Out of the Depths
A Survivor’s Story of the Sinking of the USS Indianapolis
As told by Edgar Harrell, USMC
Written by David Harrell
Foreword by Lt. Col. Oliver North, USMC (ret)
Smashwords ebook published by Fideli Publishing, Inc.
© Copyright 2011, Edgar A. Harrell
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ISBN: 978-1-60414-357-7
Unless otherwise indicated, Scripture quotations are taken from the New American Standard Bible, © Copyright 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973, 1975, 1977, 1995
by The Lockman Foundation.
Cover design by Miki Lekic: www.studio11.com
All opening chapter quotes unless otherwise marked are from ONLY 317 SURVIVED!, authors: USS Indianapolis survivors, Copyright © 2002 by USS Indianapolis Survivors Organization.
Dedicated to my shipmates, the crew of the USS Indianapolis.
Life
is filled with gale force winds that cause the waves to roar;
And
like the men of Galilee we strain against the oar.
With billows
high we cry aloud, “Oh Lord, where have you gone?”
Then He
whispers through the squall, “I’ve been here all along.”
Oh
we of little faith, why doubt? Why give our hearts to fear?
For
when the tempest trials blow, ‘tis then we must draw near!
For
in the wind of every storm a Sovereign eye doth see,
The waning
faith and broken hearts of those like you and me.
And with His
outstretched hand of love, He reaches down to save,
All who trust
in Him alone; for us His life He gave!
So when the tumults o’er
us roll, let’s thank Him for the gale,
For in His love He caused
the storm, ‘twas He who set the sail.
By David Harrell; derived from an exposition of Matthew 14:22-33.
CONTENTS
FOREWORD: Oliver L. North, LtCol USMC, (Ret.)
INTRODUCTION: David Harrell
3 Tragedy Explodes—the First Day
4 Mysteries of Darkness and Light—the Second Day
5 From Light to Starless Night—the Third Day
6 Ducks on the Pond—the Fourth Day
7 Tragedy and Triumph—the Fifth Day
About Edgar Harrell and David Harrell
Final Crew of the USS Indianapolis
“Have courage! It is I. Do not be afraid.”
Mt
14:27
When that command was issued more than twenty centuries ago, it was to a group of fearful men, in peril on a dark and dangerous sea. No exhortation is more appropriate to this chronicle than those words of Jesus Christ.
On the night of 30 July 1945, just weeks before the end of World War II, the Japanese submarine I-58 launched a spread of torpedoes at the USS Indianapolis. Two of the “fish” found their mark. In less than 15 minutes the heavy cruiser, a battle-scarred veteran of the bloody campaigns for the Marianas, Iwo Jima and Okinawa went down without a trace—and without anyone but the survivors knowing the ship had been lost.
Some 900 of the ship’s 1,196-man crew—cold, oil-soaked, many with injuries—were suddenly alone in the shark infested waters of the Philippine Sea. For five horrific days after the sinking their numbers were cruelly depleted by shark attacks, salt-water poisoning, hypothermia and dehydration. When they were finally spotted and rescued, only 317 remained alive. This is their story, recounted by one of their own—Edgar Harrell—a young member of the U.S. Marine Ship’s Detachment. It is an unparalleled account of perseverance, courage, self-sacrifice and faith.
* * * * *
It has been my great blessing to spend most of my life in the company of heroes. By “hero” I mean a person who has wittingly put himself in grave physical jeopardy for the benefit of another. Heroes are people who overcome evil by doing good at great personal risk. Through self-sacrifice, fortitude and action—whether they succeed or fail—heroes provide a moral and ethical framework—and inspiration—for the rest of us.
Unfortunately our modern definition of “hero” has been stretched to include all manner of people who do not warrant the title. The athlete who just set a new sports record isn’t a hero. Nor is the “daring” movie star or even the adventurer out to be the first solo climber to scale Mt. Everest. They may be brave—but they don’t meet the definition of a hero for whatever they achieve benefits only “self.”
Real heroes are selfless. My father was one. Many of the Marines with whom I was privileged to serve for nearly a quarter of a century were heroes. The firemen and police who rushed into the World Trade Center buildings and the Pentagon on 9-11 fit the description. Today, a good number of the young soldiers, sailors, airmen, Marines and Guardsmen that I cover in Iraq and Afghanistan for FOX News certainly meet the criteria. And Edgar Harrell, survivor of the catastrophic sinking of the USS Indianapolis, is a hero.
* * * * *
The true story Edgar Harrell and his son David recount in the pages that follow is far more than a tale of terror on the sea. Together, they have prepared a timely and relevant work—not just for the anniversary of a catastrophe—but for a new generation of Americans once again confronting an enemy that teaches young men not how to live—but how to die the right way. The kamikaze pilot who crashed his plane into the Indianapolis on March 31, 1945 differs little from the nineteen terrorists of 9-11 or the suicide car-bomber trying to kill U.S. soldiers and Marines today in Iraq. The brutal atrocities perpetrated in the “slaughter houses” of Fallujah are surreally similar to those committed by the Japanese against American prisoners of war—even to posing for cameras in the midst of the evil deed.
All of that—and much more—is in this book. It is a gripping tale of men tested beyond anything they thought possible—and how they responded with bravery, endurance and faith in the face of fear and overwhelming despair. Edgar Harrell is not the only hero in this book. But his faith is a testament to the Marine Corps motto: Semper Fidelis—Latin for “Always Faithful.”
Oliver L. North, LtCol USMC (Ret.)
Host of “War Stories”
FOX News Channel
Where can I go from Thy Spirit?
Or
where can I flee from Thy presence?
If I ascend to heaven, Thou
art there;
If I make my bed in Sheol, behold, Thou art there.
If
I take the wings of the dawn,
If I dwell in the remotest part of
the sea,
Even there Thy hand will lead me,
And Thy right hand
will lay hold of me.
