The topic taken up at the first closed session of the committee was the troublesome one of the manner of distributing the refugees. Wilson, the Canadian delegate, proposed considering a distribution based upon each nation’s proportion of the world population. A delegate from one of the small nations protested that something like that was far too mechanical. He insisted that a host of other factors be considered, such as the country’s economy, political situation, and long-range outlook.
“There would certainly be the ideal,” replied Chairman Sabayo, “but it’s obvious that there is no time for all that. Japan has been negotiating privately for some time, and there is still no place allotted for three quarters of her population. What we are concerned about now, gentlemen, is immediate succor— temporary refuge, not permanent homes. Once the refugees are safe, then there will be time enough for detailed negotiations.”
“It’s all very well to talk about temporary shelter,” said Dhabi, the Jordanian delegate, “but it could last for a long time and affect a country a great deal. Dirty refugee camps, outbreaks of disease, fights, clashes with the authorities—all sorts of trouble could arise.”
At that point Admiral Brubaker of the United States Navy, a special delegate, raised his hand. “If I might be allowed to put in something here . . . After the War I was involved with the repatriation of Japanese in China. And I was much impressed with how well behaved they were in those circumstances. There wasn’t the least difficulty.”
“But of course,” said Denisigyn, the Russian delegate, breaking in. “Groups of Japanese are very submissive and easy to handle—as long as they’re not armed.”
“And all those I knew who served in the Occupation,” said the admiral, going on as though he had not been interrupted, “confirmed my impression.”
“But we all know from the Second World War that the Japanese are not always so peaceful,” said Malik of Indonesia. “What is going to become of the Japanese armed forces after the evacuation?”
“One suggestion is that they serve in a special UN force. Right now they’re charged with keeping order during the evacuation,” answered Katsarides, the evacuation director.
“In any case, gentlemen,” said Chairman Sobayo, “we have no cause to fear Japan now. Our task, rather, is the saving of her people. I beg you to realize the gravity of the situation and lay aside bitter memories. The tragedy that is about to overwhelm Japan is unprecedented in history. And what is on trial now is not Japan but our own humanity.” The idealism expressed was but to be expected from Sobayo, a Tanzanian who from his early youth had been active in the cause of African unity. “Please don’t think of this, gentlemen, as happening to one country in the Far East, but as something that’s happening to all of us, as something that exerts the strongest possible moral force upon us.”
A message was handed to the director, who ran his eyes over it quickly and passed it to Sobayo.
“I have an announcement,” said the chairman. “The People’s Republic of Mongolia informs us that they will take 500,000 Japanese refugees immediately and more later.”
There was restrained applause.
Denisigyn smiled faintly. “They certainly won’t lose anything by that, with all that land and so little population, gaining skilled Japanese.”
10
While the United Nations special committee was carrying on these intense discussions marked by a show of idealism, behind the scenes political activity was also at a peak. In Washington, Moscow, London, Paris, Peking, hot lines were constantly ringing, and the circuits were filled with voices talking in all sorts of languages, simultaneously translated. Diplomats of the second rank, who could travel without attracting too much notice, were forever on their way to conferences in every part of the world. The subject of all these negotiations did not escape the notice of journalists: how would the disappearance of Japan affect the Far East and, indeed, the world? Of prime importance was the long-range effect upon the military balance. Historically, Japan’s role had been one of vast influence in the Far East, both politically and economically. Once that presence was gone, what would happen? This is what the diplomats were so anxiously trying to ascertain as they hurried to develop new options and sought to grasp what was going on in the minds of their opposite numbers.
The Japanese government, the Defense Agency, and Plan D headquarters were besieged with inquiries. In Plan D headquarters, in turmoil because of its crushing work load, research papers disappeared and key personnel were constantly being asked to meet secretly with important foreigners. Foreign newsmen loitered about headquarters, and two staff members disappeared together with important papers.
“It’s a matter of life and death for us, but these foreigners don’t give a damn about that,” Yukinaga cried out in frustration and fatigue when Kataoka brought him the news that these two men had turned up abroad. “How could those two have done such a thing? Their work was vital to us.”
“Well, it won’t do any good to get angry about it,” said Nakata. “And, anyway, there’s nothing of much importance that we haven’t already told the International Geophysicists. What these people are interested in is the effect upon the surrounding area, and that’s something we haven’t had time to go into much. If these two want to investigate that for them, let them do it, and good riddance.”
In the meantime, as the earthquakes and eruptions continued, as the Pacific coastline sank, and as the lateral movement of the Archipelago became more apparent, the activity of Japanese society slowly began to wind down. People received their food ration every day, and as anxiety mounted to an explosive pitch, they waited for their local government offices to inform them of the location of their assembly points and their order of evacuation.
