by Hiroo Onoda
NO SURRENDER
HIROO ONODA
Translated by Charles S. Terry
BLUEJACKET BOOKS
NAVAL INSTITUTE PRESS
ANNAPOLIS, MARYLAND
The latest edition of this work has been brought to publication with the generous assistance of Marguerite and Gerry Lenfest.
Naval Institute Press
291 Wood Road
Annapolis, MD 21402
© 1974 by Kodansha International Ltd.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Published by arrangement with Kodansha International Ltd.
First Bluejacket Books printing, 1999
ISBN 978-1-61251-564-9 (eBook)
The Library of Congress has cataloged the paperback edition as follows:
Onoda, Hiroo.
[Waga Rubantō no sanjūnen senō. Enlgish]
No surrender : my thirty-year war / Hiroo Onoda.
p. cm.
Bluejacket books
Originally published: Tokyo : New York : Kodansha International, 1974.
1. Onoda, Hiroo.2. World War, 1939-1945—Personal narratives, Japanese.3. World War, 1939-1945—Philippines—Lubang Island. 4. World War, 1939-1945—Armistices.5. Soldiers—Japan Biography.6. Japan.Rikugun—Biography.I. Title.
D811.05613 1999
940.54’8252—dc21
99-23484
Print editions meet the requirements of ANSI/NISO z39.48-1992 (Permanence of Paper).
121110
CONTENTS
Foreword
Reunion
Commando Training
Fateful Orders
No Will to Fight
The Four-day Battle
The Vow to Fight On
Three Soldiers at War
Faked Messages
Jungle Life
Devils in the Mountains
Alone
February 20, 1974
Lubang, Sayonara
FOREWORD
Lieutenant Hiroo Onoda was officially declared dead in December, 1959. At the time it was thought that he and his comrade Kinshichi Kozuka had died of wounds sustained five years earlier in a skirmish with Philippine troops. A six-month search organized by the Japanese Ministry of Health and Welfare in early 1959 had uncovered no trace of the two men.
Then, in 1972 Onoda and Kozuka surfaced, and Kozuka was killed in an encounter with Philippine police. In the following half year, three Japanese search parties attempted to persuade Onoda to come out of the jungle, but the only response they received was a thank-you note for some gifts they left. This at least established that he was alive. Owing partly to his reluctance to appear, he became something of a legend in Japan.
In early 1974, an amiable Japanese university dropout named Suzuki, who had tramped his way through some fifty countries contributing to the woes of numerous Japanese embassies, took it upon himself to make a journey through the Philippines, Malaysia, Singapore, Burma, Nepal and other countries that might occur to him en route. When he left Japan, he told his friends that he was going to look for Lieutenant Onoda, a panda and the Abominable Snowman, in that order. Presumably the panda and the Snowman are still waiting, because after only four days on Lubang, Suzuki found Onoda and persuaded him to meet with a delegation from Japan, which Suzuki undertook to summon.
Reports of Suzuki’s meeting with Onoda touched off some of the most extravagant news coverage ever provided by Japanese press and television. People tended for a while to doubt Suzuki, but a mission was quickly dispatched to the Philippines to check on his story. Accompanying the mission were no fewer than one hundred Japanese newsmen.
There are several theories as to why the reappearance of Onoda created such a stir. Mine is that Onoda showed signs of being something that defeat in World War II had deprived Japan of: a genuine war hero. Similar excitement had arisen over earlier returnees. Only a year earlier, Sergeant Shōichi Yokoi had come home from Guam amid great fanfare. Now, however, nobody could conceal the feeling that Yokoi was a rather ordinary man—too ordinary to serve as a hero. Perhaps Lieutenant Onoda would be the real thing.
It became apparent after his surrender that Onoda was intelligent, articulate, strong willed and stoic. This is the way the Japanese like their heroes to be, and in the three weeks between his first contact with Suzuki and his being received by President Ferdinand Marcos, news coverage in Japan swelled to the proportions of a deluge. When Onoda arrived back in Japan, he was received like a triumphant general. Norio Suzuki, for his part, was promoted in one jump from adventurer to assistant hero.
Normally I am almost completely immune to heroes and the adoration thereof. I also tend to be put off by publicity. Mr.Onoda himself was quoted in the newspaper I read as having said he was no hero, and I was prepared to accept that at face value. When they told me his plane would land in Tokyo at four thirty in the afternoon, my reaction was, “Well, what’s to prevent it?”
Still, I am human, and when the time arrived, I put my work aside and sat in front of the set like everybody else. And when I saw this small, dignified man emerge from the plane, bow, and then stand rigidly at attention for his ovation, I suddenly realized that he was something I had not seen—a man who was still living in 1944! Or at least only a few days out of it. A man who for the past thirty years must have been carrying around in his head the forgotten wartime propaganda of those times. Odd thoughts ran through my mind. Should I try to meet him, or had somebody else already proved to him that the American devils had no tails? Could he even now be counted upon not to commit harakiri in the palace plaza? How would he react to a Japan that is so radically different, on the surface at least, from what it was in 1944?