Psalm 139:7-10
INTRODUCTION
It is easy to grow up in the United States of America and take for granted the wonderful freedom we enjoy. I confess that I have been guilty of being unintentionally indifferent about our nation’s liberty and perhaps even harboring an unwitting apathy concerning the wars that bought it. All too often Memorial Day and Veterans’ Day come and go with little serious reflection about the enormous sacrifices that have been made. Maybe this describes you as well. However, the bubble of peace and prosperity that once preserved my cavalier attitude was suddenly popped by the terrorist attack of 9/11. Instantly, all Americans saw with their own eyes what evil looks like, up close and personal. Immediately our false sense of security exploded along with the Twin Towers, the Pentagon and United Flight 93 in a Pennsylvania field. With shocking abruptness, we were all reminded that freedom is not free—a simple yet profound truth our veterans know all too well.
Because of 9/11, I began to think deeply about our nation’s history. Like never before the stark realities of past wars and the valiant men and women who fought them were thrust into the forefront of my mind. Almost overnight I developed a keen awareness of the unspeakable evil that plunged us into World War II—the same kind of wickedness that now plagues the world through radical Islam. I also began thinking about the part my father played in that war, along with his shipmates aboard the USS Indianapolis.
I remember Dad’s reaction to 9/11 was simply, “Here we go again.” He was right. The same diabolical evil that motivated our enemies in World War II was once again at work. And once again, men and women of valor must take up arms to ward off barbaric aggressors; heroic soldiers willing to give their lives to preserve our freedom. But what is sad is how quickly we forget the noble military contributions of the past.
I remember hearing Dad talk about the war from time to time when I was a little boy. I recall his reluctant stories about the secret mission of the Indianapolis, the atomic bomb components they carried, and especially the gripping tales about the sharks when the crew was lost at sea for five days. I even remember attending some of the Indianapolis reunions and meeting Captain McVay and being awe-struck by his white Navy uniform and medals. But the depth and breadth of my father’s sacrifice, and that of all the other World War II veterans, did not really grip my heart until 9/11. That mind-boggling catastrophe was a life-altering event for me, and for many Americans. Personally, I became a man on a mission. Not just to tell my father’s story and honor the crew of the USS Indianapolis, but to raise the awareness of the cost of freedom and the need to aggressively take up arms to defend our country. I also wanted to rekindle the fires of true, God-honoring patriotism and respect for our veterans in an apathetic, and unfortunately, historically ignorant America. Fortunately, Dad agreed with my goals, but with even greater passion due to his personal experience.
My father, like many other World War II veterans, has had many opportunities to speak around the country in a variety of venues, including public schools. In interviewing him to write this book, I was saddened to hear him tell about the prevailing ignorance most students have concerning World War II. He indicated that even many of the teachers and administrators he has met admitted they knew very little about the war, not to mention the USS Indianapolis tragedy. Many agreed that they were victims of a politically correct culture bent on revising history textbooks, hoping to erase the collective memory of the weapons of mass destruction used at Hiroshima and Nagasaki. This only fueled my fire to collaborate with my ex-Marine father in defending the use of the atomic bombs, not to mention educating readers about the heroism of our veterans and ultimately glorifying God who divinely superintended the freedom and prosperity we currently enjoy as Americans.
Moreover, as I interviewed Dad and other veterans about patriotism past and present, I quickly noticed how upset they would get with contemporary anti-war activists. I wholeheartedly share their frustration. I am profoundly offended by the very vocal and misguided peace activists that constantly malign our government’s commitment to protect its citizens. Although I realize many are merely driven by anti-American sentiment and a naïve anthropology that has no concept of the depth of human depravity, there are others who wish to argue a philosophy of pacifism based upon the Bible. This is an unconscionable distortion of divine revelation.
Whether defensive or preemptive, war is a necessary component of divine justice when evil rears its ugly head. The Bible teaches us that all Christians have a God-given responsibility to take a stand against wickedness for our good and His glory. We have a responsibility to protect our families and possessions from murderers that would mock the laws of the God of the Bible and exalt themselves.
The misguided religious pacifist will argue, “How can you harmonize a call to arms with Jesus’ blessings on meekness? And how can you support war given His commands to ‘love our enemies’ . . . to ‘turn the other cheek’ . . . and to ‘return good for evil?’”
The answer is simple. In every case when Jesus admonished these virtuous attitudes, the issue was always the need for a mortification of pride that inevitably seeks retaliation for personal offenses. Jesus’ passion was to call us to surrender our fanatical commitment to personal rights and vengeance and replace such attitudes with the love of Christ. Never do these admonitions apply to the very appropriate and necessary need for retaliation against criminal offenses and the military aggression of an evil enemy. In fact, war is an extension of capital punishment that God Himself instituted to maintain order and justice. This is well documented throughout Scripture.
We read in Genesis 9:6, “Whoever sheds man’s blood, by man his blood shall be shed.” And again in Exodus 21:12: “He who strikes a man so that he dies shall surely be put to death.” Even in the New Testament Jesus restated this very principle in Matthew 26:52 when He condemned Peter for drawing his sword and cutting off the ear of the high priest’s servant. There He said to Peter, “Put your sword back into its place; for all those who take up the sword shall perish by the sword.” God even considers capital punishment (and its logical extension, war) as a deterrent to crime as indicated in Deuteronomy 17:13 where He warns, “Then all the people will hear and be afraid, and will not act presumptuously again.”
I cannot imagine a world where fanatical extremists like Hitler, Stalin, Saddam Hussein, or Osama Bin Ladin are left unchecked. Meekness does not negate self-defense when a homicidal maniac attacks you or your family. Such reasoning is irrational. Gentleness does not mean we idly stand by and pray for peace when we are under assault. Love cannot exist without law, and law cannot exist without the sword. Scripture even affirms the importance of governments bearing the sword, claiming that government is “an avenger who brings wrath upon the one who practices evil” (Romans 13:4). Indeed, there is “a time for war, and a time for peace” (Ecclesiastes 3:8).