And all the while a muted power struggle was going on in the international political sphere. The American President announced that elements of the Atlantic Fleet as well as the entire Pacific Fleet would aid in the evacuation of Japan, but there was some indication that, besides humanitarian motives, the Americans were anxious to counter recent Russian moves in the Far East, activity brought about by the imminent demise of Japan. With Japan gone, there would be no strong non-Communist nation in Southeast Asia to back up South Korea. And with Japan, of course, would go the American naval bases at Sasebo and Yokosuka. Also a strain was put upon Japan relations with South Korea by the arrival of refugees, who were fleeing across the straits in whatever craft they could find. South Korea, already concerned about the damage that she would incur in the catastrophe to come, treated these refugees harshly and threatened to sink every boat intercepted. Reverberations from “The Japanese Problem” traveled around the world, reaching as far as South Africa.
In the United Nations, the special committee headed by Chairman Sobayo was in session eight hours a day.
“It looks like it’s going to be troublesome,” said Secretary Kitowa, of the Zambian delegation, as he and Sobayo sat in a corner of the delegates’ lounge. He glanced around the room as he spoke, a frown on his black face. “There’s been an unconfirmed report that South Africa has sent a number of units into Nambia.”
“Do you think they might have found out about the plan?” asked Sobayo, leaning forward as he pursed his thick lips.
“They could not have done that. We have not even broached it to the Nambian commissioners yet. But they probably see it as a possibility.”
Nambia, formerly a German possession called Southwest Africa, had been under the jurisdiction of South Africa until 1966, when the United Nations put an end to the South African mandate and put it directly under the United Nations. The plan that Sobayo and Kitowa were secretly refining was to have the General Assembly pass a directive providing for the settlement of a large number of Japanese refugees in Nambia, providing them with a security force. There were a number of advantages to such a plan. Nambia would benefit immensely from the introduction of the skilled Japanese, and then, too, the introduction of such Asians into Africa might help to lessen the prejudice
felt in East Africa toward the native Asians there, the Indians.
“Well, if South Africa has started that sort of thing,” said Sobayo, standing up, “we had better bring our proposal to the attention of the commissioners immediately. At any rate, I shall be talking with the Secretary General. ...”
Just then there was a sudden flurry of activity in the lounge. Everyone was getting up and heading for the entrance, talking excitedly.
“What’s going on?” Sobayo asked a passing clerk.
“They say there’s a special TV program, sir,” said the clerk, turning around. “Ed Hawkins of CBS is broadcasting from Japan by satellite. It’s about the sinking of Japan. It’s actually started, in Shikoku or some place like that.” The clerk hurried out.
“Shall we take a look?” asked Kitowa, starting to follow the crowd.
“Wait,” said Sobayo, laying a huge hand on the other’s shoulder. “Look there.”
With a nod of his head, the chairman indicated a corner of the room where a small gray-haired Oriental was standing quietly, paying no notice to the stream of people hurrying by him, his eyes fixed upon the red sunset that silhouetted the skyline of New York. He had taken off his glasses, and Sobayo and Kitowa could see, even from where they stood, that the hand with which he held them was trembling. The old man’s deep-lined face was lit by the sunset glow, and he was lightly dabbing his eyes with a handkerchief. It was Shintaro Nozaki, the Japanese member of the special committee.
VI
Japan Sinks
1
It was on the morning of April 30, at ten minutes after five, that the first cataclysm struck the Osaka-Kyoto area. Never before had an earthquake of this kind been recorded. Never before had a quake struck so vast an area.
Of a total population of 30 million in the four prefectures that made up the district, 3.5 million had already been evacuated by sea and by air during a thirty-day period preceding the quake. The new Osaka Airport had been overwhelmed by the encroaching water, and there was no choice but to fall back upon the old airport at Itami. By dint of frantic round-the-clock labor, the runways, damaged in the previous quake, were made ready to take the huge jet passenger planes just before daybreak on March 1. All the ground crew and other personnel from the now-defunct domestic airlines were put to work here, and soon planes were taking off and landing at the rate of some 500 in a twenty-four-hour period. With the aid of the United States Air Force, close to 500,000 people were flown out of Japan during this period, a figure unprecedented in the history of aviation.
During the period the sinking of the Pacific coast and the rise of the Japan Sea coast became much more pronounced, and the harbor facilities, especially at Kobe and Osaka, suffered immensely. Consequently, in most cases the loading of refugees had to be done with the transport ships anchored either offshore or in rivers, and every sort of small vessel that could be found was pressed into service to ferry the refugees out to the ships, from landing craft to old-style fishing boats. And despite all the obstacles, in this month some 3.2 million people were evacuated. The district evacuation headquarters, however, was determined to spare no effort to raise the rate to 5 million a month. The June rainy season would slow air transportation, and with August and September would come the ever present danger of typhoons.
The day the quake struck, at dawn on April 30, refugees whose turn had come had been massing at the airport and at the harbor all through the previous night. Those not so lucky, their mood desolate, were sleeping fitfully in their homes while light quakes succeeded one another without let-up. Their bags were packed and their personal goods gathered together, in anticipation of their turn coming or of an emergency evacuation.
Buses and trucks arrived at the airport, one after another, and silent refugees, loaded with baggage, streamed into the terminal. Tents had been pitched in front of the terminal, and flight numbers were posted on each. Police and airport personnel kept order in the long boarding lines. The adults were white-faced and silent. Since it was so early, infants were sleeping on their mothers’ backs, but little children frolicked about as though they were on an excursion.
