The Rising Sun: The Decline and Fall of the Japanese Empire, 1936-1945 (Modern Library War)

by Toland, John

  Like so many intellectuals who lean far left in their youth and grow conservative with age, Konoye saw the Red menace everywhere. He charged that those who were sponsoring the slogan “One Hundred Million Die Together” had done so at the instigation of “Communists who are trying to throw the country into confusion and bring about a revolution.” Moreover, some Army leaders were so infused with pro-Soviet sentiment that they were “urging an alliance with Russia at any cost while others were calling for co-operation with Mao.”

  Yet the conclusion that he drew from these fanciful accusations was inescapable logic: peace could only be negotiated if the militarists (“Although they know they cannot win the war, I believe they will fight to the death in order to save face”) were circumvented. “Thus if the tree is severed at the roots, its leaves and branches will wither and die.” His recommendation for dealing with the die-hard militarists, however, was unrealistic, though desirable: eliminate them by a coup d’état, and then negotiate directly with America and Britain.

  All its inconsistencies notwithstanding, the rambling Memorial stimulated both the Emperor and his chief adviser. Unlike his fellow jushin, Konoye had uncovered the core of the problem, and while his solution was impractical, it would eventually be transformed into an efficacious plan for peace by the pragmatic Kido.

  Prime Minister Koiso’s personal desire to end the war favorably was not curbed by the lack of confidence shown in him by the pacifists and militarists. Perversely, he saw peace with Chiang Kai-shek as the key to honorable negotiations with America and Britain. Moreover, his choice for go-between was a man known throughout the Far East as an intriguer, Miao Pin. An official of the Nanking puppet regime, he claimed to be in secret radio communication with the Chungking government. Koiso’s own foreign minister and his most knowledgeable adviser on China, Mamoru Shigemitsu, warned that the notorious Miao was merely trying to promote his own ambitions. “To believe in his mediatory role,” Shigemitsu later wrote, “was childish naïveté and betrayal of ignorance of Chinese politics.”

  Koiso would not listen and persuaded his war minister, Field Marshal Sugiyama, to bring Miao to Japan on a military plane. At the airport near Tokyo, Miao ignored the Prime Minister, who had invited him, and insisted on being driven directly to a meeting with a member of the royal family, Prince Higashikuni, where he tried to ingratiate himself with the Emperor. But His Majesty found such intrigue as distasteful as had Koiso’s Cabinet. Miao returned ignominiously to China—subsequently to be executed by Chiang—and with him disappeared Koiso’s last hope of remaining in power.

  * The Japan War History office calculated that 72,489 died.

  † Like General Homma, Yamashita was tried, convicted and executed on MacArthur’s orders. The atrocities committed in Manila weighed heavily against him despite the fact that he had ordered the city evacuated by all troops. The trial was conducted as hastily as Homma’s. MacArthur radioed from Tokyo that he doubted the need of the defense “for more time” and “urged” that the tribunal be concluded with dispatch. There was no question but that the verdict would be guilty, nor could MacArthur find any “mitigating circumstances” in his review of the case. “The proceedings were guided by that rationale of all judicial purpose—to ascertain the full truth unshackled by any artificialities of narrow method or technical arbitrariness. The results are above challenge.”

  But two Associate Justices of the Supreme Court condemned the findings. Frank Murphy declared that the “spirit of revenge and retribution, masked in formal legal procedure for purposes of dealing with a fallen enemy commander, can do more lasting harm than all of the atrocities giving rise to that spirit.” Wiley Rutledge said it “was no trial in the tradition of the common law and the Constitution,” and quoted Thomas Paine: “He that would make his own liberty secure must guard even his enemy from oppression; for if he violates this duty he establishes a precedent that will reach himself.”

  President Truman refused to commute the sentence to life imprisonment and Yamashita was hanged on February 23, 1946, in Los Baños, a town thirty-five miles south of Manila. He was “calm and stoical.” His last words were: “I will pray for the Emperor’s long life and his prosperity forever!”

