“Finally, I call upon each and every one of you to exert himself to the utmost so that we may meet the trying days which lie ahead.”
He stopped suddenly, groping in vain for more words. In the silence, all knew that the war was really over. It was done. Prime Minister Suzuki slowly approached the Emperor, bowed deeply, and humbly apologized. Hirohito rose slowly and walked back through the door he had entered less than an hour ago. He had delivered his nation to the enemy.
Few of his audience saw him go. Instead of rising to bow before the Emperor, most sat crying into their hands. Two men slid onto the floor. On elbows and knees, they cried uncontrollably. The tiny room was filled with sorrow as grown men expressed their grief. Rivals sobbed beside each other. Enemies comforted each other. Japan had lost its honor.
One by one, the bereaved filed up the long stairway into the bright sunlight. Only they knew the tragic truth. No one else in the country was aware of it. Now came the most awesome task, delivering Japan to the enemy without inciting the military, which might go wild at the news.
Anami, however, was still plagued by his conscience. Had he done enough for his country? Should he insist on one more all-out attack on the Americans to show his country’s strength and possibly make the enemy pause and reconsider the terms?
As the conference broke up, he asked his secretary, Hayashi, to follow him into the bathroom. There, he spoke plaintively: “There is one last piece of advice I want to ask of you. The Imperial decision has been issued, but according to intelligence sources, there is a large American convoy outside of Tokyo. What do you think of the idea of proposing peace after striking the convoy?”
Hayashi was dismayed at this thinking and immediately said: “Your idea is absolutely mistaken. In the first place, the Imperial decision to terminate the war has been issued, and in the second place, even though there is a rumor of a large American convoy south of Tokyo Bay, there has been no confirmed report from the air patrol units. Therefore, it is a mistake to think of such a thing.”
Anami protested no more. In fact, he seemed to want this response from Hayashi. He wanted to be told that he had done his best, that there was nothing left to do. Even as he got solace from Hayashi, the general’s brother-in-law Takeshita was on his way to him with more talk of rebellion.
Anami and the others went directly to a last cabinet meeting. The members met to formally ratify the Emperor’s request. There was no more opposition. Anami, Umezu and Toyoda seemed almost relieved to have the issue decided. No one protested.
After the abortive interview with Umezu that morning, Colonel Arao had told his friends that the coup appeared hopeless, and it had been put off indefinitely. Then later that morning, two subordinates of Takeshita went to Umezu’s office to plead one last time.
The general was a harried man that day. Not wanting to be unkind to the officers, he merely tried to point out the practical side of the matter: “I am not absolutely opposed to the idea of a coup. However, you men must realize that it has no chance of succeeding.” Yet the two officers went away under the delusion that Umezu would back them if they could somehow pull off the rebellion.
This information went the rounds in the Ministry and once more extremists dusted off the operational plan for seizure of power in Tokyo. Before noon, news of the impromptu Imperial conference with the cabinet had reached the Ministry. Shortly thereafter Takeshita headed across town to Suzuki’s official residence.
He found the War Minister in an anteroom off the main conference room. The cabinet had just adjourned after approving the Emperor’s decision. Takeshita came right to the point: “The men still want to follow you and now we think Umezu will go along with us. Will you reconsider?”
Anami quickly shook his head. “No, I will not. It is too late. The decision has been made in the other room.”
Takeshita gasped at this news. “Then resign your position and that will make the Emperor’s action worthless.” Normally in Japan if the full cabinet did not agree, an Imperial rescript was invalid. And if Anami quit, the cabinet would automatically dissolve.
Anami appeared to hesitate, then said, “Yes, that might be a solution. Get me some paper.” He walked around the room. Takeshita waited for his next remarks. Anami came back to him and shook his head. “No, it’s too late for that. I’m going back to the Ministry and tell the men the news.” He put on his hat and walked out to his car in the driveway. Takeshita, now convinced that the war really was over, followed him to the Ministry building.
The Ichigaya Heights headquarters was the scene of a strange mixture of emotions by the time General Anami arrived there. Word of the impending surrender had seeped out to field grade officers and their reactions were predictable. Most of them sat crying or staring at the walls of their offices. Some shouted noisily through the corridors that the war should go on. In some offices, papers were pulled out of the cabinets and burned as men prepared for the day of the enemy’s arrival.
