General Arisue led a small caravan of cars down the dusty road to Atsugi past long columns of Japanese soldiers going the other way. Fully armed, they had been ordered to quit the area to avoid conflict with the approaching Americans. Tanks, artillery pieces and men moved steadily to the north and east as the small procession of black cars headed southwest to Atsugi and a rendezvous with the invader.
To Arisue the spectacle was unreal. His Japanese Army was leaving the field without having engaged the enemy. Unbeaten units were retreating from the beaches and defenses to which they had been assigned. Only the black limousines were traveling in the direction of the pending confrontation. Somewhere to the south, the enemy of recent years and days was preparing to fly into an airfield in strength and take control of his country. Seizo Arisue smoked his cigar in silence as he neared the airport.
When he arrived he saw that the base was a shambles. Hangars had been blasted apart by American bombs. Runways were pitted from frequent attacks. Not one of the bullet-ridden planes littering the field had a propeller.
Less than twenty-four hours before Arisue’s arrival, soldiers sent by Imperial General Headquarters had arrived from Tokyo to dismantle the engines and prevent any kamikazes from making last flights against the enemy. This action had precipitated a vicious battle between the Navy personnel based there and the Army visitors. With fists, pistols and pieces of furniture they had fought for the right to control Atsugi. Rooms in the barracks had been demolished, and walls and chairs were smeared with blood. But now the kamikazes were gone. Arisue went to work.
During the evening of the same day, the exhausted general was sitting near an open window going over the status of the work details. Suddenly a loud commotion sounded outside the barracks building. He poked his head out and yelled, “What the hell is going on?” There in the moonlight two soldiers were engaged in a deadly duel with swords. They had reached an impasse over the fact of surrender and had decided to settle the issue by fighting to the death outside General Arisue’s window. Their battleground was badly chosen. With the awesome responsibility of greeting the Americans before him, Arisue had no time for personal grievances. He roared through the stillness at the two combatants, who were so startled that they dropped their swords and slunk away in the darkness. General Arisue returned to his desk and a bottle of beer.
Back in Tokyo, General Seiichi Tanaka was sipping calpis—his favorite soft drink—with his aide in a room next to his office in the Dai Ichi building. He had spent the last twenty-four hours completing paper work. During the afternoon, his second son, Toshimoto, had come to visit him and the general had sent him away brusquely, saying, “Don’t disturb me tonight. I’ll be busy with a guest.”
The day before, Tanaka had been at home for a few quiet hours with his wife and the rest of his family. He played with his grandchildren and read poems in his bedroom. When he said his goodbyes and left the house under an umbrella, his wife handed his aide a revolver, whispering, “Please give this to him.”
A proud man, Tanaka had been bothered for months by the deterioration in Japan’s situation. He was a sensitive intellectual, more apt than most to suffer inner conflict over such a calamity. The general’s background was unlike that of most military leaders in Japan. For three years he had attended Oxford University where he had studied the works of Shakespeare. For one year, 1930, he had served as military attaché at the Japanese Embassy in Mexico City. In both places he was exposed to the more liberal philosophies of Western society. Yet in the last days of the war, Seiichi Tanaka’s Oriental heritage rather than his Western education dominated his thinking.
When he assumed the command of the Eastern Army group, he was entrusted with the defense of the Tokyo district. Yet he had watched helplessly as American planes flattened a different section of the capital on each raid. The raid of May 25, which partially destroyed the Emperor’s palace, had plunged him into complete despair. As sworn protector of Hirohito, Tanaka had wanted to atone for the misfortune by killing himself. Only the personal intervention of the Emperor had dissuaded him.
Unable to forget the enormity of the crime against the Throne, Tanaka continued to brood through the summer months. The attempted coup in the palace on the day of surrender was the final blow. He was shocked and hurt at the audacity of the young officers who besieged the Imperial enclave and killed others to thwart the expressed wishes of the Government. Though he succeeded in dispersing the rebels, he humbly apologized to the Emperor. Hirohito saw his agitation and expressed both appreciation for the general’s actions and hopes that Tanaka would continue to work for the nation.
