Authors: Doug Stanton
In Harm's Way: The Sinking of the U.S.S. Indianapolis and the Extraordinary Story of Its Survivors (6 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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He was bent to his work with a fierce will, sweating through the thin, cotton face mask he wore as protection against the muzzle blasts of the 5-inch gun he was manning. Its barrel poured flak barrages into the sky. Wearing heavy asbestos gloves pulled to his elbows, McCoy was supposed to catch the empty, heavy brass shell casings as they rolled smoking from the gun. The muzzle flash from the gun burned his face even through the protective mask. He heard the kamikaze roaring toward the
Indy
before he saw it.
Indy
before he saw it.
“Bogey! Bogey! Bogey!” cried one of the boys on deck assigned to watch the sky for attackers through special glasses resembling welder’s goggles. It emerged out of the blinding sun, as was the usual strategy of kamikaze pilots. On the fantail, the 20 mm anti-aircraft guns opened up. McCoy watched as the red tracers arced skyward toward the Japanese plane and on up. But the kamikaze pilot, moving fast, was closing in. There was no time for further fire. Captain McVay ordered the
Indy
into a hard emergency turn.
Indy
into a hard emergency turn.
McCoy was petrified. All around him men were ducking for cover, but he found himself unable to move. For a split second, it seemed that the descending plane might miss the ship, which was heeling under the strain of its turn.
But then the plane hit. The Japanese pilot dropped a 500-pound, armor-piercing bomb, which plummeted through the ship’s decks, ripping holes as it fell, passing directly through the enlisted men’s mess room and through a dining room table where a sailor sat eating. The bomb, as it passed, broke the boy’s legs and lacerated the hull of the ship. The explosion loosened rivets on the ship and filled the mess hall with boiled beans.
McCoy had run to the smoldering hulk of the plane and, with the help of other men, began rocking it off the ship, fearful that it would burst into flames. Staring through the cracked canopy, McCoy caught a glimpse of the pilot embedded on his control console before the plane slid into the sea.
Belowdecks, fuel oil filled one of the engine rooms, drowning some of the men trapped there. Seawater flooded exploded compartments and threatened to sink the ship. Damage control crews set to work “dogging down” a system of watertight hatches and valves, and after a tense twenty minutes, the blown-up areas were secured. In a triumph of nerves and procedure over mayhem, the
Indy
was saved.
Indy
was saved.
McVay received a message from naval command that read: CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR EXCELLENT DAMAGE CONTROL. YOUR MEN DID AN OUTSTANDING JOB.
3
As a reward for that performance, the boys had been sent to an R&R camp on the island of Ulithi—an idyllic place nicknamed “You-like-it-here” located 400 miles southwest of Guam—where they enjoyed the three
B
s of a contented sailor’s life: beaches, baseball, and beer, and imbibed a concoction called Torpedo Juice, made from Royal Crown cola and the industrial-grade alcohol used to propel U.S. submarines’ torpedoes. It was potent stuff and gave some of the crew splitting headaches.
3
As a reward for that performance, the boys had been sent to an R&R camp on the island of Ulithi—an idyllic place nicknamed “You-like-it-here” located 400 miles southwest of Guam—where they enjoyed the three
B
s of a contented sailor’s life: beaches, baseball, and beer, and imbibed a concoction called Torpedo Juice, made from Royal Crown cola and the industrial-grade alcohol used to propel U.S. submarines’ torpedoes. It was potent stuff and gave some of the crew splitting headaches.
Now, three days away from San Francisco, McCoy tried to forget the images of Okinawa as the
Indy
rounded the volcanic black hump of Diamond Head. He wondered what the
future—the invasion of Japan—held in store for him. The damn thing was sure to be a bloodbath, and most of his shipmates believed they wouldn’t make it. But he had to. For his mother. And his father. McCoy and his dad had never really had much of a friendship. The McCoy family had been comfortable through the depression because Giles McCoy Sr. worked twelve-hour days as a successful butter salesman. He would come home at night, listen to Fibber McGee and Molly on the radio, and drift off to sleep. In truth, his son didn’t know him that well.