In his office, the Vice-Chief of Staff, Torashiro Kawabe, pondered a brazen move. A die-hard militarist to the end, Kawabe believed right up to this day that the Army should fight on the beaches. But now he realized that further opposition was senseless and he wanted only to make sure that the surrender would be carried out according to plan. He knew that the highest ranking officers in the Army were gathered in another room on the same floor and wondered if he ought to seal the bargain by asking them to sign a pledge of allegiance to the rescript terminating the war. To that end, he composed a simple document: “The Army will act in accordance with the Imperial decision to the last.” He walked to the room with Vice-Minister of War Wakamatsu, who had seconded his plan.
Just outside the conference room the two waited to be called into the presence of the elite in the Imperial Japanese Army. Inside, sitting around a table, were Umezu, stolid, scowling, finally convinced that the right thing had been done that morning; Doihara, who had helped begin the ill-fated adventure years before in Manchuria and had become the first Japanese mayor of Mukden; Hata, whose headquarters in Hiroshima had disappeared just eight days before; and Sugiyama, the field marshal, just a spectator in these recent hectic days.
The two went in to present their paper, which was intended merely to guarantee that no leader would have second thoughts about the Emperor’s decision and break away from the majority. When Torashiro Kawabe told the generals what he wanted, he did so with some fear that they would take offense at his obvious insinuation. But the fight had gone out of them and they no longer wanted to carry the burden. Umezu signed quickly and one by one the others affixed their signatures to the simple document. General Anami walked in at the last moment, looked at the paper, and signed it without a murmur.
At two o’clock in the afternoon, section leaders and field officers crowded into Conference Room Number One where Anami stood morosely behind a desk. Visibly affected as he asked for quiet, the War Minister then spoke to the hushed group: “A meeting has just been held in the Imperial presence and His Majesty has rendered his final decision in favor of terminating the war. The Imperial Army must act in complete accord with this decision. Japan will henceforth face difficult times. Even though you may have to sleep on the ground and eat stones, I ask you—one and all—to do your utmost to preserve the national polity.”
Anami had spelled it out with brutal clarity: The rebels were too late; the decision had been rendered; forget the revolt. The general had ended his show of paternal interest in the plans of his aides. Now he was telling them to stop the nonsense once and for all.
Hatanaka uttered a mournful wail and burst into tears. Colonel Ida looked accusingly at the War Minister and said, “Why have you lost your resolve?”
Anami closed his eyes and seemed to be exerting great effort to control his emotions. Then he answered: “I could not refuse the Emperor any longer. Especially when he asked, in tears, to bear the pain no matter how trying it might be. I could not but forget everything and accept it.” He gazed at his subordinat
es in an attempt to get their understanding.
Angry men left Conference Room Number One and vowed that it was not too late, that they would prove Anami wrong. The coup would succeed without him. One of the dissidents was Kenji Hatanaka, Anami’s protégé. Almost immediately he set out on a bicycle for the headquarters of the Eastern District Army, a key group to the success of a revolt.
As this desperate young man went about his chores, the rest of the world was becoming aware that the deadlock in the cabinet had been broken. A radio operator on Okinawa wrote down a radio message beamed in English from Tokyo by Domei News Agency at 2:49 P.M.:
FLASH FLASH TOKYO AUGUST 14—IT IS LEARNED THAT AN IMPERIAL MESSAGE ACCEPTING THE POTSDAM PROCLAMATION IS FORTHCOMING SOON.
The message did not come as the day passed, but the United States knew that the end was near and issued instructions accordingly.
On Okinawa, units of the Eleventh Airborne Division continued landing. On August 11, they had been alerted in the Philippines to move out immediately for the Ryukyus. From Lipa Airfield in northern Luzon, planes flew northwest in a continuous stream toward Yontan and Kadena airports on Okinawa. By now most of the division was bivouacked on the island. All units were advised that Japan was the next stop.
In the Pacific Ocean, Halsey’s heaving warships still prowled off the shores of Honshu and Shikoku. An air strike was held up as planes loaded bombs on the flight deck.
