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About twelve miles from where the USS Indianapolis cruised, Lieutenant Commander Hashimoto had been awakened by a subordinate officer, per orders. It was time to begin night maneuvers. 

Hashimoto put on his soiled, damp uniform, laced his boots, and walked through the narrow passage of his sub, anxious about what the night might bring. At 11 P.M., he ordered the men to their night-action stations, then raised the night periscope -- built specifically to magnify targets in low light -- and swung the serpentlike head of the instrument in a sweeping arc. Earlier, the I-58's sonar man had picked up something, which he had finally identified as the sound of rattling dishes. And this rattling was increasing, coming closer.

On the surface of the sea, the metal periscope poked through; painted gray, it blended perfectly with the murkiness of the night and choppy dishwater sea. Yet the horizon was empty. Not a ship in sight. Hashimoto ordered the I-58 topside for a more thorough look. The boat jumped to life. 

The crew blew the main ballast, releasing forced air into the tanks and jettisoning the water she had drawn upon diving three and a half hours earlier. The sub drifted silently to the surface and broke through, tons of water streaming from her gray, bulbous shape. 

The crew screwed open the conning tower hatch, and the submarine's navigator climbed topside to survey the nightscape. Fresh air poured down the opening into the sub, relieving the stifling onboard conditions. The sub's bridge was built forward on the ship, near the bow. It served as lookout point whenever she cruised the surface. The crew stood on its metal platform, surrounded chest-high shield that protected them from enemy fire. The gator scoped the horizon silently through binoculars. 

Suddenly he yelled, "Bearing red, nine-zero degrees. A possible enemy ship!" 

The announcement was a shock. Hashimoto had studied the same horizon but had missed the ship shrouded in darkness. The excited sub captain sprinted up the ladder onto the bridge. But he couldn't tell what he was looking at. The target was six miles away. It was just a smudge atop the water. Hashimoto ordered the sub into a dive. The hatch was sealed, the ballast vents were opened, and the tanks began sucking in several tons of water. The sub slipped beneath the surface. 

The hunt was on. 

Down below, at his periscope, Hashimoto set about the task working up his firing solution. This involved figuring his distance from the target, its speed, and direction. It was tense, complicated business; each minute that elapsed gave the target time to escape. The lieutenant commander was looking for an intercept point at which he could aim his torpedoes. As tracked the target, he kept his eye to the periscope, determined not to lose sight of it. He had no idea if the target was aim followed by a destroyer escort. 

At 11:09 P.M., six of the I-58's torpedoes were ordered loaded and ready to fire. One pilot seated himself in a kaiten, another was ordered to stand by. 

Hashimoto crept ahead at a quiet three knots.

He couldn't believe his luck.

Another excerpt on the sinking of the USS Indianapolis

Three miles away and closing in on the Indy, Lieutenant Commander Hashimoto studied the blurred outline of the ship through the periscope. Hashimoto racked his brain trying to accurately identify the vessel. It was crucial. Lying open on a table near the periscope was a book of U.S. warship silhouettes that provided intelligence necessary to correctly identify battleships, carriers, and cruisers. The book also presented important information about each ship's speed and capabilities. 

Hashimoto knew the ship wasn't friendly, because he'd been kept apprised of Japanese naval movement through coded dispatches. It had to be enemy, but what kind? He studied the approaching shape through the periscope. Destroyer? Battleship? Why was it headed straight at him? He wondered if it was a destroyer hunting him. 

He ordered his sub on a new course heading to port, or to his left. Through the periscope, the bridge and superstructure of the ship became more clearly visible as a triangle shape. Now the ID could be made. Hashimoto surmised that this target was of the battleship class. He announced this as the sub's sonar man tuned in to the sound of the approaching ship's engine revolutions. Hashimoto counted the revolutions for one minute, calculating the target's speed. 

It was twenty knots. He next swung his sub into position to meet the Indy broadside for the kill shot. From this vantage, he could see that his target, illuminated by the sliver of moon peeking through the clouds, was indeed a large warship. She was huge.

As the attack procedure progressed, the four kaiten pilots became more and more adamant that one of them be launched. But in the excitement of the sudden rush to identify the ship, Hashimoto had actually forgotten about them. He now told the pilots that because of the conditions, with the target closing in, it would be nearly impossible to miss the kill; their lives would be wasted unnecessarily if he used them. 

Then, with his eye pressed to the rubber cup of the periscope, Hashimoto gave the order to fire. It was 12:04 A.M. 

The first torpedo shot from a forward tube of the sub and quickly accelerated to a cruising speed of forty-eight knots, or about as fast as a racing greyhound. It traveled at a depth of thirteen feet, leaving behind a swirling wake. 

The torpedo carried 1,210 pounds of explosives and was configured with a preset firing range of 1,640 yards, a little under a mile. This was enough firepower to take out an entire city block. Hashimoto fired six of these, and they left the ship at three-second intervals, in a widening fan of white lines. 

It took less than a minute for two of the torpedoes to intercept the Indianapolis.

Copyright © 2001 by Reed City Productions, LLC.