JOINT BASE CHARLESTON, S.C. –
In the waning days of World War II, in the backwater of the Pacific Ocean, the cruiser USS Indianapolis was sunk by a Japanese submarine. The enemy torpedo killed 300 of the crew outright, leaving many more wounded and struggling to stay alive in the chaos that ensued. The ship went down in only 12 minutes, leaving 900 survivors floating 350 miles from the nearest land.
What followed was the real nightmare.
During the next four and a half days, extraordinarily harsh conditions, shark attacks, hypothermia, physical and mental exhaustion and hallucinatory dementia grimly claimed the lives of all but 316 men. Most naval historians acknowledge it as the greatest tragedy at sea during World War II. Nonetheless, the crew of the Indianapolis had, days before, accomplished their mission, delivering the components of the atomic bomb "Little Boy" later dropped on Hiroshima.
Theirs is a story of "service before self" and beyond. Having quickly and secretly delivered the tools that ultimately put an end to the war; the ship's crew had performed an historic service. Part of the journey, the 2,405-mile cruise from San Francisco to Pearl Harbor was completed in 74.5 hours and remains a record unbroken today. Add to this their harrowing fight for survival in the most desperate of circumstances and one would think citations were merited all around. It was not to be.
When the story of the tragedy hit newspapers across the country, the nation was saddened and bewildered. However, the public's shock was rapidly overshadowed by America's victory and the V-J Day celebrations that monopolized their attention. The disaster was quickly forgotten, except by grieving families demanding answers from an embarrassed U.S. Navy that had little information to give. So the official inquisition began; a scapegoat had to be found.
The captain of the Indianapolis, Charles McVay, became the first ship's captain in U.S. Navy history to be court-martialed as a result of losing his ship to an act of war. However, it was a series of errors and omissions by the Naval Intelligence Service and senior leadership in the Pacific that put the Indianapolis on its fateful course and then failed to realize it was missing for days after the attack. Moreover, much to the outrage of the American public, the Navy called the captain of the Japanese submarine as a witness for the prosecution! Despite all this, McVay was convicted on the weak charge of "hazarding his ship by failing to zigzag," a defensive maneuver that even the Japanese submarine captain testified would not have changed the outcome of his attack. In the quiet and dignified manner of a true career military man, McVay quietly bore this awesome unjust conviction for the remainder of his life.
Like the shocking unmerited consequences that befell McVay, the most compelling part of this story is what the surviving crewmen did with their futures following the life-changing tragedy. While all were forever haunted and scarred by the experience, a majority put aside their feelings of rancor and helped fuel America's booming post-war economy. There was no media outcry for personal compensation fueled by enraged family members. None of the survivors founded a bitter organization calling for politicians to alter national policies. Rather, these Americans resolutely went back to their homes and former occupations. Some still had service commitments and remained in the Navy for several years. Regardless of what happened in the water, these men put that in the past, returned to the flow of American life, and worked. Their perseverance to reintegrate with society matched their will to survive at sea and is inspiring. Perhaps it is also incomprehensible for those of us who haven't shared such an experience. What was their motivation? What core value upholds such dedication? Is this sense of belonging to something larger than one's self lost to us today?
Service before self is a noble ideal. While I believe it exists in all military men and women, their motives vary. A careful search of one's heart will reveal that the "ideal" is buoyed by the expectation or hope that such "selfless" service will be recognized. We all feel deserving of some recognition - perhaps a medal, a certificate or maybe just a heartfelt "thank you" from the boss. This is not a wrong notion. To banish all hope of reward is to make life a meaningless, haphazard existence.
But what happens if you are forgotten or even punished for doing your job properly? In such circumstances, service before self may not be enough. Sometimes much greater sacrifice is required.
Military service is unique in the field of human endeavors and does indeed require a level of devotion that transcends one's self. This is true for anyone in a position of leadership and especially so for those in command. Too much power and authority is conveyed with the mantle of command to allow for leanings toward personal aggrandizement; service necessarily pushes out self. Unfortunately, this same organization that needs, even requires its members to put service before self, cannot always reciprocate. The U.S. military, like any human organization, is not infallible. The establishment we serve is an enormous complicated machine with much bureaucracy in its makeup. It functions effectively, but at times seemingly illogically. This is particularly true in times of war when the rationale behind many decisions remains classified or, at best, clouded until years later when all the facts can be assembled.
In 1999, retired Navy Captain Bill Toli conducted such an after-the-fact review of McVay's case. In his critique of the Navy's actions, he notes: "Here was a man who, because of the unique and absolute nature of the responsibility of command, was culpable for the misfortune that befell his ship - the captain's own statements point to the fact that he understood this truth well. Despite that, there was nothing he could've done to prevent that misfortune and he should never have been prosecuted in the first place. The lesson here is that a decision can be legally correct and still be unjust."
In spite of man's best efforts, mistakes are made and his institutions are flawed. Nonetheless, the military requirement for service before self, indeed service in lieu of self, remains. On such uncertain ground, what is your motivation? Why do you serve? What, if anything, do you expect in return?
Sometimes the One in charge requires service so challenging and demands such great sacrifice, only love could be adequate motivation. Various reasons move men and women to volunteer for military service, but surely only love can sustain us through the most desperate of trials ... love of God, love of country, love of a family far away or a comrade by our side. Greater love has no one than this that he lay down his life for his friends. That is the ultimate form of service before self, where service entirely supplants self. This could entail death, but just as significantly could mean bearing an unjust life-long conviction with quiet dignity, as did Captain McVay. How fortunate are we to inherit the blessings of freedom that spring from such a tradition of sacrifice. What an honor it is to be part of such service that is greater than one's self.