The Rebellion
Early on the evening of the fourteenth, Major Kenji Hatanaka’s search for supporters brought success. Jiro Shiizaki, a colleague at the Ministry, had always supported him. Another who finally agreed to participate was Major Hidemasa Koga, the son-in-law and next-door neighbor of the deposed Premier Hideki Tojo. Father of an eleven-month-old boy, he now served in the Imperial Guards Division, which protected the Emperor.
For the past two months, Koga had worked long days constructing a new air-raid shelter for the Imperial family. When it was finished the young major stood at a personal crossroads. Because of the pending coup, he was torn between his friendships with other officers and concern about his own family.
On the afternoon of the thirteenth, the handsome cavalry officer had gone to Tojo’s home to see his family. Mrs. Tojo saw him ride up on a motorcycle and run to the door. He burst in and went to the general’s study at the left of the entrance hall. Since General Tojo was occupied with a guest, Koga went on into the back of the house where his wife and child waited.
He scooped the baby up in his arms and asked his wife to follow him into the family air-raid shelter. There he spoke urgently: “I want you to go to Kyushu with the baby. You’ll be safer there with my family.” His wife listened quietly as he added forcefully, “I want you to go as soon as possible.” He held the baby close, then put him down. Moving to his wife, he asked, “Do you have my hair and nail clippings?” She was startled because, in Japan, these things are left to relatives by the dead. When she nodded he continued: “There are times when one must do one’s duty. I can’t avoid the troubles ahead.” He embraced her and quickly broke away. On the way to the front door, Mrs. Tojo appeared with a box of sweets. Thanking her, he looked into Tojo’s study once more. Seeing the general still engaged, Koga merely waved and hurried out the door. He had been home only ten minutes.
When General Tojo came out of his study, he knew from the stricken faces of his wife and daughter that his son-in-law was in trouble. His wife asked him to talk to Koga before he got into bad trouble. Not aware of what was happening at the War Ministry, Tojo decided to go there and find out the reason for Koga’s strange actions. He called for a car and went off to Ichigaya.
When he returned at about nine o’clock that night, he seemed pleased. After officers had briefed him on the general situation, he had found Koga and talked persuasively to him about the future. He warned him to think carefully before involving himself in a coup. The son-in-law promised to stay calm, and Tojo left feeling that Koga would behave. He was wrong. Other forces were also working on the youthful patriot. Under extreme pressure from fellow officers at the palace, Koga joined the revolt.
Major Hatanaka had been talking to officers in the Imperial Guards Division for several days. He sensed that they would be sure to follow him if he could prevail on the commanding general, Mori, to cast his lot with the rebels. Though Mori had so far resisted all overtures, Hatanaka planned one last appeal to him.
He definitely could count on Jiro Shiizaki and Koga. Other officers in the Guards Division were easily swayed. Hatanaka felt encouraged enough to proceed. He got on the phone and began calling conspirators into action.
Later, at ten o’clock that evening, he and Jiro Shiizaki went to see Colonel Ida in his bedroom at the War Ministry in the hope of persuading that vacillating officer to help his friends. Ida was morose, brooding over the past day’s events. He had decided to commit suicide. Earlier he had gone around to his co-workers at the Ministry urging them to do likewise. Now he lay in bed staring into space.
Hatanaka burst in upon his reverie. “Ida, all the members of the Imperial Guards have agreed with us except General Mori. Koga is too young to persuade him, so come and talk to him.”
Ida sat up straight. He thought for a moment, and then asked: “What will you do if I can’t convince him, I mean, if he doesn’t agree with us? What will you do then?”
“If Mori doesn’t agree with us, I’ll give up the coup, but we should at least try.”
Ida was torn. His friendship with Hatanaka went back several years, and he was very fond of the ascetic-looking officer. They had spent much time together during the war and had even joined in discussion groups under a certain Professor Haraizumi, a man of great influence on the younger element at the War Ministry. Haraizumi preached on the nature of the Emperor system and on the obligations of the military in fostering and nurturing that way of life. He felt it was the sworn duty of the officers to uphold the Emperor and to carry out Imperial orders unhesitatingly. Now Hatanaka was asking Ida to upset the expressed wishes of the Emperor.
