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

by Toland, John

  With the arrival of kempeitai, sent as a result of Hatanaka’s phone conversation with Eastern District Army, all the rebels left the NHK Building without protest. Hatanaka did not return to Army Headquarters. His one thought was to prove his sincerity and bring his violent actions to a proper close. With one companion who had remained steadfast from the beginning, Lieutenant Colonel Jiro Shiizaki, he gravitated toward the spacious plaza in front of the Imperial Palace. Here, in a last futile gesture, they passed out leaflets calling on the people to prevent the surrender. At 11:20 A.M. Hatanaka drew the pistol that had killed General Mori and fired a bullet into his own forehead. Shiizaki thrust a sword into his middle, then put a pistol to his head and pulled the trigger.

  In Hatanaka’s pocket a poem was found:

  I have nothing to regret

  now that the dark clouds have disappeared

  from the reign of the Emperor.

  The broadcast, even without the presence of His Majesty, was ceremonial. Studio 8 was crowded with NHK staff members as well as official witnesses from the Cabinet, the Information Board, the Household Ministry and the Army. At almost the same moment that Hatanaka killed himself, the chairman of NHK took the records marked ORIGINAL out of his safe. It was suggested that they be tested, but would it be respectful to the Emperor? The consensus was that it would be wise to rehearse to avoid any mishaps.

  The Emperor’s voice roused a kempei lieutenant who was standing outside Studio 8. Drawing his sword, he shouted, “If this is a surrender broadcast, I will kill every one of you!” He was seized by an Army lieutenant and herded off by guards.

  Inside the studio Chokugen Wada, Japan’s most popular announcer, sat pale and tense at a table behind a microphone, watching the second hand of a clock sweep around to join the other hand at twelve. At exactly noon he said, “This will be a broadcast of the gravest importance. Will all listeners please rise. His Majesty the Emperor will now read his imperial rescript to the people of Japan. We respectfully transmit his voice.”

  After the reverent strains of the national anthem, “Kimigayo,” ended, there was a pause followed by the voice that few had heard: “To Our Good and Loyal Subjects: After pondering deeply the general trends of the world and the actual conditions obtaining in Our Empire today, We have decided to effect a settlement of the present situation by resorting to an extraordinary measure.…”

  * During air raids and alerts, Cabinet meetings were held in a safer place, the Telephone Operations office in the Akasaka section.

  † The final draft of the rescript had 815 characters. By coincidence it was to be broadcast on 8/15, that is, August 15.

  ‡ During the day, 821 Superfortresses had left the Marianas to bomb the Tokyo area. General Spaatz had wanted “as big a finale as possible.”

  § General Tanaka commanded two units simultaneously, Eastern District Army and 12th Army Group. Together they were popularly known as Eastern Army.

  ǁ Hatanaka was not the only officer who had planned an insurrection. Some forty men, led by the commander of the Yokohama Guards, drove up to Tokyo to assassinate the “Badoglios” in the government. They barricaded the Prime Minister’s office just before dawn on August 15. They had hoped to trap Suzuki and other ministers inside, but the Prime Minister was asleep at home. The rebels set fire to the empty building and headed for the Suzuki house. The Suzukis escaped in a car—it had to be pushed to get started—just before the rebels arrived. Again the would-be assassins became arsonists and at gunpoint prevented firemen from saving the house. Frustrated, the gang headed for Baron Hiranuma’s residence, which they also set afire. The aged baron, leaving his false teeth behind, escaped through a garden gate, the only one not covered by his pursuers.

  a On the evening of August 24, wearing full uniform, Tanaka shot himself at his desk. Previously he had told General Takashima that the revolt had little to do with his decision to take his own life. It was primarily because he felt responsible for the burning of the Imperial Palace and the lives lost in the Tokyo fire raids. He had to apologize to the Emperor. He said that no one else in the Eastern District Army should commit suicide: “I will take the responsibility for everyone.”

  37

  The Voice of the Crane

  1.

