Authors: Doug Stanton
In Harm's Way: The Sinking of the U.S.S. Indianapolis and the Extraordinary Story of Its Survivors (20 page)
BOOK: In Harm's Way: The Sinking of the U.S.S. Indianapolis and the Extraordinary Story of Its Survivors
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The radioman announced that he had, in fact, just gotten a reading. Now Gwinn had a position to report. He was in business. He then sent a second message. More urgent than the first he had sent an hour and twenty minutes earlier, it read: SEND RESCUE SHIP 11-54 N 133-47 E 150 SURVIVORS IN LIFEBOAT AND JACKETS.
With this new message, the otherwise normal day back at the Peleliu search and recon command suddenly unraveled.
The chaos quickly spread throughout the Philippine Sea Frontier, and finally to the Marianas command in Guam.
The chaos quickly spread throughout the Philippine Sea Frontier, and finally to the Marianas command in Guam.
The search and recon unit had already responded to the first message, thanks to the quick thinking of one of its officers, Lieutenant Commander George Atteberry, Gwinn’s superior officer. At 12:05 P. M ., when Atteberry had received Gwinn’s message, he thought his pilot had stumbled upon the survivors of a plane wreck. He knew he had to act quickly. Worried for Gwinn’s safety, Atteberry quickly calculated that the pilot had enough fuel for another four hours of flight before he would be forced to turn around and head back to Peleliu. Atteberry wanted to make sure, therefore, that the survivors we recovered by some kind of air support after Gwinn’s departure.
And so he decisively took matters into his own hands. From his Quonset hut office he called across the island to the duty station handling the dispatch and command of a squadron of amphibious planes called PBY-5As, or Catalinas. These planes were designed with floats to land on water, and their crews specialized in locating survivors of ship and air disasters. Atteberry informed the duty officer that he wanted a Catalina to leave immediately in order to relieve Gwinn by 3:30 P.M. But the duty officer wanted official confirmation of the spotting of survivors. Unfortunately, there was none; no commanding officers above Atteberry’s rank of lieutenant commander knew about the accident yet. Events had unfolded so quickly that Atteberry had not had time to transmit a message to Vice Admiral Murray, commander of the Marianas, in Guam, whose jurisdiction included the area in which the survivors were drifting.
Frustrated, Atteberry hung up and decided to drive over to the duty station and hash it out in person. Once there, however, he realized that the duty officer would never be able to get a Catalina rescue plane up in time to meet Gwinn’s turnaround time. He quickly drove back to his office
and ordered up a Ventura bomber from his own squadron. The plane was fueled, and Atteberry and a crew of four lifted off the island.
and ordered up a Ventura bomber from his own squadron. The plane was fueled, and Atteberry and a crew of four lifted off the island.
The time was 12:44.
A minute later, Gwinn’s second, more urgent message requesting that a rescue ship be dispatched to his search area arrived at Atteberry’s command on Peleliu. Because he was in the air, Atteberry did not intercept this transmission, but he would be arriving at the rescue scene in an hour and a half in any case.
Two important people did receive it, however, and it immediately swung the effort into hyperdrive. One of the largest sea rescues in the history of the U. S. Navy was under way.
25
25
First to receive the message was the surface operations officer for the Philippine Sea Frontier, Captain Alfred Granum. He was surprised to hear news of so many downed soldiers or sailors. He had no idea to what command they belonged—he had no knowledge of any ship under the Philippine Sea Frontier jurisdiction that was overdue. It was his superior officer, Commodore Norman Gillette, the acting commander of the Philippine Sea Frontier, who three days earlier had received notice of an SOS from the
Indy
and then had ostensibly recalled the tugboats dispatched to the sinking site.
Indy
and then had ostensibly recalled the tugboats dispatched to the sinking site.
Curious, and more than a little concerned, Granum called down to Lieutenant Stewart Gibson, the port director operations officer at Tacloban. (Gibson, two days earlier, acting per the navy directive 10CL-45, had ignored the
Indy
’s nonarrival in Leyte.) Granum then contacted Lieutenant William A. Green, the officer in the Philippine Sea Frontier
command at Tolosa, who that morning had requested permission from Granum’s office to remove the
Indy
from the Tolosa plotting board. Granum instructed Green to leave it exactly where it stood on the board; they had received reports that there were men in the water.
