Unaware of the intimate details of the cabinet negotiations with America, Tsukamoto cautiously answered: “I’ll cooperate on two conditions. First, if the Emperor’s decision goes against us, then it’s all over. Second, the entire Army must rebel, not just a group here and there.”
Ida was incredulous. “You mean you won’t come with us in any case?” He had thought that Tsukamoto would wholeheartedly endorse the plan.
Tsukamoto laughed. “I’ll talk to you later.” He walked away from his good friend, who was both annoyed and puzzled at the tenor of the conversation.
Having thus quickly uncovered the focal point of the pending coup, the Kempei colonel went directly to Okido’s headquarters and reported. Tsukamoto was ordered to keep closer watch on the situation at the War Ministry and to pay special attention to Colonel Ida’s movements in the days ahead.
On August 11, in Fukuoka, one hundred miles north of the burning remains of Nagasaki, some Japanese army officers sat in their headquarters and discussed murder. Just recently, news of the atomic bombings had inflamed opinion against the Americans. In Fukuoka, it occasioned a day of violence. There, the Japanese had under their control a group of captured American B-29 crewmen who had been shot down on raids mounted from the Marianas during the past three months. The jailers had already executed eight fliers in formal rites carried out on the twentieth of June. Now they were preparing to kill again.
At 8:30 A.M., a truck pulled up to the rear of Western Army District Headquarters. Thirty-two men got into the back and sat down. Eight of them were Americans. The rest were Japanese soldiers. The truck went out through the rear gate and down the road to a place called Aburayama, several miles south of Fukuoka City. In a field surrounded by dense undergrowth, the prisoners were led down from the back of the vehicle and arranged in a loose line. They were stripped to shorts or pants and forced to watch as Japanese soldiers began to dig several large holes in the ground. The Americans said nothing to each other.
Shortly after 10:00 A.M., a first lieutenant from a Japanese unit training for guerrilla warfare stepped forward and brandished a gleaming silver sword. As one of the Americans was prodded forward and forced to a kneeling position, the Japanese officer wet his finger and ran it across the sharp edge of his weapon. Then he looked down at the bowed head of the prisoner and gauged the distance. Suddenly his sword flashed in the sun and crashed against the bared neck. It cut nearly all the way through to the Adam’s apple.
The line of captives silently watched their comrade die. Some turned away. Others saw the body roll sideways onto the grass.
A second flier was pushed forward to be killed. A third, a fourth was decapitated. The fifth one was butchered by an executioner who required two strokes to sever the head.
The Japanese officers introduced a new torture on the sixth prisoner. He was brought in front of a group of spectators and held with his arms behind his back. A Japanese ran toward the American and smashed him in the stomach with the side of his hand. The flier slumped forward but was pulled upright again to receive another karate blow. Three, four times, the powerful chops to the body were repeated. When the victim did not die, his head was cut off.
The seventh prisoner suffered the same cruelty from men practicing the art of killing with their bare hands. When he too survived the vicious karate, one of the officers, angered by his own failure, rushed up and kicked him in the testicles. The prisoner fell to the ground, his face contorted by nausea and pain. He pleaded, “Wait, wait,” but his tormentors had no pity. He was pulled into a kneeling position while the captors debated another manner of execution. They settled on kesajiri. Another sword glinted in the sun over the bowed form and cut down through his left shoulder and into the lungs. The American died in a froth of blood.
The last prisoner had seen seven men hacked to death before his eyes. His last moments were a blurred image of blood, steel slashing through skin and bone, cries of pain from his friends and shouts of glee from his enemies. Now he knew it was his turn. He was pushed into the center of the maddened group of soldiers, who made him sit down on the ground. His hands were tied behind him. Ten feet away, another officer from a guerrilla unit raised a bow and placed an arrow on it. The American watched as the Japanese pulled it back, sighted on him, and let go. The arrow came at his head and missed. Three times the officer shot at the American, and the third arrow hit him just over the left eye. Blood spurted out and down his face.
Tired of the sport, his captors prodded him into the familiar kneeling position and chopped his head from his body. On the field of Aburayama, eight torsos stained the meadow grass.