  An entire nation listened attentively, awed by the high-pitched, almost unreal voice. The strange imperial language, coupled with poor reception, allowed few of His Majesty’s subjects to understand exactly what he was saying. It was evident only that a surrender, or something equally catastrophic, had occurred.

  “Cultivate the ways of rectitude; foster nobility of spirit; and work with resolution so as ye may enhance the innate glory of the Imperial State and keep pace with the progress of the world.”

  There was silence. The listeners, who had stood or kneeled quietly, faces contorted, could no longer control their emotions. Millions wept, perhaps more people simultaneously than at any other moment in the world’s history. Yet underlying the humiliation and sorrow was an undeniable sense of relief. The terrible burden of years of war, death and destruction was at last over.

  At the obunko the Emperor had intently followed his own words on a prewar RCA radio. At the Household Ministry, Kido reacted with mixed emotions, secretly triumphant that what he had been striving for so diligently was finally achieved.

  In a dingy auditorium at Army Headquarters hundreds of officers, including General Umezu—resplendent in dress uniforms, complete with white gloves, decorations and swords—still stood at attention, tears coursing down their cheeks. But for some officers the war was not yet over. Not far from Tokyo at Atsugi Air Base, Navy Captain Yasuna Kozono, commander of the 302nd Air Group, climbed to a platform near the runway to address his pilots. The order to surrender, he said, meant the end of the national essence, and to obey it would be treason. Join me and destroy the enemy, he cried. Scores, inflamed by his words, shouted back, “Banzai!” And at Oita Air Base on northeastern Kyushu, Admiral Matome Ugaki, Yamamoto’s former chief of staff and now commander of all naval kamikaze units, was equally resolved to die fighting. He felt responsible for Yamamoto’s death—he could not forget the sight of his chief plunging to his doom—and had recently written to Captain Watanabe: “I must pay for it.” The Emperor’s words increased his shame. Now more than ever it was his duty to follow all those Special Attack men he had sent off to die.

  The Voice of the Crane* reached troops thousands of miles from the homeland, as far away as Harbin, Manchuria. Tomomi Yamato, a staff officer, was chagrined to discover that the voice of the man who was more than mortal wavered with hesitancy. How could he have bowed so many times in the direction of the Imperial Palace? But infected by the sobs around him, he could not stifle his own. Out of habit he turned toward the imperial crest above the door of the headquarters building and made his last salute as a Japanese soldier. Then he put on civilian clothes to avoid capture by the approaching Soviets.

  On Okinawa, Captain Tsuneo Shimura, the battalion commander whose troops had held Maeda Ridge so stubbornly, was still fighting as a guerrilla. He was trying to steal an American vehicle in order to break through to the north when the sky above was suddenly filled with tracers. It was beautiful, like fireworks, and he thought for a moment it was the Japanese counterattack he had dreamed of. But scouts returned with a report of an American victory celebration. They were drinking beer and shooting in the air. What new disaster had befallen Japan?

  Words alone, even the Emperor’s, could not bring an abrupt end to the emotions war had engendered for more than four years. In Fukuoka, on the island of Kyushu, some sixteen captured B-29 crewmen were trucked to a hill near a crematorium where eight of their comrades had been beheaded four days earlier. The Americans were forced to strip and then were led one by one into the woods and executed.

  No reply to Japan’s offer to surrender had yet been received from America, but Navy units were ordered to cease fire before midnight. The Army, however, was reluctant to proceed without a f
ormal reply from Washington. At the last Suzuki Cabinet meeting that afternoon it was learned that it would take twelve days to notify troops isolated in New Guinea and the Philippines. The Allies had to be advised of this communication problem.