Indy
’s nonarrival in Leyte.) Granum then contacted Lieutenant William A. Green, the officer in the Philippine Sea Frontier
command at Tolosa, who that morning had requested permission from Granum’s office to remove the
Indy
from the Tolosa plotting board. Granum instructed Green to leave it exactly where it stood on the board; they had received reports that there were men in the water.
The second crucial person to receive Gwinn’s second message was Vice Admiral Murray on Guam. Less than fifteen minutes later, he sent a dispatch to the command on the western Carolines—the island chain to which Peleliu belonged—that read: ORDER 2 DESTROYERS AT BEST SPEED … RESCUE 150 SURVIVORS IN LIFEBOATS. Murray, under whose jurisdiction the chilling prospect of rescue rested, was taking no chances. He had heeded Gwinn’s message and done what the lone pilot had requested Two ships would soon be rushing to the boys in the water.
As the rescue effort heated up on Guam, a navy PBM-5, an amphibious transport plane, was flying patrol from Saipan to Samar when, through a break in the cloud cover, the crew noticed a brilliant flash, as if re flected off a large bronze mirror. Looking down, they saw a large oil slick glinting below them. Radar reported another plane in the area, which they determined was friendly It was, in fact, Gwinn and his crew.
The PBM-5 emerged from the clouds, and the crew began dropping all of their survival gear, including their own life jackets and rafts. They reported large and small groups with sharks all around the perimeter. When they had nothing left to drop, they regained altitude and radioed Saipan and Leyte requesting permission to put down and pick up survivors. The request was denied.
Lieutenant Commander George Atteberry, in his Ventura bomber, call-named
Gambler Leader
, arrived at the wreckage
site at 2:15 P.M., quickly joining Gwinn, who was glad for the company. He led Atteberry on a half-hour tour of the area, about a twenty-mile-wide stretch of ocean. Now they had to wait for a ship to pick up the boys, trying to reassure them in the meantime by continuing to circle overhead. By this point, Gwinn was definitely running out of fuel; Atteberry was forced to send him back to Peleliu. Gwinn, who had spent an emotional four hours circling the frantic boys in the water, was shaky and worried as he headed back to his base.
Gambler Leader
, arrived at the wreckage
site at 2:15 P.M., quickly joining Gwinn, who was glad for the company. He led Atteberry on a half-hour tour of the area, about a twenty-mile-wide stretch of ocean. Now they had to wait for a ship to pick up the boys, trying to reassure them in the meantime by continuing to circle overhead. By this point, Gwinn was definitely running out of fuel; Atteberry was forced to send him back to Peleliu. Gwinn, who had spent an emotional four hours circling the frantic boys in the water, was shaky and worried as he headed back to his base.
Atteberry had patrolled the area alone for a half hour when, to his surprise, the call numbers of another plane came over the radio. The plane belonged to Lieutenant Adrian Marks, a tall, slim, twenty-eight-year-old lawyer from Indiana who had been a navy flier and instructor for three years. Marks was part of the Catalina squadron that Atteberry had tried to raise two hours earlier back in Peleliu. Marks had been hunkered down in a sweltering Quonset hut, trying to decipher what appeared to be a garbled radio message. It read, in part: “Am circling life rafts.” It was from Gwinn, and upon reading it, Marks had jumped into action. He thought maybe a carrier pilot had been forced to ditch in the open sea.
Marks went immediately to the Catalinas’ HQ. He had just missed Atteberry but found out that he had been looking for a plane. Marks knew that the standby plane was already out on a mission. If he left, there would be no planes available to be dispatched in case of an emergency. He weighed the decision, decided this
was
an emergency, and fueled up his plane, the
Playmate
2. He and his crew of nine aviators, including one copilot, two radiomen, and two bombardiers, loaded the mammoth plane with life rafts, parachute flares, dye markers, and shipwreck kits containing water and rations. Bigger than Atteberry’s Ventura bomber, the PBY-5A Catalina, known as a “Dumbo,” was a two-engine, high-wing plane built for hunting subs
and landing in smooth water to pick up downed pilots. Landing in the rolling open ocean would be dicey, to say the least.
was
an emergency, and fueled up his plane, the
Playmate
2. He and his crew of nine aviators, including one copilot, two radiomen, and two bombardiers, loaded the mammoth plane with life rafts, parachute flares, dye markers, and shipwreck kits containing water and rations. Bigger than Atteberry’s Ventura bomber, the PBY-5A Catalina, known as a “Dumbo,” was a two-engine, high-wing plane built for hunting subs
and landing in smooth water to pick up downed pilots. Landing in the rolling open ocean would be dicey, to say the least.
