Edge of Valor

by JOHN J. GOBBELL

  15–26 August 1945

  Tokyo, Japan

  Kokutai. With the A-bombs and the Soviet invasion of Mongolia, the Kuriles, and Karafuto, indecision became rampant in Emperor Hirohito’s officer corps and cabinet. Some urged fighting to the last man; others agreed that the end was near, if not upon them, and urged cooperation. Finally the emperor stepped in and influenced his government to accept the surrender terms of the Potsdam Declaration. He won acceptance on 14 August, and on 15 August Hirohito’s recorded voice was played over radio station NHK for his subjects and the world to hear. It was an extraordinary measure. No one outside Hirohito’s inner circle had ever before heard his voice. But he wanted his subjects to hear the message of surrender directly from him in order to emphasize his acceptance of it.

  Near hysteria gripped the nation afterward. Rebels, mostly young officers, hatched implausible plots to take over the government and direct Japan back to fighting to the last man. Either from bushido pride or outright devotion to their emperor, many of the officer corps committed suicide. The most notable suicide took place on 15 August, the day of the emperor’s broadcast. Popular Vice Admiral Matome Ugaki, once Admiral Yamamoto’s chief of staff, took off in a B5N single-engine torpedo bomber to attack the American fleet off Okinawa. He left behind a suicide message that said “I alone am to blame for our failure to defend the homeland and destroy the arrogant enemy. . . . Long live His Imperial Majesty the Emperor!” Ugaki’s plane disappeared to the southeast and was never seen again.

  That evening, Admiral Takijiro Onishi, founder of the kamikaze corps, committed seppuku in the classic style at home. He penned a haiku just before he raised the dagger: “Refreshed, I feel like the clear moon after a storm.”

  There were several revolts in the palace itself, many of them led by overzealous officers of the rank of major and below. Gunfire broke out. Emperor Hirohito and his family were sometimes forced to take refuge in their underground bunker. At one time a fire was set. But with great skill, Hirohito’s chamberlains, army and navy loyalists, and in some cases the dreaded Kempetai put down the revolts.

  Smaller revolts continued outside the palace over the next few days. A glaring example occurred on the afternoon of 22 August when ten young men wearing white hachimaki headbands occupied Tokyo’s Atago Hill, which lay within sight of the boarded-up American embassy. They called themselves the Sonjo Gigun—the Righteous Group for Upholding Imperial Rule and Driving out Foreigners. In pouring rain they linked arms against approaching police while singing the national anthem. Suddenly they shouted, “Tenno heika banzai!” and detonated the hand grenades they had been carrying. The men lay dead, their epitaph written on a suicide note that read, “The cicada rain falls in vain on defeated hills and streams.”

  Another insurrection roiled up at Atsugi Airfield, southwest of Tokyo, where General MacArthur was soon scheduled to land and assume his new role as supreme commander. Led by navy captain Ammyo Kosono, the revolt went on for several days to the sounds of “Gunkan Kaigun,” the Imperial Navy’s marching song. Kosono’s airplanes showered Tokyo with leaflets inciting revolution until loyalist troops arrived from Tokyo and put down the rebellion by force of arms. Several people were killed on both sides. When finally captured, Kosono was completely crazed; he had to be wrestled down and carried off in a straitjacket. With that, all aircraft at Atsugi were defueled, and their propellers were removed to ensure no one as demented as Kosono could again defy the emperor’s wishes.

  General MacArthur set a positive tone in the way his staff treated the Japanese emissaries at the Manila meetings of 19–21 August. The Japanese were astounded at the Americans’ fair and polite treatment and grateful for the fine food and lodging—luxuries they hadn’t enjoyed for a long time. The swift series of meetings went well, and over a short period the Japanese revealed the disposition of all troops and ships; the location of airfields and naval bases, including those set up for deadly kaiten midget submarine raids; and ammunition dumps and minefields. First and foremost was the identification of all POW camps and methods to get food and medicine to the prisoners and ways to secure their immediate release.

  MacArthur’s top priority was to conduct a surrender ceremony on board a U.S. Navy ship in Tokyo Bay in hopes that a peace treaty would soon follow. Indeed, American statesmanship, beginning with the Potsdam Declaration, specified that cordial relations must be established with the Japanese in order to bring them back as responsible partners to a peaceful and productive family of nations.

