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The U.S.S. Indianapolis, Part Two

8/16/2015

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Source: Doug Stanton. In Harm's Way: The Sinking of the U.S.S. Indianapolis and 
                                       the Extraordinary Story of Its Survivors (2003)
               Also, here is a full television movie, "Mission of the Shark" (1991)
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     While the Indianapolis was sinking, an emergency SOS message HAD reached Naval Command at Leyte in The Philippines from a makeshift get-up from Radio Room #2. Commodore Jacob Jacobsen was awakened and apprised of the SOS, but no effort was made beyond that point. The SOS had reached another Leyte naval outpost, and the Officer of the Day dispatched two fast Navy tugboats to the site . . . but Commodore Norman Gillette recalled the tugs, since they sent without his authority. That SOS reached a THIRD Leyte outpost (a landing craft in the harbor); that craft signaled Leyte's Naval Operating Base, but did not receive any instructions . . . in the end, there were no immediate responses to the SOS.
     
     The U.S. Navy's protocol was to treat messages that couldn't be confirmed as pranks, and it was a pro forma procedure by late-July, 1945; The Japanese often tried to confuse and expose the Navy in many locations. It was estimated that about 300 men died on the Indianapolis, and a little over 900 men entered the Pacific with Captain McVay. McVay had been sucked down with the ship, but a large air bubble brought him back to the surface. From the moment the first torpedo hit the ship to when the Indianapolis sank, only twelve minutes had elapsed . . . and the ship sank in one of the deepest ocean trenches on Earth.

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Day One: Monday, 30 July, 1945
     About half of the 900 in the water had a life vest or an inflatable life belt, but those belts were useless, since the fuel oil in the ocean had weakened the seams. For awhile, Captain McVay was by himself; he was in absolute hell, in that he assumed that he was the only survivor. Other than fuel oil on his face (and some in his eyes), he was in good physical shape.
(Pictured: a screen capture from the 1991 made-for-television movie "Mission of the Shark")
     Once clear of the oil slicks, bobbing around in the Pacific was like being in a mildly acidic bath. Also, since most were getting constantly splashed in the face, the survivors were unwillingly ingesting seawater, their red blood cells were breaking down (leading to dehydration), and their lungs were slowly filling with water. One of the very few positives was that some survivors (including McVay) discovered that the fuel oil made an excellent sun screen.
     By dusk on Monday, the sharks arrived, most likely attracted by the blood trail. There were hundreds of sharks, including tigers, makos, white-tips, and blues . . . the survivors thought that the bumps they were feeling were from their fellow crew mates.

      (Below: a segment from "Mission of the Shark"; Captain McVay finds another survivor)

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Day Two: Tuesday, 31 July, 1945
     The sharks attacked around dawn, prowling in frenzied schools. There were two reasons why there was a high probability that many sharks had shadowed the Indianapolis for awhile. First, the ship's low-grade electrical current was an attraction, and secondly, there was a constant stream of refuse thrown overboard . . . the sharks were most likely a presence even before the Indianapolis was sunk. (pictured: a screen capture from "Mission of the Shark"; Captain McVay is in the center).
     So far, the sharks had fed on the dead, but that was soon going to change. The sharks started to hone in on those that were partially clothed (white in blue water was also an attraction). To these sharks, the sailors most likely seemed to be similar to wounded fish. As the shark attacks increased, so did the frenzy and ferocity, since there was blood in the water.
     Then, all of a sudden, the sharks stopped attacking, and returned to the lower levels of the Pacific; sharks prefer to attack (and feed) during dusk and dawn. Between attacks, more-and-more survivors were thinking about drinking seawater.

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     Although the water was 85 degrees, slow hypothermia still occurred, in that there was a ten-degree differential between the water and air temperature. Shivering quadrupled the rate of oxygen consumption, which caused the rate of hypothermia to occur faster. The body starts to slowly shut down under those circumstances (e.g. kidney failure), and in combination with ingesting seawater, many survivors would make fatal future judgments.
     At Leyte, the Indianapolis was marked as "Arrived"; it was always assumed so if there was no information to the contrary. The current Navy policy was that the "arrival of combatant ships shall not be reported." So, there was no help for the survivors in the offing from Leyte, or anywhere else. (pictured: Capt. McVay and one of his crew on a life raft in "Mission of the Shark").
     The survivors had reached the 40 hour mark since the Indianapolis sank, and there were probably only 600 or so still alive. "Will I Live" or "Will I Quit" were the questions among the survivors, and for those that gave up, suicide was common. By nightfall, many dehydrated survivors started to drink seawater, gorging themselves. In most cases, in only two hours, each survivor that did so died, since the body was overloaded with saline. Those that were most likely to resist drinking seawater . . . those that had families. 

