In Harm's Way: The Sinking of the U.S.S. Indianapolis and the Extraordinary Story of Its Survivors (5 page)
Authors: Doug Stanton
BOOK: In Harm's Way: The Sinking of the U.S.S. Indianapolis and the Extraordinary Story of Its Survivors
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On the second day out from San Francisco, McVay ordered General Quarters, or GQ, otherwise known as battle stations. When the announcement was signaled over the PA, every man was expected to jump up from the toilet or from sleep and run to his station. This morning the crew responded admirably, beginning without delay to fire the guns in a live-ammunition drill.
The
Indy
was capable of shooting more than 500 rounds of 5-inch gun ammunition in under six minutes. If all nine barrels on the ship’s three 8-inch gun turrets were fired simultaneously, the recoil could turn the
Indy
on its side. The concussion from a single weapon had once ripped the shirt
off the back of a crew member who was standing too close. It had taken a week for his hearing to return.
Indy
was capable of shooting more than 500 rounds of 5-inch gun ammunition in under six minutes. If all nine barrels on the ship’s three 8-inch gun turrets were fired simultaneously, the recoil could turn the
Indy
on its side. The concussion from a single weapon had once ripped the shirt
off the back of a crew member who was standing too close. It had taken a week for his hearing to return.
The
Indy
carried four different kinds of guns. The big 8-inchers were capable of lobbing 250-pound shells eighteen miles, while the 5-inchers shot barrages of armor piercing shells and could take out Japanese pillboxes (gun emplacements) eight miles from shore. The 40 mm and the 20 mm deck guns were used for the close-in work of shooting at attacking Japanese planes.
Indy
carried four different kinds of guns. The big 8-inchers were capable of lobbing 250-pound shells eighteen miles, while the 5-inchers shot barrages of armor piercing shells and could take out Japanese pillboxes (gun emplacements) eight miles from shore. The 40 mm and the 20 mm deck guns were used for the close-in work of shooting at attacking Japanese planes.
The guns could be operated by tracking devices called fire-control directors located on stanchions rising high above the deck. They could also be maneuvered with eye and hand—“local control”—using a crew of as many as twenty. This included “loaders”, “levelers” and “trainers,” who moved the guns left and right and up and down by spinning large steel wheels; and “fuse-setters,” who prepared the shells—some with proximity fuses—for firing. It was a team sport.
Usually, during normal battle training, a plane was ordered to fly past the ship at a designated distance towing a sleeve, a 150-foot streamer resembling a windsock, which trailed behind on 500 yards of wire. After estimating the distance of the plane and its speed, the crews were able to sight their guns. Gun crews often aimed for the towing wire, slightly ahead of the sleeve, and often succeeded in breaking it. This was a way to halt the ordeal until a new wire was rigged. The crews usually claimed they’d just aimed badly, but got chewed out by the officers anyway. The victors—the crew with the most direct fire—did, however, win trips to the gedunk stand.
Today’s practice, which did not involve the sleeve but was a simpler shooting exercise, had a guest judge. Major Furman had torn himself away from the uranium canister long enough to officiate. Furman, who had studied gunnery at Princeton before the war, had a fairly good understanding of the process. But his colleague Captain Nolan, a radiologist
by training, was having a harder time passing himself off as an army officer. When asked the size of the guns he’d shot in the army, Nolan held up his hand, as if measuring the size of a fish, and replied, “Oh, about like this.” He seemed to have little grasp of the power of the guns that surrounded him.
by training, was having a harder time passing himself off as an army officer. When asked the size of the guns he’d shot in the army, Nolan held up his hand, as if measuring the size of a fish, and replied, “Oh, about like this.” He seemed to have little grasp of the power of the guns that surrounded him.
His less-than-experienced eye didn’t matter much this morning. The shooting was uniformly mediocre. One ensign, one of the green hands, missed every assigned range and distance.
McVay, hardly reassured, was reminded yet again of just how much work there was to do. Later that day, his tension turned to anger when a fire broke out belowdecks. His mood didn’t improve when he discovered that the blaze had been caused by some of the extra crew members, who had carelessly stacked suitcases against a smokestack.
The following day, the seas were calm. McVay’s outlook improved when he was able to push the
Indy
’s engines close to their limits, to an average speed of twenty-nine knots. The roar beneath decks in the engine rooms was like a tornado’s. The ship quaked with the violence of its spinning propellers.