The rationale was simple. Because men around Hirohito had forced his hand, the younger officers were only seeking to rid the government of this subversive group. If the Emperor had been beguiled by men like Kido and Suzuki, the military did not have to honor a proclamation from the Throne. It made sense to Hatanaka and his followers, and now they wanted Ida to come with them.
Colonel Ida excused himself and went out to talk with others in the War Ministry. When he came back, he tried to reason with Hatanaka: “It’s difficult to convince even our group of friends around here. It will be more difficult to persuade General Mori.” He repeated his first question: “In that case, what will you do?”
Shiizaki broke in: “I’m sure God will help us. We must attempt a coup.”
Hatanaka added, “If Mori doesn’t agree with us, I’ll kill him.”
Ida was shocked. His fears rising, he then asked about General Tanaka, another in the group of generals the rebels needed.
Hatanaka airily dismissed this issue. “It’s not positive yet but if the Imperial Guards Division goes, all of the Army will follow us. Of that I’m sure.”
Ida instinctively felt the danger of the situation but he did not want to desert his old friend. Though he knew that the coup was beginning on forlorn hopes, he gave in and agreed to go to General Mori. Hatanaka smiled happily as the two shook hands.
The one man who held the absolute power to make any coup succeed was involved at this time in drafting the Emperor’s speech to the people, to be given on the following day. Closeted with the cabinet, General Anami was engaged in a running verbal battle to soften the language of the declaration. Even at the end of the war, Anami was trying desperately to salvage the reputation of his army, to shift the blame for the country’s defeat away from his men. His overriding concern was for the Emperor’s safety, but as the last moments of the struggle approached, he was determined to word the proclamation so that the stigma would not fall on the Army.
When the cabinet discussions were finally over late in the evening, Anami was tired and utterly despondent. Burdened with a general’s grief at surrendering his forces, at turning over his country to the enemy, he went to say goodbye to a man he deeply admired: Admiral Suzuki. Dressed in his braided and bemedaled uniform and wearing white gloves, Anami carried a box of cigars to the old man. He presented this gift and said, “I should have given you every assistance in this war, but I am afraid I have caused you a great deal of trouble instead.”
Suzuki immediately grabbed the general’s hand, and the two leaders stood looking at each other for a long moment. The Premier realized that Anami was offering his friendship, and was deeply moved by the gesture. “I fully appreciate your painful position,” the old man said. “I have not yet lost hope for the future of Japan.”
Anami agreed with that thought, then bowed and walked from the room. Tearfully, Suzuki watched the door close.
The War Minister left for his official residence near the center of the city. His public life was ended. The formalities had been concluded and he could lay down his sword and title.
When Anami reached home, his servants noticed his somber mood. He went straight to his first-floor bedroom and ordered some sake wine and cheese brought in. Stripping off his coat, he sat down on a tatami mat and wrote with a brush on a large sheet of paper. The room was quiet, the atmosphere tranquil. Outside the house the air was sultry, the streets empty.
Shortly before midnight, the now-committed Ida arrived at the headquarters of the Guards Division just inside the walls of the Imperial Palace grounds. The building was crowded with soldiers running and shouting through the corridors. General Mori was inside his office talking to his brother-in-law, Colonel Shiraishi. Ida waited in the hallway with his fellow conspirators. Shiizaki was there. So was Koga. So was Major Sadakichi Ishihara, an officer just recently transferred to Tokyo. A highly emotional man, he wholeheartedly supported the coup.
Hatanaka joined the group just as Mori announced that he would talk to them. It was twelve thirty on the morning of the fifteenth when the small group of officers crowded into Mori’s room to confront their commanding officer. The fate of their coup might hinge upon his answer. Mori was in a terrible position.
Ida, acting as spokesman, asked the general for his cooperation. Mori began a monologue on his own philosophy of life, and avoided a direct answer. He was obviously stalling.
Hatanaka listened for a few moments, then impatiently turned toward the door. Interrupting Mori, he said, “Ida, I must go out as I have something to do. Please look after my affairs while I am away.” He disappeared, leaving Ida to spar with the general.
