The World War II Chronicles

by William Craig

  When Togo walked back into the room, he heard Suzuki reciting the arguments of the war party. The Premier was backing away from surrender. Appalled at the change in Suzuki’s position, Togo rushed to intervene before irrevocable damage was done. Controlling his voice, he interrupted: “Your words are worthy of careful consideration, but at the same time, Japan should not continue the war irresponsibly without paying any attention to its outcome.”

  Togo kept on talking to avoid losing the initiative. “Unless there is some prospect of victory, Japan should negotiate for peace. I therefore propose that the meeting be adjourned and that the question be reopened after the official communication from the Allies has been received.”

  There was an awkward silence. Someone in the room agreed and men started getting up to leave. Togo’s tactic had won Japan a temporary reprieve. Anami and his followers had suffered another defeat.

  Foreign Minister Togo could not calm down. Incensed at Suzuki, he went looking for him and found him in an anteroom. The Premier stood helplessly as the bespectacled Togo shouted scorn at him. Too tired to argue, confused by the factional disputes erupting on all sides, he offered no defense for his actions. Togo stormed out of the room determined to resign and let others fight for peace. Disgusted with Suzuki, frustrated by the pigheadedness of Anami and Hiranuma, he was quite at a loss as to what to do next.

  In late afternoon, he stopped first at the Foreign Office where aides implored him to go home and sleep on the question of resignation. Then he went to see Marquis Kido at the palace. After explaining the disastrous series of events at the cabinet meeting, Togo warned Kido that he must deal with the vacillating Suzuki before the peace coalition fell apart.

  Meanwhile at the Foreign Office, Shunichi Matsumoto’s long day had not ended. Busy since before dawn, when he and Sakomizu had first translated the radio message from San Francisco, he had manned the Foreign Office all day while his superior, Togo, fought with friend and foe at the cabinet meeting. Now, in the twilight of August 12, he sat behind a desk thinking of a way in which to give the diplomats more time to patch up their defenses.

  Matsumoto reached for the phone, dialed the Telegraph Section of the Ministry, and spoke to the duty officer. He was explicit in his directions: “Watch for any Allied messages that come in this evening. If they do, stamp them received as of tomorrow morning. Above all, keep them secret.” The duty officer agreed. Matsumoto hung up and sank back into his chair, hoping that his little scheme would give Togo and the other statesmen enough time to reorganize. In this fabricated limbo, the architects of peace might gain the upper hand. Matsumoto went home elated at his deception.

  At 6:40 P.M., James Byrnes’ note to the Japanese Government was received in the Telegraph Section by the duty officer. He promptly marked it received as of 7:40 A.M. the following day and filed it away.

  Another message which came in shortly afterward further justified Matsumoto’s concern over the state of affairs. The telegram was from Suemasa Okamoto, Japanese Ambassador to Sweden, who for two days had been trying to gauge Allied reactions to the impending surrender. Okamoto was desperately anxious to alert his countrymen to a grave peril.

  THE AMERICANS ABE HAVING A HARD TIME HARMONIZING THE OPINIONS OF THE ALLIES—RUSSIA AND CHINA WANT THE EMPEROR OUT—GREAT BRITAIN ADVOCATES TEMPORARY RECOGNITION OF THE EMPEROR—THE LONDON TIMES IS AGAINST THE EMPEROR SYSTEM.

  Okamoto added the obvious warning. Unless Japan accepted the original offer, President Truman might be weaned away from his position. The deadlock in Tokyo must be broken and quickly.

  At 9:30 P.M. the Premier of Japan entered Kido’s office in answer to an urgent summons. Suzuki listened as the Marquis lectured him on the day’s misadventures. Kido minced no words: “If we do not accept the Allied position now, we will be sacrificing hundreds of thousands of innocent people to the continued ravages of war.… Furthermore it is His Majesty’s wish that we advance on the basis of the views held by his Foreign Minister.” Knowing his man well, Kido concentrated on Suzuki’s overriding concern about the Emperor. By allaying the Premier’s fears about delivering Hirohito to the enemy, he hoped to dissipate any lingering doubts in Suzuki’s mind.