  But the outside world, especially the Western world, didn’t realize that endemic in the Japanese psyche at all levels was the preservation of kokutai, their national essence. With everything lost, that is what they were fighting for; that is all that remained. With kokutai in place, they would be tractable. But kokutai was possible only if Emperor Hirohito remained on his throne.

  General Douglas MacArthur was one of the few Westerners who realized the significance of kokutai. He intended to play it to his advantage by protecting Emperor Hirohito because he knew the rewards would be boundless. To do that, he needed to get to Japan quickly. In the meantime, Emperor Hirohito had his hands full.

  General MacArthur and General Sutherland originally planned to occupy Japan on 26 August. Admiral Halsey’s enormous Third Fleet was en route to Tokyo Bay when a typhoon began brewing across its path. Having learned his lesson with two previous typhoons, Halsey decided to stand clear and wait it out. The occupation of Japan was delayed. Some viewed this as a blessing because it gave the “hotheads” in Japan more time to cool down.

  By 26 August near panic had seized Japan. The Soviets still rattled their sabers on Karafuto and threatened invasion. Rumors abounded. There were reports of Chinese forces landing in Osaka. Elsewhere, thousands of American soldiers were rumored to be raping women and looting in Yokohama. Women were told, “Don’t go out in the evening. Hide all your valuables such as watches and rings. If rape is attempted, don’t yield; show dignity and cry out for help if at all possible.”

  Word spread quickly when Oxford-trained General Shizuichi Tanaka, wearing full uniform, shot himself at his desk. A man of culture and discipline, Tanaka took responsibility for lives lost in the Tokyo firebombing raids and for the burning of the Imperial Palace.

  The night passed uneasily but quietly.

  Kokutai.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  27 August 1945

  USS Maxwell (DD 525), Task Force 38, entrance to Sagami Bay, Japan

  Midnight weather reports indicated the typhoon would get worse, not better. So before it really kicked up, Admiral Halsey decided to get it over with and enter Sagami Bay, the lower portion of Tokyo Bay, on the morning of 27 August.

  The morning dawned sunny and cloudless. A forty-knot gale roared from the southwest, tearing the tops off cresting waves and gathering them into a white, foamy, confused sea. With the wind on her port quarter, the Maxwell pitched in troughs, sometimes disappearing from the view of the ships around her. Then she would rise and roll drunkenly, the helmsman cursing as he spun the wheel to keep the stern from sliding to starboard and the ship from broaching. Green water occasionally cascaded over her transom, pooping her and sweeping away anything not tied down. It was dangerous back aft, and Ingram had ordered all the weather deck hatches to be secured; anyone having to travel outside did so on the 01 deck above the main deck.

  Ingram, Landa, and Tubby White were huddled on the Maxwell’s starboard bridge wing casting occasional glances at Mount Fuji, just off the port bow. The ship had been at general quarters since dawn, and they had spotted Fuji almost immediately. As the Maxwell neared Sagami Bay, the snow-capped peak grew larger against a sharp blue background. They also kept close watch on Admiral Halsey’s flagship, the battleship USS Missouri, two thousand yards on the Maxwell’s beam. Spray flew through the “Big Mo’s” upperworks as she plowed through the waves, a mighty fortress. Earlier, a FOX broadcast had announced that the Missouri had been chosen as the site for
the surrender ceremony, in honor of President Harry S. Truman’s home state. After the minesweepers did their job in Tokyo Bay, they were to move in with the ships attending the surrender ceremony, tentatively scheduled for the morning of 2 September 1945.

  Ingram marveled at his presence here. Originally, DESRON 77, including the Maxwell, was assigned to Admiral Spruance’s “Big Blue” of the Fifth Fleet. Consisting of all but one of the carriers, the Big Blue was now steaming fifty miles offshore, ready to oppose any Japanese trickery. But DESRON 77 had been reassigned to Admiral Halsey and his Third Fleet, now poised to enter Tokyo Bay in force. Today, the Maxwell was in a position of honor, steaming at fifteen knots in an AA defense circular formation on the two-thousand-yard circle off the Missouri’s port beam. Four destroyers were arranged concentrically at four points of the compass, the other three being the Shaler, Bertea, and Geiler. Another four destroyers steamed on the outer four-thousand-yard circle: the Cheffer, Beaulieu, Wallace, and Truax. Landa was commodore of DESRON 77 and was again riding in the Maxwell.

