As I hunker down through my fourth typhoon of the season—the third to strike the Tokyo area in what can only be described as an odd year—I can’t help but be reminded how easy we have it.  Now don’t get me wrong, this one’s been touted as the largest storm to ever strike Japan, and may yet have deadly consequences for the unfortunate, but we’ve had four days’ warning to prepare, and that makes all the difference in the world.

Being that my mind constantly dwells on the distant past, I can’t help but feel for our forebears, those who endured such events with little to no warning whatsoever.  Our ancient counterparts weren’t holding hurricane parties or filming news segments while trying to keep from being blown away.  No, they were far more concerned with keeping their families and property alive and intact … and with far, far less warning than any of us—with instant access to satellite imagery at the tip of our fingers—can claim today.

Storms have proven themselves especially dangerous to navies and the sailors that man them, often to deadly effect.  Some of these seemingly fickle natural occurrences have even altered the geo-political setting of a given region.  The fact that storms have played a key role throughout history is undeniable, even, at times changing the course of world event.  While the wind howls and the water levels in the backyard rise, I’d like to highlight a few of these militant storms of history.

In 492 BC, the Persian King Darius launched a massive invasion fleet across the Aegean Sea toward Greece.  While the total size of this fleet is not mentioned, a storm struck the force while it rounded a peninsula near Mount Athos, accounting for the loss of 300 ships and some 20,000 Persian sailors, marines, and soldiers.  These losses would be sorely missed when, two years later, as the campaign continued, the Greeks pulled off a miracle victory over the invaders at a place called Marathon.  An extra 20,000 troops would probably have come in handy—especially since the Greeks only numbered about half that total.  Regardless, by the time Darius’s son Xerxes took the throne and launched his own invasion of Greece in 483, the Persians had spent three years digging a canal across the peninsula to ensure such a disaster never happened again. 

During the First Punic War, fought between the fledgling Roman Republic and the city-state of Carthage, 264-241 BC, the Romans lost multiple fleets, and the armies they carried, to vicious Mediterranean storms.  The war was essentially fought over control of the island of Sicily and so both nations were required to employ large navies.  The Carthaginians, distant descendants of the sea-faring Phoenicians, had a navy to employ while Rome had to start essentially from scratch. 

Regardless, in 250 BC and again in 253, entire Roman fleets virtually disappeared in maritime storms that plagued the region.  The Roman inability or unwillingness to accept defeat—even in the face of such losses to natural phenomenon—is characteristic of this period and contributes to what citizens of the republic would have considered the “Roman Virtues”.  Still, these occurrences may have accounted for the loss of over 100,000 sailors, marines, and soldiers making us wonder today how they managed to achieve victory in that conflict at all.

In 1274 AD and again in 1281, Kublai Khan, leader of the expansive Mongols, attempted invasion of Japan.  The young and fractious Japanese state, having rebuffed the Khan’s demand of submission and fealty, felt safe across the sea from the Mongol-dominated Asian continent.  Yet in 1274, a fleet of some 800 vessels of all sizes carried an invasion force, steam-rolling its way over Tsushima and Iki islands before depositing some 23,000 Mongol, Chinese, and Korean troops onto the shores of Hakata Bay in northern Kyushu.  This force surprised local defenses and succeeded in sacking the nearby city of Hakata, not far from the administrative capital Dazaifu.  With a storm brewing, the Mongol commanders, satisfied with their initial efforts, nonetheless worried about bivouacking such a small force in the midst of an unknown country and so re-boarded their vessels for the night.

The storm that struck the invasion fleet that evening would later be called “kamikaze,” loosely translated as “God Wind” or “Divine Wind”.  The storm sank ships, pitched men and equipment overboard, and generally scattered the fleet, making further progress on Kyushu inconceivable.  This storm, more than the human defense, would be credited with saving Japan, and far more honors and lands were bestowed upon the temples and religious sects that had prayed so fervently for salvation, than upon the samurai who risked their lives defending the realm.  However, the Bakufu, or military government, realized the threat and posted a standing garrison at Hakata—with orders to construct a massive stone seawall—to prevent a repeat of the incursion.