Hatanaka hurried over to the War Ministry to talk with Colonel Takeshita, who had already given up his attempt to convince Anami to lead an uprising. After the news of the surrender, Takeshita had retreated to his own quarters and begun drinking. With his fellow officers, he tried to forget the calamitous events of the afternoon. At 12:45 A.M., Hatanaka baited him once again:
“The second regiment has already entered the palace grounds with their colors and will occupy the Imperial Palace at 2:00 A.M. All the regimental commanders have agreed with us. Everything is going well.”
Takeshita listened as the excited Hatanaka continued: “Right now we are talking with Mori. He’ll agree soon, so please help us.”
He looked at Takeshita pleadingly but the colonel hastened to dissuade him: “It’s too late. We would need the agreement of four generals, Anami, Tanaka, Mori and Umezu. That’s impossible now.” In effect, Takeshita was saying the revolt was doomed.
The two argued over this point for some minutes. Then Hatanaka broached the one favor he wanted of Takeshita: “When the coup at the palace is a success, ask Anami to come in with us. Go and ask him to do that.” Takeshita agreed to at least talk to his brother-in-law, and Hatanaka went back to the palace grounds optimistic about the possibilities for that night.
Takeshita left his quarters hurriedly and rode to the official residence of the War Minister, where Anami sat in his bedroom. The brothers-in-law greeted each other warmly. After writing two letters, Anami had sat down before a low table and started to drink from a small cup. Takeshita began to tell him of the situation at the palace but sensed that the general’s mind was on other things. He stopped in mid-sentence.
His suspicions were confirmed when Anami said, “I’m thinking of committing suicide.” He spoke matter-of-factly as though he had mentioned the weather;
Takeshita nodded. “I thought you would. But couldn’t you wait until later?”
Anami shook his head vigorously. “No, my mind is made up.” He went on to say that he had thought of waiting for a few days till the anniversary of his second son’s death, but had decided not to. “Besides, this is the anniversary of my father’s death and it would be fitting to join him now.”
The two men toasted each other with sake and talked of their families and personal affairs. It was 1:45 A.M.
In the center of the city, the deadly debate continued. Ida and General Mori had talked now for over an hour and the general had so far evaded a commitment. At one thirty Hatanaka rejoined the discussion, which now took its final, fateful turn.
Mori had run out of arguments. He looked across at the assembled rebels and suggested one last alternative: “I understand your position perfectly. Frankly, I am moved by your arguments. Now I’ll go over to the Meiji Shrine and ask God’s will.” This was his final escape route, chosen to delay the conspirators and fight for time. Since he was known for his very religious beliefs, it would be perfectly normal for him to want to meditate before making any decision.
Mori watched the men across from him for a reaction. Beside him, Colonel Shiraishi shifted uncomfortably as he watched Hatanaka and the others weigh the remark.
Mori himself broke the silence. “Ida, why don’t you go and ask my aide, Mizutani, what he thinks of the plan.” Ida rose from his chair and walked out the door. Left in the room were Mori, Shiraishi and just two rebels. Hatanaka, dripping with sweat from his hurried trip across town, stood before Mori’s desk. At his right was another officer, a Mister X, whose identity cannot be revealed even today because of what happened in the next moments.
Hatanaka had wasted several hours of valuable time trying to plead with Mori. It was 2:00 A.M. and his patience had run out. He asked the general for a definite statement. Mori had none.
The two rebels acted almost simultaneously. Hatanaka pulled a revolver out of his holster and fired into the body of Mori. His companion ripped his sword out of its scabbard and slashed downward through the general’s left collarbone. Mori was dead in seconds. As his body slid off the chair onto the floor, the horror-stricken Shiraishi leaped up to grapple with the murderers. The man with the sword saw him coming and cut viciously at his head. The blade caught Shiraishi on the right side of his neck and continued through to his left ear. As his body toppled forward onto the floor a huge geyser of blood spurted out from the trunk and spattered the room. Held to the torso by one shred of skin, his head lay at an angle to the rest of the body. The killers looked down at the bloody corpses for a moment and then walked out into the hall.
Hearing the gunshot, Ida rushed up to Mori’s room, where he met Hatanaka coming out, holding the revolver in his right hand. Hatanaka’s face was clouded with sorrow. In a trembling voice he tried to explain: “I had no time to argue so I killed him. I couldn’t help it.” Hatanaka looked at his friend for sympathy.