Indy
’s engines close to their limits, to an average speed of twenty-nine knots. The roar beneath decks in the engine rooms was like a tornado’s. The ship quaked with the violence of its spinning propellers.
In the years following her peacetime commissioning in 1932, it seemed that the ship that Charles Butler McVay now worried over and prayed for would never see any war action. But her fate, along with many of the lives now on board, changed on December 7, 1941.
Japan, which began its all-out war against China in 1937, was expanding its colonial empire in search of needed oil deposits and metals. When President Roosevelt stopped the export of U.S. resources in 1941, Japan had a choice. Its leaders could agree to American demands that it cease expansion into the Dutch West Indies and the Philippines. Or they could declare war.
The
Indy
was delivering supplies and troops to Johnston Island, several hundred miles southwest of Pearl Harbor, when Japanese pilots bombed the Pacific Fleet on that terrible Sunday. An urgent bulletin was beamed to the
Indy;
WE ARE AT WAR WITH JAPAN—THIS is OFFICIAL. In response, the ship threw everything that was flammable—including FDR’s stateroom furniture—overboard and steamed deep into the Pacific on an unsuccessful search-and-destroy mission directed at retreating Japanese forces. She then turned her attention to bombarding Japanese troops beached in the Aleutian Islands. This was followed by duty in the 1942 Battle of the Coral Sea. For her valorous service she was awarded her first battle star, one of ten she would collect in the next four years, a laudable achievement of service.
Indy
was delivering supplies and troops to Johnston Island, several hundred miles southwest of Pearl Harbor, when Japanese pilots bombed the Pacific Fleet on that terrible Sunday. An urgent bulletin was beamed to the
Indy;
WE ARE AT WAR WITH JAPAN—THIS is OFFICIAL. In response, the ship threw everything that was flammable—including FDR’s stateroom furniture—overboard and steamed deep into the Pacific on an unsuccessful search-and-destroy mission directed at retreating Japanese forces. She then turned her attention to bombarding Japanese troops beached in the Aleutian Islands. This was followed by duty in the 1942 Battle of the Coral Sea. For her valorous service she was awarded her first battle star, one of ten she would collect in the next four years, a laudable achievement of service.
By 1942, however, as the Japanese attempted to fight their way island-to-island from Asia to Hawaii, the commander in chief of the Japanese fleet, Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto, had told his superiors that after Pearl Harbor it would have six months to “run wild” over American forces. After the U.S. victory in June at the battle of Midway, which made a hero out of spry, fifty-five-year-old Admiral Raymond Spruance—to whom the
Indy’
s fate would soon be tied—the prediction seemed to be coming true. America’s worst defeat came two months later at the battle of Savo island in the Solomons east of New Guinea. Japanese forces sank four cruisers (one Australian) and one destroyer, killing 1,270 men.
Indy’
s fate would soon be tied—the prediction seemed to be coming true. America’s worst defeat came two months later at the battle of Savo island in the Solomons east of New Guinea. Japanese forces sank four cruisers (one Australian) and one destroyer, killing 1,270 men.
By 1943, the Allied plan for defeating the Japanese had evolved into two distinct approaches: naval commander in chief Admiral Chester Nimitz (with Spruance under his command) would sail with his forces west from Pearl Harbor and meet General Douglas MacArthur’s army marching toward the invasion of the Japanese-held Philippines.
Later that year, Admiral Spruance declared the
Indy
his flagship, the command center for the enormous resources of the Fifth Fleet. Spruance liked the
Indy
’s speed, and he liked
her age. He reasoned that if his presence was needed in an emerging hot zone, she could be withdrawn from battle without disrupting the battle plan.
Indy
his flagship, the command center for the enormous resources of the Fifth Fleet. Spruance liked the
Indy
’s speed, and he liked
her age. He reasoned that if his presence was needed in an emerging hot zone, she could be withdrawn from battle without disrupting the battle plan.
Over the course of the next two years, the
Indy
saw vicious fighting. At Tarawa, in November 1943, her crew spent long hourspulling the dead bodies of American troops aboard with boat hooks but suffered no casualties of their own. During the Battle of the Philippine Sea in June 1944, the
Indy
, as the Fifth Fleet’s flagship, played a major role; in all, U.S. forces “splashed”—or downed—410 Japanese planes during this battle.)