Tanaka had done so. After the fifteenth, he continued with the demobilization of his troops and was instrumental in resolving a number of anti-surrender outbreaks in the capital. Now the Americans were about to land in his own area of supervision—the ultimate insult to his honor. His last public statement was made to a rebellious student group at Kawaguchi: “I am telling you as the commander of the Eastern District of Japan that Japan was defeated. We must demobilize. I know what is going on in your hearts but we must all think of His Majesty.
“You men all have bright futures. It is you who must lead Japan from now on. Begin again. The atom bomb has changed the state of war completely. It is the will of God that we abandon the long history of the Japanese Army. New generations will come. Please make an effort to construct a new nation.”
The young men before him and the general himself were crying when he finished.
Now, on the evening of August 24, he sat talking with his aide. The calpis he loved was followed by tea. As he finished it, he said fondly to the junior officer, “You have devoted your life to me,” then rose abruptly and went into the next room. His aide sat alone for about ten minutes, his eyes filled with tears. Then a soldier came to him and told him Tanaka wished to see him.
When the aide came to the doorway of the general’s office, he saw Tanaka sitting in an armchair, in full dress uniform. The two men stared at each other for an instant. Then Tanaka pulled the trigger of his pistol and tore his chest apart.
Carefully arranged on the desk beside him were his last bequests and mementos. There were six letters, his military cap, a pair of white gloves, and a gorgeous sword presented to him by the Emperor. Behind these stood a small statue of the Emperor Meiji, a cigarette case, two sacred books on Buddhism, an eyeglass case with eyeglasses, and a set of false teeth.
The general’s last message to his family was simple: “All of us devoted ourselves to His Majesty as military men but now I feel terrible that Japan has been defeated. I am going to die but I do not regret it at all. I cannot help but wish for the prosperity and health of our family.”
Mourners came to the office in the next hours. Mrs. Tanaka arrived and was impressively stoical in her acceptance of the death of her husband.
As she helped to change his uniform, badly stained with blood, a tall, bald-headed man stood to one side watching. General Gen Sugiyama, commander of the First Army, listened thoughtfully as Tanaka’s aide explained his reasons for committing suicide. Since Sugiyama himself was undergoing a painful examination of his own philosophy in these emotional days after surrender, Tanaka’s action came at a most crucial moment in his tortured thinking. Shortly thereafter the mustachioed Field Marshal paid his condolences to Mrs. Tanaka and left. Behind him the relatives and servants of Seiichi Tanaka placed his body in a wooden coffin.
Several hundred miles to the southwest of rainy Atsugi, another man was wondering exactly what conditions there were. He was particularly concerned because he was to be the first American soldier to set foot on Japan. He did not expect to live through the experience.
Charlie Tench, a colonel and West Point graduate, never thought of himself as a hero. As a member of MacArthur’s staff in Manila, he had spent most of the war planning details of various invasions. When the atomic bomb fell, Tench found himself temporarily out of a job.
On the afternoon of August 19, he was sit
ting in his room reading old magazines when he received an unexpected summons to the office of General Stephen Chamberlain. The general laid before him a challenging assignment. Somebody had to lead a party of men into Japan before the main force landed. Communications had to be set up, the runways at Atsugi made serviceable, and order established at the airfield.
The general outlined the negotiations currently in progress with the Kawabe delegation in Manila, then asked, “How would you like to command the advance group into Japan?” Tench was flattered, though a bit staggered at the thought of being the first one into enemy territory. He recovered quickly, however, and said, “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
When the Kawabe delegation left, final plans were made for Tench’s “invasion.” He and his men would go to Okinawa on the twenty-fifth and leave for Japan at midnight that same day. The intervening period would be utilized by the Japanese to quell any disturbances by the kamikazes.
Tench was not very happy about the fact that rebels still roamed through Japan. At the colonel’s mess in Manila, he endured the heavy humor of fellow officers who kept a betting pool on his chances for survival. Opinion was divided equally. Fifty percent thought his plane would be blown from the sky as it approached Atsugi. The others were sure that he would be murdered as he stepped from the plane. Tench was not amused. He was aware that General Kawabe had been worried about the unrest in his own country, and that he had implored the Americans to hold off occupation for at least ten days.
