Authors: Doug Stanton
In Harm's Way: The Sinking of the U.S.S. Indianapolis and the Extraordinary Story of Its Survivors (7 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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McVay exchanged pleasantries with one of the convoy routing officers under the command of Lieutenant Joseph Waldron. In the past ten months, the office had routed an estimated 5,000 ships, a heady pace under any circumstances. Routing orders, a ship’s road map, directed her along specific, approved ocean routes. McVay’s seemed simple enough. He told the officer that he wanted to arrive off Leyte in the dawn hours to practice anti-aircraft firing. (Low-light conditions would make it easier to see the tracer rounds and judge the accuracy of the gun crews’ shooting.)
McVay was told that if he left the next day, Saturday, July 28, he could arrive on the morning of Monday, July 30, assuming he maintained an average speed of 25 knots (about 29 mph). McVay considered it, but was concerned about the state of his ship’s engines after the punishing high-speed run from San Francisco. He didn’t want to push his luck. So the two men agreed that the ship should aim to arrive off Leyte on Tuesday morning. That was doable if she maintained a slower speed of 15.7 knots. McVay was agreeable to this pace, which was the SOA, or Standard Speed of Advance.
He was then instructed to follow what was known as the Peddie convoy route, which ran from Guam to Leyte. A journey of 1,300 miles, it had been used throughout the three and a half years of the Pacific campaign and was considered a routine transit.
McVay and the
Indianapolis
were about to sail from the Marianas Sea Frontier into the Philippine Sea Frontier, and it was like passing between two different worlds. A ship moved from one frontier to another by crossing the Chop, a boundary marked by the 130-degree line of longitude. Clear as this delineation was, there was a complicating factor: communications in this area were often confused by a political battle between Admiral Nimitz and General MacArthur, who were locked in a struggle to control the navy.
MacArthur, in charge of the Seventh Fleet, wanted to unite it with the army. Nimitz, commander of the Pacific Fleet, wanted to remain autonomous. In the end, Nimitz had been given control of the entire Pacific naval operation, but friction between the two military titans still existed. Information about a ship’s whereabouts, or other crucial facts, sometimes got lost in the fallout. This could mean trouble for the
Indianapolis
, which sometimes relied on the presence of carefully timed escorts to protect her from enemy submarines and spirit her out of danger.
Indianapolis
were about to sail from the Marianas Sea Frontier into the Philippine Sea Frontier, and it was like passing between two different worlds. A ship moved from one frontier to another by crossing the Chop, a boundary marked by the 130-degree line of longitude. Clear as this delineation was, there was a complicating factor: communications in this area were often confused by a political battle between Admiral Nimitz and General MacArthur, who were locked in a struggle to control the navy.
MacArthur, in charge of the Seventh Fleet, wanted to unite it with the army. Nimitz, commander of the Pacific Fleet, wanted to remain autonomous. In the end, Nimitz had been given control of the entire Pacific naval operation, but friction between the two military titans still existed. Information about a ship’s whereabouts, or other crucial facts, sometimes got lost in the fallout. This could mean trouble for the
Indianapolis
, which sometimes relied on the presence of carefully timed escorts to protect her from enemy submarines and spirit her out of danger.
The
Indy
had no sonar gear; detecting subs was not her job. The task of hunting enemy subs was left to destroyers, which bombed them with fifty-five-gallon drums of a highly explosive gel called Torpex. The depth charges, or “ash cans,” as they were called, generally did not blow up a sub—they usually weren’t accurate enough—but rather surrounded it in clouds of sonic concussions, which succeeded in shaking the sub until it sank.
Indy
had no sonar gear; detecting subs was not her job. The task of hunting enemy subs was left to destroyers, which bombed them with fifty-five-gallon drums of a highly explosive gel called Torpex. The depth charges, or “ash cans,” as they were called, generally did not blow up a sub—they usually weren’t accurate enough—but rather surrounded it in clouds of sonic concussions, which succeeded in shaking the sub until it sank.
When, in the course of the talk, McVay requested an escort for his crossing to Leyte, Lieutenant Waldron, the ranking convoy routing officer (who by this point had joined the meeting) picked up the phone. He placed a call to the office of Captain Oliver Naquin, surface operations officer. Waldron inquired of the officer on duty whether there was an escort leaving for Leyte, with whom the
Indianapolis
might tag along. Waldron was told that none was necessary, and that all battle-ready destroyers were already deployed in assisting the continuing B-29 raids on Japan, picking up downed pilots. They were also needed to escort transports delivering fresh troops to the forward area of Okinawa.