  “We have been unjust, hypocritical, and vindictive,” said Yamashita’s chief counsel, Captain Adolf Reel, Jr. “We have defeated our enemies on the battlefield, but we have let their spirit triumph in our hearts.”

  28

  The Last Sortie

  1.

  Extending south from Japan and curving toward Formosa for 790 miles like a long tail was a chain of some 140 islands, the Ryukyus. In the middle of this archipelago lay the last important bastion guarding the homeland, Okinawa. An elongated island about sixty miles from north to south, and only two miles wide near the middle, it was an ideal staging area for invasion of Japan with its flat waist for airfields and two deep-water bays suitable for naval bases. Its climate was subtropical, moderated by the Kuroshio (the Gulf Stream of the Pacific) and the Ogasawara Current. Humidity was high all year round; rainfall was heavy and erratic with a single day’s downpour occasionally equaling a month’s average. From May to November two typhoons a month swept over the island.

  Okinawa was a crossroads of the Orient, lying almost equidistant from Japan, China and Formosa, and had been influenced by all three as well as by the islands of the South Pacific. In 1372 it was taken over as a tributary by the founder of the Ming Dynasty. Two centuries later Japanese from Kyushu ravaged the island but allowed its inhabitants to continue sending tribute to China. This unique dual subservience existed until 1875, when Hirohito’s grandfather dispatched an invasion force which took complete control of the Ryukyus. Four years later Emperor Meiji formally annexed the archipelago, made Japanese the official language and replaced Okinawa’s king with a governor. As a colony the 450,000 people of Okinawa—the majority crammed into the southern, more habitable section of the island—continued to live as they had for centuries, scratching out a meager living predominantly as farmers.

  This neglect notwithstanding, Okinawa had by the outbreak of war with the West become an integral part of the empire, and was represented in the Diet as one of Japan’s forty-seven prefectures. Technically its inhabitants were first-class citizens, but most mainlanders did not consider them their social equals. The Okinawans, with their mixed heritage, regarded themselves as Japanese and were as loyal to the Emperor as any Tokyo resident, though most of them still practiced Chinese ancestor worship, and their chichi (protective household gods in the form of fantastic lions) were as much Chinese as Japanese. Only in Okinawa did colorful porcelain chichi, in myriad poses and sizes, cling to the tile roofs, ready to strike down any unfriendly intruder.

  For the first three years of the Pacific war, fewer than 600 troops were stationed in the Ryukyus, and it wasn’t until April 1, 1944, that the 32nd Army, three full divisions and a brigade, was activated on Okinawa. At the end of the year it was significantly weakened by the transfer of the elite 9th Division to Formosa, but the Army commander—Lieutenant General Mitsuru Ushijima, a quiet and competent officer who had recently been commandant of the Military Academy—still had a sizable force: the 24th Division from Manchuria comprised 14,000 men, including several thousand Okinawan conscripts; the 62nd Division, 12,000 troops, mainly infantrymen, who had fought in China; and the 5,000 men of the 44th Independent Mixed Brigade. There was also a single tank regiment of fourteen medium and thirteen light tanks, and various artillery units with a respectable number of 22-mm. machine cannon, 75-mm. guns, 150-mm. howitzers and 81-mm. mortars, as well as twenty-four huge 320-mm. spigot mortars which belched out 675-lb. shells.

  In addition, Ushijima could count on two shipping-engineer regiments, a variety of service units and 20,000 members of the Boeitai, a home guard unit of Okinawans burning with ardor to serve their Emperor.

  The withdrawal of the 9th Division forced Ushijima to formulate a new defense plan that would utilize his remaining men to th
e best advantage. He was almost certain that the enemy would land on the west coast just below the waist of the island along the spacious Hagushi beaches, so he concentrated his men in the south. He also began converting as many naval and service troops into front-line soldiers as possible. From sea-raiding battalions, formed to man suicide boats, he extracted 5,500 foot soldiers, and though they were poorly trained and equipped, they were eager to fight on land. Another 10,000 naval personnel were organized into a force commanded by an admiral. To free more military personnel for combat, 3,900 Okinawans were temporarily assigned to the 32nd Army as labor troops; 600 students became messengers, orderlies and communication assistants at the various headquarters. One group of enthusiastic high school students was trained to fight; 750 of them were formed into special Blood and Iron for the Emperor duty units and trained to infiltrate enemy lines and carry on guerrilla warfare.