Indy
rounded the volcanic black hump of Diamond Head. He wondered what the
future—the invasion of Japan—held in store for him. The damn thing was sure to be a bloodbath, and most of his shipmates believed they wouldn’t make it. But he had to. For his mother. And his father. McCoy and his dad had never really had much of a friendship. The McCoy family had been comfortable through the depression because Giles McCoy Sr. worked twelve-hour days as a successful butter salesman. He would come home at night, listen to Fibber McGee and Molly on the radio, and drift off to sleep. In truth, his son didn’t know him that well.
The night before McCoy was to ship out by troop train for boot camp in San Diego, his friends threw him a beer party. Two boys sped into the yard, throwing gravel onto Mr. McCoy’s flower beds. He was angry; it was clear the boys had been drinking. But McCoy knew that his father was upset over more than the beer. His dad had served in World War I and had a vivid bayonet scar on his side to prove it. McCoy sensed his father was scared for him.
He told McCoy, “You’re not going anywhere with those boys.”
McCoy was shocked. “But, Dad! This party is for me. I’ll be all right.”
“You’re not going.”
McCoy took a breath and said, “Well, Dad, I am.”
He had never spoken to his father that way before, had never disobeyed him. He surprised even himself. He stepped off the porch and started walking to the car. The next thing he knew, his father was running up beside him. He suddenly reached out and hit McCoy in the back of his head, knocking him across the lawn.
McCoy couldn’t believe it. He got up and walked toward his father, leaned into him, looked him in the eye. He said, “Boy, you should never have done that. That was the wrong thing to do.” And then he walked away.
When McCoy came back that night from the party, his
mother met him at the door. She asked him how he was going to get to the train station the next day.
mother met him at the door. She asked him how he was going to get to the train station the next day.
“I’ll walk,” said McCoy.
“Why don’t you have your dad take you?”
“I don’t want him to.”
But in the morning McCoy’s father was already up and waiting. They drove to the train station in silence. At the door, McCoy got out first. He’d decided he’d at least say good-bye to his dad. As he came around the car, he saw his father was crying, tears streaming down his face.
He said, “I don’t want you to leave like this.”
“I don’t want to either.” The two hugged, and McCoy told his father, “I’ll try to come back, I really will!”
“You better.”
And then McCoy walked to the station. When he looked back, he could see his father sitting in the car, staring ahead through the windshield. He watched as he draped his arms over the steering wheel and dropped his head, his body heaving as he sobbed.
This was an image that McCoy had kept with him. It wouldn’t go away. It patrolled his mind as he heard the PA system announce triumphantly: “We have just set a record!”
The cruise to Pearl Harbor had been more than 2,405 miles, and it was a feat the crew accomplished without incident in an astounding 74.5 hours.
4
The boys sent up a cheer, hats flying. Then they hurriedly dressed in their navy whites, thinking they’d be allowed off the ship for liberty. They took turns giving each other the once-over—if you weren’t presentable at inspection, you couldn’t leave the ship. Some of the boys even gave each other quick, on-the-spot haircuts.
4
The boys sent up a cheer, hats flying. Then they hurriedly dressed in their navy whites, thinking they’d be allowed off the ship for liberty. They took turns giving each other the once-over—if you weren’t presentable at inspection, you couldn’t leave the ship. Some of the boys even gave each other quick, on-the-spot haircuts.
McCoy wasn’t the only one disappointed when he heard McVay announce that there would be no liberty. Instead, the captain off-loaded his passengers, refueled the ship, and five
hours later turned back to sea, to Tinian. The island still lay 3,300 miles ahead, deep in the West Pacific. There was no time to rest.
hours later turned back to sea, to Tinian. The island still lay 3,300 miles ahead, deep in the West Pacific. There was no time to rest.