On the twenty-fifth, the advance party emplaned for Okinawa. It was buffeted by a typhoon, gaining strength in the area, and it did not reach Fifth Air Force Headquarters until noon of that day.
Tench went to the headquarters of General Whitehead and participated in a thorough briefing on the mission. Though no one openly suggested that the Japanese around Tokyo might resist the landing, everyone recognized that possibility. Tench was on edge but kept his thoughts to himself. As the afternoon progressed, the typhoon’s fury increased. The rains became a deluge, and the area around Atsugi in Japan lay in the middle of the storm. While the Japanese labored desperately to make the airfield ready, the Americans debated the wisdom of sending Tench out into the bad weather. In the evening, the answer came from Manila. A forty-eight-hour postponement was ordered. The Japanese had two more days to bring sanity to the airstrip, to control the unmanageable elements, to repair the damage to the base. Everyone in Japan, and particularly Colonel Charles Tench on Okinawa, breathed deeply in relief.
Japan was growing tense with fear.
In Gifu City, the mayor ordered all girls aged fifteen to twenty-five to go into the mountains to avoid American soldiers.
Women workers at the Nakajima Aircraft Company plant in Utsonomiya asked the factory manager for poison to swallow in case American soldiers tried to rape them. They were given cyanide capsules.
At the Kanto Kyogo Company, similar capsules were distributed to one thousand women workers in order to help them “maintain their honor as Japanese ladies” in case of attack.
In Tokyo itself, newspapers published a series of articles advising the people how to act toward the advancing Americans. Women were warned to wear loose-fitting clothes in order to appear less attractive to soldiers. In case they were attacked, they must “maintain their dignity while crying loudly for help.” Fathers and husbands were cautioned to remove their females to the countryside until the occupation was well underway. It was repeatedly stressed that women should not smile at strangers as they often did because Americans might misconstrue the basic Japanese friendliness as an invitation of another sort.
Above all, the citizens of Japan were reminded of the country’s proud spirit which would lead them to a better life in the coming years. The Government was attempting to shore up the confidence of the people, to restore some semblance of self-respect to the nation.
FROM THE JAPANESE IMPERIAL G.H.Q.
TO THE SUPREME COMMANDER FOR THE ALLIED POWERS
RADIOGRAM NO. 13
SOME OFFICERS AND MEN OF THE ALLIED POWERS WITHOUT GIVING A PREVIOUS NOTICE CAME RY AIRPLANE TO SOME PLACES UNDER JAPANESE CONTROL FOR THE PURPOSE OF MAKING CONTACT WITH OR GIVING COMFORT TO PRISONERS OF WAR OR CIVILIAN INTERNEES.… WE EARNESTLY REQUEST YOU TO PREVENT THE RECURRENCE OF SUCH INCIDENTS.…
The Japanese were complaining about the mercy teams sent from Gus Krause’s base at Hsian to various prison camps. They were afraid that such missions would cause bloodshed between Americans and still armed Japanese troops. So far, all of the parachute units dropped behind enemy lines had come through the ordeal unscathed, without suffering any killed or wounded. The fears of the officials at Chungking and Kunming had not materialized.
At Mukden, Hennessy’s team survived an initial fright and effected a complete success.
At Weischien, parachutists found their biggest problem the civilian internees. Overjoyed at the sight of healthy-looking Americans, some of the women proved almost unmanageable in their affection.
At Keijo, Korea, the American team was greeted by a Japanese officer, who begged them to go home before any trouble erupted. He offered them gasoline, then put them under protective custody. The next day the Americans returned to base without getting to the nearby POW camp. The commanding officer of the parachute team was promptly relieved of his duties by angered American superiors.
At Peking, a team under Major Roy Nichols jumped in to find the Japanese-held city already “pacified” by Jim Kellis and his small band. While tending to the needs of POW’s in the area, Nichols’ group, code-named Operation Magpie, solved a mystery that had disturbed American officials for over three years. Guided by a released internee, Hector Duberriere, the team overcame Japanese efforts at concealment and found the last survivors of two American bomber crews missing since 1942.
