Naval Warfare in World War Two by Bill Brady - HTML preview

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

USS INDIANAPOLIS

When the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor on 7th December, 1941, the heavy cruiser Indianapolis was undergoing training exercises close to Hawaii. Returning immediately to Pearl Harbour, the cruiser joined Task Force 11. In early 1942, Indianapolis sailed with the carrier USS Lexington and conducted raids in the Southwest Pacific against Japanese bases on New Guinea. Ordered to Mare Island, California for an overhaul, the cruiser returned to action on 7th August, 1942 and joined US forces operating in the Aleutians.

Remaining in northern waters, the cruiser sank a Japanese cargo ship on 19th February, 1943. That summer, Indianapolis supported US troops as they recaptured islands in the Aleutians. Following another refit at Mare Island, Indianapolis arrived at Pearl Harbour and was made flagship of Vice Admiral Raymond Spruance's 5th Fleet, providing fire support as US Marines prepared to land on Tarawa.

Following the US advance across the central Pacific, Indianapolis saw further action and supported US air strikes across the western Carolines. In 1944, the 5th Fleet provided support for the invasion of the Marianas and Saipan and bombarded Iwo Jima. Indianapolis then took part in the Battle of the Philippine Sea, before being sent to aid in the invasion of Peleliu that September.

After a brief refit at Mare Island, the cruiser joined Vice Admiral Marc A. Mitscher's fast carrier task force on 14th February, 1945. Steaming south, they aided in the landings on Iwo Jima. On 24th March, 1945, Indianapolis took part in the bombardment of Okinawa. A week later, the cruiser was hit by a kamikaze plane while off the island. Hitting Indianapolis' stern, the kamikaze penetrated through the ship’s upper deck and exploded. After making temporary repairs, the cruiser limped home to Mare Island and underwent extensive repair to the damage, only emerging from dry dock in July 1945.

The USS. Indianapolis was destined to play a pivotal role in the ending of World War Two. Due to the ship’s great speed as well as its proximity to Los Alamos, New Mexico (the location of the Manhattan Project), the Indianapolis was selected for a top-secret mission. She was tasked with transporting from San Francisco to the island of Tinian in the Marianas, a vital, piece of uranium 235, encased in a lead cylinder. The uranium was the catalyst for the reaction of the atomic bomb destined for Hiroshima. Three smaller parts had already been delivered, each on a different aircraft. Any one of the smaller parts would be enough to prime the bomb but the larger piece was essential for effective detonation.

In the very early morning hours of 16th July 1945, shrouded in security and secrecy, but with a huge assembly of Admirals, Generals and many technicians at pier-side looking on, the atom bomb components were loaded aboard Indianapolis. Several large wooden crates were stowed in one of the ship's hangars, and placed under guard. Orders were given that should the ship come under attack and considered endangered, the crates were to be immediately thrown over the side. Even given the strangeness of this particular order, the nature of the cargo itself was kept secret from all aboard including Indianapolis' commander; Captain Charles McVay. Indianapolis sailed into history on that fateful morning.

The heavy cruiser steamed out of San Francisco Bay just after dawn on 16th July, 1945, wrapped in a heavy cloak of secrecy and headed for the Pacific Island of Tinian where American B-29 bombers were based. On board were some of the atomic bomb technicians. She steamed at high speed, unescorted, to the island, making record time by covering the 5 000 miles in ten days, which included a stop at Pearl Harbor for replenishment. She unloaded her lethal cargo on 26th July. Her mission accomplished, the warship, with one thousand, one hundred and ninety seven men on board, then began a journey into Hell that would end with the worst naval disaster in U.S. history.