On July 21, the ship crossed the international date line, which was usually cause for celebration in a sailor’s life, especially if he was a green hand and had never made the transit into the “Golden Dragon’s domain.” This time, however, there was no ceremony; the new recruits on the
Indy
—dubbed “polliwogs” for the occasion—were informed that today’s crossing would be noted in their records. Their next step in becoming true men of the salt would be initiation into “King Neptune’s domain.”
Indy
—dubbed “polliwogs” for the occasion—were informed that today’s crossing would be noted in their records. Their next step in becoming true men of the salt would be initiation into “King Neptune’s domain.”
McCoy was disappointed in the lack of formality—he’d earlier crossed the date line on his way to Peleliu—but he understood the need to press the
Indy
on her mission. And perhaps, for the green hands’ sake, it was just as well. The induction into King Neptune’s domain, for example, which was carried out when a ship crossed the equator, could be a daunting affair. On one navy ship, the induction, which was meant to strengthen esprit among the boys, involved older officers ordering the green hands to strip and, while dressed only in black neckties, push a peanut across the deck with their noses. Next they met King Neptune himself, usually a fat crew member whose belly had been covered in shaving cream, and which the polliwogs rubbed their faces in: this was called “kissing the royal pudding.” Finally, the recruits entered the King’s Chamber, which was actually an artillery target sleeve filled with garbage. Only after passing through the ripened mess did the polliwogs emerge as hardened shellbacks, initiated members of King Neptune’s domain.
Indy
on her mission. And perhaps, for the green hands’ sake, it was just as well. The induction into King Neptune’s domain, for example, which was carried out when a ship crossed the equator, could be a daunting affair. On one navy ship, the induction, which was meant to strengthen esprit among the boys, involved older officers ordering the green hands to strip and, while dressed only in black neckties, push a peanut across the deck with their noses. Next they met King Neptune himself, usually a fat crew member whose belly had been covered in shaving cream, and which the polliwogs rubbed their faces in: this was called “kissing the royal pudding.” Finally, the recruits entered the King’s Chamber, which was actually an artillery target sleeve filled with garbage. Only after passing through the ripened mess did the polliwogs emerge as hardened shellbacks, initiated members of King Neptune’s domain.
In general, this leg of the voyage had been efficient but uneventful. Seven days after leaving Pearl Harbor, on July 26, Charles Butler McVay and the crew of the
Indy
rode into Tinian at flank—or full—speed, the ship’s gargantuan propellers spinning in a molten whir. As the ship dropped anchor,
a flotilla of boats bore down on them in greeting. The
Indy
had made it.
Indy
rode into Tinian at flank—or full—speed, the ship’s gargantuan propellers spinning in a molten whir. As the ship dropped anchor,
a flotilla of boats bore down on them in greeting. The
Indy
had made it.
Private McCoy was still wondering if he would make it back to St. Louis.
The First Domino
Whenever I was traveling alone, I always had the feeling,
“Suppose we go down and we can’t get a message off?
What will happen then?”
“Suppose we go down and we can’t get a message off?
What will happen then?”
—CHARLES BUTLER MCVAY, captain, USS
Indianapolis
Indianapolis
The West Pacific
The boats present at the anchoring of the
Indianapolis
in Tinian included an impressive gathering of officers from both branches of the military, about thirty men in all. While it may have struck some as strange that so many high-ranking officers were on hand, the island did remain a strategic location. It was from here that many of the B-29 Superfortresses took off for bombing raids on Japan. Private McCoy, standing on the quarterdeck, had never seen anything like this spectacle.
Indianapolis
in Tinian included an impressive gathering of officers from both branches of the military, about thirty men in all. While it may have struck some as strange that so many high-ranking officers were on hand, the island did remain a strategic location. It was from here that many of the B-29 Superfortresses took off for bombing raids on Japan. Private McCoy, standing on the quarterdeck, had never seen anything like this spectacle.