At 12:42, Marks had taken off from Peleliu, following the coordinates Gwinn had radioed from the wreckage sight. During the three-hour, 280-mile flight, a call came over his radio from one of the ships, a destroyer escort named the USS
Cecil J. Doyle
on patrol north of the Palau Islands. Its captain, Graham Claytor, asked after Marks’s mission. Upon discovering that Claytor had received no dispatch about the men in the ocean, Marks gave him the news.
Cecil J. Doyle
on patrol north of the Palau Islands. Its captain, Graham Claytor, asked after Marks’s mission. Upon discovering that Claytor had received no dispatch about the men in the ocean, Marks gave him the news.
As luck would have it, Claytor, about 200 miles from the
Indy
’s crew, decided to turn his ship around. He began steaming south at twenty-two and a half knots. Claytor did this without first radioing his command at Peleliu or asking for orders, a strict violation of his duties as a captain. He was, however, a confident man, with a distinguished record A lawyer in civilian life, he had been president of the Harvard Law Review and clerk to Supreme Court justice Louis Brandeis before entering the navy in 1942. He was a man used to thinking for himself. At 2:35 P.M., he made contact with Atteberry. He informed him that he would be traveling at the best possible speed, but put his ETA at no earlier than sometime after midnight.
Indy
’s crew, decided to turn his ship around. He began steaming south at twenty-two and a half knots. Claytor did this without first radioing his command at Peleliu or asking for orders, a strict violation of his duties as a captain. He was, however, a confident man, with a distinguished record A lawyer in civilian life, he had been president of the Harvard Law Review and clerk to Supreme Court justice Louis Brandeis before entering the navy in 1942. He was a man used to thinking for himself. At 2:35 P.M., he made contact with Atteberry. He informed him that he would be traveling at the best possible speed, but put his ETA at no earlier than sometime after midnight.
Meanwhile, CINCPAC, the naval command in Manila, began radioing all ships: BREAK RADIO SILENCE X REPORT YOUR POSITION. The purpose of this dispatch was to determine which ships were at large in the Philippine Sea. As the responses began flooding into HQ, the
Indy
’s was noticeably absent.
Indy
’s was noticeably absent.
Then, in the midafternoon, the Philippine Sea Frontier, under Commodore Gillette’s command, finally got into the act. Having discovered that there were not just one but three ships overdue at Leyte, it sent this feeler out over the airwaves to the Marianas command at Guam: INDIANAPOLIS (CA 35) HAS NOT ARRIVED LEYTE X ADVISE.
Guam responded: INDIANAPOLIS (CA 35) DEPARTED GUAM 2300Z 27 JULY IN ACCORDANCE OUR 280032Z OF JULY XXX.
26
26
This was unwelcome news for the Frontier. Captain Granum, the operations officer, aware that the
Indy
had been scheduled to meet Admiral McCormick at Leyte for gunnery practice, sent an urgent cable: HAS THE INDIANAPOLIS REPORTED TO YOU?
Indy
had been scheduled to meet Admiral McCormick at Leyte for gunnery practice, sent an urgent cable: HAS THE INDIANAPOLIS REPORTED TO YOU?
Rear Admiral McCormick had just returned to his anchorage in San Pedro Bay after finishing the training tour off the Leyte coast—maneuvers in which the
Indy
should have participated. When asked by Granum if the
Indy
had reported to him, McCormick cabled back a chilling one-word reply: NEGATIVE.
Indy
should have participated. When asked by Granum if the
Indy
had reported to him, McCormick cabled back a chilling one-word reply: NEGATIVE.
Lieutenant Adrian Marks reached the scene of the survivors at 3:20 P.M., and what he found astounded him. Lieutenant Atteberry informed Marks that there were a great many people scattered over a wide area. He said not to drop any lifesaving equipment until he had made a full tour, which Marks quickly did. Both pilots then decided (as had Gwinn earlier) to steer away from the people clinging to rafts and to concentrate on those held up solely by vests. Thirty minutes after he arrived, Marks began bombing the boys with his provisions.