  Once again the old admiral promised to stand fast against the opposition, to push through the surrender. Kido saw him to the door and returned to his room convinced that the peace faction was intact for the next crucial hours.

  While diplomats and generals haggled over the issue of war and peace, Japanese civilians continued to die in clusters. Fires still raged in Nagasaki. On the twelfth, disaster teams were still threading through the wreckage looking for survivors. On all sides they found the dead.

  Three sailors who entered the city as part of a search team saw buildings along the road smoldering, though not in actual flames. Just over a mile from Ground Zero, many dead lay beside the road. The bodies showed evidence of multiple burns and wounds about the head and extremities. From this distance inward toward the blast center, the number of cadavers increased markedly. These bodies were roasted black. Some of them seemed still alive. Others had swollen grossly, causing their stomachs to rupture onto the ground. There was no foliage anywhere. Everything was covered with a deep brown coating. A putrid, decaying smell clogged the nostrils and made rescuers gag and retch.

  Survivors were being sent to surrounding towns for treatment. Hundreds of them had been brought to Omura Naval Hospital. The appearance of the patients was horrifying. Their hair was burned, their clothing torn to pieces and stained by blood, and the naked parts of their bodies were all burned and inflamed. Many had jagged pieces of glass and wood driven into their bodies. Few resembled human beings.

  A strange thing began happening to survivors by the third day after the bomb: they started to die in increasing numbers. After being treated for burns and wounds, the people should have been able to pick up their lives and continue with the task of rebuilding. But instead they wasted away and became part of the mounting death statistics.

  Doctors were at a loss to understand the mystery. Both in Nagasaki and Hiroshima, now nearly a week into the atomic age, patients walked into hospitals and died before the disbelieving eyes of physicians and nurses. One officer exclaimed to a companion: “These cases are entirely different from the injuries which have so far been seen. The patients you treated yesterday have died one after another.”

  The other man was outraged: “That’s nonsense!” But it was not. The patients were not victims of ordinary bombs. They were dosed with gamma rays, which were destroying their insides and, like a time bomb, preparing to claim them after several days had passed.

  They exhibited distressing symptoms of diarrhea and vomiting, lack of appetite and anemia. Their blood streams were being ravaged by radiation. As the days went on, more and more “survivors” fell down and died. The two cities faced a new unseen enemy.

  While the small fires continued to burn day and night as families disposed of their relatives, the insidious Genshibakudansho, the “atomic bomb sickness,” added fresh corpses to the unending rows about the wastelands. And still the leaders talked on in Tokyo about continuing the war.

  On the night of the twelfth, in Peiping, China, a small group of soldiers tried to make themselves comfortable in the top floor apartment of a private home. Earlier that day, they had jumped from a plane into a field and then come by truck and train into the walled city on a delicate assignment.

  Ripping off stolen enemy uniforms, the men quickly mounted a radio aerial on the roof and began sending a coded message back to OSS headquarters at Hsian.

  Major Jim Kellis, leader of the team, reported that he and his men were now based in the home of General Mung, commander of Chinese mercenaries working for the Japanese Army. Mung had agreed to collaborate with the Americans and had smuggled the OSS agents into the heart of Japanese territory in order that they might be in position to act quickly in case Japan surrendered. Jim Kellis was actually living next door to a building that housed a section o
f the Japanese General Staff in North China.

  After the message was sent, Kellis ordered the aerial struck. Then he and his men settled down to wait for some word of peace in the Far East.

  ELEVEN

  The Mounting Peril

  General Anami could not sleep. Aware that his side had been temporarily thwarted by Togo’s intervention in the cabinet meeting, he cast about for a new device, a stratagem to block unconditional peace. While the citizens of Tokyo slept on into August 13, the general conferred with aides at his residence. He finally ordered his aide Colonel Hayashi to leave on an important errand.

  The colonel drove to the home of General Umezu and confronted the Chief of Staff at 4:00 A.M. Hayashi apologized for waking him, then said: “It is requested that the Emperor’s decision be changed through the efforts of senior members of the Army. The Emperor has no confidence in Field Marshal Sugiyama. Therefore, the War Minister is contemplating having Field Marshal Hata make an appeal to the Emperor. What do you think of that?”