  Just above Okinawa’s two largest cities, Naha and Shuri, the terrain was ideal for defense, and it was here that Ushijima erected a defense line in depth, a series of concentric fortresses, facing north and extending across the island. Numerous caves, blockhouses, and gun emplacements were carved into the ridges and hills connected by a complex system of tunnels. Even the Chinese lyre-shaped tombs which dotted the countryside were transformed into pillboxes, over the objections of the older Okinawans. As at Iwo Jima, Ushijima would let the enemy land and engage him only from prepared positions. By March more than 100,000 defenders, including the Boeitai, were in place. The two most experienced divisions manned the main defense line, while the third division and the 44th Independent Mixed Brigade were positioned at the southern end of Okinawa as insurance against any landing in that area. The northern half of the island was given mere token defense—two battalions.

  Ushijima had correctly foreseen American plans. They would come ashore at the Hagushi beaches, although there would be a decoy landing in the south. “Iceberg” was to be a joint Army-Navy operation under the overall command of Admiral Spruance, who had opposed the invasion of Formosa. An Army general, Simon Bolivar Buckner, Jr.—another opponent of Formosa—would lead all the ground troops. His father, one of the Confederacy’s first generals, had escaped from a Union prison. The son was a Spartan and went to extreme limits to prove it. During the Aleutian campaign he had slept on a thin mattress with a sheet for cover; he trained himself to read without glasses by squinting his eyes. His Tenth Army was made up of six combat-experienced divisions, half Army, half Marine. The Army trained and rehearsed on Espíritu Santo and Leyte, while the Marines used Guadalcanal. The task of transporting the assault force of 183,000 troops and 747,000 measurement tons of cargo to the battlefield was formidable. Four hundred and thirty assault transports would have to be loaded at eleven different ports, ranging from Seattle to Leyte.

  The first step, on March 24, was the capture of the Keramas, a group of small mountainous islands fifteen miles west of Naha. There were but 750 defenders to contend with, and they scattered for the hills and caves. It was obvious before dusk that the islands would soon provide a seaplane base and a fleet anchorage.

  That same day a systematic naval bombardment of Okinawa began. A week later frogmen worked openly along the Hagushi beaches, clearing debris and detonating mines, while Japanese onshore watched in admiration mixed with frustration, holding fire as instructed. The climax of the bombardment came on March 31. When it ceased Rear Admiral W. H. P. Blandy, in charge of all preliminary operations, announced that the preparation was “sufficient for a successful landing.” At this point, 27,226 rounds of 5-inch or larger-caliber shells had carpeted Okinawa. The effect appeared devastating but the main line of defense was still almost intact. Just before dawn on April 1, Easter Sunday, the crash of naval gunfire again wakened Ushijima’s men. Those along the west coast peered out of their shelters at an awesome sight: 1,300 ships massed offshore.

  It was L-(for Love) day. At eight o’clock landing craft packed with helmeted assault troops started for the beaches; LST’s disgorged their armored amphibians and amphibian tractors also loaded with men and equipment. There was almost no opposition as two Army and two Marine divisions poured ashore during the morning. “This is hard to believe,” wrote Robert Sherrod. “I’ve already lived longer than I thought I would,” remarked one infantryman of the 7th Division as he reached the top of a hill. He spoke for everyone. By night more than 60,000 Americans were ashore in a beachhead not quite three miles long and a mile in depth. Except for the uncontested Guadalcanal landing, it was the least costly of any major invasion—twenty-eight dead, twenty-seven missing. “We were on Okinawa an hour and a half after H-hour, without being shot at, and hadn’t even gotten our feet wet,” reported the GI’s favorite correspondent, Ernie Pyle. Okinawa was a piece of cake.