At about the same time, the destroyers
Ralph Talbot
(DD 390) and
Madison
(DD 425) received orders to cut short their patrols near the island of Ulithi and head directly to the rescue site. Their ETA: twelve hours from the present; sometime early Friday morning.
Ralph Talbot
(DD 390) and
Madison
(DD 425) received orders to cut short their patrols near the island of Ulithi and head directly to the rescue site. Their ETA: twelve hours from the present; sometime early Friday morning.
Marks knew the situation was dire. From his recon altitude of a mere 25 feet, he had a clear view to the deep green sea and the hundreds of sharks circling the men. Night, which he knew was the sharks’ normal feeding period, was approaching.
27
One of Marks’s crewmen watched as a shark attacked one of the men and dragged him under. As Marks himself witnessed more attacks, his anxiety grew. It looked to him as if the survivors were so weak they couldn’t even begin to fight back.
27
One of Marks’s crewmen watched as a shark attacked one of the men and dragged him under. As Marks himself witnessed more attacks, his anxiety grew. It looked to him as if the survivors were so weak they couldn’t even begin to fight back.
Speed was clearly of the essence. Marks skipped the usual communication protocol, sending an uncoded message back to Peleliu: BETWEEN 100 AND 200 SURVIVORS AT POSITION REPORTED X NEED ALL SURVIVAL EQUIPMENT AVAILABLE WHILE DAYLIGHT HOLDS X SURVIVORS MANY WITHOUT RAFTS … .
In the same message, Marks announced a bold decision: WILL ATTEMPT OPEN SEA LANDING. He had never tried to land in the open sea before; all previous attempts by members of his squadron had ended in disaster. In fact, his squadron was now under standing orders that prohibited making them.
A few minutes later, he yelled into his crew’s headsets, checking to make sure they agreed with his decision to attempt a landing. They gave him the thumbs-up. The team was going in. He cut the throttle, dramatically lifting the nose of the lumbering Catalina and setting her down in a power stall. Hitting the top of one wave, the
Playmate
2 was knocked back skyward fifteen feet. Then it came down even harder. At any moment, the plane could blow apart. On the third huge blow she settled down like a hen
over an egg, her seams and rivets popping and seawater streaming in. Marks’s crew shoved cotton and pencils into the holes in the metal skin of the plane. The radio compartment, located midplane, was taking on water, and the radioman began bailing immediately, starting a pace that would keep all the crew busy at a rate of ten to twelve buckets an hour. The propellers were still spinning, and it was essential that they didn’t dig into the sea, or they would flip the plane.
Playmate
2 was knocked back skyward fifteen feet. Then it came down even harder. At any moment, the plane could blow apart. On the third huge blow she settled down like a hen
over an egg, her seams and rivets popping and seawater streaming in. Marks’s crew shoved cotton and pencils into the holes in the metal skin of the plane. The radio compartment, located midplane, was taking on water, and the radioman began bailing immediately, starting a pace that would keep all the crew busy at a rate of ten to twelve buckets an hour. The propellers were still spinning, and it was essential that they didn’t dig into the sea, or they would flip the plane.
Marks’s copilot, Ensign Irving Lefkovitz, moved to the side hatch and began preparing for rescue. Marks himself had no idea where to steer the plane; the whole craft pitched up and down as if on a carnival ride surrounded by rising and falling walls of water. Circling above, Atteberry became Marks’s eyes in the fading twilight. The race was on to collect as many of the survivors as possible before total darkness consumed them all.
Marks had landed among the group led by Dr. Haynes. Their numbers had dwindled from the previous day’s 110 to about 95, the group having lost at least 5 more boys this afternoon. All of them were yelling at the plane, beckoning the pilot to come closer. Marks gunned the twin engines throbbing atop the high wings and powered the Dumbo through the seas, searching out those near death. It was tricky. The normal taxiing speed of the
Playmate 2
was thirty-five miles per hour, too fast to pick up any men. Marks hit upon a solution: as he gunned the motors, another crew member raised and lowered the landing gear, using them as brakes. It worked.
Playmate 2
was thirty-five miles per hour, too fast to pick up any men. Marks hit upon a solution: as he gunned the motors, another crew member raised and lowered the landing gear, using them as brakes. It worked.
BOOK: In Harm's Way: The Sinking of the U.S.S. Indianapolis and the Extraordinary Story of Its Survivors
3.58Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads
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