  Suzuki said he was ashamed that he had “troubled His Majesty twice for his august decision.” Now, however, it was necessary to form a new cabinet as soon as possible. Shortly before three o’clock Suzuki tendered the resignation of his entire cabinet to the Emperor. For the last time Kido, at the behest of the Emperor, was requested to select a new prime minister. In consultation with the jushin he had already decided that Prince Higashikuni was the best choice. The prince, however, had discouraged such overtures; politics had financially ruined his father. He was, moreover, a man of rare independence. When he was a second lieutenant at the War College he declined an invitation to attend a dinner given by Emperor Meiji; he quarreled with the crown prince (later Emperor Taisho); and he had to be persuaded by a field marshal to retain his membership in the royal family. A few years later he married the Emperor Meiji’s daughter, Princess Toshiko, but he still aspired, above all else, to be a private and free citizen.

  But today the Emperor approved of Kido’s selection—as a member of the royal family, his uncle-in-law was above politics and immune to attack.

  “As I told you last night,” Prince Higashikuni informed Kido’s emissary, “I had no intention whatever of accepting the premiership. But in these circumstances and with the situation so perilous, I believe I will think it over.”

  At Oita Air Base on Kyushu, Admiral Ugaki was preparing for the final kamikaze mission of his command. In his diary he called for vengeance:

  There are many causes which have brought Japan to this situation. I must assume responsibility. However, to take a broad view, the main cause was the difference in strength between the two nations [Japan and America]. I hope that not only military men but the whole Japanese people will endure hardships, stir up the Yamato spirit and do their utmost to rebuild the nation so that Japan can have her revenge in the future. I, too, have made up my mind to serve our country forever with the spirit of Masashige Kusunoki.

  Ugaki arrived at the airfield in a uniform stripped of all insignia, carrying a pair of binoculars and a short samurai sword given him by Yamamoto. The plan was for a three-plane strike, but eleven small bombers were on the ramp. Ugaki mounted a small platform and asked the assembled fliers if they were “all so willing to die with me?” Every hand shot up. He climbed into the cockpit behind the pilot of the leading plane. Warrant Officer Akiyoshi Endo, whom he had replaced, protested, “You’ve taken my seat!”

  “I have relieved you,” said Ugaki with the suggestion of a smile. Undeterred, Endo scrambled up and tried to wedge himself in beside the admiral. Ugaki good-naturedly moved over.

  Four of the bombers had to turn back because of engine trouble but the rest continued on toward Okinawa. At 7:24 P.M. Endo radioed back an impassioned farewell message from Ugaki:

  I alone am to blame for our failure to defend the homeland and destroy the arrogant enemy. The valiant efforts of all officers and men of my command during the past six months have been greatly appreciated.

  I am going to make an attack at Okinawa, where my men have fallen like cherry blossoms. There I will crash into and destroy the conceited enemy in the true spirit of bushido, with firm conviction and faith in the eternity of Imperial Japan.

  I trust that the members of all units under my command will understand my motives, will overcome all hardships of the future and will strive for the reconstruction of our great homeland, that it may survive forever.

  Long live His Imperial Majesty the Emperor!

  Minutes later Endo advised that the plane was diving toward a target.*

  The bodies of Anami and the two rebel leaders, Hatanaka and Shiizaki, were brought to a building adjoining Army Headquarters for memorial services. Hundreds of mourners filed by to honor them, particularly Anami, who had given his life to bring order to the nation.

  Early that evening Colonel Ida, Hatanaka’s reluctant ally, came to pay his respects. He had written his will and said farewell to his wife. In his office next door he lay down to prepare himself spiritually for death. When all was quiet he rose and walked down the darkened corridor to Anami’s office. Here, as was fitting, he would commit suicide. At the door a major named Sakai called to him.

  “What are you doing here, Sakai?”

  “What about you?”

  “Never mind,” Ida told him. “Just leave me alone.”

  Sakai said that he had been ordered to “keep an eye on” the colonel. “If you want to die, you’ll have to kill me first.”

  Ida was annoyed. “Can’t you understand the feelings of a samurai?” But Sakai persisted and their argument dissipated Ida’s resolve. When one misses the time for hara-kiri, he thought ruefully, it is gone forever.