In base headquarters at Oppama Airfield south of Tokyo, Japanese fighter pilots gathered at the summons of their commandant. The officer appeared to be ill as he stood shakily before them using his desk as support. None of the pilots was prepared for what he told them:
“The surrender orders may be announced at any moment.… Order must be maintained at this base. There may be hot-heads who will refuse to accept the decision to surrender.… Remember—and never forget it—His Majesty’s orders come before anything else.”
The men were absolutely stunned. Though they knew the war was tearing Japan apart, they had not expected the end to come in this way, on this day. The pilots went out the door and across the field in shock, disbelieving and yet knowing the awful truth.
On Tinian, far to the south, B-29’s again were being loaded for another night of destruction over the Home Islands, against the possibility that the Japanese would not surrender. Two cities were marked for fire bombing that night, the night of the fourteenth. The Americans were taking no chances on letting the Japanese reconsider.
Soviet tank columns slashed across the flat plains of Manchuria against increasingly disorganized resistance as the Soviets rushed to acquire real estate and put in claims for postwar rights.
At Hsian on the edge of the Gobi Desert, Gus Krause was alerted to expect thirty-six OSS men bound on a special mission. He had no idea what they intended to do.
Krause had problems of his own. He sent a telegram to Kunming outlining the latest intelligence estimates from his own men in the field. He knew that the Japanese were about to collapse. He also knew something else, something that promised to shatter all dreams of peace in the Far East.
NOW APPEARS ALL FIELD TEAMS FACE CONFLICT WITH COMMUNISTS IN TRYING TO CARRY OUT ORDERS TO OCCUPY CITIES ON JAP SURRENDER AND SEIZE RECORDS. TEAMS IN POCKET SAY REDS BAR ENTRANCE INTO HANKOW, PENGPU, AND SUCHOW. LEOPARD FACES REDS ON WAY TO TAIYUAN. KELLIS FINDS SOME REDS NEAR PEIPING. LION HAS TANGLED WITH REDS. HOUND REPORTED 100,000 REDS NEAR HIS AREA. REQUEST INSTRUCTIONS ON WHAT ACTION TEAMS SHOULD TAKE. SUGGEST THAT IF TEAMS MUST FIGHT REDS TO CARRY OUT ORDERS THEY BE WITHDRAWN TO HSIAN. SINCERELY FEEL TEAMS SHOULD NOT RISK THEIR LIVES IN CONFLICT WITH REDS. FEELING IN NORTH CHINA IS CIVIL WAR WILL START IMMEDIATELY AFTER JAP CAPITULATION. PLEASE ADVISE SOONEST.
In Tokyo, Kenji Hatanaka arrived at Eastern Army District headquarters. He went to General Seiichi Tanaka’s office to ask the general for his support in an uprising. Tanaka listened to the young major as he expounded on the necessity for action: “The government and the military leaders have decided to terminate the war—a decision which I cannot accept as things stand now. My idea is that we should establish ourselves within the palace, sever communications with the outside, and give assistance to the Emperor in a final effort to retrieve the situation. I have already gotten in touch with the Imperial Guards Division and have made the necessary arrangements. I would like you to take part in the plan.”
Tanaka was aghast. He thundered at Hatanaka: “Go back to your barracks and stop this ridiculous scheme. Do what you’re told and accept what your leaders say. The war is over.”
Hatanaka stormed out of the office and went ahead with his next step. Shortly after four o’clock, he appeared at the room of Lieutenant Colonel Masataka Ida, another of Anami’s protégés. Hatanaka and Ida were close friends. Ida was the weaker of the two, the more easily moved. Hatanaka counted on this fact. He repeated the speech he had given earlier to Tanaka. But Ida had changed his mind about the coup and turned him down flat. He declared it was “too late for such an adventure.”
Hatanaka took it surprisingly well. “All right, I’ll do my best and leave the rest to Providence.” They parted cordially.
The major kept raking over the ashes of the fire of rebellion. It looked impossible to get any cooperation as the actual surrender neared, but he was persistent.
Convinced that rebellion was no longer a major threat, the Kempei Tai secret police relaxed their guard. Since Takeshita, Ida and other senior officers appeared to have lost heart, Colonel Tsukamoto and his superiors paid little attention to Kenji Hatanaka as he frantically sought support.