I echo the sentiments of the line in a familiar song that says, “I’m proud to be an American!” and I do not believe for one minute that our country’s greatness just happened by dumb luck. Rather, I am convinced that God has blessed and protected us because, at least in the past, we have honored Him as a nation. Likewise, we must honor those whom He has used as instruments of divine righteousness. The noble warriors of World War II, and specifically the sailors and Marines of the USS Indianapolis, are but samples of the past and present valor of our noble military personnel whom I, along with my father, seek to honor through his testimony. Together we pray that this story will be an encouragement to our military around the world and will ignite a fire of patriotism in every American.
As you read this harrowing true adventure, you will quickly see the power of faith and the undeniable hand of divine providence in the affairs of men and governments. You will see the crippling effects of sin in the ravages of war and the transforming power of the gospel of Christ in the hearts of men. You will see the metastasizing corruption of personal revenge and politics, even in our own military, that stooped to tactics of questionable integrity and succumbed to the temptations of injustice. But you will also rejoice in the victory of honor and honesty when a terrible wrong was righted because of the perseverance of those who would never stop fighting for truth. And certainly you will be deeply touched by the valor and humility of sailors and Marines who endured the unimaginable.
Finally, you will learn of a man, like many others, who truly loves his country, and his Savior and Lord, Jesus Christ. Without reservation I can say that there is no hypocrisy here. I have watched my father practice what he has preached. He has been my mentor and friend, and for this I am eternally grateful. Every fiber of his being is dedicated to Christ—validated by his love for my dear mother, all of his family, friends, and his shipmates of the USS Indianapolis.
But I must hasten to add, while the steel of his faith was forged in eternity past by a sovereign God, it was undoubtedly tempered in the fires of his adversity at sea. No man could possibly be the same after enduring such a crucible of grace. And it is my prayer, along with my father, that you too will never be the same after reading this story.
David Harrell
I
said to the LORD,
“Thou art my God; Give ear, O LORD, to the
voice of my supplications.
O God the LORD, the strength of my
salvation,
Thou hast covered my head in the day of battle.”
Psalm 140:6-7
* * * * *
The Indianapolis was the largest ship I had ever seen. Having grown up as a young boy during the depression in Chicago, seeing the magnificent ship was one of the greatest moments of my life. I hadn’t ever seen a boat much bigger than a canoe for most of my life—the biggest thing I had seen was a barge some way offshore on Lake Michigan. Not only was the Indianapolis larger than this barge, but I got to see it sitting right there in the bay before me.
Survivor Michael N. Kuryla Jr.
* * * * *
In San Francisco, we picked up big, big heavy boxes. They told us they were packages but didn’t tell us what they were. Both of these packages were put into the port hangars. The morning we left San Francisco, it was very, very foggy. We pulled underneath the Golden Gate Bridge. I had driven over it many-a-time, but never under it. After we got out about seven miles, we started picking up speed. We could feel the vibrations from the fantail all the way to the front. The boilers were really taking off. We broke all speed records going to Pearl Harbor. The water was rough. My watch was the 5-inch gun on the quarter-deck, close to the packages. I used to sit on them or close by them on coils of rope. On watch we would take turns on the railing, watching over the side to see if we could see submarines or ships. You could see a ship about seven miles away.
Survivor Theodore M. Erickson
* * * * *
EVERY SURVIVOR OF WAR has a story to tell—stories of triumph and tragedy, faith and fear. Stories like mine, where fact is often stranger than fiction. Since that fateful night of July 30, 1945, when I stepped off a sinking ship into the unknown depths of the Pacific Ocean, there has never been a day when I have not reflected upon the horrors I experienced in the four and one-half days swimming in shark infested waters. However, while those frightening memories remain vivid in my mind’s eye, one memory eclipses them all, namely, the unfailing presence of God that sustained me.
Luck had absolutely nothing to do with my survival. I believe with all my heart that it was solely by the providence of God that I lived through those dreadful days and nights. It is therefore to His glory that I recount my story—a story that exalts the One who ultimately authored it.
I am sure that in many ways my background is no different than hundreds of thousands of other folks who grew up in our great country during the years of the depression and survived the horrors of World War II. I suppose we all developed a survivor mindset in those days of adversity. As I reflect upon those bittersweet years of blood, sweat and tears mingled with the joys of family, friends and faith, I must confess that I wish our country could go back to those times and recapture the core values upon which our nation was founded—values originally shaped by our founding fathers who had an unshakable faith in the God of the Bible. Although the current moral freefall of America makes such a desire highly unlikely, perhaps my humble story will remind readers of the strength of character that was born out of that era and manifested in the millions of Americans who fought and died for our freedom.
Personal Preparations for War
I was born in a small house near the banks of the Tennessee River on October 10, 1924, in a little western Kentucky community called Turkey Creek. I was the oldest son of a family of two girls and seven boys. Descendants of the British Isles, we lived on a small farm where my dad was a hard-working farmer, carpenter, and when necessary, a schoolteacher. Mom was our best friend, with an amazing ability to provide for her family by cooking, sewing, helping in the garden, canning vegetables, caring for her henhouse, a husband and nine children.
Those were days of Spartan living, with few luxuries. Shoes came once a year from Sears Roebuck and, for the most part, we made our own toys. Life was simple back then: work or starve! But we were happy—an emotion few seem to experience these days. With their faith deeply rooted in the Lord Jesus Christ, my parents did all they knew to do to raise their children for the glory of God.
Prior to the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, my family and thousands of others across our great nation had no way of knowing that wicked men across the sea had our great country in their crosshairs. Little did we know that they even considered our safe little Kentucky farm part of a great spoil of war. I’m sure we took our freedom for granted in many ways; after all, freedom was all we had ever known. But by the time I was a junior in high school, the war in the Pacific was in full swing. With the decisive battle at Midway proving to be a turning point for the Allied forces in the Pacific, and convinced that my home and family were in imminent danger, I felt compelled to do my part by volunteering for the United States Marine Corps. In the fall of 1943, when the corn crop was “laid by,” I went to the draft board and asked to join the Marines.
