August 14—The Final Word
In Tokyo, events moved swiftly on the morning of the fourteenth. After only three hours sleep, General Anami breakfasted with Field Marshal Hata, just arrived from Hiroshima, where his headquarters had been destroyed. He had come to report to the Government on the effects of the atomic bomb. Hata told Anami that the entire city was gone, that the bomb was inhuman. However, he offered one bit of consolation. He said he believed the weapon was ineffective on anything dug in underground. Since it evidently was exploded in the air, properly entrenched defenses could survive unscathed.
The harried War Minister seized on this remark, telling Hata: “Be sure and mention this to the Emperor when you see him. Tell him that the bomb is not so deadly.” Anami was grasping at any shred of hope.
From this meeting, Anami went to Ichigaya. At 7:00 A.M. his men converged on him. Because Takeshita and the others planned to move at 10:00 A.M., they had to have Anami’s guarantee of cooperation within the hour. To speed matters further, they had told generals Tanaka and Mori to come to Ichigaya that morning for a special conference. By this time the rebels were frantic.
The general was prepared for them. Realizing that the peace group might move quickly for another Big Six meeting with the Emperor, both he and Umezu had asked that the conference be delayed at least until 1:00 P.M. Between now and then he had to thwart the rebels. Almost immediately he made his most important move.
He took Colonel Arao down the hall to Umezu’s office. There Anami bluntly asked the general, “Will you back a coup?”
Umezu sat behind his desk and looked at his friend. Then he turned his gaze on Colonel Arao and said: “Absolutely not. There’s no chance of it succeeding. For one thing, the people won’t follow you.” Umezu’s voice became scornful. “Forty percent of the factory workers have left their jobs already. We could never carry on the war under these conditions.”
Anami looked at Arao, who could say nothing in the face of such determined opposition. By the time they left the office, the coup was falling apart. Anami, who knew of Umezu’s attitude before the meeting and who was certain there was absolutely no chance of his Chief of Staff lending aid to the rebels, had led Arao into a baited trap. The colonel went to a telephone to report the bad news to his collaborators. For Arao, the onerous task of acting as spokesman for his colleagues was over.
While the coup foundered at the War Ministry, the peace faction was galvanized into action. Koichi Kido was the catalyst. For several days, the B-29’s had waged a campaign of enlightenment as well as destruction over Japan. Millions upon millions of leaflets fell from bomb bays as the Twentieth Air Force attempted to inform civilians that the war was hopeless. The Americans hoped this cascade of paper would foment public opinion toward insisting that the carnage cease. They reasoned that the Government would thus be pressured more quickly into acceptance of the terms of surrender. But the plan, though skillful, was fraught with dangers. If enough troops read the information, if they became aware for the first time of the disastrous turn of events, if they suddenly grasped what was going on in the cabinet meetings in Tokyo, then quite possibly they would take things into their own hands.
At 7:00 A.M., a servant brought Kido a slip of paper that had fallen into his garden. It was an Allied leaflet and it told the whole story. Kido was appalled. A sense of impending disaster rushed over him, and he knew that decisive action must be taken that day before the troops put two and two together.
He called the palace and asked for an immediate audience with the Emperor. At eight thirty Kido arrived in his presence and broke the news. Hirohito sensed the danger immediately and urged Kido, “Do whatever you wish to speed the end of this war.” Kido suggested calling a last conference of all principals to demand surrender that day.
Leaving the library, he met Premier Suzuki, who coincidentally had come at that time to ask for the Emperor’s help in getting a decision. Kido asked the old man if he had called the Big Six into session. Suzuki looked anguished: “I am having a hard time. The Army wants me to wait until 1:00 P.M. while the Navy asks me to postpone it without setting a specific time.” Suzuki seemed at a loss as to what to do next.
Yet he made an unusual request and asked Kido if it would be possible for them to meet jointly with the Emperor and settle basic strategy for the day. Holding a dual audience with the Ruler was almost never done. But these were extraordinary times and Kido knew the Emperor would agree. They met with him at ten o’clock; out of the meeting came a surprising tactic, which threw the other members of the cabinet into a frenzied haste and caught the war party completely off guard.
Emperor Hirohito sent out a summons for his cabinet ministers to meet with him at ten thirty, in less than half an hour. The message caused absolute chaos. All over Tokyo, officials put down telephones and frantically rushed about to dress in proper attire. On this unusual occasion they were not required to wear formal clothes. Nevertheless, the resulting confusion in offices verged on the hysterical. Private secretaries lost their ties, shirts were exchanged, collars were closed by men trying to look more presentable before their Emperor. By car, they converged on the palace for a momentous confrontation.