In April of that year, a group of B-25’s under General Jimmy Doolittle had been sent from the carrier Hornet to bomb Japan. On returning from the mission, eight airmen crash-landed in China and were trapped by the Japanese. Tried for “indiscriminate attacks on civilians,” the Americans were sentenced to death. Three were actually executed.
On October 15, 1942, Lieutenant Dean Hallmark, Lieutenant William Farrow and Sergeant Harold Spatz were led out to a cemetery in Shanghai. They knew they were about to die. The day before, they had written last letters home.
Farrow told his mother: “Read Thanatopsis by Bryan if you want to know how I am taking this. My faith in God is complete, so I am unafraid.” Spatz told his father that he loved him. Hallmark could not really believe he was going to be dead soon.
At the cemetery, the fliers were made to kneel before three wooden crosses to which their arms were tied. White cloths were wrapped around their foreheads. Black dots in the middle of each cloth marked the aiming point for the firing squad. The Americans died in a volley of rifle fire.
After the execution, Japanese soldiers placed the bodies in caskets and saluted the fallen warriors.
The sentences of the remaining crewmen were commuted to life imprisonment. Lieutenant Robert Meder lingered for over a year before dying of malnutrition, beri-beri and medical neglect. Of the surviving four, Sergeant James De Shazar became increasingly weak and was subject to visions. Lieutenants Robert Hite and Chase Nielsen remained in relatively fair condition, compared to George Barr, who was almost dead when he was rescued. Barr was hospitalized in China for months. The other three started for home immediately.
Elsewhere, the world was pleased by the announcement on August 24 of a peace pact. Chiang Kai-shek and Joseph Stalin, through their representatives T. V. Soong and V. M. Molotov, had agreed on a joint policy in the Far East, especially in the area of North China and Manchuria. Russia professed special interest in Port Arthur and Dairen, warm water ports on the Yellow Sea. China professed equal interest in Manchuria itself. Many points were thrashed out in the nine-part pact, but one in particular stood out. The Russians agreed “to render to China moral support and aid in military supplies an
d other material resources, such support and aid to be given entirely to the Nationalist Government and the Central Government of China.”
Regarding the declaration, The New York Times reflected general feeling in the United States when it observed: “The clouds of civil war that have darkened China’s horizon are already beginning to recede.”
Some interested parties did not think so. State Department officials in Washington were not sure that Stalin had guaranteed China anything. Others, like Ambassador Averill Harriman in Moscow, were disturbed to realize that since Soviet armies were already in control of Manchuria, Russian adherence to any agreement was strictly at the whim of the Kremlin. Worried Americans could only hope that Stalin meant to keep his word, and to maintain, among other things, an Open Door policy in China. It was a forlorn hope.
Russia had already formulated a far-reaching scheme for the entire Far East. In July a Japanese espionage agent had gained access to a Soviet committee report prepared especially for the pending Potsdam Conference. This ambitious policy paper outlined both a long-range strategy and short-term tactics. Ultimately it called for (1) the union of Japanese leftists with disaffected Army and Navy officers after the war in order to thwart the growth of an “American” democracy in Japan; (2) combination of Japanese industry with Chinese agriculture in a Sino-Japanese Leftists Union, which would eventually control the propertied classes in both countries; (3) the organization of both Korea and Formosa into Communist states.
For the immediate future, it suggested support for the agrarian class in Northwest China, and envisioned this group as an anchor of strength for the Russians in the Far East.
The Soviets acted on this last objective in August of 1945.
FROM THE JAPANESE G.H.Q.
TO THE SUPREME COMMANDER FOR THE ALLIED POWERS
AUGUST 24, 1945
… IN CERTAIN LOCALITIES DISARMED JAPANESE FORCES AND CIVILIANS ARE BEING MADE VICTIMS OF ILLEGITIMATE FIRING, LOOTING, ACTS OF VIOLENCE, RAPE AND OTHER OUTRAGES.… THE SITUATION IS CERTAIN TO GET OUT OF CONTROL.…
The World War II Chronicles Page 27