I remember well those days of duty and honor. I felt proud to serve my country, and even more honored to be able to protect my family and friends. As I listened to our old Silvertone radio, it sounded as though the Japanese were ready to storm the beaches of California. All of those Pacific islands seemed much closer in my limited and naïve comprehension, and I said to myself, “The Japanese must be stopped!”
Years later I discovered that my simple-minded fear of the Japanese storming the coast of California was not as silly as it sounded. The Japanese commander that sunk the USS Indianapolis later revealed that one of their submarines actually launched a small-scale attack on California. In his book, Sunk!, Lieutenant Commander Mochitsura Hashimoto stated, “On February 24, 1942, submarine I-17 penetrated the Santa Barbara Straits to the north of Los Angeles, and made the first submarine bombardment of America itself. The boat surfaced five minutes before sunset and fired rapidly at a target indicated by the captain at the periscope. There was evidence of panic on shore. Air-raid sirens were sounded. After firing ten rounds, I-17 retired at high speed on the surface. En route she met an enemy destroyer hurrying to the scene of action, but slipped by unnoticed.” 1.
Even if I had known of this small invasion, I really don’t think it would have made much difference. I was convinced we were in danger and I was eager to volunteer for the task. This was a fight for freedom, a fight for survival, and a war where evil must be vanquished so justice and freedom could prevail. So, with the soul of a patriot and the heart of a warrior, I committed myself to the Marines. After having been sworn in at Indianapolis, Indiana, I was sent back to my home in Kentucky before reporting for duty.
Joining the service, or even being drafted, was an honorable undertaking in those days. We never heard of protesters, draft dodgers, or flag burners. When the war broke out, patriotism swelled in America. We willingly rationed clothes, food, fuel, and natural resources. It seemed that every able-bodied person was involved in working to defend America in some way or another. I remember my dad took me to the bus station and we said our good-byes. Dad was thirty-nine and I was nineteen. Leaving home wasn’t easy. Not only was I leaving Mom and Dad, but two sisters and six brothers. What made it even worse was a certain young lady that had caught my eye one day at high school, a girl named Ola Mae Cathey. Four and a half years later, after the war, we were married and she has been my wife and life’s companion since July 25, 1947.
The Fear of Death—Physical and Spiritual
During this time of preparation, the reality of war began to grip my soul and I began to view life differently. The likelihood of my death stirred my heart to reflect upon my own existence. I asked myself questions like, “Why was I placed here upon this earth? What is the real meaning of life? What if I don’t make it back? Am I ready to stand before God and give an account of my life? What personal merit can I possibly offer God that would obligate Him to allow me into His holy presence for eternity? What have I really done with His Son the Lord Jesus Christ who died on a cross for my sins?”
I was absolutely convinced that God existed; any reasonable man can see that in creation. But, despite my external religious practices, highly acceptable in my “Bible Belt” culture, I knew that I had no real relationship with God. He was distant, not personal. I really had no faith, no passion to glorify God, no real hunger to hear the sound of His voice in Scripture and obediently serve Him, no real desire to commune with Him in prayer. And, having been exposed to His holy standard through my Christian upbringing, I knew that my best efforts fell far short. My conscience condemned me of not only my failure to honor God, but my utter inability to do so. I was scared. My fear of death in war suddenly paled into insignificance as I honestly examined my heart and saw my own wretchedness before God. My sin condemned me to an eternal hell, and I knew it. I needed mercy. I needed forgiveness. I needed a Savior.
Under profound conviction, the Lord, by His grace, drew me to Himself and gave me His gift of faith on the 1st day of August 1943 while I attended our little church in Murray, Kentucky. That Sunday after the sermon, the pastor gave an invitation and pronounced the benediction. Being deeply convicted that I had violated the laws of God in many ways, I remained seated as most everyone left. The pastor saw me and sat down by me and asked if he could help. I told him that I needed to get things right with the Lord and that I felt as if today was my last chance. He opened his Bible and turned to Acts 16:31, which says, “Believe in the Lord Jesus, and you shall be saved.” He then reminded me that, “God who cannot lie has made you a promise. And if you will place your faith in Him as your Savior—the One who paid the penalty for your sins on a cross—He will save you.” In the quietness of that moment, by the regenerating power of the Holy Spirit, I begged God for His gift of undeserved mercy and grace, based solely upon the atoning work of Jesus Christ. At that moment, “He delivered (me) from the domain of darkness, and transferred (me) to the kingdom of His beloved Son, in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins” (Colossians 1:13).
It was on that day that God forgave me of my sins and I experienced the miracle of the new birth in Christ. As my burden of sin was finally laid at the foot of the cross, my heart was filled with joy and relief. I thought to myself, “Now I am ready for war, because now I am ready for eternity.”
Soon I found myself enduring the rigors of boot camp in San Diego, California. Boot camp was tough and demanding, but I appreciated their commitment to see to it that we were well trained. They knew our lives would depend upon it. When I completed boot camp, I was sent to “Sea School” where I was later told that I would soon be assigned to a large combat ship. Somehow I knew then in my heart that God was up to something in my life far beyond my understanding. Far from the safety of my beloved Kentucky, I found myself alone in a world filled with dangerous unknowns, relieved only by the comforting truth of God’s promise, “I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee . . . The Lord is my helper, and I will not fear what man shall do unto me” (Hebrews 13:5b, 6b, KJV). In March of 1944 I was assigned to the USS Indianapolis, and this was to be my home until her sinking on July 30, 1945.
The USS Indianapolis (CA-35)
The Indianapolis was a magnificent ship. Built for speed, her keel was laid down in Camden, New Jersey on March 31, 1930 by the New York Shipbuilding Corp. She was launched on November 7, 1931. After being properly fitted out for military service, she was then officially commissioned by the Navy in the Philadelphia Navy Yard on November 15, 1932.