They gathered in the library, a one-story building. They had entered it through an air-raid shelter in the entrance hall and now made their way to a flight of stairs leading to the underground conference room. Single file, the elite of the Japanese Government walked down the wet mat-lined steps between walls dripping with moisture. At the bottom of the stairway they turned right and walked to an open door, twelve inches thick. Beyond it was the council room where eleven of them had met with the Emperor on the night of August 9.
The air was clammy as they seated themselves in two rows of chairs in front of the familiar narrow table, now covered with a beautiful gold brocade cloth. Beyond the table was a solitary chair, straight-backed, with arms on both sides. Behind the chair was a six-fold gilded screen. Other than these furnishings, the room was starkly bare.
Twenty-four people sat waiting for the Emperor of Japan. In the front row were Yonai, Suzuki, Togo, Umezu, Toyoda and Anami. Surrounding them were assistants and secretaries. Baron Hiranuma was in attendance. So was Secretary Sakomizu, who was terrified. In his superior’s hands lay the power to bring off this meeting. It was up to Premier Suzuki to guide the conversation and circumvent any opposition. Sakomizu feared that the old man would fail badly.
For days Sakomizu had worried about Suzuki, and his fears seemed to be justified. The Premier had not been able to force through the Emperor’s initial surrender request of the ninth. At eight o’clock on this very morning, Sakomizu had gone to Suzuki to ask if he had prepared a proclamation for the Emperor to read at the cabinet meeting. Suzuki had no idea that he should have written one. Sakomizu was furious. He became even more incensed when Suzuki told him that he did not even have a speech prepared in case the Emperor called a meeting that day. Now, at ten thirty, Sakomizu felt his worst premonitions were about to be confirmed. The old man was sure to botch the whole plan. At the most important hour in his life, he would fumble his way through the agenda and lose the initiative so carefully built up these past days.
An eerie quiet prevailed, broken once or twice by nervous coughs. Anami sat in full military uniform, staring impassively at the door beside the gold screen. At 10:55 it opened and the Ruler of the Japanese Empire walked into the room. He was dressed in a military uniform. He wore white gloves. Hirohito moved to the simple wooden chair and sat down. His audience rose and bowed as he came in. Now they sat down and waited. Suzuki was the first to speak.
The aged Premier rose and faced Hirohito. After apologizing for calling upon him once more for guidance, Suzuki launched into a recital of the difficulties which had brought the cabinet to an impasse. In the back row, Sakomizu listened. His sweating palms betrayed his intense excitement as he heard the eighty-year-old warrior seize the reins of leadership and forcefully lead the discussion.
There was no doubt that the Premier was in complete command of the situation in this crowded room. Suzuki spoke without notes, yet his presentation was cogent and compelling. After outlining the problem, he turned to the generals and admirals and asked them to state their arguments once more. Anami and Umezu were so choked with emotion that their speeches were only confused and ineffective. It remained for Admiral Toyoda, the man without a fleet, to defend the war party against its detractors. He spoke brilliantly.
Toyoda stood before his Emperor and his peers and launched a last defense of the Japanese military. His points were the old ones: “The Emperor’s sovereignty must be maintained.…” “Japan must not be occupied.…” “The clause referring to the government eventually being ‘determined by the free will of the people’ is most dangerous and will undermine the entire Japanese tradition.…” Having argued his faction’s position better than anyone in the room, he sat down.
Feet shuffled and twenty-four men waited for the next move. Suzuki asked the Emperor to speak.
Hirohito leaned slightly forward in his chair and began:
“If there are no further views to present, I will present mine. I would like to have all of you agree with me. My view is still unchanged from that which I expressed at the conference on the ninth.
The Emperor was already having difficulty speaking. He began to sob out phrases, to pause and control his voice, then to continue. Everyone was visibly affected. Men started to sob quietly.
“I have studied the terms of the Allied reply and have concluded that they constitute a virtually complete acknowledgment of the position we maintained in the note dispatched several days ago. In short, I consider the reply to be acceptable.” At this point, the Emperor broke down. His gloved right hand moved up under his glasses and wiped his tear-filled eyes. Then he continued:
“I appreciate how difficult it will be for the officers and men of the Army and Navy to surrender their arms to the enemy and to see their homeland occupied. Indeed, it is difficult for me to issue the order making this necessary and to deliver so many of my trusted servants into the hands of the Allied authorities by whom they will be accused of being war criminals. In spite of these feelings … I cannot endure the thought of letting my people suffer any longer.…”
Hirohito was almost incapable of further speech. His chest heaved as he struggled to finish. In the hot room, tears mingled with sweat on many faces. The Emperor concluded:
“It is my desire that you, my Ministers of State, accede to my wishes and forthwith accept the Allied reply. In order that the people may know of my decision, I request you to prepare at once an Imperial rescript so that I may broadcast to the nation.