Indianapolis
might tag along. Waldron was told that none was necessary, and that all battle-ready destroyers were already deployed in assisting the continuing B-29 raids on Japan, picking up downed pilots. They were also needed to escort transports delivering fresh troops to the forward area of Okinawa.
The
Indy
had traveled on her own before, and at this point in the war, naval command assumed that she could travel safely in the backwater unescorted.
Indy
had traveled on her own before, and at this point in the war, naval command assumed that she could travel safely in the backwater unescorted.
When Waldron hung up and informed McVay that no escort was necessary, McVay accepted the news easily. He then asked about intelligence reports concerning enemy traffic
along the Peddie route. He was told that such a report would be prepared. It would accompany his routing orders once they had been typed up. After agreeing that his navigator would retrieve both later that night, McVay left the office, confident that the
Indy
’s upcoming voyage would be smooth.
along the Peddie route. He was told that such a report would be prepared. It would accompany his routing orders once they had been typed up. After agreeing that his navigator would retrieve both later that night, McVay left the office, confident that the
Indy
’s upcoming voyage would be smooth.
After McVay’s navigator returned to the port director’s office and picked up the routing orders and intelligence report, he came back to the ship, where McVay gathered the officers and told them, “We are going to Leyte to prepare for the invasion of Kyushu.” The island was Japan’s southernmost home island, located about 500 miles from Tokyo. This was a clear indication that the
Indy
would be in the thick of the action.
Indy
would be in the thick of the action.
He also announced that they would be traveling without an escort. Dr. Haynes, like McVay, took the news in stride. “Here we go again,” one of the officers said. Haynes remembered the time, earlier in the war, when the
Indy
, with Admiral Spruance aboard, had sailed the 1,000 miles from Iwo Jima to Okinawa without an escort. The energetic Spruance was always commanding the ship on sudden orders to the next crisis.
Indy
, with Admiral Spruance aboard, had sailed the 1,000 miles from Iwo Jima to Okinawa without an escort. The energetic Spruance was always commanding the ship on sudden orders to the next crisis.
When McVay next met with his navigator and executive officer Flynn they reviewed the ship’s orders. McVay learned that he was to follow a “zigzag” course during daylight hours, and at night, at his discretion, during periods of good visibility. Zigzagging was a defensive maneuver—the thinking being that if a moving target is hard to hit, an erratically moving target is even more elusive. In truth, the maneuver was of negligible value but was required by navy regulations.
The intelligence report seemed to contain nothing unusual.
It stated that three submarines had been reported sighted in the Peddie area, two of them unconfirmed as actual enemy. Of these, one was a report of a “sound contact” only and the other was of an unidentified ship spotting a “possible” periscope. The remaining and most credible sighting was already nearly a week old. The
Indy
’s navigator had already received the information from what was called the Blue Summaries, intelligence dispatches sent out weekly by the fleet command at Pearl Harbor.
It stated that three submarines had been reported sighted in the Peddie area, two of them unconfirmed as actual enemy. Of these, one was a report of a “sound contact” only and the other was of an unidentified ship spotting a “possible” periscope. The remaining and most credible sighting was already nearly a week old. The
Indy
’s navigator had already received the information from what was called the Blue Summaries, intelligence dispatches sent out weekly by the fleet command at Pearl Harbor.
But neither the report prepared for Captain McVay nor the Blue Summaries included two crucial pieces of information.
Three days earlier, on July 24, as the
Indy
was sailing to Tinian, the USS
Underhill
, a destroyer escort, had been sunk by a Japanese kaiten—a manned torpedo suicide craft—while sailing from Okinawa to Leyte in a convoy of fifteen ships. One hundred and twelve men had died, and another 109 were rescued by the convoy. The kaiten had been released by a large Japanese patrol sub, and the
Underhill
, upon spotting it, had defensively (and, in retrospect, mistakenly) rammed it, causing the explosion.
Indy
was sailing to Tinian, the USS
Underhill
, a destroyer escort, had been sunk by a Japanese kaiten—a manned torpedo suicide craft—while sailing from Okinawa to Leyte in a convoy of fifteen ships. One hundred and twelve men had died, and another 109 were rescued by the convoy. The kaiten had been released by a large Japanese patrol sub, and the
Underhill
, upon spotting it, had defensively (and, in retrospect, mistakenly) rammed it, causing the explosion.