One expert, Patrick J. Finneran, former Executive Director of the USS Indianapolis Survivors Memorial Organization, Inc., described the Indy as follows:
“From her inception, the Indianapolis was the pride of the Navy; representing as she did, all the very latest technology of her day. She was 610 feet, three inches in length, and sixty-six feet one inch at the beam (widest point). She drew seventeen feet six inches of draft (twenty-four feet when fully armed, manned and provisioned). Her design flank speed was thirty-two knots. She was equipped with eight White-Forster boilers located amidship, driving four Parsons geared turbines. Total horsepower was rated at 107,000, delivered through four screws. Her armament consisted of nine 8-inch guns placed in three turrets; two fore and one aft. Additionally there were four 5-inch guns, twenty-four 40 mm intermediate range guns and thirty-two 20 mm Oerlikon guns; the latter being installed during several overhauls and refits accomplished during the war.” 2.
I still remember my first impression when I boarded the Indy, as she was affectionately called. My initial thought was, “This thing is big—real big!” It was like a floating city. It was an absolutely overwhelming experience for a country boy from Kentucky. My first sight of the massive guns gave me goose bumps. Never having seen guns larger than a double-barreled shotgun, I remember laughing to myself thinking, “My, my, my. We can win the war just by ourselves with these monsters!” Later I learned to operate both the 40 mm and the 5-inch guns. Since we had no foxholes in which to hide, I soon realized that our training and our ability were our only means of protection.
My sleeping quarters were small and hot. The bunks (or sleeping racks) were stacked three high. Of course new recruits got the top ones. They were a far cry from the feather bed I had been used to at home. But why complain? This was my new home and I was determined to make the best of it. I must admit, however, that I shed many a tear those lonely, homesick days and nights. I often poured out my heart to the Lord as I faced the unknowns of the future. Now, as a Marine, having been joined to a detachment of thirty-nine Marine officers and enlisted men, I knew that I had a job to do and a load to carry. I soon became an integral part of the Indianapolis crew. It was an honor to be part of “Ship’s Company” of the Indianapolis that would eventually earn ten battle stars.
I was fascinated to learn that the Indianapolis had been chosen by President Roosevelt as his “Ship of State.” Her speed and massive firepower truly captured the spirit of America. Given these impressive symbols of American power and honor, Roosevelt used her on numerous occasions to entertain royalty and great leaders from around the world as she frequently crossed the Atlantic and toured the great ports of South America.
The Mysterious Departure
Years after the war, I learned of some of the fascinating and mysterious history involving the Indianapolis that occurred just prior to the actual declaration of war that help set the stage for the story you are about to read. In April of 1940, when tensions concerning Japanese aggression began to mount, the U.S. fleet, including the Indianapolis, was moved from the west coast to Pearl Harbor, Hawaii. But just before the Japanese attack at Pearl Harbor, the Indianapolis was suspiciously removed from port, as if someone knew what was coming and wanted to protect her. To this day, these unexplained maneuverings remain shrouded in mystery. One historian writes:
“Officially, on the day the Japanese struck Pearl Harbor, December 7th, 1941, the Indianapolis was conveniently out of her home port, Pearl Harbor, making a simulated bombardment of Johnson Island off to the west. Captain E.W. Hanson, USN was then in command. It is noteworthy to mention here that all of the carriers assigned to Pearl were also conveniently out of Pearl as well. Indianapolis immediately joined Task Force 12 to search for the attacking Japanese carrier force. Returning to Pearl Harbor, the Indianapolis was assigned to Task Force 11 for operations against the enemy.” 3.
Although we may never know with certainty the political and military machinations behind the scenes that resulted in the Indy’s orders to leave Pearl Harbor just prior to the Japanese strike, we do know that it happened. Some have concluded that this is yet another piece of evidence validating the hypothesis that the American forces had prior knowledge of the attack. Certainly the implications of such a possibility are staggering given the loss of life that could possibly have been averted.
The following eyewitness account of Daniel E. Brady of the V (Aviation) Division provides some fascinating insight into the mysterious exit and ultimate preservation of the Indianapolis on that fateful day.
“On December 5, 1941, I was a Seaman Second Class on board the heavy cruiser USS Indianapolis CA-35. On that day, we were docked at the mine dock in Pearl Harbor. This was next to the submarine base, and across from ‘Battleship Row.’
It was Friday afternoon, and as normal routine on weekends in port, all our married men and liberty sections were ashore, leaving approximately one third of the crew on board with the duty. Then, a surprising word was passed: ‘The ship would get underway in one hour.’
‘Impossible!’ we commented among ourselves. Most of our crew were ashore and we could never recall them in time on such short notice. Soon, fifty marines in full battle gear came aboard, followed by forty or so civilian shipyard workers with their toolboxes. Next came truckloads of food and vegetables, which were dumped unceremoniously on the bleached, white, teakwood quarter-deck!
The quarter-deck was exclusively reserved for Admirals, Captains and ceremonial occasions. Why, we didn’t even walk across it with our shoes on! This was blasphemy! What was going on?
Just as the word was given, we got underway in one hour’s time without our crew and steamed out of Pearl Harbor. We traveled Friday night and Saturday with no word as to our destination. Sunday morning at about seven thirty we anchored at Johnson Island, a small island about 700 miles southwest of Hawaii. Hastily, we began unloading the Marines, civilians and stores. Then the word was passed: ‘The Japs are bombing Pearl! This is no drill. Prepare the ship for battle action!’
Everything that could burn was thrown overboard. Lumber, paint, small boats, even President Roosevelt’s great, ornate, bedroom suite he used when aboard the Indy. We then steamed back to Hawaiian waters and joined the old carrier, Lexington. After seven days and three attempts to enter Pearl, (Jap submarines were trying to sink the ‘Lex’ in the entrance), we finally made it, and could not believe what havoc had been wrought. We picked up our crew and survivors from the battleship Nevada and departed the following morning. To this very day, you cannot convince me that somebody didn’t know this attack would take place.