In short, I was hooked. With the rest of the nation I was drawn to the box off and on for a couple of weeks, watching Lieutenant Onoda greet his father and friends, Lieutenant Onoda in his hotel, Lieutenant Onoda going to the hospital for his checkup, Lieutenant Onoda having his breakfast, Lieutenant Onoda leaving Tokyo for his hometown in Wakayama Prefecture. I did not even object when the seven o’clock news on the day of his arrival gave Lieutenant Onoda’s reunion with his mother top billing over an attempted hijacking then going on over our heads in Tokyo.
It became clear to me that Onoda was no ordinary straggler, but a man of strong determination and principle. Though slight of build, he looks the part of the stern, slightly pompous Japanese army officer of bygone times. I strongly felt that if he had stayed on Lubang for thirty years, he had done so for a definite reason. I wondered what it was, and what the psychology behind it was.
Even as we were all watching the television, Japanese publishers were scrambling for the rights to Onoda’s story. He astonished most of them by turning down some of the more handsome offers and choosing a publisher whom he admired because of its youth magazines, which he had enjoyed in prewar times. After meeting and talking with Onoda, it seemed to me that this decision was typical of him, for the sternness that kept him on Lubang is tempered by gentleness and nostalgia for his younger, carefree days. I personally wonder whether it was not this side of his personality that caused him to yield to a happy-go-lucky but obviously sincere Japanese youth, when he had held out against all the others.
Onoda kept neither diary nor journal, but his memory is phenomenal. Within three months of his return, he had dictated two thousand pages of recollections ranging from the most important events to the tiniest details of jungle life. In July, 1974, articles began running in serial form in the weekly Shūkan Gendai. Simultaneously preparations were going on for book versions in b
oth Japanese and English, and inquiries were beginning to come in from publishers abroad.
In the course of making the English translation, I had occasion to question Onoda on a number of points, and I was amazed at the vividness with which he could describe what had taken place at a given time or how he had made some article of clothing. He himself made sketches for all of the diagrams and drawings in this book, as well as for many others appearing in a Japanese children’s edition.
In preparing the English text, I received much assistance not only from Mr. Onoda himself but from the editorial staff at Kodansha International, who edited my translation with great care and patience.
At the end of his book, Onoda asks himself what he had been fighting for all these years. My opinion is that it was for integrity. Whether Onoda continues to be regarded as a hero is for the future to decide, but I suspect he will, because in the end he won his war.
Charles S. Terry
Tokyo
October 7, 1974
REUNION
I HID IN THE BUSHES, waiting for the time to pass. It was a little before noon on March 9, 1974, and I was on a slope about two hours away from Wakayama Point. My plan was to wait until the time of the evening when it is still just possible to tell one face from another and then approach Wakayama Point rapidly, in a single maneuver. Too much light would mean danger, but if it were too dark, I would not be able to make sure that the person I was meeting was really Major Taniguchi. Also, late twilight would be a good time for making a getaway, if I should have to.
Just after two in the afternoon, I crept cautiously out of my hiding place and crossed the river above the point. Making my way through a grove of palms that ran along the river, I soon came to an area where the islanders cut trees for building.
At the edge of a clearing, I stopped and looked the place over. I could see nobody around. I supposed that the workers must be taking the day off, but to be on the safe side, I camouflaged myself with sticks and dried leaves before dashing across the shelterless area.
I crossed the Agcawayan River and reached a position about three hundred yards from the appointed spot. It was only about four o’clock, so I still had plenty of time. I changed to a camouflage of fresh leaves. There used to be paddy fields at the point, but now it is a grassy plain with a palm tree here and there. Along the river grow bamboo and shrubs.
I started up a little hill from which I would be able not only to look down on the point but to keep an eye on the surroundings. This was the place where I had met and talked with Norio Suzuki two weeks before. Just two days earlier a message from Suzuki asking me to meet him here again had been left in the message box we had agreed on, and I had come. I was still afraid it might be a trap. If it was, the enemy might be waiting for me on the hill.
I proceeded with the utmost caution but saw no signs of life. At the top of the hill, I peered out from among the trees and bushes, and on the edge of the point, where Suzuki had put up his mosquito net, I saw a yellow tent. I could make out a Japanese flag waving above it, but I could not see anybody. Were they resting in the tent? Or were they hiding somewhere else waiting for me to show up?
After thirty tense minutes, during which there was no change, I came down the slope and approached a spot only about one hundred yards from the tent. I shifted my position a little to get a different view, but still I saw no one. I decided they must be in the tent and settled down to wait for sunset.
The sun began to sink. I inspected my rifle and retied my boots. I was confident: I could have walked to the tent with my eyes shut, and I felt strong because I had rested while keeping watch. I jumped over a barbed-wire fence and made for the shade of a nearby bosa tree, where I paused, took a deep breath, and looked at the tent again. All was still quiet.
The time came. I gripped my rifle, thrust out my chest, and walked forward into the open.
Suzuki was standing with his back to me, between the tent and a fireplace they had rigged up by the riverbank. Slowly he turned around, and when he saw me, he came toward me with arms outstretched.