Indy
saw vicious fighting. At Tarawa, in November 1943, her crew spent long hourspulling the dead bodies of American troops aboard with boat hooks but suffered no casualties of their own. During the Battle of the Philippine Sea in June 1944, the
Indy
, as the Fifth Fleet’s flagship, played a major role; in all, U.S. forces “splashed”—or downed—410 Japanese planes during this battle.)
The
Indy
continued to be a very lucky ship, emerging as one of the navy’s most proficient fighting machines. She evaded submarine attack (with help from accompanying destroyers), enemy battleship bombardment, and onshore fire. (She was once hit by a shore-launched shell but it failed to explode.) By the time Captain McVay took command in November 1944, the USS
Indianapolis
had earned eight battle stars. McVay took the ship to even greater heights of valor, as the war reached a feverish, homicidal pitch.
Indy
continued to be a very lucky ship, emerging as one of the navy’s most proficient fighting machines. She evaded submarine attack (with help from accompanying destroyers), enemy battleship bombardment, and onshore fire. (She was once hit by a shore-launched shell but it failed to explode.) By the time Captain McVay took command in November 1944, the USS
Indianapolis
had earned eight battle stars. McVay took the ship to even greater heights of valor, as the war reached a feverish, homicidal pitch.
In contrast to the war in Europe, where even the Nazis observed cease-fires and flags of truce, the Pacific campaign had taken on a surreal quality. Japanese soldiers disemboweled themselves at the sight of approaching marines rather than be captured. This sense of desperation only increased as the U.S. invasion of the Japanese islands of Kyushu and its close neighbor, Honshu (where the capital of Tokyo is located), neared.
Dr. Lewis Haynes came aboard the
Indy
in July 1944, and he immediately found a home where he could hone his medical skill. He had joined the navy in peacetime, in 1939, after finishing his medical schooling at Northwestern University.
As a boy growing up in northern Michigan, he had watched his father practice dentistry and decided he wanted to be a surgeon.
Indy
in July 1944, and he immediately found a home where he could hone his medical skill. He had joined the navy in peacetime, in 1939, after finishing his medical schooling at Northwestern University.
As a boy growing up in northern Michigan, he had watched his father practice dentistry and decided he wanted to be a surgeon.
In high school, Haynes held the state record for the 440-yard dash, and he loved to hunt grouse and fish for brook trout along the Manistee River. Michigan was wild country, and he knew it well. But when he joined the navy, he was rarely on land anymore, and to his surprise he found that he loved ship life, treasuring the camaraderie that developed among officers. Under Captain McVay, the
Indy
was more than the sum of its firepower and speed; it was a friendly city of more than 1,000 sailors. And Haynes watched herd over these boys.
Indy
was more than the sum of its firepower and speed; it was a friendly city of more than 1,000 sailors. And Haynes watched herd over these boys.
The doctor had an innocent fascination with the latest shipboard gossip—what sailors called “the poop.” Every week, in the officers’ wardroom—reminiscent of a sparse hotel lobby, complete with magazines (usually outdated), and a worn leather couch—Haynes and his fellow officers roasted one another, attempting good-naturedly to add levity to the grim business of war. The officers at the dinner table, pushing away their dessert plates of lemon pie or ice cream, took pleasure in addressing the sharp-witted doctor as “Dr. Seezall Tellzall.”
But duty came before play for Haynes. He loved losing himself in his work. When he concentrated during surgery, the blood and screams in the operating room faded. He was no longer surrounded by boys exploded to pieces. Facing him, instead, were challenges that engaged and absorbed, and which he prayed his medical training could conquer. By February of 1945, as the horrors of the war multiplied, Haynes’s talents—and his capacity to distance himself—were sorely tested.
He was on alert when the USS
Indianapolis
sailed with Admiral Spruance into the Battle of Iwo Jima on February 19, 1945—D-Day on the island. Their objective was the bombardment of the 21,000 Japanese dug deep into the coral
tunnels braiding the volcanic island. Down in the
Indy
’s sick bay, the physician cared for the wounded men continually hoisted aboard from landing craft trafficking back and forth from the beach. His surgical theater contained four operating tables and was supplied with anesthetics including drop-ether and Novocain for spinals and locals. He used the latest cutting instruments, sterilized by autoclave. It was all operated by an auxiliary generator in case the ship suffered main-power loss, and it was also the only compartment in the ship that was air-conditioned.