Looking out at the island a half mile distant through heavy, rubber-coated binoculars, he saw a devastated wasteland. Tinian Island, a mere ten miles by five miles, was, at the time, the largest airbase in the world. A small city carved from coral and palm trees, it was shaped like the island of Manhattan. McCoy knew that naval command had jokingly named its main thoroughfare of crushed coral and limestone after Broadway. Riverside Drive ran along the western shore of the island, and the airfield used by the B-29 Superfortresses was located at Ninetieth Street just east of Eighth Avenue.
The airfield consisted of four paved runways, each nearly two miles long and wide as a ten-lane highway. In the hills, it was said, several hundred renegade Japanese troops remained on patrol, sniping at passing jeeps.
McCoy had never been to Tinian before. But he had heard the stories of the bombardment that had taken place in July 1944, when Dr. Haynes had been aboard with Admiral Spruance, and the
Indy
had taken part in leveling the island.
The
Indy
, along with the rest of the Fifth Fleet, had given the place a “Spruance haircut.” Hardly a bush or palm tree now remained.
Indy
had taken part in leveling the island.
The
Indy
, along with the rest of the Fifth Fleet, had given the place a “Spruance haircut.” Hardly a bush or palm tree now remained.
McCoy could see the burned hulks of B-29s. Capable of carrying a ten-ton load of bombs, the enormous planes, with wingspans of over 141 feet, needed every yard of the runways to lift off into the thick, tropical air. Those that hadn’t made it sometimes exploded in showers of burning napalm.
About ten men from the flotilla of boats now boarded the
Indy
. McCoy watched as shipfitters emerged from officers’ country with the black canister. The wooden crate was removed next, this time with the use of the ship’s crane perched atop the hangar deck. Ed Brown was at the controls, with executive officer Joseph “Red” Flynn directing the delicate task. Just for a laugh, Brown let the lever slip on the crane’s control bar, and the crate began a heart-stopping plummet for the deck of the landing barge rocking fifty feet below. Brown then applied the brake. The gathered officers went berserk. McCoy smiled, but executive officer Flynn, looking like his nerves were shot, softly muttered, “Brown, tell those officers to shove off.”
Indy
. McCoy watched as shipfitters emerged from officers’ country with the black canister. The wooden crate was removed next, this time with the use of the ship’s crane perched atop the hangar deck. Ed Brown was at the controls, with executive officer Joseph “Red” Flynn directing the delicate task. Just for a laugh, Brown let the lever slip on the crane’s control bar, and the crate began a heart-stopping plummet for the deck of the landing barge rocking fifty feet below. Brown then applied the brake. The gathered officers went berserk. McCoy smiled, but executive officer Flynn, looking like his nerves were shot, softly muttered, “Brown, tell those officers to shove off.”
Brown expertly lowered the crate the rest of the way to the barge. Even though they had no idea what it was they had carried, they knew this: their mission was complete. McVay and the boys of the
Indy
let out a cheer.
Indy
let out a cheer.
Private McCoy noticed Captain Nolan and Major Furman searching the crowd, but it was unclear whether they found what—or whom—they were looking for.
5
McCoy had heard that the voyage had been difficult for Nolan, who spent
much of his time seasick in his cabin. All in all, he had seemed a suspicious character.
6
5
McCoy had heard that the voyage had been difficult for Nolan, who spent
much of his time seasick in his cabin. All in all, he had seemed a suspicious character.
6
Moments later, scanning the shore with his binoculars, McCoy followed the wooden crate and canister as they were transferred by another crane to a waiting flatbed truck. The cargo was quickly covered with a tarp, and the truck picked its way carefully over the jungle track toward a staging area called North Field.
Her cargo unloaded, the
Indy
could now return to her life as a regular fighting ship preparing for the seemingly distant invasion of Japan.
Indy
could now return to her life as a regular fighting ship preparing for the seemingly distant invasion of Japan.