In China on August 11, control of the prisoner rescue operation was handed over from General Olmstead in Chungking to Colonel Richard Heppner in Kunming. Heppner would handle the next phase. As director of all undercover activities in China for the OSS, the colonel controlled networks of spies and saboteurs working throughout the mainland. From these he could draw personnel to mount the ambitious scheme.
As he labored over the details of the mission, a telegram came in from the advance base at Hsian, far to the north, at the edge of the vast Gobi Desert. Major Gus Krause, commanding officer of that vital espionage center, was advising Heppner that he was ready for any change in the war situation:
WE HAVE AVAILABLE HERE FULLY TRAINED AND EQUIPPED OBOE SUGAR SUGAR [OSS] PERSONNEL … TO DROP OR PLACE IN STRATEGIC AREAS. PLEASE ADVISE YOUR DISPOSITION REGARDING THIS PERSONNEL.
A later telegram from Krause expanded on the readiness of the Hsian garrison:
KELLIS AND TEAM ARE TO BE DROPPED ONE ZERO ZERO MILES SOUTHEAST OF PEIPING. BY THE ABOVE MEANS WE SHALL HAVE OBOE SUGAR SUGAR PERSONNEL SO LOCATED AS TO MOVE INTO EITHER PEIPING OR TIENTSIN UPON YOUR DIRECTION.
Gus Krause, aware of the imminence of capitulation by the Japanese, was moving to take advantage of the few hours or days left. In Kunming, Colonel Heppner began to organize his own forces for the mercy missions into enemy territory.
In Tokyo during that afternoon, Admiral Soemu Toyoda sent out an order to all fleet commanders:
FURTHER POSITIVE OFFENSIVE OPERATIONS AGAINST THE UNITED STATES, GREAT BRITAIN, THE SOVIET UNION AND CHINA WILL BE SUSPENDED PENDING FURTHER ORDERS.
That message was picked up by American intelligence and flashed to Washington. Undersecretary of War Robert Lovett called Secretary Stimson right away to inform him of the Japanese action. Stimson, suffering from a recurrent illness, left later that day for a rest in the mountains. For him the issue was resolved. For the leaders in Tokyo, the issue was in serious doubt.
TEN
August 12—Day of Crisis
Just before 1:00 A.M. on the twelfth, the answer from America arrived by shortwave radio from San Francisco. It had been eagerly awaited by both peace and war factions in Tokyo. At the Foreign Office, men worked furiously at translating the Byrnes message, while in another building on top of Ichigaya Hill, Army officers who listened to the English broadcast raged helplessly at their inability to decipher it. Since the Imperial Army had very few men capable of speaking the enemy’s language, it was forced to proceed very slowly in translating the text into Japanese. The diplomats at the Foreign Office had much less trouble.
Premier Suzuki’s secretary, Sakomizu, read the first rough draft handed to him. The message made these points:
… from the moment of surrender the authority of the Emperor and the Japanese Government to rule the state shall be subject to the Supreme Commander of the Allied Powers who will take such steps as he deems proper to effectuate the surrender terms.
The Emperor will be required to authorize and ensure the signature by the Government of Japan and the Japanese Imperial General Headquarters of the surrender terms necessary to carry out the provisions of the Potsdam Declaration.…
The ultimate form of government of Japan shall, in accordance with the Potsdam Declaration, be established by the freely expressed will of the Japanese people. The armed forces of the Allied Powers will remain
in Japan until the purposes set forth in the Potsdam Declaration are achieved.
Sakomizu was crushed by the apparent severity of the language. He quickly called his friend, Shunichi Matsumoto, Foreign Minister Togo’s aide, and the two men sat down in the pre-dawn darkness to interpret James Byrnes’ words.
To the two statesmen, the American reply was discouraging and inconclusive. It neither promised the Emperor’s sovereignty nor explicitly denied it. It merely stated that he would be subject to the Supreme Commander, “who will take such steps as he deems proper to effectuate the surrender terms.” Sakomizu and Matsumoto were confused by this clause but alarmed by another: “The ultimate form of government of Japan shall, in accordance with the Potsdam Declaration, be established by the freely expressed will of the Japanese people.” In this sentence, the Foreign Office spokesmen could see justification for continued warfare by the military, who would interpret it as certain indication that the Allies meant to remove the Emperor from office.