  The question put Umezu in a difficult spot. Clearly Anami was asking for approval of a device to delay surrender. If Umezu disagreed, the onus of guilt could fall on him. He walked about for a few moments, then turned to Hayashi, and said, “I’m sorry. I support the acceptance of the Potsdam Declaration.”

  Hayashi rushed back to Anami with these fateful words and the War Minister was shocked into silence. His valued ally Umezu appeared to be deserting him. Anami felt desperately alone as he went to bed for a brief, merciful rest.

  Within a few hours he was awake and on his way to see the Marquis Kido, who received Anami warmly and ushered him into his study. The two men were old friends. Both had worked for the Emperor as young aides in the household of the Imperial Palace. Kido had no illusions about the general’s uncomfortable position in these last days. He fully realized Anami’s dual role: first, to win the best possible terms for the Emperor and his army; second, to keep that army quiet until he accomplished his primary mission. It was the most difficult job Kido could imagine at that moment.

  Anami opened the conversation by complaining, “No self-respecting nation could possibly accept the Allied terms.”

  Kido was ready for this argument and replied: “There is no way out. The Japanese have sued for peace. The Americans have given the terms. For Japan now to add conditions to conditions would result in certain rupture of negotiations and a renewed ferocity to the war. Look at it from the American position. What would they think the Japanese were plotting if, at this late stage, they put new rules into the game? If the Emperor changed his mind and rescinded the peace proposal, the Allies would consider him a fool or a lunatic.”

  Anami remained unconvinced. “Pessimism never yields good results. We should make one last effort to achieve better terms.”

  Kido said, “We must abide by the wishes of His Majesty. We must accept the Allied reply in its present form.”

  Anami started to smile. “I understand your position very well. I knew you would say something like that.” Then he stopped for a brief instant before voicing the thought that nagged at him constantly: “But the atmosphere in the Army is so tense.” He did not elaborate, just rose from the chair and said goodbye to Kido, who gazed sadly after the general as he went out to another appointment.

  Anami was determined to avoid his young aides as long as possible. So far, Takeshita, Ida, Hatanaka and the others had not been able to sit down with him and discuss the coup. Time was slipping by and yet they could not get the key man to endorse their rebellion. While they fretted at the War Ministry, the general went directly to a meeting of the Big Six.

  There he found the peace faction once more united. A restful sleep had improved Togo’s mood and given him a fresh perspective on his duties. Suzuki was chatting amiably with everyone. Puffing on his cherished cigar, he had reversed his previous day’s arguments and now resolutely championed the acceptance of the Byrnes note and the Potsdam Declaration. Admiral Yonai, whom Anami disliked intensely, maintained his rigid posture in favor of immediate surrender.

  General Anami and his cohorts, Umezu and Toyoda, clung to their insistence on conditions. Umezu was no longer a diehard, as Anami well knew from the early morning conversation with Hayashi. Yet in public, the gruff Chief of Staff supported his superior against the diplomats. Anami had little else to feel cheerful about that morning. The Big Six were still hopelessly split. At noon the group adjourned for lunch and a later cabinet meeting.

  If Anami had troubles with his own officers, his antagonist in the peace group, Admiral Yonai, was equally distressed by the machinations beneath him at the Naval General Staff. At noontime on the thirteenth, the Navy Minister finally lost his temper. He had been advised that Admiral Toyoda had complained of the Japanese capitulation to the Emperor just the day before, and he deeply resented this insubordination. He had also learned that the Vice-Chief of Staff, Admiral Onishi, the Father of the Kamikazes, had spoken disparagingly to various cabinet members about Yonai’s own will to fight. If Yonai was annoyed at Toyoda, he was incensed at Onishi, who was engaged in a campaign of character assassination.

  The Navy Minister fumed for twenty-four hours and then decided to have a face-to-face meeting with the two offenders. As a precaution, Yonai asked his assistant, Admiral Zenshiro Hoshina, to stay as a witness to the encounter. Hoshina was to record significant dialogues and act as a bodyguard in case of any physical danger. Both Yonai and Hoshina feared the volatile Onishi whose reputation for rashness was almost legendary. The warrior was like an unstable element, capable of a violent reaction to a situation.