Consider this: We were President Roosevelt’s favorite ship, and were also the flagship of Admiral Wilson Brown, head of Scouting Force, whose job it was to scout out and detect the enemy. And we were conveniently out of port at the time of the attack. Fate acts in funny ways at times. Being in the aviation unit, (Airdales), we usually disembarked our airplanes and their crews to Ford Island when we were in Pearl. This time (5 December 1941) our aircraft were kept aboard. Had they been at Ford Island they would have been destroyed!
After many years in the Pacific, I was transferred from the Indy before her tragic sinking, with the terrible loss of men—my shipmates, at the war’s end.” 4.
In some ways, it seems as though I have never left the Indy. Indeed, her story lives on even after all these years. Much mystery shrouds her story. Perhaps no other ship in wartime history has grabbed the interest of the American people like the Indianapolis. To her crew she was the queen of the fleet. Spared at Pearl, yet sacrificed for the cause at the deciding climax of WWII, the USS Indianapolis gave her all. As you will see, her fate stretches the limits of bad luck to their breaking point. There was something far greater at work, something supernatural, a force that orchestrated her every move, and continues to do so even now. But to her crew, she will always remain the queen of the Pacific fleet.
To
every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the
heaven:
A time to be born, and a time to die;
a time to plant,
and a time to pluck up that which is planted;
A time to kill, and
a time to heal;
a time to break down, and a time to build up;
A
time to weep, and a time to laugh;
a time to mourn, and a time to
dance …
A time to love, and a time to hate;
a time of war,
and a time of peace.
Ecclesiastes 3:1-4, 8 (KJV)
* * * * *
I have often felt that I had a unique navy experience being from Indiana and ending up on the USS Indianapolis! … I participated in eight of the ten operations, the last being Okinawa. I am proud to have been a member of the crew that delivered the atomic bomb.
Survivor Donald L. Beaty
* * * * *
As we entered the cabin, three men were already there. We saw two lead canisters, about knee-high, with long steel pipes through rings on top. As I made my way to the opposite side, I said, “This looks like it has to do with radiation.” Silence … the two escorts, later identified as Captain Nolan and Major Furman, looked at each other, but said nothing. These canisters I was later told, contained the uranium-235 slugs which were used in the atomic bomb dropped on Hiroshima.
Survivor Richard A. Paroubek
* * * * *
WHILE THE WAR RAGED ACROSS THE SEA, the USS Indianapolis was being refitted with more sophisticated radar and gunnery equipment at Mare Island, San Francisco. My first duties as a Marine were on what we called “Goat Island” in the San Francisco area: guarding navy and marine personnel confined to the brig. Several weeks passed before I received my orders to board the USS Indianapolis, affectionately nicknamed The Indy Maru. Most ships were given nicknames, but it is not known how the Indianapolis got hers. It is interesting that “maru” is the Japanese word for “ship.” 1.
I’ll never forget that exhilarating day when we first sailed out of Mare Island in the early part of 1944. The reality that I was off to war really began to sink in. Little did I know the horrors that awaited me, nor the demonstration of divine providence that would see me through it all.
Our skipper was Capt. E.R. Johnson. I was proud to serve under him and naïvely excited as he set course for our first destination: Pearl Harbor. There we were to “pick up our flag”—Navy talk for picking up an Admiral, ours being Admiral Raymond A. Spruance, Commander of the 5th fleet.
I can still remember the first time I saw Admiral Spruance walking on the forward deck of the Indianapolis. He did that often, and for long periods of time almost every day. I can only imagine the stress he had to endure given the enormity of his responsibilities. He was an impressive man that easily earned respect. He gave his young sailors and Marines confidence as we prepared for battle. We were all proud to serve under him.
Combat Aboard Ship
My first combat experience was at Kwajalein and Eniwetok in the Marshall Island chain. Our ultimate sights, however, were on Guam, Saipan and Tinian, crucial islands for providing a staging area for our new Boeing B-29 Superfortress bombers to be able to attack the mainland of Japan.
From the Marshalls we moved on to attack the Western Carolines. There our carrier planes struck the enemy at the Palau Islands where they bombed enemy airfields, sank three destroyers, seventeen freighters, five oilers and damaged another seventeen enemy ships. The Japanese lost 160 planes during these battles, with another forty-six destroyed on the ground. 2.
Fighting aboard the Indy was exhausting at times. In the Western Carolines we manned our guns for seventeen days straight in an effort to destroy the tremendous concrete tunnels and fortifications the Japanese had so effectively built. Tragically, our American forces lost approximately 7,000 men during the months of March and April of 1944 at Yap, Ulithi, Woleai and Palau. Although loss of life was high, these were strategic victories because they neutralized the enemy’s ability to interfere with the U.S. landings on New Guinea, though some argued we would have been better off to have starved them out than gone in after them.
On the 13th of June, we moved on to the Marianas where the Indianapolis joined the pre-invasion bombardment group off Saipan. The Japanese were dug in deep on Saipan with their massive gun installations camouflaged and concealed behind trap doors on concrete bunkers. With the landing attack scheduled for June 15, Admiral Spruance maneuvered the Indianapolis in close enough to effectively superintend the attack, so close, in fact, that we experienced many near misses from the Japanese batteries. Fortunately, we were hit only one time by a defective shell that did not explode, causing only minor damage.
Under the cover of ferocious American bombardment, the 2nd and 3rd Marine Divisions launched their amphibious assault. They were met with stiff resistance when they came ashore. The well fortified Japanese bunkers were high above the beaches, capable of suddenly opening their massive trap doors, blasting our vulnerable boys below, and quickly concealing themselves again. The casualties for our marines were high. I experienced an almost overwhelming variety of emotions all at once that day, feeling everything from fear to fury. Not letting our emotions rule us, the crew of the Indy fought on with great discipline, doing all we could to support our vulnerable troops storming the beaches.