Over breakfast, the discouraged Foreign Office aides discussed what to do. Matsumoto saw only one choice: “Let’s push it through in its present form.”
Sakomizu nodded. “Maybe it will work.”
As another hot day broke in Tokyo, the two men rode quickly to talk with their superiors. Sakomizu confronted a sleepy Suzuki and convinced him quickly that the Byrnes note was acceptable. Without bothering to read the rough translation, the aged Premier assured his brilliant secretary that he would recommend its approval by the cabinet.
Matsumoto had little trouble with Togo. The frustrated Foreign Minister, depressed at the continued arguments about surrender, realized the pitfalls inherent in the Byrnes note, but agreed with his assistant that there was no other option left. It had to be forced through.
Sakomizu and Matsumoto returned to their offices somewhat relieved. It appeared that they had stolen a lead on the war party by coordinating policy and tactics for the next crucial debate.
They were wrong. While they went back to work, other men plotted to undo their actions.
On the same morning, young officers at the War Ministry were in the office of General Umezu demanding that he denounce the American proposal. At Naval Headquarters, Admiral Toyoda was besieged by impassioned men who urged that he publicly reject the contents of the note. The senior officers were in an impossible situation. Each had been willing to continue the war until urged by the Emperor to negotiate Japan’s surrender. Now their subordinates were insisting that they back away from positions assumed under the Imperial mandate. To make matters worse, General Anami, the man who could calm troubled aides with a word, was nowhere to be found. His office reported that he was out on an unspecified mission. Admiral Toyoda and General Umezu tried to ride out the storm of protest until the War Minister returned.
Korechika Anami had not gone directly to his office that morning. Instead, he went to the official residence of Premier Suzuki. Accompanying him was an unlikely compatriot, Baron Hiranuma, whose sympathies toward the peace faction had nearly disappeared as he worried about the fate of the Emperor. Byrnes’ note convinced the baron that Hirohito was in grave danger, and as a result, he had joined hands with his former foe, General Anami, in order to block unconditional surrender. The two men had embraced each other in a last-minute effort to thwart the Foreign Office. In Premier Suzuki, they felt they had the weak man in the enemy camp. Shortly after Secretary Sakomizu had convinced the Premier to agree to the American demands, Hiranuma and Anami cornered him. Isolated from his advisers, the tired Suzuki was no match for the marshaled arguments of men determined to upset the drift to peace.
Reverting to the terms he had originally supported, Anami immediately demanded, “The provisions referring to troop disarmament and occupation zones must be included in any agreement with the Allies.”
Hiranuma repeated an urgent warning: “The Emperor may suffer greatly if the terms are not drastically revised.”
On this point, Suzuki was vulnerable, for like all Japanese, he revered the Throne and would gladly die for it. When his visitors stressed again and again the importance of Hirohito’s position, the Premier’s mind reeled with the implications of being party to the dissolution of the Imperial House. As Anami and Hiranuma left, Suzuki promised them that he would not give ground on the question of the Emperor.
General Anami went immediately to another appointment. He met with Mikasa, the Emperor’s youngest brother, the so-called Red Prince. Mikasa was a nonconformist, whose family never got accustomed to his “socialist” outlook, his concern for the rights of the masses. To court advisers, Mikasa was a rebel.
Anami hoped to convince the Prince to intercede with his brother and block the surrender. He miscalculated badly. Mikasa listened politely to the War Minister and then turned on him brutally. “Since the Manchurian Incident, the Army has not once acted in accordance with the Imperial wish. It is most improper that you should still want to continue the war when things have come to this stage.”