Tinian lay in what was now called the backwater of the war. Tokyo, on the Japanese island of Honshu, was 1,600 miles to the north. Everything north of an imaginary line drawn across the Philippine Sea between Tinian and Leyte, 1,500 miles west of Tinian, was considered the forward area, or war zone. Iwo Jima and Okinawa lay in this area, but they had been secured and were held by occupying U.S. troops; the sea around them, however, was still patrolled by Japanese submarines.
The transition from backwater to war zone was murky, and it was difficult to say exactly when a ship might sail from relative security into imminent danger. Japanese submarines did not pay attention to imaginary lines of safety.
As the unloading of the bomb was taking place, new orders for the
Indy
had arrived through the radios aboard ship
and were decrypted by the code room. The source was the advance headquarters of the Commander in Chief, Pacific Fleet, otherwise known as CINCPAC, which fell under the direction of Fleet Admiral Chester Nimitz. McVay’s orders were simple: from Tinian, he was to proceed to Guam, a 120-mile cruise to the south, where he would report to the naval base for his further routing orders, or “road map,” to Leyte. After arriving in Leyte, he was to report by coded message to Vice Admiral Jesse Oldendorf, commander of Task Force 95, announcing his arrival and readiness to rejoin the Pacific Fleet. Oldendorf, one of the war’s most decorated officers, who had gained fame at the 1944 Battle of Leyte Gulf, was aboard his cruiser, the
Omaha
, and patrolling the coast of Japan, 1,500 miles to the north of Leyte, in preparation for the invasion.
Indy
had arrived through the radios aboard ship
and were decrypted by the code room. The source was the advance headquarters of the Commander in Chief, Pacific Fleet, otherwise known as CINCPAC, which fell under the direction of Fleet Admiral Chester Nimitz. McVay’s orders were simple: from Tinian, he was to proceed to Guam, a 120-mile cruise to the south, where he would report to the naval base for his further routing orders, or “road map,” to Leyte. After arriving in Leyte, he was to report by coded message to Vice Admiral Jesse Oldendorf, commander of Task Force 95, announcing his arrival and readiness to rejoin the Pacific Fleet. Oldendorf, one of the war’s most decorated officers, who had gained fame at the 1944 Battle of Leyte Gulf, was aboard his cruiser, the
Omaha
, and patrolling the coast of Japan, 1,500 miles to the north of Leyte, in preparation for the invasion.
But before joining Oldendorf and his warships, the
Indy
would engage in seventeen days of drills and gunnery practice and General Quarters. McVay, now free of his extra passengers and duties, would finally be able to train his men.
Indy
would engage in seventeen days of drills and gunnery practice and General Quarters. McVay, now free of his extra passengers and duties, would finally be able to train his men.
In Leyte, McVay was to report to Rear Admiral Lynde McCormick, Oldendorf’s immediate subordinate officer, who was anchored there aboard the battleship
Idaho
. McCormick, an expert in logistics and a recipient of two gold stars and the Legion of Merit, would lead McVay and his crew in preparatory exercises.
Idaho
. McCormick, an expert in logistics and a recipient of two gold stars and the Legion of Merit, would lead McVay and his crew in preparatory exercises.
Six hours after arriving at Tinian, the
Indy
pulled anchor, and a smiling McVay, pleased with his new plans, pointed the ship to sea, south for Guam.
Indy
pulled anchor, and a smiling McVay, pleased with his new plans, pointed the ship to sea, south for Guam.
As McVay sailed this night, however, the well-laid plan was already going awry.
Copies of the orders directing him to report to Oldendorf and then McCormick were radioed to eight different commands:
Fleet Admiral Nimitz and Admiral Spruance, both on Guam; the port directors on Tinian and Guam; the commander of the Mariana Islands, Vice Admiral George Murray, who was also in charge of overall naval operations in Guam and Tinian; Rear Admiral McCormick; Vice Admiral Oldendorf; and CINCPAC at Pearl Harbor. This broadcast was standard procedure, intended to keep relevant parties abreast of events.