Indianapolis
sailed with Admiral Spruance into the Battle of Iwo Jima on February 19, 1945—D-Day on the island. Their objective was the bombardment of the 21,000 Japanese dug deep into the coral
tunnels braiding the volcanic island. Down in the
Indy
’s sick bay, the physician cared for the wounded men continually hoisted aboard from landing craft trafficking back and forth from the beach. His surgical theater contained four operating tables and was supplied with anesthetics including drop-ether and Novocain for spinals and locals. He used the latest cutting instruments, sterilized by autoclave. It was all operated by an auxiliary generator in case the ship suffered main-power loss, and it was also the only compartment in the ship that was air-conditioned.
In less than three months, B-29 Superfortress bombers would have leveled fifty-six square miles of Tokyo and countless other cities—Osaka, Kawasaki, and Yokohama. Light, wooden Japanese dwellings would be destroyed in the firestorms, and by July 1945, all but 200,000 of Tokyo’s 8 million residents forced to abandon the capital. Even now, as the Japanese struggled fiercely to maintain control of Iwo Jima, it was becoming increasingly clear that Japan’s war machinery was literally running on fumes. Out of desperation, and lacking sufficient aircraft and adequately trained pilots with which to battle the well-equipped U.S. aircraft carriers, the Japanese command created the kamikaze pilot. It named their suicide planes “divine wind.”
2
2
While Haynes worked nonstop through this storm of lead and diving planes, the
Indianapolis
managed to survive untouched.
Indianapolis
managed to survive untouched.
During the buildup to the invasion of Okinawa the following month, the war had grown even more desperate, and Private Giles McCoy’s thoughts turned increasingly toward home. Born in the old river city of St. Louis, Missouri, McCoy had been just a freshman in high school when the Japanese navy attacked Pearl Harbor. He had heard the news booming from his father’s radio in his living room. McCoy had wanted to enlist immediately after graduation, but because he was only seventeen, he wasn’t eligible without a parent’s signature. (The standard age of induction was eighteen.) His mother reluctantly signed for him.
His mother was his best friend and confidante, a woman who could beat him at wiffle ball and Ping-Pong. She liked to laugh at silly things. She would roll a napkin into a ball and try to toss it into a glass on the kitchen counter. While McCoy’s sisters did their homework and his father read the newspaper, she would close the kitchen door, hand him the napkin, and say, “All right, son, let’s see how good you are tonight.” They could play that game for hours.
Tatie McCoy was full of life and pithy sayings. Early on, she gave McCoy a piece of advice he had never forgotten. “Just because I brought you into this world,” she told him, “doesn’t mean anything’s going to be easy. You’ll have to work for everything you get.” He credited her words with getting him through Okinawa.
Okinawa was Japan’s Alamo, the only island standing between American forces and the final assault on Tokyo. Called Operation Iceberg, the U.S. attack on Okinawa was equal in scope to the invasion of Normandy one year earlier. The
New York Times
would call this siege, the final naval battle of World War II, the “most intense and famous in military history.” In total, the Japanese launched nearly 2,000 kamikaze planes at a fleet of 1,500 American ships—the most powerful armada ever amassed. The pilots, often
dressed in ceremonial robes and clutching dolls given to them by their daughters, were relentless—the sky rained suicide planes (each attack averaged 150 kamikazes). Watching in awe as they spiraled out of the sky through rising fountains of lead and shrapnel, McCoy felt both his hatred and respect for the Japanese increase exponentially.
New York Times
would call this siege, the final naval battle of World War II, the “most intense and famous in military history.” In total, the Japanese launched nearly 2,000 kamikaze planes at a fleet of 1,500 American ships—the most powerful armada ever amassed. The pilots, often
dressed in ceremonial robes and clutching dolls given to them by their daughters, were relentless—the sky rained suicide planes (each attack averaged 150 kamikazes). Watching in awe as they spiraled out of the sky through rising fountains of lead and shrapnel, McCoy felt both his hatred and respect for the Japanese increase exponentially.
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