Desperate to relieve their beleaguered forces to the south in the Marianas, the Japanese launched a large fleet of battleships, carriers, cruisers and destroyers. Contrary to the deceptions of the Tokyo Rose propaganda that said that the Americans were running away from the massive flotilla of the Japanese Navy, Admiral Spruance ordered a fast carrier force to make haste to meet them head-on. A second force attacked their air bases at Iwo Jima and Chichi Jima in the Bonin and Volcano Islands. Admiral Spruance was confident of victory knowing that the U.S. had 104 ships of various kinds and 819 carrier-based planes available in the theater of operation. Estimates for the Japanese, however, indicated that they had suffered serious losses in the Pacific leaving them with only fifty-five ships and 430 planes. By then, the U.S. fleet had twice as many destroyers as the Japanese.
Our fleet met the enemy on June 19 in what was called the ‘Battle of the Philippine Sea.’ The Navy Department Naval History Division described the battle as follows:
“Enemy carrier planes, which hoped to use the airfields of Guam and Tinian to refuel and rearm and attack our offshore shipping, were met by carrier planes and the guns of the escorting ships. That day the Navy destroyed 402 enemy planes while losing only seventeen of her own. (The) Indianapolis, which had operated with the force which struck Iwo Jima and Chichi Jima, shot down one torpedo plane. This famous day’s work became known throughout the fleet as the “Marianas Turkey Shoot.” With enemy air opposition wiped out, the U.S. carrier planes pursued and sank two enemy carriers, two destroyers, and one tanker and inflicted severe damage on other ships.” 3.
Kamikaze Planes and the Insanity of War
Whenever I reflect on these battles, especially the “Marianas Turkey Shoot,” I find myself shaking my head in dismay at the insanity of war. The suicide missions of the Japanese kamikaze pilots serve as a perfect illustration. What a colossal waste of lives and resources—and for what? With an economy of words, God gives us the answer. “What is the source of quarrels and conflicts among you? Is not the source your pleasures that wage war in your members? You lust and do not have; so you commit murder. And you are envious and cannot obtain; so you fight and quarrel” (James 4:1-2).
Most of the Japanese soldiers, especially the officers, considered their emperor a god and worshipped him. They considered it an honor to die for him. Likewise, most Japanese considered themselves Shintoists (belonging to the religion of Shintoism, primarily a mystical religious system of nature and ancestor worship). This deceptive belief system was so powerful that it inspired their soldiers to make banzai suicide attacks as an act of religious service. Capture was considered a profound disgrace upon their families who considered those captured as dead. For this reason they would rather die than be taken prisoner by the enemy. With such fanaticism, one can only imagine the staggering loss of life had we not later used the atomic bombs and invaded Japan instead.
As Japan’s war machine began to fall apart, their desperation gave birth to the concept of suicide planes called kamikaze, meaning divine wind. (They also used human torpedoes called kaitens). With their planes loaded with explosives and only enough fuel to make it to their designated target, kamikaze pilots would ceremonially step into their cockpits for the last time with feelings of great pride and fly off to their death.
I remember feeling pity for the ones we shot down and rescued. Most of them were poorly trained young pilots, blinded by a warped sense of patriotism, honor, and, like all suicide warriors, a fanatical religious fervor to serve some phantom god (or gods) that do not exist. I was intrigued to watch them as we lifted them out of the sea onto the deck of the Indy. Wounded and scared, I can still see their white, pajama-like death uniforms and their young faces overwhelmed with terror and confusion. After dressing their wounds and conducting the customary interrogations, we would transfer them to other ships as prisoners of war.
After the “Marianas Turkey Shoot,” the Indianapolis returned to Saipan in June to resume fire support for six days. We then moved on to Tinian to blast shore installations. Meanwhile, Guam had been taken, and the Indianapolis was the first ship to enter Apra Harbor (previously an American base) since it had been captured by the Japanese early in the war.
For the next few weeks we operated in the Marianas area and then proceeded to the Western Carolines where further landing assaults were planned. From September 12 through 29, both before and after our landings, we bombarded the Island of Peleliu in the Palau Group. We then went on to operate for ten days around the island of Manus in the Admiralty Islands before returning back to San Francisco to the Mare Island Navy Yard for repairs and maintenance. 4.
New Skipper Comes Aboard
In December 1944 we welcomed our new skipper, Capt. Charles B. McVay III. Unlike Captain Johnson, who was all business in his military demeanor, Capt. McVay was more personable and enjoyed interacting with the men on a relational level. Johnson ran a very tight ship requiring many drills and “General Quarters” (i.e. battle ready) early in the morning. McVay, on the other hand, ran a looser ship, not requiring us to be battle ready all the time, nor did he expect us to keep watertight doors closed and dogged when we were in forward areas. However, I never thought of him as being lax in any way.
I served as a marine orderly for both of these fine captains and had a bit of a firsthand experience with them. I still laugh as I recall driving Capt. Johnson down to the Navy Yard one sunny day. He was just as much in charge of that jeep as he was the Indy, except on that occasion I was at the controls and the fine Captain was in the backseat telling me how to drive.
With Capt. McVay now at the helm of the Indy, and our overhaul at Mare Island complete, we joined Vice Adm. Marc Mitscher’s carrier task force on the 14th of February 1945. There we played a vital support role as our forces attacked the installations in the Home Islands of Japan itself. The Indy gave its support to the first air strikes on Tokyo since General Doolittle’s invasion in April of 1942, preparing the way for the bloody struggles at the landings on Iwo Jima. 5.
The campaign around the Home Islands stands out in my mind. It was crucial for us to gain tactical surprise and we did so by traversing the Alutian Island chain in terrible weather. I remember several occasions where I was at watch on the bridge during high seas. As the ship forged ahead, the bow would descend into the great valleys of water, then plow into the frigid banks of the oncoming waves causing a sleet-like spray to strike me with stinging force.