On that same fateful morning, one of the newest, largest, and most technologically advanced attack submarines of the Japanese Imperial Navy got underway. It was the I-58, under Commander Hashimoto. His orders were to patrol the waters east of the Philippines; find and sink, enemy shipping. From Tinian, Indianapolis sailed south, made a brief stop to refuel and receive new orders at Guam (Headquarters for the Pacific Fleet, under the command of the Commander In Chief of The Pacific Fleet, Chester A. Nimitz), Her new orders were to sail to Leyte Gulf on the East Coast of the Philippines, some 1 500 nautical miles from Guam, through waters patrolled by Japanese submarines and infested with sharks, there to join with the battleship Idaho, for several days of gunnery practice and refresher training. The reason being, about four hundred of the crew were green sailors fresh out of boot training. From Leyte she was to rejoin the fleet off Okinawa for the expected invasion of Japan. According to the official record, a single coded message was sent from Guam to Idaho advising her of Indianapolis' orders. Reportedly, the radio message was garbled at the receiving end. Idaho didn't ask for a repeat of the message. Consequently they didn't know Indianapolis was on her way.

The Indianapolis did not have sonar to detect submarines. Captain McVay, had asked for an escort, but his request was turned down. The US Navy also failed to pass on information that Japanese submarines were still active in the area. Indianapolis steamed out of Guam on the 28th July. McVay planned a three day voyage to Leyte at an average speed of 15 knots and had only four of her eight boilers on line.

As the watch changed at midnight, Monday, July 29/30th, Indianapolis was now making 17 knots in a moderate sea with visibility poor but improving under overcast skies. The night was calm, and the moon had just slipped behind the clouds. Captain McVay felt the darkness would help conceal his ship if a submarine should happen upon her course, so he told the officer on watch that, at least for a while, he could steer a straight course rather than zigzag. The officers were relaxed. They had just carried out a sensitive mission to deliver a ‘secret weapon’. They were unaware, of course, that they had just delivered the first atomic bomb in history.

At midnight, the moon reappeared. At precisely that moment, Captain Hashimoto of the Japanese I- 58 raised his submarine’s long range periscope. The experienced commander couldn't believe his eyes. There, in his sights, was the Indianapolis, just 10 000 metres away. Three torpedoes were immediately fired at the cruiser. The first torpedo fired struck the Indianapolis toward her bow, killing many of her crew instantly. The second torpedo, which hit almost simultaneously, struck toward the centre of the ship, almost directly under the bridge, causing more casualties and completely cutting off communications with the bridge.

This was the mortal blow, igniting an explosion that almost broke the ship in two. It would take only twelve minutes for the ship to dip her bow, roll to port and slip beneath the sea. Captain Hashimoto, stated after the war that a third torpedo hit the Indianapolis, but her crew felt the impact of only the first two. When the first torpedo exploded at the bow of the ship, most of the sailors aboard the Indianapolis were sleeping. But not for long! Realizing what had happened, the men raced to the ladders to reach the upper decks. Moments later at the second explosion, sailors were thrown violently against the bulkheads; many were killed instantly.

The explosion knocked out all electric power aboard ship and any chance for an SOS. (Even though the radiomen on duty swore that at least three SOS messages had been sent before power was lost.) For many years it was believed the loss of electric power had prevented any SOS message from getting off the ship. However recent revelations would seem to support the radiomen. As fires raged below, the huge ship began listing onto its side. As it rolled, hundreds of crewmen jumped into the water to escape the burning ship. The vessel was 610ft long, and still had four propellers turning.

Indianapolis' 17 knot forward speed through the water continued shipping thousands of tons of sea water through collapsing forward bulkheads. Sea water surged in through the gaping hole in her side. She began to go down by the bow and then to list to her port, side. Officers began to shout orders for all hands to abandon ship. By the hundreds they jumped into the ink-black, midnight sea, taking their burned and wounded shipmates with them. According to the survivors, Indianapolis rolled completely over to port and went rapidly down bow first, taking many sailors with her to a watery grave

In the 12 minutes it took the Indianapolis to go down, few boats or life rafts had been lowered, and many sailors hadn't even had time to grab a lifejacket. About nine hundred men, were left drifting in groups in the huge expanse of the Pacific Ocean. The nearest island was over 300 miles away. A few of those in the water were able to reach a raft or debris from the ship to cling to. Just as many, however, had neither raft nor life jacket and were forced to continually tread water to survive, finding relief only when a life jacket became available through the death of a shipmate. And beneath the waves, another danger was lurking. Drawn by the carnage of the sinking, hundreds of sharks from miles around headed towards the survivors. The sharks began attacking when the sun rose and continued their assault throughout the ordeal.

