History for the day

Rico says here's some little-known World War Two history, by Norm Goyer of the Aircraft Market Place blog, courtesy of his friend Bill Calloway:

On 9 September 1942, a Japanese I-25-class submarine was cruising in an easterly direction, raising its periscope occasionally as it neared the United States coast. Japan had attacked Pearl Harbor less than a year before, and the captain of the attack submarine knew the Americans were watching the coastline for ships and aircraft which might be attacking. Dawn was approaching, and the first rays of the sun were flickering off the periscopes lens. Their mission: attack the West Coast with incendiary bombs, in hopes of starting a devastating forest fire. If this test run were successful, Japan hoped to use their huge submarine fleet to attack the eastern end of the Panama Canal to slow down shipping from the Atlantic to the Pacific. The Japanese Navy had a large number of I-400 submarines under construction, each capable of carrying three aircraft. Pilot Chief Warrant Officer Nobuo Fujita and his crewman Petty Officer Shoji Okuda were making last minute checks of their charts, making sure they matched those of the submarine’s navigator.
Nebraska forestry student Keith V. Johnson was on duty atop a forest fire lookout tower between Gold’s Beach and Brookings, Oregon. Having memorized the silhouettes of Japanese long-distance bombers and those of our own aircraft, Johnson felt confident he could spot and identify friend or foe almost immediately. It was cold on the coast this morning, and quiet; the residents of the area were still in bed or preparing to head for work. Lumber was a large part of the industry in Brookings, just a few miles north of the California-Oregon state lines.
Aboard the submarine, the captain’s voice boomed over the PA system: “Prepare to surface, aircrew report to your stations, wait for the open hatch signal.” During training runs, several subs had been lost when hangar door were opened too soon and seawater rushed into the hangars, sinking the boats with all hands lost. The sound changed as the bow of the I-25 broke from the depths and nosed over for its run on the surface. A loud bell signaled the “All Clear”. The crew assigned to the single-engine Yokosuki E14Ys, a float-equipped observation and light attack aircraft, sprang into action. They rolled the plane, a small two-passenger float plane with a nine cylinder 340 hp radial engine, out of its hangar, built next to the conning tower. Its wings and tail were unfolded, and several 80-kilo incendiary bombs were attached to hard points under the wings. It was full daylight when the captain ordered the aircraft to be placed on the catapult. Warrant Officer Fujita started the engine, let it warm up, checking the magnetos and oil pressure. There was a slight breeze blowing, but the seas were calm; a perfect day to attack the United States of America. When the gauges were in the green, the pilot signaled and the catapult launched the aircraft. After a short climb to altitude, the pilot turned on an easterly heading for the Oregon coast.
Johnson was sweeping the horizon but, seeing nothing, went back to his duties as a forestry agent: searching for any signs of a forest fire. Every few minutes he would scan low, medium, and high, but nothing caught his eye.
The small Japanese float plane climbed to several thousand feet to get above the coastal fog for better visibility. The pilot calculated landfall in a few minutes and, right on schedule, he could see the breakers crashing white as they hit the Oregon beach.
Johnson was about to put his binoculars down when something flashed in the sun just above the fog bank; it was unusual because, in the past, all air traffic had been flying up and down the coast, not coming toward the coast.
The pilot of the aircraft checked his course and alerted his observer to be on the lookout for a fire tower on the edge of the wooded area where they were supposed to drop their bombs. These airplanes carried very little fuel and all flights were to be in and out, without any loitering. The plane reached the shoreline and the pilot made a course correction twenty degrees to the north. The huge trees were easy to spot, and certainly easy to hit with their bombs. The fog was very wispy by this time.
Johnson watched in awe as the small floatplane with a red meat all on its wings flew overhead; the plane was not a long-range bomber, and there was no way that it could have flown across the Pacific. Johnson could not understand what was happening. He locked onto the plane and followed it as it headed in-land.
The pilot activated the release locks so that when he 'pickled' the bombs, they would release. His instructions were simple: fly at five hundred feet, drop the bombs into the trees, circle once to see if they had started any fires, then head back to the submarine.
Johnson could see the two bombs under the wing of the plane and knew that they would be dropped. He grabbed his communications radio and called the Forest Fire Headquarters informing them of what he was watching.
The bombs tumbled from the small seaplane and landed in the forest. The pilot circled once and spotted fire around the impact point. He executed an 180-degree turn and headed back to the submarine. There was no air activity, the skies were clear, and the small float plane lined up with the surfaced submarine, landed gently on the ocean, then taxied to the sub. A long boom swung out from the stern. His crewman caught the cable and hooked it into the pickup attached to the rollover cage between the cockpits. The plane was swung onto the deck, the plane’s crew folded the wings and tail, pushed it into its hangar, and secured the water tight doors. The I-25 submerged and headed west to Japan.
This event, though causing no damage, marked the only time during World War Two that an enemy plane dropped bombs on the United States mainland. What the Japanese didn’t count on was that coastal fog, mist, and heavy doses of rain would make the Oregon forests so wet they simply would not catch fire.
Fifty years later, the Japanese pilot, having survived the war, returned to Oregon to help dedicate a historical plaque at the exact spot where his two bombs had impacted. The elderly pilot then donated his ceremonial military sword as a gesture of peace and a closure of the 1942 bombing of Oregon.

Rico says this seems almost quaint now but, if the Japanese had done their homework, they would have known that the same attack much farther south, in the dry forests of California, would have been devastating...