Fleet Admiral Nimitz and Admiral Spruance, both on Guam; the port directors on Tinian and Guam; the commander of the Mariana Islands, Vice Admiral George Murray, who was also in charge of overall naval operations in Guam and Tinian; Rear Admiral McCormick; Vice Admiral Oldendorf; and CINCPAC at Pearl Harbor. This broadcast was standard procedure, intended to keep relevant parties abreast of events.
However, when a member of McCormick’s radio staff aboard the
Idaho
received the message, he decoded the name of the addressee incorrectly. Since the message appeared to be addressed not to McCormick but to another commander, the staff member stopped deciphering it altogether. He never decoded the body of the message, which described McVay’s arrival, and which had been marked “restricted,” meaning it was not a “classified” or high-priority communication.
Idaho
received the message, he decoded the name of the addressee incorrectly. Since the message appeared to be addressed not to McCormick but to another commander, the staff member stopped deciphering it altogether. He never decoded the body of the message, which described McVay’s arrival, and which had been marked “restricted,” meaning it was not a “classified” or high-priority communication.
As a result, Rear Admiral McCormick did not know to expect the arrival of the USS
Indianapolis
at Leyte.
Indianapolis
at Leyte.
The other addressees, including Oldendorf, received the information more or less as planned. But the message didn’t include the date of the
Indy
’s arrival. That would be communicated in a future dispatch.
Indy
’s arrival. That would be communicated in a future dispatch.
En route to Guam, Captain McVay was able to run his crew through anti-aircraft drills, which went well. He then readied himself to report to the port director for his new routing orders. Nearing the island on July 27, the
Indy
paused at the mouth of Apra Harbor. The ship waited as a tugboat pulled back on long cables attached to an underwater net, meant to keep enemy subs from entering, strung across the harbor’s mouth. Another tug circled behind the
Indy
, dragging in her wake sonar gear to make certain no submarines were following the ship. Once inside the harbor, the tugs pulled the net
closed and the
Indy
anchored. While fuel tankers and supply ships pulled alongside the
Indy
, a motor launch arrived and McVay was ferried to shore.
Indy
paused at the mouth of Apra Harbor. The ship waited as a tugboat pulled back on long cables attached to an underwater net, meant to keep enemy subs from entering, strung across the harbor’s mouth. Another tug circled behind the
Indy
, dragging in her wake sonar gear to make certain no submarines were following the ship. Once inside the harbor, the tugs pulled the net
closed and the
Indy
anchored. While fuel tankers and supply ships pulled alongside the
Indy
, a motor launch arrived and McVay was ferried to shore.
Guam was a bustling island of nearly 500,000 troops. Japanese forces had captured the island in December 1941, and the United States had retaken it two and a half years later after three weeks of bloody fighting. During the invasions of Iwo Jima and Okinawa, transport ships carrying thousands of troops had left this harbor day and night for a week, bound for the beachheads more than 1,200 miles to the north.
Currently anchored in the harbor were twenty ships of various classes—cruisers, destroyers, and transports. Also dotting the green lagoon were vessels damaged during kamikaze attacks and waiting for repair in the island’s dry docks. One disabled ship had been commandeered as a floating barracks for troops.
Guam had about it a sunny, makeshift feel. At its palm-fringed beach, flyboys sat at wooden tables drinking large, green cans of beer, which had been cooled to icy perfection by flying them around in an airplane for three hours at freezing altitudes.
Testing his land legs, McVay requested a driver and a jeep—officers never drove themselves. Soon he was being whisked along a freshly paved road that hugged the shore, past thatch huts that housed the island’s few remaining natives. Continuing on, the captain breezed through the bombed remains of the island, which had been flattened during the U.S. invasion. The road climbed above the sea, and McVay’s jeep stopped atop what was called
CINCPAC
Hill, command center for the Pacific war theater.
CINCPAC
Hill, command center for the Pacific war theater.