  “Smoke on the horizon, dead ahead,” announced Richard Dudley from atop the pilothouse, his binoculars raised. The tow-headed seaman second class had reported from San Diego boot camp while the ship was recuperating in Kerama Rhetto. Lookout duty was a challenge today. His teeth chattered, his cheeks were bright red, and the hood of his parka was pulled up. “Looks like a can coming out; maybe a Jap.” He pointed.

  “Very well,” said Tom Woodruff, Ingram’s GQ OOD.

  Ingram pulled a face at Tubby White. White immediately reached for a telephone handset.

  Landa was on it too, not missing a chance to jump on Tubby White. “Mr. White, can you tell me why a seaman deuce can—”

  Before Landa could finish, White barked into his handset, “Mr. Guthrie. I’d like to know why our taxpayers’ radar didn’t pick up a Japanese destroyer coming out of Sagami Bay.”

  Landa fumed and sipped coffee while Tubby White listened.

  Finally he said, “Well, damn it, let us know next time. What? This time of day? Hell no, you can’t make popcorn. There’s still a war on, whether you like it or not. Now give me an ETR. Yes, that’s right.”

  White hung up and turned to Ingram. “Power supply on the surface search radar blew about two minutes ago. They’re drawing tubes and should have it back up in ten minutes.”

  Landa rolled his eyes and turned his back, muttering something about “while Rome burns,” and walked over to join Woodruff.

  Ingram said, “Tubby, those tubes blow all the time, especially when we’re in a seaway.”

  “I know.”

  “Well, then, get Mr. Guthrie on the ball and have him set up a ready box of power supply tubes instead of having to draw them from stores. Besides, I don’t like guys walking around topside when it’s blowing like this. If that was the air search trying to spot a kamikaze we’d be dead fish on a fork by now.”

  “Sorry.”

  Ingram didn’t let up. “Popcorn?”

  White sighed. “I let them do it on the midwatches.” Ingram still had some catching up to do since returning from Karafuto. Overall, he felt Tubby White had done a good job as interim commanding officer. Landa had offered no real objection to it, but the two had escalated their spitting contests to exquisite levels. By now, though, even the lowest man in the crew realized that 90 percent of their act was put on.

  Ingram said, “Tubby, you can’t let up. What if the Japs try a trick?”

  “I know. Our guys have been at it for so long, though. I thought they deserved a break.”

  “Give ’em a break when we start steaming home. Right now, I’m interested in staying alive.” After Karafuto, Ingram had strong opinions about that. Glad to return to the relative safety of his ship, he felt physically fine after four days of square meals, hot showers, and clean clothes. Except he didn’t sleep well. The photos he had seen in Fujimoto’s bunker kept worming their way into his mind in the middle of the night. The headless Air Corps corporal stacked with all those other frozen bodies.

  He wasn’t sure how to handle the Unit 731 images, but he knew he had to find a way to live with it. He took solace in a bottle of belladonna he’d had for two years. It helped some but also made him feel logy. There were only six tablets left. Time to speak with the doc.

  Anderson, Ingram’s GQ talker, piped up with, “Combat reports surface search radar back on the line, Captain.”

  “Very well.” Ingram nodded to White. “Congratulations.”

  “Right.” White made to move off, but Ingram waved a finger. “And Tubby?”

  “Yes, sir.” White recognized Ingram’s tone. He knew more was coming.

  “Ask Mr. Woodruff when he last rotated the watch. That lookout on the pilothouse looks like he’s frozen solid.” Technically, Ingram was wrong. The ship was at general quarters, and watches did not rotate. Yet, men exposed to the elements had to be cared for lest they become ineffective or even fall ill.

  “Yes, sir,” said White stiffly. Once again, he made to move off.

  “And Tubby?”

  White stopped. “Yes, sir?”

  “Just one ass chewing per day. So you’re all done until tomorrow.”

  White moved off with, “Gee, thanks.”

  Clack, clack. The signal light went into action on the after part of the bridge. The signalman was acknowledging a light flashing from the Missouri.

  Landa sauntered back from the open bridge. “This could be it.”

  He was right. It was a tactical signal from the Missouri to COMDESRON 77 ordering the formation to change from circular formation to a single column ahead of the Missouri.