McVay’s intelligence report also neglected to mention the fact that the Tamon group was known to be operating in waters around the Peddie route, the same path the
Indy
was about to sail to Leyte. Commodore James Carter, with whom McVay had met at CINCPAC headquarters, knew about the
Underhill
sinking and the Tamon submarines, but he did not mention either to McVay. He didn’t customarily discuss intelligence matters with captains. But he assumed that McVay would be apprised of the situation when he received his routing orders.
Indy
was about to sail to Leyte. Commodore James Carter, with whom McVay had met at CINCPAC headquarters, knew about the
Underhill
sinking and the Tamon submarines, but he did not mention either to McVay. He didn’t customarily discuss intelligence matters with captains. But he assumed that McVay would be apprised of the situation when he received his routing orders.
Captain McVay, however, was not apprised of the situation. This is because the existence of the Tamon submarines had been deduced by ULTRA, an extremely top-secret code-breaking program that had operated to brilliant effect throughout the war. The operation was composed of heavily
guarded decoding headquarters at Pearl Harbor and Washington, D.C., where men sat at typing consoles, headphones clamped to their ears, transcribing Japanese radio messages. The Japanese sent their messages in a code created by a cipher machine American intelligence officers had nicknamed PURPLE; the Americans fed the intercepted communications into a decrypting machine of the same name. These machines used a series of “telephone stepping switches” in an incredibly complex decryption process involving thousands of computations to spit out decoded versions of the intercepted Japanese messages. These decoded messages were called MAGIC, and the men who operated the machines were known as Magicians.
guarded decoding headquarters at Pearl Harbor and Washington, D.C., where men sat at typing consoles, headphones clamped to their ears, transcribing Japanese radio messages. The Japanese sent their messages in a code created by a cipher machine American intelligence officers had nicknamed PURPLE; the Americans fed the intercepted communications into a decrypting machine of the same name. These machines used a series of “telephone stepping switches” in an incredibly complex decryption process involving thousands of computations to spit out decoded versions of the intercepted Japanese messages. These decoded messages were called MAGIC, and the men who operated the machines were known as Magicians.
ULTRA had been used during the Battle of Midway to pinpoint and annihilate Japanese naval forces. Several days after the battle, however, U.S. newspapers reported that American forces had learned the positions of the Japanese ships and troops, and the effect was disastrous. Within the week, the Japanese changed their encrypting system, completely beggaring the effectiveness of the ciphering machine and forcing the ULTRA program to recrack the new Japanese system of encryption. U.S. military command determined that the secrecy of ULTRA would thereafter be maintained at all costs. This included the decision to avoid sinking certain ships when the navy knew their precise whereabouts. The hope was to lull the Japanese navy into a sense of security.
But as a result of these security measures, McVay was left in the dark about what lay ahead of him down the Peddie route.
Lieutenant Waldron, the convoy and routing officer who had given McVay his routing orders and intelligence report, did not have access to such intelligence; culpability for the lapse in communication rested with the office Waldron called during his meeting with McVay—the headquarters of
the Marianas command, and with Captain Naquin. Naquin was privy to the intelligence gathered by the ULTRA operation, but not to the existence of the operation itself. That is, he received his intelligence reports without knowing how they had been formed. He knew that Japanese submarines were operating along the Peddie route. He was also aware of the July 24 sinking of the
Underhill
in proximity to this route.
the Marianas command, and with Captain Naquin. Naquin was privy to the intelligence gathered by the ULTRA operation, but not to the existence of the operation itself. That is, he received his intelligence reports without knowing how they had been formed. He knew that Japanese submarines were operating along the Peddie route. He was also aware of the July 24 sinking of the
Underhill
in proximity to this route.
Naquin’s job was to reformulate sensitive intelligence so it could be used by officers without arousing suspicions among the enemy that it had been intercepted. Because the integrity of ULTRA was so highly guarded, access to it in its raw data form was restricted to officers higher in rank than captain; McVay was therefore not eligible. But if Admiral Spruance had been aboard the
Indy
, the ULTRA intelligence would have been included in the routing orders issued to her.
8
Indy
, the ULTRA intelligence would have been included in the routing orders issued to her.
8
McVay was simply, irrevocably, out of the loop.