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Day Three: Wednesday, 1 August, 1945
     That morning, some survivors started killing other survivors . . . for them, there was no more hope left. In their hallucinations, they saw "Japs" everywhere, and they used their knives to attack and defend. In just one ten-minute span, fifty were killed - it was like a flash-fire. For the past three days, survivors had been dying on an average of one every ten minutes. McVay's survivors were relatively untouched by the madness that gripped the other groups (the survivors were scattered over miles of ocean). The overriding concerns of McVay's group was exhaustion . . . and sharks (pictured: screen capture from "Mission of the Shark").

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Days Four & Five: Thursday/Friday, 2 - 3 August, 1945
     A small bomber plane was on patrol, looking for Japanese submarines, and its crew was struggling with its long-range radio antennae/sensor that extended behind the plane. It was weighted with a "sock", but that "sock" kept falling off, and they were in the midst of trying to solve the problem. 
     It was during this struggle for a "Plan B" that one of the crew members saw something that looked like an oil slick in the water as they flew by . . . to them, that meant there was probably a Japanese submarine in the area. The plane turned around, and prepared for a bombing run; they even had their depth charges ready to drop. On their first pass, they saw bodies in the water . . . it didn't matter whether they were friend or foe, the plane's crew had to think and act fast. (pictured: another screen capture from "Mission of the Shark").
     The bombing run was aborted, and they readied for another pass. The pilot had to calculate their position by "dead-reckoning", since they had a loose antennae. At 11:25 am, the plane radioed-in their approximate position, making it clear that survivors were sighted . . . it was the first report of the Indianapolis disaster. 
     The survivors had drifted incredible distances, some over 100 miles in just four days. Using a piece of rubber hose, the plane's crew weighted down their loose antennae, and calculated an accurate fix on their position. A second, far-more-accurate position message was sent, and US forces at Peleliu (SW of their position) were mobilized for rescue. Radio traffic was heavy, and news spread to US Naval Command in Guam. 

     As a result of the first radio message, floating planes (PBY Catalinas) were sent to the area. One was to relieve the spotter plane, and the others were to land in the water for immediate assistance. But, since a Catalina was unable to get immediately airborne, a Ventura bomber was the first plane that was dispatched. Also, there were orders from Guam (NE of their position) to send two destroyers to rescue the survivors. 
     A separate amphibious plane spotted the survivors, and dropped all their gear in the ocean. They radioed for permission to put-down in order to assist the survivors . . . and permission to do so was actually denied. At least at this point Naval Command in The Philippines (CINCPAC) ordered all ships to break radio silence in order to report their position.
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     One of the Catalinas (pictured) decided to land in the ocean against orders; it was very risky; planes in that class were rarely successful in putting down in the ocean, as opposed to an enclosed bay or harbor. The crew landed despite almost tearing their plane apart, and they were taking on water due to torn rivets. Once in the water, the crew's goal was to collect as many survivors as possible before dark.
     B-17's dropped much more equipment in the water, including larger rafts and wooden lifeboats. The Catalina in the water brought 56 survivors on board, many strapped down on the wings. The destroyer Cecil J. Doyle arrived at 11:45 pm, and started with rescuing the 50+ men on the Catalina. At 12:52 am (3 August) the high-speed transport ship Bassett arrived, and then the destroyers Ralph Talbot and Madison were on the scene, with the destroyer escort Dufilho soon to arrive as well. During the pre-dawn hours, the Bassett picked up 152 survivors, and then under orders returned to Leyte.
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Day Five and After: 3 August, 1945 . . .
    Top Navy brass (including Admiral Chester Nimitz) feared a "controversy" over the Indianapolis would mar the Navy's "Finest Hour" . . . they didn't want the Indianapolis disaster to take anything away from Hiroshima and Nagasaki. As soon as 3 August, the aftershocks of the Indianapolis disaster were rippling through Navy command. New rules were issued: no ships were allowed in the Pacific without escort, and every ship that was five-hours-or-more overdue were to report to the port from which they started . . . this was all far-too-late for the men of the Indianapolis.
     By early morning on 3 August, Captain McVay had still not been found by rescuers. At 10 am, a ship (the high-speed transport Ringness) arrived, and by a stroke of good luck, their radar pinged on an ammunition can that McVay had tried to use as a beacon. Now that he was rescued, McVay’s thoughts drifted towards his imminent court-martial.