CINCPAC
headquarters was a two-story wooden building fronted by a flagpole and surrounded by flower beds. It overlooked the sea and harbor, and reclined against a hillside jungle. Circling the HQ were metal Quonset huts
painted green; they housed the offices of Admiral Nimitz’s support staff.
headquarters was a two-story wooden building fronted by a flagpole and surrounded by flower beds. It overlooked the sea and harbor, and reclined against a hillside jungle. Circling the HQ were metal Quonset huts
painted green; they housed the offices of Admiral Nimitz’s support staff.
At HQ, McVay met Nimitz’s assistant chief of staff, Commodore James Carter. Straight off, he asked if he and his ship could undertake gunnery training at Guam rather than wait for his scheduled session at Leyte. McVay was feeling the pressure of time; he wished to sharpen his crew immediately. Carter informed McVay that training was no longer offered at Guam, but that he could begin it at Leyte.
McVay was frustrated. At this rate, he remarked, his boys would probably receive their training off the coast of Tokyo, during the invasion. After the rather brief and unsatisfying meeting, he joined Admiral Spruance for lunch in the officers’ mess, in one of the Quonset huts. McVay had not seen Spruance since the kamikaze attack off Okinawa nearly four months earlier. Spruance had left the wounded ship promptly to continue overseeing the naval bombardment from the deck of the USS
New Mexico
, which had become his temporary flagship.
New Mexico
, which had become his temporary flagship.
Spruance was relaxed about the war’s present state of affairs but reticent to talk details. He disclosed only that for the moment, the invasion plans were progressing smoothly. He and his staff were preparing for the year’s end assault on Kyushu, which they hoped would result in the surrender of Japan.
7
7
Essentially, there were two battle plans being waged to
win the war at this time. The first involved the deployment of an estimated 1 million American troops to the shores of Japan. The second, the top-secret Operation Centerboard, consisted of dropping the bomb, the exact outcome of which was uncertain.
win the war at this time. The first involved the deployment of an estimated 1 million American troops to the shores of Japan. The second, the top-secret Operation Centerboard, consisted of dropping the bomb, the exact outcome of which was uncertain.
Sworn into office three months earlier after the sudden death of Roosevelt, President Truman had only recently been apprised of the project involving Little Boy and Fat Man. (Fat Man had been lightheartedly named in honor of Winston Churchill, a proponent of the Manhattan Project, and Little Boy’s original nickname was “Thin Man,” in honor of Roosevelt. It was changed to “Little Boy” when the design of its “barrel” was shortened.) General MacArthur, commander of all U.S. Army forces in the Pacific theater, would only be informed by the first of August. Throughout its development, the Manhattan Project had been kept in the shadows of the larger invasion plans, which were given the code names Olympic and Coronet.
As they ate, the admiral noticed the captain’s concern about getting his men readied, and he attempted to reassure McVay. He told him that there was no need to hurry the training exercises at Leyte. Spruance added that he might send for the ship at some point during the sessions to pick up part of his flag staff in Manila, north of Leyte in the Philippines. He himself planned to come back aboard in the fall and then meet with Vice Admiral Oldendorf off the coast of Japan in preparation for the invasion.
After lunch, McVay was driven back down the hill to the port director’s office on Apra Harbor. The building, blazingly hot in the tropical sun, sat twenty feet from the water’s edge. Inside, the busy office was feebly cooled by electric fans hanging from the wall. It was filled with some fifteen enlisted men and officers answering telephones and struggling under a barrage of incoming routing orders and coded dispatches. The office was a clearinghouse for forwarded orders coming from CINCPAC HQ, where McVay had just
had lunch, to the island’s naval base, which handled the actual implementation of the CINCPAC directives.
had lunch, to the island’s naval base, which handled the actual implementation of the CINCPAC directives.
BOOK: In Harm's Way: The Sinking of the U.S.S. Indianapolis and the Extraordinary Story of Its Survivors
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