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In the early minutes of the mid-watch within the Combat Information
Center aboard the Indianapolis the crewman peering over the ship's
radar had not picked up any object as the sweeping line on the green
radar scope circled the seas in a 360 degree scan every few seconds.
Nor had the starboard lookout observed the white tell-tale track of
incoming torpedoes or the white water “froth” or “feather” trailing a
submarine’s periscope as it sliced through the water. There was no
indication of the mortal danger that would, in a matter of moments,
erupt around the Indianapolis and turn the vessel into a flaming inferno.
Below the ship’s main decks in the crew’s sleeping quarters, those
personnel off watch were in bunks stacked along the bulkhead four deep
extending from the deck to the overhead. At the end of the passageway
the glow of a blue lamp was the only illumination; the smoking lamp was
out. The tropical night made the compartments below deck uncomfortably
hot and humid. The churning sound of the ship’s engines and their
vibrations went unnoticed as an accustomed rhythm of a vessel underway.
So usual and familiar had the throb of the powerful motors become that
it was only when they stopped that it was immediately noticed. The
sudden silence would awaken even the deepest sleeper.
It had been ten days since the submarine I-58 had cast off all
lines and slipped out of the harbor of Hirao, Japan. It had traveled
south to a point in the western Pacific where it lingered on station
astride an imaginary line connecting the island of Guam and Leyte Gulf
in the Philippines, a route which was the shortest distance between
these two American naval bases. The large, three hundred foot long,
cruise-type submarine, fitted and designed for trans-Pacific patrols,
moved silently through the dark waters like a hungry steel shark
stalking its prey. Its teeth were six bow torpedo tubes. Inside the
submarine was a crew of 119 men and 11 officers, among them the
thirty-six-year-old captain, a graduate of Eta Jima Naval Academy,
Commander Iko Machitsura Hashimoto. He was captain of a vessel that
was powered by two, 1,800 horse power electric motors and, when fully
loaded with eight hundred tons of fuel, the under-sea vessel also had on
deck a compartment large enough for a float plane which could be
catapulted along a fifty foot slanting runway although the I-58 did not
carry any aircraft on this mission. When surfaced, the monster was
capable of cruising 15,130 nautical miles at a speed of fourteen knots
and could remain submerged for eighteen hours at four knots. Its safe
diving depth was three hundred twenty eight feet and when threatened,
it could dive to periscope depth in seventy seconds.
The air was foul in the great black, steel beast when the captain gave
the order to come to periscope depth. As the water was blown from
its tanks the vessel began its rise upward from the depths. "Up
periscope" came the command and the shaft that provided its only view
of the world above water moved upward in the conning tower of the
command center of the submarine. Captain Hashimoto pulled down the
handles and placed his hands on the focusing instrument and slowly
began turning a full 360 degrees to view the world of water above the
ship. He saw no sign of an intruding vessel or aircraft. "Down scope --
surface", he ordered. Once again the ballast tanks were blown of the
excess sea water it had aboard to maintain depth. The bow of the
I-58 broke the surface and as the sea rolled over its deck in white
swirls of froth, the stern became parallel with the surface and water
left the deck. The captain climbed the ladder, spun the wheel on the
water tight hatch above him and climbed out into the fresh air of the
dark night, inhaling deeply the ocean air free of diesel fumes. He stood
with binoculars to his eyes and made a visual sweep of the sea around
him. In less than fifty seconds, with a half moon darting in and out of
intermittent cloud cover which occasionally illuminated the surface, he
spotted a dark object on the surface. Peering into the night, he saw the
silhouette of a ship at a distance of thirty thousand yards. Calculating
his position and the target's bearing, he Immediately ordered, "Crash
Dive." Back down the hatch he dropped, turning the wheel on the hatch
that would seal the interior from the on-rush of water that was sweeping
over the bow. He jumped to the deck of the conning tower.Outside, water
rushed over the ship as it sank beneath the waves. When reaching
periscope depth he ordered, "Up Periscope." The order rang through the
ship, "Prepare to fire torpedoes and launch Kaitens" . Those members of
the crew that were to serve as human torpedoes prepared their equipment.
It took about ten minutes to swing the submarine around and steady on a
course heading toward the target. After roughly estimating the surface
vessel's course and speed he then barked, "Speed twelve knots", and the
I-58 continued to approach the unsuspecting Indianapolis. During this
period he called for the Target Identification Book and mistakenly
thought he recognized the vessel as a battleship. All the while sub
sounding gear was being used to determine any change in the target's
course and speed. As his heart pounded with anticipation, Captain
Hashimoto then set up the problem on his director, placing in the
estimates and waiting to give the order to fire. The target was
approaching off his starboard bow and he waited until the target, which
was now an indistinct blur in the periscope, approached within a
distance of fifteen thousand yards. He was still unable to determine if
the target was zigzagging or if it was a battleship. He only knew that
it was a large vessel. Then he gave the order that all aboard waited for.
"Fire", Hashimoto barked , and at that moment the first of six
torpedoes were pushed through the submarine's bow tubes. Quickly, five
more oxygen propelled, Type 95 torpedoes with their magnetic warheads
left the submarine at a spread of three degrees, all speeding toward the
black silhouette Hashimoto had seen through the periscope. The metal
fish raced at a speed of forty eight knots at a depth of twelve feet all
directed at the ship which was well within range of the 880-pound
warheads of the torpedoes. As the torpedoes left the submarine the
vessel "bounced up" as it was relieved of the weight. "Down scope",
came the order. Then he waited as the seconds ticked by, waiting,
waiting, tick, tick, tick, tick, as he watched the second hand sweep
around the time-piece -- counting off everyone's measured life span --
a measured cadence of the universe leading all men on their individual
journey to eternity. "Up Scope" he ordered and the steel cylinder which
was his eyes revealed a flash of fire and in its light he also saw two
plumes of water forward of the ship's bridge rising from the water like
giant, white geysers. Then he heard the sound he was waiting for, "Boom"
- followed by - "Boom" and again in the instant of a breath another,
"Boom", "Boom." "No vessel could possibly survive this devastating
attack", he thought. It was 12:15 a. m., Monday, 30 July, 1945 and so
recorded in the submarine's log.
Photos courtesy of: U.S. National Archive