     The last of the survivors pulled from the Pacific had been in the ocean for 112 hours, or more than four days. They had no food, water, or shelter from the sun, and they had drifted 124 miles from where the Indianapolis had sunk. Of the 1196 crew members, only 321 survived; 67 of the 81 officers and 808 enlisted men. 
     Four survivors would soon die in navy hospitals, reducing the number of survivors to 317; while there was no way to be certain, estimates were that as many as 200 survivors were killed by sharks. There was also the strong possibility that there were some survivors that were never rescued, despite the relentless and tireless efforts of plane-and-ship rescue crews during the following days and nights. 
        (Below: an actual photograph of some of the survivors of the Indianapolis on Guam)
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      Here is the full television movie, "Mission of the Shark" (1991);
                 Stacy Keach portrays Captain Charles McVay III
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The U.S.S. Indianapolis, Part One

8/16/2015

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Source: Doug Stanton. In Harm's Way: The Sinking of the U.S.S. Indianapolis and 
                                        the Extraordinary Story of Its Survivors (2003)
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      Captain Charles McVay III (pictured) was the only captain in the US Navy to have been court-martialed whose ship was sunk by an act of war (there were nearly 400 captains whose ships went down under attack in WW II). In the early-1990s, declassified intelligence reports surfaced, and they showed Captain McVay's innocence. The U.S. Navy still refused to reconsider its decision; McVay still stands convicted to this day . . . and he is also listed as a convicted felon.
     Of the original 317 men who survived, 38 are still alive (as of the last reunion in 2014). These survivors of the U.S.S. Indianapolis have met every two years to revisit the sinking, and to remember Captain McVay. To a man, they insist that McVay wasn't responsible for the Japanese submarine torpedo attack and the subsequent nightmare of sharks killing hundreds of survivors in the Pacific. 

    The USS Indianapolis was a wounded ship; repairs were necessary after the 31 March, 1945, near-fatal kamikaze attack off Okinawa (the southern-most Japanese island, northeast of Taiwan). The Indianapolis limped 6000 miles back to San Francisco with damage to propellor shafts, a fuel tank, and the water distillation system. Those on board had grumbled that the Indianapolis would never be the same, that she had "turned poor" . . . many thought that the Indianapolis had become an unlucky ship.
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     The Indianapolis was commissioned in 1932, and FDR made it his "Ship of State", basically an Air Force 1 on water (pictured: FDR on the Indianapolis in 1933). Technically, the Indianapolis was a heavy cruiser; it wasn't quite in the battleship class, although it certainly looked and acted like one. The top speed of the Indianapolis was 32.75 knots; few ships in her class could keep up with her. However, the downside with that speed was a lack of armor; battleships had 13 inches of steel amidships, while the Indianapolis only had 4 inches.
     The Indianapolis was FDR's favorite ship (remember, he was a former Ass't SecNav), but by 1945 she was considered past her prime; the newer heavy cruisers were bigger, faster, and better-armored. The Indianapolis was a replacement ship for a top-priority, top-secret mission in the Pacific. The USS Pensacola was the initial choice for the mission, but she failed her trial run (the engines failed in rough seas), and the Indianapolis, in for repairs in San Francisco, became the ship tasked with the secret run in the Pacific.

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    Very shortly after the Trinity Test 
(pictured: the first atomic bomb that was tested at Alamogordo, NM on 16 July, 1945) McVay received orders that originated from President Truman (had the Trinity Test failed, the Indianapolis would have stayed in port to fully complete repairs). Truman ordered the Indianapolis to deliver its cargo at any cost. The secret cargo was in a crate, secured on deck . . . it was the atomic bomb that would be dropped on Hiroshima ("Little Boy"). 
     Secured elsewhere in the ship was a big black canister that contained U-235. That uranium represented half of America's supply, and it had a "street value" that would be $4B adjusted for inflation. Once the Indianapolis delivered the cargo to Tinian Island, the first atomic bomb would be dropped on Hiroshima inside of three weeks . . . McVay was ordered to head to Leyte Gulf in The Philippines.