“It’s Onoda!” he shouted. “Major Taniguchi, it’s Onoda!”
In the tent, a shadow moved, but I went forward anyway. Suzuki, eyes bursting with excitement, ran up to me and with both hands clasped my left hand. I stopped about ten yards from the tent, from which there came a voice.
“Is it really you, Onoda? I’ll be with you in a minute.”
I could tell from the voice that it was Major Taniguchi. Motionless, I waited for him to appear. Suzuki stuck his head in the tent and brought out a camera. From inside, the major, who was shirtless, looked out and said, “I’m changing my clothes. Wait just a minute.”
The head disappeared, but in a few moments Major Taniguchi emerged from the tent fully clothed and with an army cap on his head. Taut down to my fingertips, I barked out, “Lieutenant Onoda, Sir, reporting for orders.”
“Good for you!” he said, walking up to me and patting me lightly on the left shoulder. “I’ve brought you these from the Ministry of Health and Welfare.”
He handed me a pack of cigarettes with the chrysanthemum crest of the emperor on them. I accepted it and, holding it up before me in proper respect for the emperor, fell back two or three paces. At a little distance, Suzuki was standing ready with his camera.
Major Taniguchi said, “I shall read your orders.”
I held my breath as he began to read from a document that he held up formally with both hands. In rather low tones, he read, “Command from Headquarters, Fourteenth Area Army” and then continued more firmly and in a louder voice: “Orders from the Special Squadron, Chief of Staff’s Headquarters, Bekabak, September 19, 1900 hours.
“1. In accordance with the Imperial Command, the Fourteenth Area Army has ceased all combat activity.
“2. In accordance with Military Headquarters Command No. A–2003, the Special Squadron in the Chief of Staff’s Headquarters is relieved of all military duties.
“3. Units and individuals under the command of the Special Squadron are to cease military activities and operations immediately and place themselves under the command of the nearest superior officer. When no officer can be found, they are to communicate with the American or Philippine forces and follow their directives.
“Special Squadron, Chief of Staff’s Headquarters, Fourteenth Area Army, Major Yoshimi Taniguchi.”
After reading this, Major Taniguchi paused slightly, then added, “That is all.”
I stood quite still, waiting for what was to follow. I felt sure Major Taniguchi would come up to me and whisper, “That was so much talk. I will tell you your real orders later.” After all, Suzuki was present, and the major could not talk to me confidentially in front of him.
I watched the major closely. He merely looked back rather stiffly. Seconds passed, but still he said no more. The pack on my back suddenly seemed very heavy.
Major Taniguchi slowly folded up the order, and for the first time I realized that no subterfuge was involved. This was no trick—everything I had heard was real. There was no secret message.
The pack became still heavier.
We really lost the war! How could they have been so sloppy?
Suddenly everything went black. A storm raged inside me. I felt like a fool for having been so tense and cautious on the way here. Worse that that, what had I been doing for all these years?
Gradually the storm subsided, and for the first time I really understood: my thirty years as a guerrilla fighter for the Japanese army were abruptly finished. This was the end.
I pulled back the bolt on my rifle and unloaded the bullets.
“It must have been a struggle,” said Major Taniguchi. “Relax, take it easy.”
I eased off the pack that I always carried with me and laid the gun on top of it. Would I really have no more use for this rifle that I had polished and cared for like a baby all these years? Or Kozuka’s rifle, which I had hidden in a crevice in the rocks? Had the war really ended thirty y
ears ago? If it had, what had Shimada and Kozuka died for? If what was happening was true, wouldn’t it have been better if I had died with them?
I walked slowly after Major Taniguchi into the tent.
That night I did not sleep at all. Once inside the tent, I began giving a report of my reconnaissance and military activity during thirty years on Lubang—a detailed field report. Occasionally Major Taniguchi put in a word or two, but for the most part he listened attentively, nodding now and then in agreement or sympathy.
As coolly as possible I reported one event after another, but as I talked, emotion began to overcome me, and when I got to the parts about Shimada and Kozuka dying, I faltered several times. Major Taniguchi blinked as though holding back tears. The only thing that saved me from breaking down completely was the steady snoring of young Suzuki, who had drunk a good deal of sake before going to sleep on his cot.
Before I started my report, Suzuki had asked the major whether he should tell the other searchers that I had turned up. The major told him not to, because if he reported, we would immediately be besieged by a great crowd of people. Suzuki signaled “no change,” and I proceeded to talk to the major until dawn.
Several times he ordered me to go to bed and tell him the rest tomorrow, but although I tried this two or three times, each time I was up again in less than ten minutes. How could I sleep at a time like this? I had to tell him everything then and there.
Finally I reached the end of the story, and the major said, “Now let’s get some sleep. It will only be an hour or so before the sun is really up. We have a rough day in front of us, and even an hour will help.” He must have been relieved that the search was over, because he was snoring seconds after he lay down.
I was not. After sleeping outdoors where best I could for all these years, I could not get used to the cot. I closed my eyes, but I was more awake than ever. Like it or not, I had to go over in my mind all the events that had brought me to this tent.