On July 30th, 1945, the USS Indianapolis sank in 12 minutes after being torpedoed by a Japanese submarine. Nearly 900 men went into the water. They floated in the Philippine Sea for 5 days with no food, no water, and no rescue coming because nobody knew they were missing. The sharks came almost immediately. By the time rescuers accidentally discovered the survivors, only 316 men remained alive.

 It was the greatest single loss of life at sea in United States Navy history. The story of the USS Indianapolis is about a catastrophic failure of communication, about men enduring unimaginable horror, about sharks feeding in a frenzy that lasted days, and about a captain who was scapegoed for a disaster that wasn’t his fault. It’s also about a secret mission so classified that it contributed to the ship’s doom.

The Indianapolis had just delivered components for Little Boy, the atomic bomb that would be dropped on Hiroshima 6 days after the ship sank. The mission was so secret that when the ship disappeared, nobody thought to look for it. This is the story of the ship that helped end World War II and the men who paid the price.

The USS Indianapolis was a Portland class heavy cruiser commissioned in 1932. She’d served throughout the Pacific War, participating in numerous campaigns and earning 10 battle stars. By July 1945, she’d been repaired after taking a kamicazi hit off Okinawa and was ready for sea duty again. On July 16th, 1945, the Indianapolis received highly classified orders.

 The ship was to transport a mysterious cargo from San Francisco to Tinian Island in the Marana Islands. The cargo was kept under extreme secrecy. It arrived at the dock in a large crate and a cylindrical canister, both heavily guarded. The crew wasn’t told what they were carrying. The ship’s captain, Charles McVey III, knew only that the cargo was critical to the war effort and that speed was essential.

What the Indianapolis carried were components for the atomic bomb. The crate contained the uranium 235 projectile for Little Boy. The canister held other essential parts. This was the most important cargo any ship had carried in the war. If the Indianapolis failed to deliver it, the atomic bombing of Japan would be delayed, potentially for months.

The ship left San Francisco on July 16th and sailed at top speed across the Pacific. The voyage was uneventful. The Indianapolis arrived at Tinian on July 26th, delivered the cargo and received orders to proceed to Lee Gulf in the Philippines for training exercises before rejoining the fleet. The atomic bomb components were unloaded and immediately transferred to waiting bomb assembly teams.

 Within days, they would be loaded onto the Anola Gay. The Indianapolis had completed the most important mission in its career. Now it was sailing to what should have been a routine destination. The Indianapolis left Guam on July 28th headed for Lee Gulf. Captain McVey had requested a destroyer escort for the journey as was standard practice for capital ships sailing through potentially dangerous waters.

 His request was denied. Intelligence officers told him the route was safe and that escorts weren’t necessary. This was tragically wrong. The waters between Guam and Lee were regularly patrolled by Japanese submarines and Navy intelligence knew this, but the information wasn’t properly communicated to McVey or to the Indianapolis.

The ship sailed alone and unescorted on the night of July 29th. Conditions were ideal for submarine warfare. The moon had been bright earlier, but was now covered by clouds. The sea was calm. Visibility was limited. The Indianapolis was sailing in a straight line at about 17 knots, neither zigzagging nor taking evasive measures.

 Zigzagging was recommended in dangerous waters, but not required when visibility was poor. McVey had ordered zigzagging during daylight hours, but allowed the ship to sail straight at night when he deemed visibility too poor for effective submarine attacks. At 12:05 a.m. on July 30th, the Japanese submarine I58, commanded by Commander Mochitsura Hashimoto, spotted the Indianapolis.

Hashimoto couldn’t believe his luck. an American heavy cruiser alone, sailing straight, silhouetted against the horizon. He positioned his submarine and fired six torpedoes. Two struck the Indianapolis. The first torpedo hit the starboard bow, blowing off the entire front section of the ship. The second hit near the bridge, causing massive damage to the ship’s midsection.

 The explosions were catastrophic. The forward part of the ship simply disappeared, vaporized by the blast. Hundreds of men sleeping in the forward compartments died instantly. Others were trapped below decks as water rushed in. The ship’s communication systems were destroyed. The Indianapolis couldn’t send a distress signal.

 The electrical systems failed, plunging the ship into darkness. The ship began listing heavily to starboard. Captain McVey ordered abandoned ship, but there was no way to communicate the order throughout the vessel. Men in different parts of the ship had to figure out for themselves that the ship was doomed. 12 minutes after the torpedo struck, the USS Indianapolis rolled over and sank.

Nearly 900 men were now in the water. The men who survived the initial explosions and made it off the ship found themselves scattered across miles of ocean. Some had life jackets. Many didn’t. Some had managed to deploy life rafts. Most were simply floating in kpock life vests or clinging to floating debris.

 The survivors clustered into groups based on where they’d ended up after abandoning ship. The largest group had about 400 men. Other groups ranged from a few dozen to over a hundred. Some men floated alone, separated from everyone. The first challenge was simply staying afloat. The K-pop life vests kept men’s heads above water, but weren’t comfortable for extended wear.

The vest chafed against skin. Men had to constantly adjust their positions to avoid cramping. Those without vests struggled from the start, clinging to debris, to other men, to anything that floated. The sun rose on July 30th, and the men realized the full scope of their situation.