      On 28 July, 1945, Captain McVay stopped his zig-zagging route due to rough seas, which his orders allowed him to do, between 7:30 and 8 pm (Zig-Zagging was the authorized, and not very effective, method to try and avoid enemy submarines). Also, McVay's intelligence report indicated the he was alone in his area of the Pacific (his superiors failed to provide McVay the information he needed to keep his ship and men as safe as possible . . . his superiors knew there were Japanese submarines on patrol, McVay did not know ).
            (Pictured below: The USS Indianapolis, officially classified as a heavy cruiser, 
                      departing San Francisco on its mission to the Tinian Islands)
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      At 10 pm, it was 95 degrees, and many crewmen chose to sleep on deck. Due to the heat, and the lack of any threat due to the latest intelligence report, the Indianapolis was in a "Yoke-Modified" state which meant that many of the interior doors/spaces were open to let in as much air as possible. If the Indianapolis had been in a state of "Zed", all the interior doors and spaces would have been closed . . . in short, the Indianapolis would sink fast if it was hit hard by a Japanese submarine. 
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       The I-58 was only one of six Japanese submarines that were still operating in the Pacific. It was 356 feet long, had a seaplane and a machine gun, and it also had the latest in torpedo technology. Her sausage shape was coated in a rubber girdle, which confused US Navy sonar listeners. The I-58 had 19 magnetic torpedoes, and six kaiten (manned kamikaze torpedoes). 
The I-58 hadn't sunk a US ship yet in the war, and the captain and his crew were beyond-anxious to do so.
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     The I-58, spotted the Indianapolis six miles away, after 11 pm. It was a very complex business working up a firing solution for a torpedo, in that distance, speed, and direction needed to be carefully and quickly calculated . . . every moment that passed meant advantage to the Indianapolis. At 11:39 pm, six torpedoes were ready to fire; it was also at that moment that Captain Hashimoto (pictured) discovered that the ship he had targeted was all alone. 
     The Indianapolis was three miles away, and Captain Hashimoto wanted to know the identity of the US warship that he was going to sink. He had a classified reference book of silhouettes of US ships; he wanted to know the ID of the ship in order to know its capabilities, but the reference book was little help. At last, he was able to see the signature battleship class outline of the Indianapolis (again, the ship was a heavy cruiser that looked like a battleship) - he lined up to fire on the broadside of the US warship (he had forgotten about his kaitens). At 12:04 am on 29 July, 1945, Captain Hashimoto gave the order to fire a regular torpedo.

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       The torpedo traveled at 48 knots, 13 feet below the water, with 1210 pounds of explosives; it was enough firepower to take out an entire city block . . . and Hashimoto fired five more identical torpedoes. It took less than a minute for two torpedoes to hit the Indianapolis. The first torpedo hit the ship's forward starboard bow, and it was obliterated. The Indianapolis was still traveling at 17 knots, and it was scooping up massive amounts of water. The second torpedo hit midship, and that explosion was even more horrific. With only 4 inches of armor amidships, the Indianapolis had no chance to remain afloat.
     The ocean itself seemed to be burning, due to a ruptured fuel tank near the bow. In just one minute after the second torpedo hit, the Indianapolis was effectively cut in half. Captain McVay had little time to asses the situation, because the massive warship was going to quickly sink. The ship was listing at 15 degrees, and still moving forward at 14 knots.

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       At 12:13 am, Captain McVay gave the order to abandon ship, eight minutes after the second torpedo exploded. There was no time to abandon the ship in an orderly fashion; naval protocol was not followed in the least, as one would expect under the conditions. Of the 35 life rafts, only 12 made it to the sea, and on those rafts there were few provisions. But, there was a surplus of life vests . . . however far too many crew members went in the Pacific without one. 
     