Huge sharks, up to 15 ft. initially fed off the dead bodies. But soon they came for the living, too. Some of the men would pound the water, kick and yell when the sharks attacked. Most decided that sticking together in a group was their best defence. But with each attack, the clouds of blood in the water, the screaming, the splashing, more sharks would come. In the clear water the men could see the sharks circling. Then, in a lightning strike, one would come straight up and take a sailor and take him straight down.

Due to the rapidity of the ship's sinking, life rafts which were designed to float free of the ship, failed to do so. Fuel oil from the ships ruptured tanks coated the sea and the men, making most violently ill. When the sun rose on that first day, there was reason for optimism. After all, the crew knew they were due to join up with USS Idaho the next day for gunnery practice. Surely they'd be missed and search missions would immediately be mounted. However, such was not the case, and for the next four and a half days, the men of the Indianapolis would know terror, thirst, hunger and despair on a massive scale. Many would give up the struggle and slip quietly beneath the sea, never to be seen again by their shipmates. Some prayed, some cursed. It would be the quintessential struggle of man against nature.

One by one sharks began to pick-off the men on the outer perimeter of the clustered groups. Agonizing screams filled the air day and night. Blood mixed with the fuel oil. The survivors say the sharks were always there by the hundreds swimming just below their dangling feet. It was a terror filled ordeal, never knowing if you'd be the next victim. By the third day, lack of water and food combined with the unrelenting terror began to take its effect on the mental stability of the men. Many that had taken in sea water began to hallucinate, become delirious and slowly go mad. Imagining secret islands just over the horizon, or that they were in contact with friendly submarines coming to the rescue. Fights broke out and hope faded. By Wednesday evening, the third day, survivors estimate that only four hundred or so were still alive, the dead littered the surface of the sea.

The sharks, though, were not the only killer. Under the scorching sun, day after day, without any food or water, men were dying from exposure or dehydration. Their lifejackets waterlogged, many became exhausted and drowned. When it got dark they would get so cold, their teeth would chatter. Struggling to stay alive, desperate for fresh water, terrorised by sharks. As each day and each night passed, more men died.

As the ship was operating on a secret mission, no notification had been sent to Leyte from Pacific H.Q alerting them that Indianapolis was en route. As a result, it was not reported as overdue. Though three SOS messages were sent before the ship sank, they were not acted on for various reasons. For the next four days, Indianapolis' surviving crew endured dehydration, starvation, exposure, and terrifying shark attacks.

At 10 25 hours, Thursday morning, 24 year old Lieutenant Chuck Gwinn, piloting his Lockheed Navy Ventura PV-1 bomber based on the island of Palau, about 300 miles south of the location where Indianapolis went down, was on a routine antisubmarine patrol. It was his second flight of the day; earlier, having returned to base for maintenance. On that second patrol, Gwinn was in the rear of the plane working with his crew. He was leaning out of the plane, when he chanced to glance down at the ocean, and changed the fate of three hundred and seventeen men. Gwinn had spotted a huge oil slick. Thinking the large oil slick indicated that an enemy sub had just submerged beneath his plane, he dropped down several hundred feet for a depth charge run. The bomb bay doors were opened, ready to drop depth charges on the suspected enemy sub. Gwinn glanced out the window just as he was about to release his depth charges, and there, spread out over the ocean, were hundreds of delirious men waving to get his attention. Immediately Gwinn regained altitude and radioed his base at Palau. "Many men in the water." and gave his latitude and longitude. He orbited the location answering questions from Palau. Some hours were wasted in getting through to the bureaucracy, they had at first refused to believe him.

