PALAU, Aug. 15 — Sunday was a perfect day for sending a remotely operated vehicle to the bottom of the Philippine Sea; the water was smooth as glass, the wind was still, the skies were clear and the air was dry. Unfortunately, so was the submersible.

Shortly after midnight, as the ROV's handlers began their final check, a relay in the vehicle's 440-volt power supply just fried out. Result: a four-day delay and unexpected side trip here to the archipelago of Palau for repairs.

During World War II, the flyboys of England's Royal Air Force coined a term for these glitches that strike with heartbreaking regularity: SNAFU. "Situation Normal, All F - - - - - Up,'' translates burly Texan L.D. Cox, one of four survivors of the USS Indianapolis along for the search.

"Hey, it's no big deal," observes L.D.'s old crewmate, Woody James.

The men of the Indianapolis have waited 55 years to return to this corner of the Pacific to pay their respects. They've lived through the worst naval disaster in U.S. history and survived punishing seas in the last few days. A 24-hour trip to the nearest landfall for spare parts isn't going to break their spirits.

Still, the first few days out of Guam, every man on board was put to the test.

Just hours out of Apra Harbor, the Sea Eagle was fighting through the trailing edge of a full-fledged tropical storm. For the next 36 hours most of the ship's passengers and crew were either in bed or suffering from seasickness.

"The only way to cope is to lie in your bunk. The only way to forget the misery is go to sleep," observes Bob Sitrick, a member of the Discovery Channel crew here to film the expedition.

Still, by late morning on the second day out, people began gradually to emerge from their cabins looking a little the worse for wear but not permanently damaged.

In the galley the four Navy veterans opened a surprise package from the film crew documenting the expedition. Inside a 4-foot-long cardboard packing box they found a perfect scale model of their old ship, exactly as she was fitted-out for her final voyage.

The memories began to flow: "Here's my gun station in the 8-inch turret.''

"Remember the 'bedspring' radar antenna?"

"Here's my watch in the crow's nest."

"Here's where I slept on deck that night."

"Here's where the first torpedo hit. ..."

Three of the men cradled the model, then tilted it bow down.

"She rolled over like, this."

"Yeah, that's it."

They backed each other up as they recreated the ship's final moments. As if performing a ritual, slowly they plunged the model below "sea level'', in this case the surface of the galley table. The Indianapolis sank again; but in the hearts of the survivors, it will sail on forever.