  They returned to Ida’s office, where they stretched out on adjoining cots and talked for hours. In the morning Ida was awakened by a macabre request. His wife and her father (his name was Ida and he had adopted his son-in-law) had come to claim the body. Awkwardly Ida tried to explain what had happened, but on his wife’s face appeared an inquiring look as if she were asking: Why are you still alive?

  In another section of Tokyo the creator of the kamikaze corps, Admiral Takijiro Onishi, lay mortally wounded by his own hand in his home. He sent for his associate and friend, Yoshio Kodama, whose sword he had borrowed the night before. Kodama found Onishi still conscious, though he had slit his abdomen and stabbed himself in the chest and throat. He seized Kodama’s hand. “What I want to tell you is written in my will on the top of the desk. There’s also a letter to my wife; she is in the country.” He smiled faintly. “I thought your sword was sharper. It didn’t cut very well.”

  The weapon was on the floor, and Kodama picked it up. “Your Excellency,” he whispered, “I will go with you.”

  “Bakayaro!” Onishi shouted in a surprisingly strong voice. “What would you gain by dying now? Instead— There is another letter on my desk. Take it to Atsugi Air Base at once and bring those headstrong men under control. That will do more good for Japan than dying here.” His forehead was covered with perspiration and he gasped for words. “Many of the nationalists will rise up. Stop them!”

  Kodama found the letter on the desk. In it the man who a few days before had pleaded with Admiral Toyoda and Foreign Minister Togo to sacrifice twenty million lives in a final defense of the homeland apologized for his failure to bring victory. He wanted the young people of Japan to find a moral in his death. “To be reckless is only to aid the enemy. You must abide by the spirit of the Emperor’s decision with utmost perseverance. Do not forget your rightful pride in being Japanese. You are the treasure of the nation. With all the fervor of spirit of the Special Attackers, strive for the welfare of Japan and for peace throughout the world.”

  Beside the letter was a haiku, Onishi’s last poem:

  Refreshed,

  I feel like the clear moon

  after a storm.

  Kodama turned back to the admiral, who was vomiting blood, and begged Onishi to stay alive until he brought back his wife—it would take about five hours. Onishi smiled wanly. “Is there anything more stupid than a military man committing suicide and then prolonging death just to wait for his wife?” He reached for Kodama’s hand. “Sayonara.”

  2.

  The knowledge that he was the Emperor’s “personal choice” for prime minister made it almost impossible for Prince Higashikuni to refuse. “I can’t think of my own welfare in this critical situation,” he resignedly told Kido on the morning of August 16, “and if I can be of any service to the country I shall be pleased to accept the post.” Before making up his mind, however, he wanted to know what the current situation was.

  Kido informed him that General MacArthur required a liaison officer representing the Japanese government sent to Manila promptly. “So it is expedient to form
a cabinet as soon as possible. At the present time we have no means to deal with the Americans, and the Allies might regard any delay with suspicion and make our situation even more difficult.” The previous night’s attempted coup made it necessary to select someone respected by the Army. “If you do not accept the post, you will cause His Majesty great anxiety.”

  Higashikuni pondered: it would be onerous to lead a defeated nation, but he knew he could control the riotous acts of dissident Army men through colleagues in the service—he held the rank of general—and once Japan’s future was settled, he could step down. “I will humbly accept the imperial order to form a cabinet,” he said.

  Before noon a note accepting the Japanese surrender offer arrived from Washington and Imperial Headquarters issued orders to all Army and Navy units to cease hostilities. In addition, the Emperor instructed three members of his family to tour overseas commands and reassure the troops that he had made the decision to surrender of his own free will. Prince Tsunenori Takeda, a lieutenant colonel, would cover the forces in Korea and Manchuria; Prince Yasuhiko Asaka, a colonel, the China Expeditionary Army and the China Area Fleet; and Prince Haruhito Kanin, son of the former Army Chief of Staff, Shanghai, Canton, Saigon, Singapore, Indochina and Nanking. The three men left Haneda Airport in identical white twin-engine Mitsubishi Ki-57 Army transports.