     Complicating the nightmare was that no emergency radio messages had been sent (it was common practice for the Navy to order radio silence for its ships in WW II, especially in the Pacific . . . no one in the Navy from San Francisco to The Philippines knew the location of the Indianapolis). Before both radio rooms became inoperable, short, cryptic messages were sent; McVay knew it was crucial to transmit their location to Naval Command in Leyte in The Philippines. 
     For those that entered the ocean on the starboard side, lifesaving equipment existed . . . but for those on the port, there was no such luck. And all those that entered the Pacific had to deal with the massive amount of black oil that surrounded the ship, much of which was on 
fire . . . 
Below: First, an incredible account from one of the 300+ survivors of the Indianapolis.
          After that is famous scene from "Jaws" where Quint recounts his experience after the
          USS Indianapolis was hit by the two torpedoes from the Japanese submarine. 

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The Battle of Little Bighorn, Part Two (25 June, 1876)

8/1/2015

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         Source: James Donovan. A Terrible Glory: Custer and the Little Bighorn - 
                                                    The Last Great Battle of the American West (2009).
Addendum: Here is the other (largely forgotten) part of the Battle at Little Bighorn 
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     Captain Frederick Benteen was a good soldier, and he followed Lieutenant Colonel George Armstrong Custer's orders . . . to a point. Benteen had become frustrated due to the seemingly neverending scouting / tending-to-the-pack-train mission. Benteen kept going over ridges to try and find Natives, and he didn't see any "hostiles". 
     To Benteen, this mission felt like a wild goose chase designed to keep him from sharing in any of the glory from the upcoming victory. He didn't send a messenger to Custer, since he was ordered only to do so if he saw Natives. Benteen ordered his men to take a longer-than-normal break for the horses (and the men) before moving on. Despite the order to hurry back after accomplishing his mission, Benteen sauntered on; the horses were capable of a faster gait, but Benteen would not hasten his pace.

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        A messenger then appeared, sent by Custer (Private John Martin, an Italian whose English was substandard); Custer's written message was "Big Village, Come Quick, Bring Packs". After reading the message, Benteen (pictured to the right) chose to be confused . . . he asked those around him how could he be quick AND bring the pack trains at the same time . . . yet he moved towards Custer, but not at a brisk pace.
     Benteen wound up joining Major Marcus Reno (pictured left of Benteen), who was on a bluff after his disastrous retreat; Reno's men had their hands full dealing with attacks from warriors. Major Reno ordered Benteen to wait with him, and for the pack train; Benteen chose to follow the orders of an inferior officer instead of those of his superior, Custer. 
     Benteen spoke against sending troops towards the (loud) gunfire; he claimed that Custer and his men could handle what they were facing. In the absence of any orders from Custer, Reno made no effort to ride towards the sound of the fighting. Due to alcohol, shock, and a severe lack of command skills, Reno didn't even order reconnaissance to ascertain the situation that Custer and his men faced.

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      Meanwhile, Custer had given up on Benteen, and was moving, surrounded on most flanks. Custer ordered Captain Myles Keogh to take three companies to hold the nearby high point; he would take the rest of the troops to try and kidnap Native civilians . . . to him it was the only chance for success (holding Native noncombatants hostage was a useful strategy to force warriors to stop their attack). If Custer would have given the orders to dig-in and/or retreat, he would have renounced any hope of victory, and any claims of glory thereafter. 
     Once on the move, Custer saw that he didn't have nearly enough men to corral a large number of Native civilians, and he was under fire from multiple angles. Custer moved half-way up a rise, and ordered a halt. His idea was to hold on for Benteen and Captain Myles Keogh (pictured, who was ordered to defend the high point above the rise) to provide support. It was at this point that Custer had surrendered the offensive to the Native warriors, and the three companies under Keogh's command at the high point were mostly surrounded, and suffering heavy casualties.

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      Native warriors attacked from the East, West, and the South, converging on Custer and his men. Then suddenly many of the warriors moved to the remaining soldiers to the North at the high point - Captain Keogh's men. Keogh saw no other option than to try and join Custer's force, but before he could give the order, he was shot in the knee. Both Keogh and his horse (Comanche) went down, and the warriors descended on what was left of his men on the high point. 
     Crazy Horse and White Bull challenged each other to "make a run" (a "Courage Run"); they started the process of cutting off the rest of Keogh's men from joining Custer. Custer didn't have any warriors closer to him than 200 yards, too far to be under direct attack, but he saw that warriors were gathering and closing on his position from all sides. 
     Custer ordered his men to prepare a skirmish line, but they were still very vulnerable since there was little-or-no cover. Custer ordered all the horses shot, and placed in a semicircle to provide primitive breastworks . . . it was a stark declaration (and admission) of the seriousness of their situation (some historians argue that Custer didn't pace his horses properly, and by this point they were too fatigued to make a run to try and escape).