  Tenth Army moved swiftly on all fronts, meeting some resistance around the airfields from a Boeitai unit, and before the end of the second day the Kadena strip was not only cleared but repaired for emergency landings. On the third day the Marines, who had swung north, spanned the narrow waist of the island. Okinawa was cut in two. The Army divisions going south continued to meet desultory resistance. At the commanding village of Shimabuku they were confronted by a pair of Japanese—trembling old men who bowed repeatedly. One was the headman, the other was Councilman Shosei Kima, a teacher. Kima had persuaded the 1,300 villagers to remain in their homes rather than flee into the countryside and risk starvation.

  “You American gentleman!” Kima called out. “Me Okinawan Christian!”

  The Americans warily covered the two Okinawans with their weapons. There was a tense wait of several minutes until a Nisei interpreter, Thomas Higa, arrived. “Sensei [Teacher]!,” he shouted, seizing Kima’s hand. “Kima-sensei, don’t you remember me? My name is Taro Higa. I was one of your pupils in elementary school.”

  All that day the Americans pushed deeper into the island to the north and south. Where was the enemy? Lieutenant Colonel James Brown of the 12th Marine Regiment, sent a note to the divisional supply officer: “Colonel, please send us a dead Jap. A lot of my men have never seen one. We’ll bury him for you.”

  2.

  Without support from any quarter, Prime Minister Koiso’s regime was doomed. Nevertheless, he continued to make frantic if futile attempts to save his cabinet. He confused the Emperor by first suggesting a drastic reorganization of it and a moment later offering to resign; he took the same proposal of reorganization to Kido, who reacted coolly; downcast, he returned to His Majesty, who, embarrassed by Koiso’s flounderings, said, “Study the matter carefully.”

  It was a polite suggestion to step down but Koiso continued to insinuate himself. He told Prince Higashikuni he could “properly carry on the war” if he were reinstated on the active list; then he could be appointed war minister. He complained that the Army had repeatedly turned down his request to replace War Minister Sugiyama, and he was going to take the matter direct to the Emperor. Again His Majesty was noncommittal.

  Koiso had exhausted every means left to save his government. Piqued, he told Kido on the afternoon of April 4 that he was going to resign the following day. The most important function of the Privy Seal was to select a new premier. By tradition Kido would first have convened the jushin and asked for their opinions before advising the Emperor. This time, however, a preliminary investigation had to be made at once, to ensure the selection of a man who would work for peace, yet be acceptable to the Army.

  It was an exceptional step but one that had the full approval of His Majesty. On April 5, as Koiso was presenting his formal resignation to the Emperor, Marquis Kido sounded out each of the four military leaders separately. He suggested that it was perhaps time to form “an Imperial Headquarters or Conduct of War cabinet,” in which the prime minister, necessarily a military man, would control not only the affairs of state but the Supreme Command. Both Army Chief of Staff Umezu and War Minister Sugiyama were cool to such a cabinet. Umezu acknowledged that the battle on Okinawa was going badly but tha
t Japan “must be prepared to fight to the end.” Sugiyama was just as pessimistic, yet held out the hope that once Russia defeated Germany she might advise her allies to make peace with Japan. Navy Chief of Staff Koshiro Oikawa was uncertain about the outcome of the war—he doubted that even a victory on Okinawa would end it; the enemy would simply attack again.

  The testimony of these three indicated to Kido that the high command had privately come to realize that the war could not be won. As for the fourth man, Navy Minister Yonai’s secret advocacy of peace was, of course, well known to the marquis. Besides, the minister had found a suitable candidate for the premiership: Admiral Kantaro Suzuki. The suggestion seemed ideal to Kido. The former Grand Chamberlain was a “large-scale” man, whom His Majesty affectionately called oyaji (old man).

  Later that afternoon, at five o’clock, the jushin—except Baron Wakatsuki, whose train was late—assembled in the Imperial Chamber to select a premier. They were joined by Kido and the new head of the Privy Council,* who was fortuitously the Privy Seal’s choice for prime minister—Admiral Suzuki. In Tojo’s first session as a jushin, he was alert and aggressive, making it obvious from the first that he would reject any peace candidate. His fellow jushin all opposed him but not overtly. For fear of alerting the militarists, they could not risk an open clash.