USS Lagarto SS-371

She slipped beneath the waves in silence, leaving behind no witnesses, no survivors, and for sixty years, no trace. The USS Lagarto (SS-371), a proud Balao-class submarine built in the heart of the American Midwest, vanished in May of 1945 during her second war patrol in the Gulf of Thailand. It would take six decades, the work of divers, historians, and veterans, and the determined pull of memory to finally bring her back to the surface of public awareness. Her story, like that of many lost submarines, is one of daring service, mystery, and solemn remembrance.

Lagarto was not just another warship churned out of a coastal yard. She was born far from the ocean, at the Manitowoc Shipbuilding Company in Wisconsin. This Great Lakes facility had never built a submarine before the war, but the Navy saw potential and so did the yard’s leadership. After some negotiation, Manitowoc received the green light to start submarine construction, with the unique plan of floating the finished boats down the Mississippi River on a custom drydock. Lagarto was one of twenty-eight submarines built this way, each delivered on time or ahead of schedule, with a record of precision and care that rivaled any coastal shipyard.

Commissioned on October 14, 1944, Lagarto was placed under the command of Commander Frank D. Latta, a seasoned submariner and Navy Cross recipient. Latta had commanded the aging USS Narwhal on seven successful patrols, a feat unmatched in the force. He knew the risks. He knew the price. And he carried that weight with a calm confidence earned in the dark and dangerous waters of the Pacific.

Lagarto began her shakedown from Panama in late 1944, encountering both routine drills and sudden tragedy. Chief Machinist’s Mate Pat Cole, one of her early crew, died of a heart attack at anchor, a reminder that war took its toll in unexpected ways. The boat continued her training in Pearl Harbor, where she received significant upgrades: a second 5-inch deck gun, twin 40mm mounts, and eight topside mounts for .50 caliber machine guns. She was outfitted for combat, and her crew, despite personal losses, was ready.

Her first war patrol saw her join with USS Haddock and USS Sennet in a coordinated sweep of Japanese picket boats ahead of air strikes by Task Force 38. In that action, Lagarto and her sister boats attacked and destroyed Japanese guard trawlers in a coordinated surface gun action. The crew saw action. They saw fire, return fire, and results. The Japanese submarine I-371 was also sunk during this patrol, with Lagarto credited for her role in the kill. The men had proved their boat in combat, and spirits were high.

But war has a way of shifting winds, and Lagarto’s second patrol would prove her last. On April 12, 1945, she departed Subic Bay in the Philippines to patrol the South China Sea. She was directed into the Gulf of Siam, where the Japanese were still moving convoys along the coast. On May 2, she made contact with the USS Baya. The two boats began coordinating an attack on a convoy that included at least one tanker and two Japanese destroyer escorts. These escorts were equipped with advanced radar, and on that day, they drove Baya off with gunfire. The boats planned to try again the next day.

On the morning of May 3, Baya and Lagarto met again at sea. Plans were made. Lagarto was to dive on the convoy’s expected track and make contact by early afternoon. Baya would position herself ten to fifteen miles ahead. But after midnight on May 4, following a frustrating attack, Baya was again forced to withdraw. From that moment, Lagarto was never heard from again.

It is now believed that the Japanese minelayer Hatsutaka, part of the convoy’s escort, made contact with a submerged submarine and dropped a full pattern of depth charges at 7 degrees 55 minutes North, 102 degrees East. This location, based on Japanese wartime records, corresponds almost exactly with where Lagarto was later found.

Her loss was sudden and complete. Eighty-six men were aboard. Among them was Max Merrell Wicklander, a young sailor from the Puget Sound region of Washington State. Wicklander, like so many aboard, was not just a name on a list but a son, a brother, a friend, and a shipmate. His name is etched into the eternal roll call of the silent service, and his story carries the voice of a region that has long honored its maritime sons.

For decades, Lagarto’s fate remained a mystery. Families had no grave to visit, no answers, only a line in a government report: presumed lost. But in 2005, a British diver named Jamie Macleod discovered a submarine wreck off the coast of Thailand, sitting upright in 225 feet of water. Her condition was remarkable. With a team and the cooperation of the United States Navy, identification efforts began. A salvage ship, USS Salvor, confirmed the wreck with over 500 photographs and 10 hours of video. The twin 5-inch guns, the Manitowoc-style anchor, and the word “MANITOWOC” engraved on her propeller left no doubt. They had found Lagarto.

Divers later noted the wreck to be largely intact, though entangled in fishing nets. Her conning tower, periscopes, and main deck guns remained. The teak decking had long since rotted away, revealing the cables and pipework beneath. Fish had made homes in her shadows. Time had claimed her structure, but not her soul.

A memorial plaque now rests on her hull, a quiet marker in a silent world. On earlier dives, a small American flag had been attached to the conning tower. On a later visit, it was gone, claimed by the sea. But the memory remains. Lagarto endures beneath the waves as a war grave, a symbol of sacrifice, and a place of reverence.

To visit her, even vicariously, is to confront the reality of war at sea. There is no illusion aboard a lost submarine. Every bulkhead, every rivet, every silent compartment is a tomb for sailors who served with honor. Their mission was never completed. Their story was nearly lost. But today, we know. We remember. We honor.

USS Lagarto was one of nine Balao-class submarines lost in World War II. She carried with her the strength of her Manitowoc builders, the courage of her captain, and the devotion of her crew. Men like Max Wicklander, who left the cool forests of Puget Sound for the unforgiving heat of the South Pacific, gave their lives in silence. And in that silence, they have spoken to generations.

We speak now in gratitude. We remember Lagarto not just as a submarine lost, but as a legacy found. A sentinel of the deep. A reminder that freedom has a price. And a promise that those who go down to the sea in ships will not be forgotten.