Initially, the men thought they'd been missed by the plane flying over. Then, just before sunset a large seaplane suddenly appeared, changed direction and flew over the group. Then, some three hours after Gwinn's first report, a Catalina PBY flying boat was eventually dispatched. At her controls, a 28 year old Navy pilot from Frankfort, Indiana named R. Adrian Marks. En route to the location reported by Gwinn, Lt. Marks overflew the USS Cecil Doyle, whose skipper was a close friend. Marks informed the skipper of his mission. On his own initiative, the Doyle's captain, Graham Claytor, disobeyed orders to proceed to Leyte Gulf in order to lend assistance. At this point, his fuel state near critical, Gwinn headed for his home base, little knowing the part fate had played in his life or the lives of three hundred and seventeen American sailors and marines. Arriving at the survivors' location, Marks dropped to about 100 feet above the surface of the sea while his crew began dropping rafts, and supplies. While this was happening, his crew informed him they could see men being attacked and eaten alive by sharks! Upon seeing these men under shark attack the crew voted to abandon standing orders prohibiting landing in open seas. This act of humanity is all the more remarkable when you realize Marks and his crew had no idea who these sailors might be; English, Aussies, Japanese or American.

Marks landed the PBY. (Years later Marks related he knew the day might come when he'd be forced to make an open sea landing, so he had planned for the eventuality. On that day he would put his theory into practice). In a daring manoeuvre, he landed between swells. Although many hull rivets popped out from the force of the landing, his PBY made it! He taxied his plane as close as he could to the first large group of men and immediately began taking survivors aboard. Some nearby survivors were so weakened by their ordeal, that when they slipped out of their life jackets, they drowned while attempting to swim to the plane. Learning the men were from Indianapolis, a thoroughly shaken Marks, frantically, and now in plain English, repeatedly radioed for help. The Cecil Doyle replied she was on the way. When the PBY's fuselage was full, the crew carried men onto the wings. All night long, Marks and his crew fought to get as many men as possible out of the shark infested sea. The wings' fabric covering was soon filled with holes, and covered with survivors, tied in place with parachute cord. Adrian Marks and his gallant and courageous flight crew saved fifty six men that day. A record that has never been equalled for a sea plane of that size since!

Navy ships raced to the scene and began looking for the groups of sailors dotted around the ocean. Nearby ships rushed to the scene and began to pluck the sailors out of the water. A tally made at the completion of the rescue revealed that only three hundred and seventeen sailors of the original estimated nine hundred who escaped the sinking ship survived their ordeal.

Responding to Marks' calls for help, the destroyers, Cecil Doyle, (DE-368), Talbot, (DD-390) , and Dufilho, (DE-423), converged on the scene. The Auxiliary Ships Ringness, (APD-100) Bassett, (APD73), and Register, (APD-92) also came to the rescue of the remaining Indianapolis crew. By morning Lieutenant Marks’ PB-Y was a floating hulk, and in no position to fly. The Cecil Doyle came along side and took off the rescued survivors. Marks stripped the plane of all instruments and secret gear, and transferred himself and his crew to the Doyle. He then requested her skipper to destroy his plane by gunfire, lest if fall into enemy hands. The Doyle trained her guns on the PB-Y's port side and successfully destroyed the plane.

Marine Detachments aboard U.S. Navy capital ships has been a tradition since the founding of the U.S. Navy. There were thirty nine marines aboard Indianapolis when she went down. Marine Detachments are the spearhead of the Ship's Landing party, the first ashore, the first to fight and die if necessity calls for it. Marine Detachments are the armed ‘muscle’ of the ship's Boarding Party, should the opportunity for boarding an enemy vessel present itself. They operate the Ship's Brig, and man several of the ship's weapons systems. They work and live side by side with the officers and sailors of the Ship's Company. They literally fight and die together. It was no less true aboard Indianapolis.

Of the thirty nine Marines aboard, only nine survived the Indianapolis sinking and the subsequent ordeal. Captain McVay recommended the Navy Cross, (posthumously), for Captain Edward L. Parke, USMC, and the Commanding Officer of the Indianapolis' Marine Detachment. Writing of Captain Parke, Captain McVay's recommendation read in part,"... For extraordinary heroism in rescuing and organizing a large group of men following the sinking of the USS Indianapolis... Finally collapsing himself from exhaustion. His unselfish conduct in the face of the greatest personal danger was outstanding and in keeping with the highest tradition of the Naval Service”. Following medical treatment on Guam, the three hundred and seventeen weary, but deliriously happy, survivors were returned to the US aboard the escort carrier, Hollandia, (CVU-97).