“I am afraid that members of the armed forces will be particularly disturbed. If requested by the War and Navy Ministers I will be willing to go anywhere to talk personally with the troops.
“It matters not what happens to me but I wonder how I can answer the spirits of the ancestors if the nation is reduced to ashes with great sacrifice of life.
“Therefore, as the Emperor Meiji once endured the unendurable, so shall I and so must you. If there is anything more that should be done I will do it. If I should have to stand before a microphone, I will do so willingly.
“Finally, I call upon each and every one of you to exert himself to the utmost so that we may meet the trying days which lie ahead.”
He stopped suddenly, groping in vain for more words. In the silence, all knew that the war was really over. It was done. Prime Minister Suzuki slowly approached the Emperor, bowed deeply, and humbly apologized. Hirohito rose slowly and walked back through the door he had entered less than an hour ago. He had delivered his nation to the enemy.
Few of his audience saw him go. Instead of rising to bow before the Emperor, most sat crying into their hands. Two men slid onto the floor. On elbows and knees, they cried uncontrollably. The tiny room was filled with sorrow as grown men expressed their grief. Rivals sobbed beside each other. Enemies comforted each other. Japan had lost its honor.
One by one, the bereaved filed up the long stairway into the bright sunlight. Only they knew the tragic truth. No one else in the country was aware of it. Now came the most awesome task, delivering Japan to the enemy without inciting the military, which might go wild at the news.
Anami, however, was still plagued by his conscience. Had he done enough for his country? Should he insist on one more all-out attack on the Americans to show his country’s strength and possibly make the enemy pause and reconsider the terms?
As the conference broke up, he asked his secretary, Hayashi, to follow him into the bathroom. There, he spoke plaintively: “There is one last piece of advice I want to ask of you. The Imperial decision has been issued, but according to intelligence sources, there is a large American convoy outside of Tokyo. What do you think of the idea of proposing peace after striking the convoy?”
Hayashi was dismayed at this thinking and immediately said: “Your idea is absolutely mistaken. In the first place, the Imperial decision to terminate the war has been issued, and in the second place, even though there is a rumor of a large American convoy south of Tokyo Bay, there has been no confirmed report from the air patrol units. Therefore, it is a mistake to think of such a thing.”
Anami protested no more. In fact, he seemed to want this response from Hayashi. He wanted to be told that he had done his best, that there was nothing left to do. Even as he got solace from Hayashi, the general’s brother-in-law Takeshita was on his way to him with more talk of rebellion.
Anami and the others went directly to a last cabinet meeting. The members met to formally ratify the Emperor’s request. There was no more opposition. Anami, Umezu and Toyoda seemed almost relieved to have the issue decided. No one protested.
After the abortive interview with Umezu that morning, Colonel Arao had told his friends that the coup appeared hopeless, and it had been put off indefinitely. Then later that morning, two subordinates of Takeshita went to Umezu’s office to plead one last time.
The general was a harried man that day. Not wanting to be unkind to the officers, he merely tried to point out the practical side of the matter: “I am not absolutely opposed to the idea of a coup. However, you men must realize that it has no chance of succeeding.” Yet the two officers went away under the delusion that Umezu would back them if they could somehow pull off the rebellion.
This information went the rounds in the Ministry and once more extremists dusted off the operational plan for seizure of power in Tokyo. Before noon, news of the impromptu Imperial conference with the cabinet had reached the Ministry. Shortly thereafter Takeshita headed across town to Suzuki’s official residence.
He found the War Minister in an anteroom off the main conference room. The cabinet had just adjourned after approving the Emperor’s decision. Takeshita came right to the point: “The men still want to follow you and now we think Umezu will go along with us. Will you reconsider?”
Anami quickly shook his head. “No, I will not. It is too late. The decision has been made in the other room.”
Takeshita gasped at this news. “Then resign your position and that will make the Emperor’s action worthless.” Normally in Japan if the full cabinet did not agree, an Imperial rescript was invalid. And if Anami quit, the cabinet would automatically dissolve.