  Ingram smiled inwardly. The Maxwell was slated to move from the position of honor, off the battleship’s port beam, to what he called the position of horror at the head of the column. The ships’ positions had been discussed at a presailing conference four days ago, and the other skippers had given Ingram a hard time. But few could ignore the fact that if there were mines to be hit, the Maxwell was a prime candidate. The Japanese destroyer would be first. But Ingram wasn’t worried about Japanese mines. Many of those had already been swept. The big worry was the influence mines laid by B-29s over the past few months. The worst variant of these were pressure mines, and hundreds were scattered around Sagami and Tokyo Bays. But there was no known method to sweep pressure mines. The only consolation was that they did have disarming devices, but those weren’t set to activate until February 1946. Ingram hoped the issue would be resolved tomorrow, when twenty-three minesweepers moved into Tokyo Bay and concentrated on anchorages around Yokohama, Yokosuka, and Tokyo.

  Ingram stood back and watched Landa and his staff executing their signals. It was a sweet dance he’d seen many times as Landa and his staff ordered a flag hoist to DESRON77 to comply with the formation specified on the OPORDER. The signalmen worked furiously bending flags on the starboard halyards. Soon the flags were hoisted halfway up to the dip, the “ready position,” where they crackled in the breeze. When all the destroyers acknowledged by flying the same hoist at the dip, Landa shouted, “Execute.” The signalmen yanked their halyards, ran the flags all the way up to the top, two-blocking them.

  Ingram kept a close watch on Lieutenant Woodruff and the bridge watch, making sure the engine and helm orders were proper and followed exactly. He also kept a keen eye on the other ships. Screen changes could be dangerous; collisions were possible as destroyers ran for new stations like a bunch of Keystone Cops.

  Now the fun began. The tin cans cracked their throttles and did what destroyers with 60,000 horses trapped in their hulls are built to do: their OODs let them out of the barn and held tight for the ride. The tin cans charged ahead of the Big Mo like Kentucky thoroughbreds. Their bows knifed the high seas, burying their noses deep in troughs, only to rise again and sprint on as water spewed off the weather decks. The Maxwell roared toward her number one position at twenty-two knots. At the precise moment, Woodruff cut her speed to fifteen knots, dropping th
e Maxwell perfectly on station.

  The bridge watch moved with a calmness and professional sangfroid honed by countless hours of maneuvering and battle. Strange to think that as recently as nine months ago some of the Maxwell’s crew had been enjoying civilian life as librarians, grocery clerks, and car salesmen. Lieutenant Woodruff had been in postgraduate architectural school at the University of California, Berkeley. But here they all were, executing this once difficult maneuver easily—almost enjoying the pounding the Maxwell took as she hurtled to her station like a crazed stallion.

  The Japanese destroyer wheeled around directly before the Maxwell and assumed her position one thousand yards ahead. Ingram lifted his binoculars and examined the enemy ship with professional interest. It was the Sagari, the same ship he had seen exiting Sagari Bay five days ago. She had a raked mast, raked twin stacks, and a clipper bow; as ordered, her guns were depressed, giving her a sad, droopy appearance. She was rusty, and her aft section was still blackened.

  But appearance didn’t matter. The Japanese destroyer was there to lead them through minefields to a safe anchorage in Sagami Bay. Four American naval officers were on board to make sure everything went well. Ingram gave a silent prayer. There went four brave Americans who stood among a skeleton crew who could overpower them at a moment’s notice. Anything could go wrong very quickly. They were first in line and would most likely be seriously injured or even killed if the Sagari hit a mine. Those four men and many others today and over the next few days were accepting things on faith. Hopefully cool heads would prevail. Too many Americans had seen the enemy’s morbid tricks and endured kamikaze raids and the harsh fighting in the islands across the Pacific. Indeed, American sailors were trigger-happy and looking for an excuse to squeeze their triggers at the slightest provocation.

  Steady on mates, and God bless.

  By 1130 the Maxwell was anchored in eighteen fathoms of water one thousand yards off the coast, near Kamakura. The ship was close to the beach, the wind had dropped to a tolerable ten knots, and calm descended, the tension evaporating like ice on a Coca-Cola bottle. The boatswain’s mate of the watch piped away the noon meal, his whistle echoing over the ship’s PA system. Ingram and Tubby White stayed on the bridge where they’d called a condition III watch. The rest of the crew headed for chow and maybe a nap. Guards armed with M-1s were posted: two on the forepeak, two on the fantail. Two more were positioned atop the pilothouse with BARs. Ingram was headed for the ladder to the main deck when he heard the clack, clack of the signal light.