 They were in the middle of the ocean with no land in sight. Many were injured from the explosions, the sinking, or the jump into the water. Burns were common, broken bones, cuts, and lacerations. Oil covered many of the men, getting in their eyes, mouths, and wounds. The oil had leaked from the Indianapolis as it sank and spread across the surface.

 Men swallowed it accidentally, vomited, and swallowed more. The oil caused chemical burns and made many violently ill. There was no fresh water. Men quickly became thirsty in the tropical heat. Some started drinking sea water almost immediately despite warnings from others. Drinking sea water accelerates dehydration and causes madness, but the thirst was overwhelming.

There was no food. Men had jumped from the ship with nothing. A few life rafts had emergency supplies, but these were quickly exhausted or lost. The biggest problem was that nobody knew they were there. The Indianapolis had sunk so quickly it couldn’t send a distress call. The Navy didn’t know the ship was missing.

The sharks arrived on the first day. Oceanic white tip sharks drawn by the explosions, the blood in the water, and the thrashing of hundreds of men. The sharks began circling the groups of survivors. At first, they took the dead. The bodies of men who died from injuries or who’ drowned.

 The survivors watched sharks pull corpses under, saw the water turn red, felt the vibrations of feeding frenzies through the water. Then the sharks started taking the living. They’d circle a group of men, select a target, and strike. A man would scream, disappear under the water, and never surface again.

 or he’d surface briefly, screaming, being pulled apart. The attacks were constant. Day and night, the sharks fed. Men tried to stay in tight groups, kicking at sharks that came too close, making noise to scare them away. It didn’t matter. The sharks were relentless. Some men lost limbs to shark attacks, but survived, bleeding in the water, knowing the sharks would return.

 Others were pulled under so quickly they barely had time to scream. The psychological terror was worse than the physical danger. Men floated in water they knew was full of sharks, waiting for an attack they couldn’t prevent. They watched friends disappear. They heard screams in the darkness. They felt sharks brush against them underwater.

Some men went mad from the terror. They’d swim away from the groups, thrashing and screaming, attracting sharks and being devoured. Others hallucinated, thought they saw land or rescue ships, and swam toward nothing, dying of exhaustion or shark attack. The officers tried to maintain order, keep men together, prevent panic.

 But there was no order to maintain. They were helpless, waiting to die. The second day was worse than the first. The sun was merciless. Men suffered severe sunburn and dehydration. Lips cracked and bled. Skin blistered. Eyes swelled shut. The thirst became unbearable. More men drank sea water knowing it would kill them but unable to resist.

 The salt water caused hallucinations and violent behavior. Men who drank seaater started seeing things that weren’t there. They’d claim they could see the Indianapolis floating nearby would swim toward it and disappear. They’d fight with other men over imaginary water or food. They’d remove their life vests and dive down thinking there was fresh water below the surface.

 They drowned or were taken by sharks. The groups began to fragment. Men died of injuries, dehydration, exposure, or shark attack. The living couldn’t hold on to the dead, so bodies floated away or were pulled under. The groups became smaller, more scattered. By the third day, many men had given up hope.

 They’d been in the water for over 60 hours with no sign of rescue. They didn’t know if anyone was even looking for them. Some men simply slipped out of their life vests and let themselves sink. Others died of exhaustion, their bodies giving out after days of treading water. The sharks continued feeding. The water was thick with them. Some survivors later estimated there were hundreds of sharks circling the groups.

Modern estimates suggest dozens of sharks were actively feeding, which was more than enough. The attacks never stopped. A few men maintained hope and discipline. Navy officers kept trying to organize their groups, keep men together, prevent them from drinking sea water. Dr. Lewis Haynes, the ship’s senior medical officer, worked constantly to help the injured, and keep men alive.

 though he had no supplies and could do little beyond offer encouragement. Young sailors who’d been terrified on the first day became leaders by the third, helping others, sharing strength, refusing to give up. But for every man who maintained hope, another succumbed to despair, madness, or death. On August 2nd, the fourth day, a Navy pilot on routine patrol spotted an oil slick.

 Lieutenant Wilbur Gwyn was flying a PV1 Ventura on anti-ubmarine patrol when he noticed the slick and decided to investigate. He flew lower and saw something in the water. Men, dozens of them, scattered across miles of ocean. Gwyn immediately radioed for help and dropped life rafts and supplies to the survivors. He couldn’t land. His plane was a bomber, not a sea plane, but he stayed in the area circling, counting men, marking positions.

 The message reached other Navy units. A PBY Catalina SE plane piloted by Lieutenant Adrien Marx was dispatched to the scene. Marks arrived and saw the full horror of the situation. Men in the water, many clearly dying, sharks circling. The PBY was supposed to mark positions and wait for surface ships.

 But Marks made a decision that violated orders and Navy regulations. He landed the sea plane in open ocean, an extremely dangerous maneuver that could have destroyed the aircraft. Markx and his crew began pulling men from the water. They filled the plane beyond capacity, packing survivors into every available space.