The Indianapolis was a very high profile ship, owing to her pre-war fame and her wartime service as the Flagship of Admirals Spruance and Halsey. Being the centre of attention in the Pacific; the media of the day, radio and press all strove to get reporters aboard Indianapolis to record the news. Young men just out of Annapolis all wanted to be assigned to Indianapolis. That's where the ‘action’ was, and consequently enhanced chances for recognition and promotion. Politically influential fathers pulled strings to get their sons assigned to the Indianapolis. When the ship was lost, these same influential families began to pressure the navy about the loss of their sons. The navy reacted badly. Admiral Earnest King then the Chief of Naval Operations ordered a Court Marshal for Captain Charles B. McVay.

The captain of the Indianapolis was among the survivors plucked from the sea. But Captain McVay's ordeal didn't end there. Looking for a scapegoat, the US Navy placed responsibility for the disaster on Captain McVay. He was accused of having made an error of judgment when he told the officer on watch that he could stop zigzagging, thus making the Indianapolis an easier target for the I-58. At McVay's trial, even the Japanese Captain Hashimoto was called to testify and stated that an evasive course would have made no difference.

On 19th December 1945 Charles Butler McVay III was found guilty of the specification of the first charge; hazarding his vessel by failing to zigzag. He was found innocent of the second specification; failing to sound a timely order to abandon ship. McVay's punishment was to be dropped 100 points on the promotions list. Effectively ending what had been by all accounts an absolutely brilliant naval career.

Following the proceedings, an unprecedented thing happened. Almost to a man, the officers sitting in judgment signed a petition asking the court to set aside the verdict in light of McVay's record. As Admiral King had retired in the interim, it fell to ADM Chester Nimitz to grant the petition of the court, and he set aside the punishment. He could not set aside the fact of the conviction. Admiral Nimitz restored Captain McVay to duty and posted him as commandant of the New Orleans Naval district where he was promoted to Rear Admiral, where he finished his career and retired.

Tragedy continued to stalk McVay even in retirement. What could only be termed ‘hate mail’ was constantly sent onto his home; he was the recipient of emotionally charged phone calls from parents and loved ones of those who lost their lives in the tragedy of the Indianapolis. His wife contracted cancer and passed away within a few short years of their move to a new home in Litchfield Connecticut. Eventually the weight of loneliness and calumnious phone calls and mail took its toll on the man.

In the fall of 1968 Charles Butler McVay III, last Captain of the USS Indianapolis (CA-35) , stepped out on his front stoop, and using his navy issued service revolver, took his own life. The Indianapolis had claimed her final victim.

Laid down on 31st March, 1930, USS Indianapolis (CA-35) was the second of two Portland-class built by the US Navy. An improved version of the earlier Northampton-class, the Portlands were slightly heavier and mounted a larger number of 5-inch guns. Built at Camden, New Jersey, Indianapolis was launched on 7th November, 1931. Commissioned at the Philadelphia Navy Yard the following November, Indianapolis departed for its shakedown cruise in the Atlantic and Caribbean. Returning in February 1932, the cruiser underwent a minor refit before sailing to Maine.

After participating in a number of fleet training exercises, Indianapolis embarked President Roosevelt for a ‘Good Neighbor’ tour of South America in November 1936. Arriving home, the cruiser was dispatched to the West Coast for service with the US Pacific Fleet.

A solitary B-29, The Enola Gay, (A Boeing, super fortress four-engined, high altitude heavy bomber), a single bomb in its bomb-bay, headed for Hiroshima, Japan. Also aboard, were several of the 'brass' Indianapolis had transported from Mare Island to Tinian. These men actually armed the bomb en route to Hiroshima. History records the flight of the Enola Gay, and the end of conventional war as mankind had understood it. Aboard the Enola Gay was one of the atomic bombs delivered by Indianapolis destined to be dropped on Hiroshima. The Enola Gay, was named in honour of his mother by its pilot, U.S. Army Air Force Colonel Paul W. Tibbets. Even though the Indianapolis had been sunk on 30th July 1945, the navy did not release the news to the press until 15th August. The day Japan surrendered. News of the surrender all but overshadowed the loss of Indianapolis.