is all nonsense. Commander Safford was the only one who testified that he got it, and that was after the war in the testimony to Congress about who was responsible for the Pearl Harbor attack.”
“OK, I know the target code, and the big issues. I am interested in what it was like to work at HYPO and what you did, how you got around, what the hours were like. You know, what it was like to be at war with the Japanese looking invincible.”
“Well, to do that I will have to tell you about how I made a Frankenstein sedan, and a little about Jasper Holmes, who had quite a career writing for the Saturday Evening Post.”
I knew it was time to get a fresh napkin, and waved past the pretty ladies to Peter to see if I could get some more wine.
Copyright 2010 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com <http://www.vicsocotra.com>
Copyright 2010 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com
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