 The plane couldn’t take off. It was too heavy and damaged from the landing, but it could float. Markx kept pulling men aboard, saving lives while waiting for ships to arrive. The destroyer escort, USS Cecil J. Doyle, arrived first, followed by other ships. They began recovering survivors from the water and from the overcrowded PBY.

 The rescue continued through the night and into August 3rd. Ships searched the area, pulling living men from the water and recovering bodies. Of the approximately 880 men who survived the sinking and made it into the water, only 316 were rescued alive. Over 560 men died during those four days. killed by injuries, exposure, dehydration, drowning, or sharks.

 It remains the worst shark attack incident in recorded history and the greatest single loss of life at sea in United States Navy history. The Navy faced a crisis. The USS Indianapolis had been sunk and hundreds of men had died, not just from the sinking, but from 4 days in the water because nobody knew they were missing. The public would demand answers.

 Someone would have to take responsibility. Captain Charles McVey was chosen. The Navy convened a court marshal charging McVey with failing to zigzag and failing to order abandoned ship in a timely manner. The charges were questionable. McVey had zigzagged during daylight hours and had discretion to stop zigzagging when visibility was poor, which it was.

 He’d ordered abandoned ship as soon as he realized the ship couldn’t be saved, which was within minutes of the torpedoes striking. The real failures were systemic. Naval intelligence knew Japanese submarines operated in those waters, but didn’t warn McVey adequately. The Navy failed to notice the Indianapolis didn’t arrive at Ley as scheduled.

 Standard procedures for tracking ship movements broke down completely. But the Navy didn’t court marshall intelligence officers or admirals. They court marshaled McVey. The prosecution called Commander Hashimoto, the Japanese submarine commander who’d sunk the Indianapolis as a witness. This was unprecedented and shocking.

 calling an enemy officer to testify against an American captain. Hashimoto testified that zigzagging wouldn’t have mattered. He’d had a perfect shot regardless of the ship’s course. McVey was convicted of failing to zigzag, but acquitted of the other charge. He was sentenced to a reduction in rank, but was later restored by the Secretary of the Navy due to his previous excellent record.

 The conviction stood. McVey spent the rest of his life receiving hate mail from families of men who died. He received letters blaming him, cursing him, accusing him of murder. The burden was unbearable. On November 6th, 1968, Charles McVey walked onto his front lawn in Lichfield, Connecticut, holding a toy sailor he’d received as a gift years earlier.

 He put a service revolver to his head and killed himself. For decades, survivors of the Indianapolis fought to clear McVeyy’s name. They knew he wasn’t responsible for the disaster. They wrote letters, testified, campaigned for his exoneration. In 1996, a 12-year-old student named Hunter Scott did a history project on the Indianapolis after watching the film Jaws, which features a famous scene where a character describes surviving the sinking.

 Scott’s research uncovered evidence of the Navy’s failures and McVeyy’s scapegoating. Scott interviewed survivors, gathered documents, and presented his findings. His work sparked renewed interest in McVeyy’s case. Scott testified before Congress. Survivors testified. Evidence was presented showing the systemic failures that led to the disaster.

 In October 2000, Congress passed a resolution exonerating Captain McVey. President Clinton signed it into law. The resolution stated that McVeyy’s record should reflect that he was exonerated for the loss of the Indianapolis. In July 2001, the Navy officially cleared McVeyy’s name. Too late for McVey himself, but a victory for the survivors who’d fought for decades to restore their captain’s honor.

The USS Indianapolis rests at the bottom of the Philippine Sea, 18,000 ft down. The wreck was discovered in August 2017 by a team led by Microsoft co-founder Paul Allen. The ship sits upright on the ocean floor, remarkably intact considering the violence of its sinking. The discovery brought closure to many survivors and families.

 The story of the Indianapolis is often remembered for the shark attacks, and those were certainly horrific. But the real tragedy was preventable. The ship should have had an escort. Intelligence should have warned McVey about submarine activity. The Navy should have noticed when the ship didn’t arrive on schedule.

 Any one of these failures being corrected would have saved hundreds of lives. The men who survived carried the trauma for the rest of their lives. They’d watched friends die in terrible ways, endured four days of unimaginable horror, and survived what should have been certain death. Many suffered PTSD, nightmares, survivors guilt.

 They formed associations, held reunions, supported each other through the decades. By 2024, only one survivor remains alive. The last of the men who endured those four days in sharkinfested waters, who watched the USS Indianapolis disappear beneath the waves, who survived the greatest naval disaster in American history.

 The Indianapolis delivered the bomb that helped end the war, then disappeared. 900 men went into the water. 316 came out and for decades afterward they fought to clear the name of the captain who’d been made a scapegoat for a disaster that wasn’t his fault. Their victory came too late for Charles McVey but it came.

 The Navy finally admitted what the survivors had always known. McVey was a good captain dealt an impossible hand, and he didn’t deserve to be blamed for a catastrophe caused by systemic failures far beyond his control. Thank you for watching, and remember, if you know a World War II veteran, especially one who served in the Pacific, take a moment to thank them.

 And if you’re a veteran yourself from any era, thank you for your service. These stories are your legacy. Until next time, stay strong, stay curious, and never forget.