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    Surrounded by more than 1000 warriors, Custer's men were running out of ammunition. They were fighting for their lives, hoping that Benteen and/or Keogh would come to their rescue. Custer was down to about 50 men (counting some of Keogh's men), but he was outnumbered at least 20 to 1. 
     No one, with the exception of Custer, could really hit what they aimed at (few in the Army or among the Natives could truly claim to be a sharpshooter), but the Natives had far more guns, and by volume alone, they were able to pick off Custer's men on the high ground (since the Natives had no real opportunities for practice, anything beyond point-blank range was guesswork).

            A segment from "Son of the Morning Star" (1991 TV Miniseries): 
  a) Reno's Retreat Across the Little Bighorn; b) Private John Martin & Benteen;
  c) Custer Makes His Final Push

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     Custer was shot in the right breast, which knocked him back. He dropped his rifle, and drew his two English Bulldog pistols, and at that point, a bullet hit him in the right temple - that shot instantly killed Custer. The remaining survivors of the 7th Cavalry made a run for the nearby ravine, but most were killed before they could go 100 yards (those killed included two of Custer's brothers, Thomas and Boston, and a nephew, Autie). The rest made it halfway to the Little Bighorn before they were overcome by warriors. 
     Crazy Horse reached the area before the fighting was over, taking down one fleeing soldier. Very soon after the battle, noncombatants (especially Native women) had the job of mutilating the slain U.S. soldiers. They crushed skulls, tore out eyes, severed muscles/tendons, hacked off limbs and heads; the goal was to deny the defeated white soldiers any comfort at all in the afterlife.

         The end of the Battle of Little Bighorn ("Son of the Morning Star", 1991)
   a) The 1st Segment ends with Custer's death
   b) The 2nd Segment ends with inaccurate accounts of what was done to 
        Custer's body as well as the death of Crazy Horse . . .

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The Battle of Little Bighorn, Part One (25 June, 1876)

8/1/2015

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         Source: James Donovan. A Terrible Glory: Custer and Little Bighorn - 
                                                    The Last Great Battle of the American West (2009).
       The village on the Little Bighorn numbered over 1000 lodges, with over 8000 Natives, and around 2000 warriors. And, unlike the 3 columns of U.S. Cavalry that were heading their way in a 3-pronged advance, these 2000 warriors had extensive experience with guerilla warfare on the Plains.
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     Members from all seven tribes of the Lakota were in the village (Hunkpapa, Sans Arc, Two Kettles, Oglala, Brule, Minneconjou, and Blackfoot), as well as some Dakota, Nakota, and Cheyenne. The list of war chiefs was the equivalent of the U.S. Men's Basketball Team from the Barcelona Olympics in 1992 - they were all superstars to the "nth" degree. 
     Lieutenant Colonel George Armstrong Custer (his superior officer was General Alfred Terry) only had about 660 men (he was part of a single column), including only 31 officers, 578 enlisted men, and 45 or so scouts/guides (most of them Natives). Each soldier had the single-shot breech-loading 1873 Springfield carbine, which had an Achilles Heel - the copper cartridges would heat and jam upon firing, and had to be pried loose, usually with a knife. Other than that, the Springfield was a relatively cheap and reliable carbine with stopping power (each soldier had 100 rounds of ammunition). Also, there was the Colt .45 sidearm (24 - 74 rounds issued), and the pack mules carried 26,000 more carbine rounds.

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     Custer told his officers that he expected to deal with between 1000 and 1500 Native warriors. When the regiment of the 7th Cavalry under Custer's command started advancing in earnest, Captain Frederick Benteen was put in charge of the pack mules. Benteen's orders were to assist the movement of the pack train, and to provide rearguard protection (up to then, he had been in charge of the lead element of the regiment, the "Point of the Spear").
     Custer saw many diverging trails, but the Native scouts knew that they were actually CONVERGING trails, instead. Custer (and the other officers in the 3 columns) was too obsessed with the belief that the Natives were in the process of scattering, like cowards, in their view; there was a collective sense among the officers that if they took too long to engage, they would miss their chance at a decisive victory since the Natives would scatter and disappear. Custer calculated that he was only one day's march from much-desired and much-delayed glory . . . he ordered his regiment to follow the trail leading to the lower reaches of the Little Bighorn River.