Anami appeared to hesitate, then said, “Yes, that might be a solution. Get me some paper.” He walked around the room. Takeshita waited for his next remarks. Anami came back to him and shook his head. “No, it’s too late for that. I’m going back to the Ministry and tell the men the news.” He put on his hat and walked out to his car in the driveway. Takeshita, now convinced that the war really was over, followed him to the Ministry building.
The Ichigaya Heights headquarters was the scene of a strange mixture of emotions by the time General Anami arrived there. Word of the impending surrender had seeped out to field grade officers and their reactions were predictable. Most of them sat crying or staring at the walls of their offices. Some shouted noisily through the corridors that the war should go on. In some offices, papers were pulled out of the cabinets and burned as men prepared for the day of the enemy’s arrival.
In his office, the Vice-Chief of Staff, Torashiro Kawabe, pondered a brazen move. A die-hard militarist to the end, Kawabe believed right up to this day that the Army should fight on the beaches. But now he realized that further opposition was senseless and he wanted only to make sure that the surrender would be carried out according to plan. He knew that the highest ranking officers in the Army were gathered in another room on the same floor and wondered if he ought to seal the bargain by asking them to sign a pledge of allegiance to the rescript terminating the war. To that end, he composed a simple document: “The Army will act in accordance with the Imperial decision to the last.” He walked to the room with Vice-Minister of War Wakamatsu, who had seconded his plan.
Just outside the conference room the two waited to be called into the presence of the elite in the Imperial Japanese Army. Inside, sitting around a table, were Umezu, stolid, scowling, finally convinced that the right thing had been done that morning; Doihara, who had helped begin the ill-fated adventure years before in Manchuria and had become the first Japanese mayor of Mukden; Hata, whose headquarters in Hiroshima had disappeared just eight days before; and Sugiyama, the field marshal, just a spectator in these recent hectic days.
The two went in to present their paper, which was intended merely to guarantee that no leader would have second thoughts about the Emperor’s decision and break away from the majority. When Torashiro Kawabe told the generals what he wanted, he did so with some fear that they would take offense at his obvious insinuation. But the fight had gone out of them and they no longer wanted to carry the burden. Umezu signed quickly and one by one the others affixed their signatures to the simple document. General Anami walked in at the last moment, looked at the paper, and signed it without a murmur.
At two o’clock in the afternoon, section leaders and field officers crowded into Conference Room Number One where Anami stood morosely behind a desk. Visibly affected as he asked for quiet, the War Minister then spoke to the hushed group: “A meeting has just been held in the Imperial presence and His Majesty has rendered his final decision in favor of terminating the war. The Imperial Army must act in complete accord with this decision. Japan will henceforth face difficult times. Even though you may have to sleep on the ground and eat stones, I ask you—one and all—to do your utmost to preserve the national polity.”
Anami had spelled it out with brutal clarity: The rebels were too late; the decision had been rendered; forget the revolt. The general had ended his show of paternal interest in the plans of his aides. Now he was telling them to stop the nonsense once and for all.
Hatanaka uttered a mournful wail and burst into tears. Colonel Ida looked accusingly at the War Minister and said, “Why have you lost your resolve?”
Anami closed his eyes and seemed to be exerting great effort to control his emotions. Then he answered: “I could not refuse the Emperor any longer. Especially when he asked, in tears, to bear the pain no matter how trying it might be. I could not but forget everything and accept it.” He gazed at his subordinates in an attempt to get their understanding.
Angry men left Conference Room Number One and vowed that it was not too late, that they would prove Anami wrong. The coup would succeed without him. One of the dissidents was Kenji Hatanaka, Anami’s protégé. Almost immediately he set out on a bicycle for the headquarters of the Eastern District Army, a key group to the success of a revolt.
As this desperate young man went about his chores, the rest of the world was becoming aware that the deadlock in the cabinet had been broken. A radio operator on Okinawa wrote down a radio message beamed in English from Tokyo by Domei News Agency at 2:49 P.M.:
FLASH FLASH TOKYO AUGUST 14—IT IS LEARNED THAT AN IMPERIAL MESSAGE ACCEPTING THE POTSDAM PROCLAMATION IS FORTHCOMING SOON.
The message did not come as the day passed, but the United States knew that the end was near and issued instructions accordingly.
On Okinawa, units of the Eleventh Airborne Division continued landing. On August 11, they had been alerted in the Philippines to move out immediately for the Ryukyus. From Lipa Airfield in northern Luzon, planes flew northwest in a continuous stream toward Yontan and Kadena airports on Okinawa. By now most of the division was bivouacked on the island. All units were advised that Japan was the next stop.