THIRTEEN
The Rebellion
Early on the evening of the fourteenth, Major Kenji Hatanaka’s search for supporters brought success. Jiro Shiizaki, a colleague at the Ministry, had always supported him. Another who finally agreed to participate was Major Hidemasa Koga, the son-in-law and next-door neighbor of the deposed Premier Hideki Tojo. Father of an eleven-month-old boy, he now served in the Imperial Guards Division, which protected the Emperor.
For the past two months, Koga had worked long days constructing a new air-raid shelter for the Imperial family. When it was finished the young major stood at a personal crossroads. Because of the pending coup, he was torn between his friendships with other officers and concern about his own family.
On the afternoon of the thirteenth, the handsome cavalry officer had gone to Tojo’s home to see his family. Mrs. Tojo saw him ride up on a motorcycle and run to the door. He burst in and went to the general’s study at the left of the entrance hall. Since General Tojo was occupied with a guest, Koga went on into the back of the house where his wife and child waited.
He scooped the baby up in his arms and asked his wife to follow him into the family air-raid shelter. There he spoke urgently: “I want you to go to Kyushu with the baby. You’ll be safer there with my family.” His wife listened quietly as he added forcefully, “I want you to go as soon as possible.” He held the baby close, then put him down. Moving to his wife, he asked, “Do you have my hair and nail clippings?” She was startled because, in Japan, these things are left to relatives by the dead. When she nodded he continued: “There are times when one must do one’s duty. I can’t avoid the troubles ahead.” He embraced her and quickly broke away. On the way to the front door, Mrs. Tojo appeared with a box of sweets. Thanking her, he looked into Tojo’s study once more. Seeing the general still engaged, Koga merely waved and hurried out the door. He had been home only ten minutes.
When General Tojo came out of his study, he knew from the stricken faces of his wife and daughter that his son-in-law was in trouble. His wife asked him to talk to Koga before he got into bad trouble. Not aware of what was happening at the War Ministry, Tojo decided to go there and find out the reason for Koga’s strange actions. He called for a car and went off to Ichigaya.
When he returned at about nine o’clock that night, he seemed pleased. After officers had briefed him on the general situation, he had found Koga and talk
ed persuasively to him about the future. He warned him to think carefully before involving himself in a coup. The son-in-law promised to stay calm, and Tojo left feeling that Koga would behave. He was wrong. Other forces were also working on the youthful patriot. Under extreme pressure from fellow officers at the palace, Koga joined the revolt.
Major Hatanaka had been talking to officers in the Imperial Guards Division for several days. He sensed that they would be sure to follow him if he could prevail on the commanding general, Mori, to cast his lot with the rebels. Though Mori had so far resisted all overtures, Hatanaka planned one last appeal to him.
He definitely could count on Jiro Shiizaki and Koga. Other officers in the Guards Division were easily swayed. Hatanaka felt encouraged enough to proceed. He got on the phone and began calling conspirators into action.
Later, at ten o’clock that evening, he and Jiro Shiizaki went to see Colonel Ida in his bedroom at the War Ministry in the hope of persuading that vacillating officer to help his friends. Ida was morose, brooding over the past day’s events. He had decided to commit suicide. Earlier he had gone around to his co-workers at the Ministry urging them to do likewise. Now he lay in bed staring into space.
Hatanaka burst in upon his reverie. “Ida, all the members of the Imperial Guards have agreed with us except General Mori. Koga is too young to persuade him, so come and talk to him.”
Ida sat up straight. He thought for a moment, and then asked: “What will you do if I can’t convince him, I mean, if he doesn’t agree with us? What will you do then?”
“If Mori doesn’t agree with us, I’ll give up the coup, but we should at least try.”
Ida was torn. His friendship with Hatanaka went back several years, and he was very fond of the ascetic-looking officer. They had spent much time together during the war and had even joined in discussion groups under a certain Professor Haraizumi, a man of great influence on the younger element at the War Ministry. Haraizumi preached on the nature of the Emperor system and on the obligations of the military in fostering and nurturing that way of life. He felt it was the sworn duty of the officers to uphold the Emperor and to carry out Imperial orders unhesitatingly. Now Hatanaka was asking Ida to upset the expressed wishes of the Emperor.
The World War II Chronicles Page 19