Our mission was successful in the Home Islands campaign. Between February 14 and 17, the Navy lost forty-nine carrier planes while shooting down or destroying 499 enemy planes. Our task force sank one Japanese carrier, nine coastal ships, two destroyer escorts and a cargo ship. While this was going on, Japan was being systematically devastated every day by our air force. 6.
Iwo Jima
With their homeland under attack and their war machine gradually being diminished, desperation caused the Japanese to fight with a zealous determination. They fiercely defended Iwo Jima, proving to be one of the toughest of all the islands for the United States to secure. It was estimated that approximately 21,000 Japanese troops inhabited the labyrinth of coral tunnels on the volcanic island. The Indy’s mission was simple; bombard them! We had the ability to fire over 500 rounds of 5-inch gun ammunition in under six minutes, sending massive amounts of destructive flak as far as eight miles. The big 8-inch guns could lob 250-pound shells up to eighteen miles. The concussion from the 8-inchers was staggering. In fact, their enormous recoil would actually move the massive Indianapolis sideways in the water. We were also well equipped for close range warfare with the firepower of our 40 mm and 20 mm deck guns. They were especially effective on kamikaze planes
Torpedo suicide planes were also a persistent threat to our ships. I will never forget the day when one flew in low and horizontal, trying to make its way across our bow. As always, our mission was to shoot him before he could get to us. That particular day I was a fuse box loader on one of the 5-inch guns. I would place a seventy-five-pound shell into a fuse box hitched up to what was called “sky aft radar.” This radar system would then relay the actual coordinates of the incoming enemy plane to the shell itself, instructing it to explode its flak precisely in front of the plane.
As the plane came roaring by from left to right, the 5-inch gun immediately to the left of my gun continued firing in its left to right range of motion until its rotation was complete. With its muzzle now approximately sixteen feet from where I stood, pointed as far forward as possible toward the bow of the ship, it fired again. The concussion of the blast was so powerful that it knocked me to the deck while I was still holding the seventy-five-pound shell. The force of the explosion dislodged my cotton earplugs causing them to fall out and quickly blow away in the Pacific wind. Though dazed by the detonation, God enabled me to get to my feet and load the shell. As it fired, the percussion of the blasts further damaged my unprotected ears causing temporary deafness and blood to run out of my left ear. While our efforts averted the enemy plane and our lives were spared, I permanently suffered a fifty percent loss of hearing in that ear.
Okinawa
By March 4, 1945 we joined the pre-invasion bombardment of Okinawa where we fired 8-inch shells into the Japanese beach defenses. We soon discovered that our 8-inch projectiles were glancing off the concrete pillboxes like ricocheting bullets. This required us to move out further and thus lob the shells over and down on our targets—a strategy that proved most successful. In the seven days of fighting at Okinawa, the crew of the Indy shot down six planes and assisted in splashing two others.
One morning in particular stands out to me. The ship’s lookouts spotted a single-engine Japanese kamikaze fighter plane diving vertically directly at the ship’s bridge. We immediately opened fire with our 20 mm guns. Although we hit the plane and caused it to swerve, the pilot was still able to release his bomb at the last second and crash his plane on the port side of the after main deck. The plane toppled off the ship and fell into the sea causing little damage to the surface of the ship. The bomb, on the other hand, tore through the deck armor, the mess hall, the berthing compartment below and the fuel tanks in the lowest chambers before crashing through the bottom of the ship and exploding in the water underneath us. It was a miracle that we only suffered moderate damage.
The official naval report indicated “the concussion blew two gaping holes in the ship bottom and flooded compartments in the area, killing nine crewmen. Although the Indianapolis settled slightly by the stern and listed to port, there was no progressive flooding; and the plucky cruiser steamed to a salvage ship for emergency repairs. Here, inspection revealed that her propeller shafts were damaged, her fuel tanks ruptured, her water-distilling equipment ruined; nevertheless, the battle-proud cruiser made the long trip across the Pacific to the Mare Island Navy Yard under her own power.” 7.
Surprise Combat Orders
It was a relief to come back to Mare Island and leave the Pacific front. The break from combat was welcome but short-lived. Suddenly, while at Hunters Point in San Francisco, we received word that all leaves were cancelled. Despite the fact that the Indy was not fully repaired and tested, we were ordered to get underway immediately. Not knowing what was going on, we boarded and quickly followed orders as we loaded last-minute provisions.
There was an obvious tension in the air—a mood of excitement combined with confusion and secrecy. Everyone knew that something special was going down but no one knew what. The place was crawling with marine guards and top military brass. My curiosity was fueled even more when my Marine Captain Parke ordered me to station guards around the mysterious cargo that had been brought aboard. A large crate, measuring about five feet high, five feet wide, and perhaps fifteen feet in length was hoisted onto the port hangar off the quarter-deck—an area normally used to store, catapult and retrieve small observation airplanes.
The plywood crate had been lashed down onto the deck with large straps fastened by countersunk screws. Each countersunk void was filled with a red wax seal to serve as a tamper indicator. After stationing guards around the mysterious container, I immediately proceeded to obey my orders and do the same for another curious piece of cargo brought aboard and placed in a compartment on the upper deck reserved strictly for officers.
There I stationed a guard outside one of Admiral Spruance’s unused rooms, since he was not on board at the time. Inside the room was an ominous-looking black metal canister that a couple of sailors had brought on board dangling from a metal pole hoisted upon their shoulders. The cylinder was about two feet long and maybe eighteen inches wide and was padlocked in a steel cage that had been welded securely to the deck floor. A new boarder by the name of Captain Nolan had the key to the padlock. Adding to the suspense, the crew was warned that whatever happened in the days to come, that canister must not be lost or destroyed. Whatever it contained was obviously of enormous importance. I later discovered that when the black canister was aboard the transport plane, it had its very own parachute, just in case something went wrong.