  Shortly after noontime, the offenders marched into the Navy Minister’s office and saluted. Ramrod straight, caps held in their left hands, the two men waited for some word from their superior. Yonai let them stand in awkward silence.

  Finally he looked up and spoke sharply: “The behavior of the General Staff is execrable. If you have anything to say about me, why don’t you come and tell me about it personally?” His voice rising, Yonai rushed on: “Such an impudent attitude is shameful. Do not do anything like that again.”

  Toyoda never moved a muscle. Onishi bent his head and began to sob.

  Yonai continued: “And what is the idea of recommending momentous decisions to the Emperor without ever consulting me? For my part, I am not meddling with the this and that of what you are doing at the Naval General Staff. To have behaved as you have done is inexcusable.”

  Toyoda remained impassive. Onishi cried loudly, tried to apologize, lost his voice, and stopped. Yonai ordered them out. The two admirals marched through the door, one unchastened, the other heartbroken.

  Yonai and Hoshina were both puzzled and thrilled. Neither had anticipated such a reaction from Onishi. To have cowed such a man, even temporarily, was a signal victory for the peace faction. Yonai went off happily to the afternoon cabinet meeting, which proved far different from the stormy one on the preceding day.

  Kantaro Suzuki continued to espouse acceptance of the Byrnes note. No longer did the Premier mouth the words of the war party. The breach in the ranks of the peacemakers had been successfully closed to further exploitation.

  Foreign Minister Togo, still discouraged by the opposition to his policies, nevertheless was fortified by the change in Suzuki’s demeanor. He continued to argue relentlessly with Toyoda, Umezu and Anami, but was able to hold his own temper in check throughout the meeting.

  For several hours the two factions sparred for position, for an opening. It was hopeless. The same conditions were imposed by the military, the same objections to them raised by the statesmen. Each side had become rigidly committed to its own cause.

  During a break in the negotiations, General Anami stepped into the next room to call his office at Ichigaya. Standing there waiting for someone to answer, he realistically knew that he could not salvage anything at the conference table. Yet he had to keep up a pretense to his officers. Anami spoke reassuringly to the man on the other end of the phone: “Yes,
everything seems to be going our way. They’re coming around to my way of thinking.” As he hung up, he turned to gaze into the astonished face of Secretary Sakomizu who was curled up in a chair nearby, catching a few moments of rest. Anami grimaced, then smiled. “It’s better to let sleeping dogs lie, don’t you think?” Sakomizu recovered his poise quickly and nodded agreement as he watched the War Minister walk back to argue hopelessly against surrender. The Secretary was suddenly filled with admiration for the general who was deliberately deceiving his aides.

  As the rebels on Ichigaya Hill continued to dally, the debate began again in the cabinet room. Suzuki demanded a vote from the full cabinet. Since Toyoda and Umezu did not belong to this body, the Premier hoped to isolate Anami. He failed. Though twelve men sided with Togo, two others, the Justice Minister and the Minister for Home Affairs, agreed with Anami. One man could not decide what to do.

  An impasse had been reached. Suzuki adjourned the meeting with the warning that he would once again seek the advice of the Emperor.

  As General Anami left the room, he knew that the final hours of the struggle were at hand. When the Emperor spoke again, it would be too late to avert unconditional surrender. In the meantime, he had to face the conspirators gathering around him like jackals.

  The rebels sought Anami out at his official residence. At 8:00 P.M. ten of them tried to solicit his final approval of a coup. Takeshita was there. So was Inaba. Hatanaka came with Jiro Shiizaki, a longtime friend.

  Hatanaka brought a rumor of a plot against Anami’s life. He and others had heard that peace advocates planned to kill the general if he continued to oppose the Potsdam Declaration. Anami scoffed at this story and turned to talk to another officer, Colonel Okikatsu Arao, senior officer of the Military Affairs Section at the War Ministry. Arao was now a spokesman for the plotters. As such, he was in a most uncomfortable situation. Convinced that Anami would never support a rebellion, Arao nevertheless wanted to maintain the respect of the men working under him. For their part, his subordinates trusted the burly, intelligent colonel, who was a natural leader of men and therefore an obvious choice to speak for the rank and file.