 In
Harm's Way
Author: Douglas Stanton
Publisher: Henry Holt & Co.
Year: 2001
Reviewer: Daryl Carpenter
The circumstances surrounding the sinking and
its aftermath are all too shocking even today.
The story of the USS Indianapolis, the last major American warship
sunk in World War II, is one of the few naval disasters remembered to this
day. Most probably remember the loss of the Indianapolis as the subject of
a (mostly historically accurate) monologue by Robert Shaw’s character
Quint in the movie Jaws.
Just to recap: On July 19, 1945 the USS Indianapolis, a Heavy
Cruiser of the Portland-class, departed San Francisco on a secret
mission to Tinian Island. Under the command of Captain Charles McVay III,
she arrived at that distant island outpost on July 26th. Unbeknownst to
the entire crew, the Indianapolis had delivered the components for
the Little Boy atomic bomb to the 509th Composite Group based there.
The Indianapolis arrived at Guam on the 28th and set sail for Leyte
in the Philippines, scheduled to arrive on July 31st. Halfway to Leyte, on
the morning of the 30th, the unescorted Indianapolis was struck by
two torpedoes fired from the Japanese submarine I-58. The first blew off
the ship’s bow; the second exploded under the bridge, cutting off
electrical power. The crippled ship capsized and sank in 13 minutes,
plowing onwards at 14 knots as water rushed into the bow. Amazingly, 900
of the 1,196 crewmembers survived the initial sinking.
In the rush to abandon ship, most of the lifesaving equipment, along with
most of the food and fresh water, went down with the Indianapolis.
When the survivors were rescued five days later, only 317 remained. The
others had succumbed to starvation, dehydration, hypothermia, dementia,
burns, and in at least 200 cases, shark attacks.
The circumstances surrounding the sinking and its aftermath are all too
shocking even today. The Indianapolis was the first ship without
anti-submarine equipment to sail the Guam-Leyte route unescorted. On July
24th 1945, the destroyer Underhill was sunk after ramming a
Japanese suicide torpedo in the same area. A communications breakdown
between the different Pacific naval commands occurred; the Indianapolis
was considered "re-directed" until the morning of August 2nd, when a
passing patrol plane spotted the remaining survivors.
Having just suffered the worst naval disaster in U.S. history, and
justifiably embarrassed by the apathetic rescue effort, the Navy needed a
scapegoat, and found one in Captain McVay. He was charged with "failing to
issue timely orders to abandon ship" and "failure to zigzag in good
visibility." Both were baseless charges; even the commander of I-58,
called in to testify, thought so. Nonetheless, McVay was court maritaled,
and took the sole blame for a needless tragedy that was the fault of many.
Unable to bear his false "guilt" any longer, he committed suicide in 1968.
Which brings me to In Harm’s Way. The 2001 Henry Holt edition of
this book is a 333 page hardcover book, divided into 12 chapters, plus a
bibliography and a list of citations. There are also sixteen pages of
black & white photographs.
Drawing on recently released material and interviews with survivors and
their families, journalist Doug Stanton tells the story from three
perspectives: Captain McVay, Ship’s Doctor Lewis Haynes, and Marine
Private Giles McCoy.
In Harm’s Way reminds me in many ways of Richard Rhode’s Dark
Sun; a potential masterpiece dragged down by a multitude of nagging
flaws. At the heart of the story is a gripping story of men against the
sea (unlike most naval literature, which focus on men against men). It’s a
story of heroism and gross negligence, one that should inspire both pride
and anger in the reader. It’s the sort of story that’s too good for
Hollywood - I doubt they’d touch something this bleak and gruesome with a
ten-foot pole.
When it’s good, it grabs the reader and doesn’t let them go. From the
moment the Indianapolis is struck up to the rescue of the survivors, In
Harm’s Way is a gripping and frequently disturbing read. Stanton holds
little back regarding the struggles of the men in the water,
dispassionately detailing the effects of anemia, hypothermia (yes, it can
happen in 85-degree water), photophobia, and starvation. After a while, I
began to wonder if any rescue was possible - despite knowing how the story
ended.
What went wrong? None of the problems plaguing this book are major, and
won’t bother the average reader. But there are a number of things I take
issue with. First on the table is Stanton’s continued insistence on
referring to the ship’s enlisted crew as "boys." Okay, some of them
were boys - seventeen, maybe eighteen years old. The Indianapolis
had accumulated ten Battle Stars by July 1945, and many of these "boys"
were grown men, and had seen more action than their superiors (or should I
call them "men?"). These men had their duties and responsibilities, were
treated as men, and often died as men. This sort of moniker just reeks of
modern day political correctness, and drove me a little crazy after a
while. The crew of the Indianapolis did not consist entirely
of doe-eyed kids.
My second issue relates to the condescending, or perhaps ignorant, tone
that Stanton takes for much of the book. I can’t decide if this guy either
a.) knows so much about naval affairs he feels the need to talk down to
the reader, or b.) underestimates the reader’s knowledge of naval
affairs and dumbs everything down to a low level. On numerous occasions,
Stanton pauses to explain the difference between port and starboard, how
fast a "knot" is, and so on. He describes depth charges as "55-gallon
drums filled with Torpex" that "surrounded subs in clouds of sonic
concussions, which shook the submarine until it sank." Say what?
Most egregiously, he describes I-58’s deck-mounted machine gun as
designed to "sweep the water clear of the torpedoed enemy’s survivors."
I’m not going to go revisionist and say the Japanese never fired on
survivors on the water. They could have used it to open bottles of Sake
for all it matters. Guns themselves don’t kill people, and that machine
gun was designed for defense against attacking aircraft. I’ve read reviews
from former naval officers pointing out Stanton’s ignorance on matters of
shipboard terminology and customs. As a civilian, I’m not going to comment
on this, but I’ll take their word for it.
Finally, the book seems to rush along at times, especially after the
survivors' rescue. McVay’s court martial is zipped by in six pages, while
a fight that resulted in the death of 50 survivors in glossed over in a
single page.
It seems that everyone is singing the praises of In Harm’s Way,
while I walked away feeling rather disappointed. The Indianapolis
story deserves better than this. It deserves an unbiased, steadily paced
volume, written by a consummate naval professional. Perhaps I’m just
asking for to much, but this book was somewhat of a bitter pill for me to
swallow.
So let’s bow our heads to the men (not boys!) of the Indianapolis
and pray that such a fate never again befalls an American warship. They
died, unnecessarily, for the better world we live in today. After I’m done
with my silent reverie, I’ll start wishing for a book that does the
Indianapolis story justice.
|