In the Pacific Ocean, Halsey’s heaving warships still prowled off the shores of Honshu and Shikoku. An air strike was held up as planes loaded bombs on the flight deck.
In base headquarters at Oppama Airfield south of Tokyo, Japanese fighter pilots gathered at the summons of their commandant. The officer appeared to be ill as he stood shakily before them using his desk as support. None of the pilots was prepared for what he told them:
“The surrender orders may be announced at any moment.… Order must be maintained at this base. There may be hot-heads who will refuse to accept the decision to surrender.… Remember—and never forget it—His Majesty’s orders come before anything else.”
The men were absolutely stunned. Though they knew the war was tearing Japan apart, they had not expected the end to come in this way, on this day. The pilots went out the door and across the field in shock, disbelieving and yet knowing the awful truth.
On Tinian, far to the south, B-29’s again were being loaded for another night of destruction over the Home Islands, against the possibility that the Japanese would not surrender. Two cities were marked for fire bombing that night, the night of the fourteenth. The Americans were taking no chances on letting the Japanese reconsider.
Soviet tank columns slashed across the flat plains of Manchuria against increasingly disorganized resistance as the Soviets rushed to acquire real estate and put in claims for postwar rights.
At Hsian on the edge of the Gobi Desert, Gus Krause was alerted to expect thirty-six OSS men bound on a special mission. He had no idea what they intended to do.
Krause had problems of his own. He sent a telegram to Kunming outlining the latest intelligence estimates from his own men in the field. He knew that the Japanese were about to collapse. He also knew something else, something that promised to shatter all dreams of peace in the Far East.
NOW APPEARS ALL FIELD TEAMS FACE CONFLICT WITH COMMUNISTS IN TRYING TO CARRY OUT ORDERS TO OCCUPY CITIES ON JAP SURRENDER AND SEIZE RECORDS. TEAMS IN POCKET SAY REDS BAR ENTRANCE INTO HANKOW, PENGPU, AND SUCHOW. LEOPARD FACES REDS ON WAY TO TAIYUAN. KELLIS FINDS SOME REDS NEAR PEIPING. LION HAS TANGLED WITH REDS. HOUND REPORTED 100,000 REDS NEAR HIS AREA. REQUEST INSTRUCTIONS ON WHAT ACTION TEAMS SHOULD TAKE. SUGGEST THAT IF TEAMS MUST FIGHT REDS TO CARRY OUT ORDERS THEY BE WITHDRAWN TO HSIAN. SINCERELY FEEL TEAMS SHOULD NOT RISK THEIR LIVES IN CONFLICT WITH REDS. FEELING IN NORTH CHINA IS CIVIL WAR WILL START IMMEDIATELY AFTER JAP CAPITULATION. PLEASE ADVISE SOONEST.
In Tokyo, Kenji Hatanaka arrived at Eastern Army District headquarters. He went to General Seiichi Tanaka’s office to ask the general for his support in an uprising. Tanaka listened to the young major as he expounded on the necessity for action: “The government and the military leaders have decided to terminate the war—a decision which I cannot accept as things stand now. My idea is that we should establish ourselves within the palace, sever communications with the outside, and give assistance to the Emperor in a final effort to retrieve the situation. I have already gotten in touch with the Imperial Guards Division and have made the necessary arrangements. I would like you to take part in the plan.”
Tanaka was aghast. He thundered at Hatanaka: “Go back to your barracks and stop this ridiculous scheme. Do what you’re told and accept what your leaders say. The war is over.”
Hatanaka stormed out of the office and went ahead with his next step. Shortly after four o’clock, he appeared at the room of Lieutenant Colonel Masataka Ida, another of Anami’s protégés. Hatanaka and Ida were close friends. Ida was the weaker of the two, the more easily moved. Hatanaka counted on this fact. He repeated the speech he had given earlier to Tanaka. But Ida had changed his mind about the coup and turned him down flat. He declared it was “too late for such an adventure.”
Hatanaka took it surprisingly well. “All right, I’ll do my best and leave the rest to Providence.” They parted cordially.
The major kept raking over the ashes of the fire of rebellion. It looked impossible to get any cooperation as the actual surrender neared, but he was persistent.
Convinced that rebellion was no longer a major threat, the Kempei Tai secret police relaxed their guard. Since Takeshita, Ida and other senior officers appeared to have lost heart, Colonel Tsukamoto and his superiors paid little attention to Kenji Hatanaka as he frantically sought support.