Scolded like a child, Anami bowed out of the room. He was crushed beyond comment. Mikasa’s words had cut deeply and would stay in his mind. Riding back to his office with his aide, Colonel Hayashi, the general kept repeating the Prince’s words in disbelief. They marked the second personal attack on him in the last three days. Earlier, in front of several officers, his brother-in-law Takeshita angrily had told him to commit suicide if he agreed to surrender. At that time, Anami confided to his secretary: “Takeshita said such cruel things to me. Since I am nearly sixty years old, I do not think it would be difficult for me to die. Perhaps it would be difficult for a young man like you but …” The general’s voice broke and he could not go on. Now, Mikasa’s rebuke only added to his inner turmoil as he rode back to the seething corridors at Ichigaya.
There, the young officers had already forced General Umezu to go to the Emperor. Accompanied by Admiral Toyoda, the general stood before the ruler of the Japanese people and lodged a protest. Obviously under a great strain, the two senior officers urged prompt and unequivocal rejection of the American terms. Hirohito watched them closely and felt that they were mouthing the words, as though directed by an unseen force. He thanked them for their concern and dismissed them.
Within minutes, the Emperor summoned his adviser, Marquis Kido, to help him analyze the dismaying trend developing at military headquarters. If Umezu and Toyoda were under such apparent pressure, unrest among Army and Navy personnel must be intense and dangerous. Hirohito’s suspicions were well founded. At noontime, the conspirators at Ichigaya surfaced to prepare for a rebellion.
They came to General Anami in his office where the War Minister had just returned from his shattering experience with Prince Mikasa. Takeshita, Hatanaka, Inaba and other men crowded into his presence to talk of the coup d’état. Colonel Sato, one of Anami’s aides, immediately sensed their intent and spoke sharply to Major Hatanaka: “Don’t be so hasty about a coup.” Hatanaka lost his temper and screamed, “Badoglio! You’re nothing but a duplicate of that traitor!” Sato rushed at the raging Hatanaka but Anami quickly intervened. He jumped between the antagonists and put out his hands. “Come now,” he said, “military men must trust each other.”
A heavy silence followed, until Anami gently suggested, “Takeshita, come to my home later. I will be happy to talk to you about it then.” With that remark, the War Minister walked out of the room to a cabinet meeting. He had forestalled a discussion and avoided a lengthy confrontation, but he knew that sooner or later he would have to meet this band of unhappy men and talk of their plans for a coup d’état.
Anami was in an acutely difficult position. The men under him demanded that he defend what was left of the nation. Those above him accused him of trying to destroy any chance for peace and a future for the nation. He could not please both sides in the struggle. Though Anami was against unconditional peace, he was also against insurrection. Knowing that his army might erupt under him at any moment, he was trying to lull the junior officers into inact
ion while he worked out the best possible peace terms. In that way he could prevent his impetuous aides from disrupting negotiations. Anami hoped that his course of action would avoid bloodshed in the next hours and days.
The full cabinet met at 3:00 P.M. Anami and his new ally, Baron Hiranuma, listened intently as the text of the San Francisco broadcast of the Byrnes note was read. Premier Suzuki cautioned everyone that it was an “unofficial” version and that mistakes could have been made in translation. Then he asked for opinions. Anami and Hiranuma picked up where they had left off that morning with Suzuki. They reiterated their fears for the Emperor. Anami repeated his demands for additional conditions.
Foreign Minister Togo, edgy after days of tension, lost his temper. He snapped caustically, “To add issues at this moment would make the Allies wonder at the integrity of the Japanese Government and at its sincerity in negotiating at all.”
His rage mounting, Togo rose from his chair and walked to the door. “Acting like this is contrary to reason,” he shouted. Then, nearly at the end of his endurance, he slammed the conference room door behind him.
Trembling with anger, Togo picked up the phone in the next room and called his assistant, Matsumoto, who quickly sensed a crisis and warned him to adjourn the meeting before a vote could be taken. For want of a better solution, Togo agreed and went back through the oaken door to join his colleagues. He was just in time to receive a final blow.
Anami and Hiranuma had done their work well that morning. By concentrating their attack on Premier Suzuki, they had hammered at the weakest spot in the opposition’s armor. The aged man had been shaken by the possibility that the Emperor would meet disaster if the Allies’ terms were accepted.
The World War II Chronicles Page 16