And along the flooded coastline of Osaka Bay, at Kobe, Ashiya, Sakai, and other ports, and, along the banks of the Yodogawa and Anjigawa, similar scenes were being enacted. Osaka Bay was filled with ships of every nation, a vast number of them freighters or even ore boats hastily converted to take passengers. Ship after ship got under way with a dull, rumbling whistle, the water boiling up at its stern, and turned its bow toward Kii Strait and the open sea. The screeching, piercing whistles of the tugs that guided them echoed beneath a leaden sky.
At 5:10 A.M., a Sabena Boeing 707, making its approach from the southeast, landed on Runway B at Itami. The refugees waiting in the terminal fixed their eyes upon the jet as it taxied by them, the roar of its engines’ reverse thrust filling the air. At that moment those by the windows saw a white flash light the overcast sky.
Down by the harbors the people aboard ship saw the flash more clearly. Like a brilliant curtain of white, it rushed from east to west along the southern horizon, silhouetting the surrounding mountains as far off as Kii, Awaji Island, and Shikoku. Three times it raced from east to west and back again, touches of purple and green flickering here and there against the whiteness. A surge of dread went through the crowds.
The captain of the Okuma Maru, a 26,000-ton freighter loading passengers from one of the still-usable piers in Ashiya Harbor, had just come up onto the bridge, rubbing his sleepy eyes and yawning, when he heard a deckhand yell something. He turned to look at the southern sky, and the next instant he was jamming his finger against the emergency alarm button.
“Start engines!” he roared to the watch officer. “Prepare to cast off—emergency procedure.”
His mouth agape, the watch officer relayed the command to the engine room.
“The passengers—how many of them are still not on board?” yelled the captain, grabbing hold of the purser, who had come running up to the bridge at the sound of the ship’s siren.
“About two hundred. They’re coming on now.”
“Hurry it up. Put more men on it. The gangplank goes up in five minutes. We’ve got to get out of here as quick as we can. Get the radioman. Have him call the transport office and tell them we’re getting under way at once. Blow the whistle and let the other ships know. We’ve got to get out to the open sea.”
“What’s happening?” asked the startled purser.
“You damn fool! Chances are we’re going to get hit with a tidal wave.”
The boarding passengers had stopped in their tracks at the sound of the alarm, but crewmen with megaphones now rushed over the pier, hurrying them on board. It was then that the first shock struck. A terrified cry went up from the crowd standing on the half-drowned pier, and the violent up-and-down motion of the quake caused two or three people to lose their footing and fall into the water.
“Prepare to get under way,” said the captain to the watch officer. “We’ll go with the diesels. There’s no time for the turbines.”
The Okuma Maru’s whistle, like the sinister moan of some monstrous beast, echoed against the dark sky. The captain took hold of the portable speaker and called down to the pier: “Get those people out of the water. There’s still time. Another quake is coming. But take care in coming on. Don’t get excited.”
Then he turned to the deck crew: “Loosen the hawsers! Relay it to the stern. Prepare to cast off.”
On a runway at Osaka Airport the captain of a Pan Am 747 jumbo jet, loaded to capacity with 490 passengers, had just opened his four engines to full thrust and had started his quivering 350-ton plane on its takeoff run when the first shock struck.
Cups flew from a table in the control tower, and so violent was the up-and-down motion that some lights went out.
“An earthquake!” someone yelled. “Stop Flight 107. Don’t let it try to take off.”
It was evident even from the tower, however, that the plane had a
lready reached a speed of well over 100 miles an hour. The air controllers watched through the rattling windows of the tower as the huge body of the plane began to shake with a rising and falling motion, its wheels bounding slightly. The chief controller’s face turned ashen as he gripped the microphone.
“Aren’t you going to stop him? What are you doing? Hurry!” shouted another controller in a frenzy. He tried to snatch the microphone away, but the chief controller pushed him roughly aside. The chief controller had been in the tower at Haneda Airport in Tokyo when a passenger plane landed at the very moment the great quake began. He knew how quakes behaved, and thus made his decision. The epicenter of this one had to be very close, and even if the runway was long enough for the Pan Am jet to come to a stop, the second shock wave would hit with disastrous effect before it was able to do so.
Flight 107 attained a speed of 115 miles per hour, then 140, its great mass bouncing up and down. Its wheels seem to leave the ground and then touch down again as it bounded along.
God help them!
Modern skeptic though he was, the chief controller’s heart cried out at that moment. He thought of the captain and copilot bent over the controls in the cabin, their eyes fixed on the end of the runway toward which their huge plane was hurtling at full throttle. As the distance remaining melted away, the captain would have to make his decision, and the point of no return was rushing to meet him.
Take off! the chief controller shouted within himself. In a brief moment his whole body had become wet with sweat. Don’t stop! Give it all you’ve got! Get into the air. Don’t get caught!
“He did it!” somebody yelled.
The chief controller brushed the sweat from his eyes as he watched the giant plane’s front wheels lift off, followed by its sixteen main wheels, with a bare fraction of the huge runway remaining.
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