With the collapse of the Southern Song Dynasty in China, Kublai Khan once more turned his attention toward Japan, ordering a much larger force—likely around 70,000 troops—to a second invasion attempt.  This force consisted of a smaller element embarking in Korea (at the time the nation of Goryeo, an ally of the Mongols) and a much larger one departing from Southern China.  These were to link up at Hakata Bay and drive inland.

The Mongol-Korean force met much more stubborn resistance at Tsushima this time around and were rebuffed, disease setting in at the camp and preventing another go at the fortified heights.  Instead the force moved on Iki Island and dealt with the garrison there before linking up with the Mongol-Chinese force near Hirado Island in Hakata Bay, which soon teemed with Chinese troops.

Still, the situation this time around was very different from that nine years previous and the combined fleet met a determined land force, manning a formidable and long stone rampart (check out pics of those ruins here), supplemented by small, maneuverable boats launched from the shore.  The battle raged in the bay and around the unprotected flanks of the sea-wall, with the Mongols managing to land a sizable force at the Shiga Spit.  Yet they couldn’t quite expand or otherwise exploit that foothold against the dogged determination of the Japanese defenders.  Finally, with exhaustion setting in amongst the samurai, a tremendous typhoon struck the fleet and destroyed much of the Chinese naval force, the Korean captains being more familiar with the weather and having largely withdrawn beforehand.  Casualties remain unknown, but are estimated at approximately 50,000, the vast majority of which are thought to have either drowned in the storm or been taken prisoner and/or killed by the Japanese after it passed.  Once again the kamikaze had saved Japan from invasion, and the Mongols grew weary of the attempt, never to return.

On 2 September 1945, U.S. forces celebrated Japan’s surrender, bringing World War II to a long-overdue conclusion.  Many US service members were, at the time, still recovering from three months of close-in combat to seize the island of Okinawa from the Japanese Empire, and the US Navy still had hundreds of ships positioned around the island.  The intrepid men that crewed those vessels had fought, and fought well, weathering wave after wave of kamikazes—bomb-laden aircraft flown suicidally into the invading ships—launched primarily from the Japanese island of Kyushu.  These attacks, named after the earlier pair of storms which had saved Japan from further Mongol depredations, were terrifying in concept and the young Americans manning their guns and scanning the skies had remained constantly on edge for months on end. 

The threat, however, didn’t end either with the conclusion of combat operations on the island, or in the theater, though Japan’s surrender had obviated the need for a bloody invasion of the Home Islands.  With an uneasy peace settling across Northeast Asia, the greater threat to the operation and the fleet, perhaps, appeared with the sudden and unpredictable turn of Typhoon Louise toward Okinawa.  This storm struck on 9 October 1945, causing significant damage to the force assembled there.  Louise threw 92 mile-an-hour winds and 30-35 foot high waves at the fleet, resulting in the sinking of twelve vessels, grounding of 222 others, and the severe damage of another 32.  Still, Louise claimed relatively few lives for all that material damage, as 36 were killed outright, another 47 declared missing, and roughly 100 injured.  This kamikaze had simply arrived too late to save Japan, but the thought of what might have happened had the invasion of Japan still been in its preparatory phases isn’t hard to imagine as 107 landing craft had been damaged by the storm.

So, as I sit here listening to what has already been 12-hours of heavy rain, cognizant that the center of this storm—and the winds that come with it—is still 24-hours away (!!!) I’m reminded of the effects of such storms as these throughout history.  How many otherwise brave, combat-proven men and women boldly faced the rigors of war only to be defeated by the simple confluence of warm water and cold air.  It’s heavy stuff, but interesting to contemplate.

Still, with bicycles safely inside the house and a patio stripped bare of furniture, we wait for this one to pass.  Well-stocked with Dr. Pepper and lime-flavored Tostitos, we’re ready for anything, and we’ve already battened down our hatches.  Our thoughts and prayers, however, remain with those less fortunate, with less-stout hatches, and less-sturdy homes.  Good luck and God Bless.  We’ll see you all on the other side of this one!

M.G. Haynes