Sixty feet below the swirling ink of the Pacific’s surface, in a state-of-the-art Japanese submarine, Lieutenant Commander Mochitsura Hashimoto fretted. During his four years at sea, the thirty-six-year-old submarine captain had yet to sink even one enemy ship. Now, Hashimoto knew, the war effort was verging on defeat, and he feared he might return home
without a single kill. He had erected a Shinto shrine aboard the sub, and he prayed to it daily so that his luck might soon change.
without a single kill. He had erected a Shinto shrine aboard the sub, and he prayed to it daily so that his luck might soon change.
The
1-58
was one of six Japanese submarines still operational in the nation’s collapsing navy, part of the renowned Tamon group of subs. It had launched from a naval base on the coast of Japan near Kure, on the same day Captain McVay set sail from San Francisco.
1-58
was one of six Japanese submarines still operational in the nation’s collapsing navy, part of the renowned Tamon group of subs. It had launched from a naval base on the coast of Japan near Kure, on the same day Captain McVay set sail from San Francisco.
Hashimoto’s sub carried the latest in torpedo technology. (In this area of naval warfare, the Japanese had exceeded the American effort until the last months of the war.) The 1-58 was 356 feet long and carried a seaplane as well as a deck-mounted machine gun for, among other things, sweeping the water clear of the torpedoed enemy’s survivors. Run by two 4,700-horsepower diesel engines, she could cruise 21,000 miles without refueling, pushing fifteen knots on the surface. Submerged, the sub moved at a fast clip of seven knots. Her sausage shape was coated in a rubber girdle that distorted her echo pattern and tended to confuse American navy sonar listeners. They sometimes mistook her for a submerged whale.
On board were nineteen oxygen-powered magnetic torpedoes, and six kaitens—kamikaze-like torpedoes piloted by crewmen grateful for the honor. These sacrificial warriors would climb into the forty-eight-foot metal tubes, seat themselves in canvas chairs before a steering wheel and guidance instruments—a compass, Swiss clock, and radio—and wait to hear the fatal word:
Fire!
Released from the metal bands clamping it to the sub, the kaiten began rocketing toward eternity. With a top speed of twenty knots and a range of twenty-seven miles, it was quite a sight, although it regularly missed its target as the pilot struggled to keep the speeding missile on course.
Fire!
Released from the metal bands clamping it to the sub, the kaiten began rocketing toward eternity. With a top speed of twenty knots and a range of twenty-seven miles, it was quite a sight, although it regularly missed its target as the pilot struggled to keep the speeding missile on course.
When he was successful—the kaiten was tipped with a magnetic warhead designed to explode within twenty-five
feet of any metal hull—the pilot was vaporized upon impact, often in midprayer. (It was impossible for a submerged “mother” sub to retrieve a kaiten, and if the pilot missed his target, he eventually ran out of fuel, and, gliding to the ocean bottom, was fatally crushed by the immense pressure.)
feet of any metal hull—the pilot was vaporized upon impact, often in midprayer. (It was impossible for a submerged “mother” sub to retrieve a kaiten, and if the pilot missed his target, he eventually ran out of fuel, and, gliding to the ocean bottom, was fatally crushed by the immense pressure.)
On the night of Saturday, July 28, the kaiten pilots were anxious for their moment of glory. But Hashimoto, peering through the periscope, scanned the night horizon of a choppy Pacific and found it blank.
For the past ten days he’d been cruising steadily south from Kure, on the Japanese mainland, without sighting a target. He had spent today on the surface in hot and squally weather, rocking in the swell, considering his next move. Stationed at the critical crossroads of the Peddie-Leyte route, he was sure a ship would pass.
Six hundred and fifty miles away, at 9 A.M. the USS
Indianapolis
had pulled away from the harbor at Apra, headed for Leyte.
Indianapolis
had pulled away from the harbor at Apra, headed for Leyte.
The USS
Indianapolis
cruised briskly at seventeen knots through a rough sea, under a scattering of bleached clouds. Eight hours after leaving Guam, she sailed beyond the reach of any immediate help she might need. By nightfall, she was beyond a point of no return. Whatever happened next, she would have to fend for herself.
Indianapolis
cruised briskly at seventeen knots through a rough sea, under a scattering of bleached clouds. Eight hours after leaving Guam, she sailed beyond the reach of any immediate help she might need. By nightfall, she was beyond a point of no return. Whatever happened next, she would have to fend for herself.
BOOK: In Harm's Way: The Sinking of the U.S.S. Indianapolis and the Extraordinary Story of Its Survivors
12.41Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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