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      Custer divided his regiment into three wings (battalions); he would take command of the right wing (the horses of those soldiers were the most fatigued of the regiment). Custer assigned Major Marcus Reno and Captain Benteen three companies each; his plan was that his right wing would be the attacking force, driving fleeing Natives into the other wings. 
     
     






 




         










     Benteen was ordered to move toward the bluffs, deal with whatever he came across, and then rejoin Custer's right wing, all the while tending to the pack train. Custer expected Benteen to return fairly soon (as in an hour or two) if he didn't find any Native warriors. Benteen had gone from leading the regiment on the initial advance to being given a secondary mission; to him, it was the playground football equivalent of being told to go long, and the QB would fake a pass towards him. Benteen firmly believed that Custer was getting his long-delayed revenge against him for voicing concerns about Custer's decision-making at the Washita in 1868.

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      Custer ordered Major Reno (pictured) to chase the escaping Natives that he believed were only two miles ahead. Custer also promised Reno that he would provide support if Reno engaged Native warriors. Reno had 175 men (140 troopers and 35 scouts), and after advancing three miles, he came in sight of the Little Bighorn River.
     Custer had about 220 men; he not only didn't have enough enlisted men, but he was short officers as well. Although the officers he did have at this point were inexperienced, they were accepted as members of the "Custer Family" (a.k.a. Custer's "Circle of Trust"; officers such as Reno and Benteen hated Custer). Custer knew Reno was under attack, and he changed his mind about directly supporting him; Custer decided to attack the Native warriors from the flank . . . the perceived benefit to Custer was that he could secure even more glory. 
     However, Custer never sent a messenger to let Reno know of his change in tactics. Back with Reno's wing, the major gave the order to attack, but his speech was slurred . . . he had been drinking whisky from his flask (Reno was an alcoholic). 

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       The village that Custer suddenly saw had at least 1000 lodges; it was much larger than he had envisioned. Meanwhile, Major Reno should have kept charging into the village from the east/southeast to disrupt any organization from the Native warriors, but he ordered a halt in the open. The decision was a combination of no elan, no experience, and his "liquid courage" had dissipated. 
     Reno's 100+ men dismounted about half-a-mile from the nearest teepees; they were spread out across 250 yards, and Native warriors were advancing towards their skirmish line. When Custer saw Reno and his men retreat to the timbers and scrub by the Little Bighorn, he decided it was time to make his glorious attack.

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     Crazy Horse finally entered the picture, leading up to 1000 warriors against Major Reno and his men in the timber/scrub by the river. Reno gave the order to retreat from that position, but since he didn't arrange for a bugler, most of his men didn't hear his order. The order was passed down verbally, and lost quite a bit in the translation - his men were under fire, and were panicked and confused. Reno in rapid succession ordered "Mount" and "Dismount"; it made sense to him, but it didn't to anyone else that was nearby.
     








 




    
     Reno then gave his "Come With Me" order, but didn't arrange for any rearguard action, which was standard military procedure, and more-than-warranted in this situation. To the pursuing Native warriors, it seemed like a '"Buffalo Chase"; Reno lost about half his men on the badly organized-and-led retreat to the bluffs across the Little Bighorn River.

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       At about 4 pm on 25 June, 1876, Custer was informed of Reno's retreat, and that he was out-of-action. Custer had a dilemma, in that he needed to cut off the escaping Native civilians (he wanted them as potential hostages, leverage to use against the warriors), and he also needed to provide (delayed) support to Major Reno. 
     As Custer surveyed his situation, he saw a dust cloud in the distance; he believed that it was Captain Benteen's wing, and that he was no more than 30 miles away. Custer thought that victory was still possible with an attack, not so with a retreat. So Custer once again (for the third time overall) split his troops (this time, he divided his battalion) - his goal was to help Reno, and stay on the offensive . . . 

  A relevant segment from "Son of the Morning Star" (1991 TV Miniseries)
     a) Benteen's frustration at being "sent long"
     b) Reno's initial attack on the village . . . notice how there is a bugler . . . inaccurate!
     c) Reno stops his charge and forms a skirmish line; Custer goes for glory
     d) Reno orders a retreat to the timbers/scrub by the LBH
     e) Custer makes his flanking move on the village; the village gets more organized

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