At that moment, Colonel Mizutani grasped Ida’s hands in his and urged him to go at once to General Tanaka for support. Ida hurried to the headquarters of the Eastern District Army. The rebel who had decapitated Shiraishi left the palace to seek support from units in the Tokyo suburbs.
Hatanaka recovered his composure and instructed his men to issue orders forged with General Mori’s seal. It was 2:15 A.M. With Mori gone, Hatanaka could seize the palace and move to the next objective.
He had learned that the Emperor was going to report to the nation at noon that day. It was rumored that Hirohito had made a recording which would carry his voice to the people and advise them to lay down their arms and obey the will of the Imperial House. Hatanaka had to find that record and destroy it before it was too late. The most important task before him now was to ascertain its hiding place and seize it. Since the record must be somewhere inside the palace grounds, the rebel leader planned to interrogate members of the Imperial Household.
The phonograph disc was indeed just a stone’s throw away from Hatanaka. It had been cut shortly before midnight in the Administration Building in the middle of the palace compound. Hirohito had arrived there at 11:25 P.M. and had been greeted by several officials from NHK broadcasting station. As they watched, the Emperor spoke into a microphone. When he finished his short speech, the recording was played back. Hirohito was dissatisfied with the quality and insisted on making two more. When the final recording was made, he returned to his residence. At 12:05 A.M., the Emperor was in bed.
The record was given to Yoshihiro Tokugawa, the Court Chamberlain, who took it to his own room in the Administration Building and placed it in a wall safe. Then he went out to the switchboard to check for any air-raid warnings in the area. Satisfied that everything was all right, Tokugawa relaxed and entered into a conversation with the broadcasting people who were finishing up their chores before leaving.
At 12:50 A.M. he was informed that the Emperor was asleep. At the same instant a conditional air-raid alert sounded. Tokugawa was not concerned that bombs would fall on Tokyo that night, so he went to his room and fell asleep. By 1:30 A.M. the building was quiet.
Within thirty minutes General Mori died and the rebels went into action. The radio officials, who had finally packed up their equipment and started for home, were stopped at the palace gate. Soldiers shepherded them to a small building near the main entrance where they joined others already scooped up in the dragnet put out by Hatanaka.
By 2:15 A.M., seventeen people were being forcibly held in a small room. Their fate was uncertain.
Across from the palace grounds, in the heart of Tokyo, Colonel Ida was getting nowhere in his fight to win over General Tanaka. When Ida came into the Eastern Army Headquarters, he found that officers there already knew about the coup; Major Koga had called a few minutes before, tearfully begging for support. He had been almost unintelligible as he sobbed out his plea. Now, when Ida repeated the same request for help, he was refused with a flat “Absolutely not.”
Ida was shaken, and his own resolve began to diminish. Officers at Tanaka’s headquarters convinced Ida to try to dissuade the rebels. He agreed and left for the palace. It was 2:45 A.M. The first breach in the rebel ranks had occurred.
By now, the palace grounds were filled with noise and excitement. Because of the air-raid alert, all lights had been shut off, and flashlights stabbed through the blackness as soldiers hurried about in unfamiliar surroundings. Inside the Imperial Household Agency, Chamberlain Tokugawa was rudely awakened by an assistant, who whispered: “The buildings are surrounded by soldiers.” Tokugawa leaped up and ran outside with a flashlight. In the corridor, he came upon a group of servants running downstairs to the “Safe Room,” an air-raid shelter in the basement. He immediately thought of Marquis Kido, a prized target for any plotters against the Government, and gave orders for his assistant to go to the Marquis’ room and bring him down to the underground sanctuary.
Upstairs, Kido had already found out about the coup. Dozing in his study, he had been awakened by an aide who pounded on the door and begged him to go to the resident doctor’s room to hide from approaching soldiers. The almost timid-looking Kido balked at such deception and said he would stay and face the consequences. When the aide insisted, the Marquis finally agreed and went with him. Moments later, he hurried back to his own room, ran to his desk, tore up state papers within reach, and flushed them down the toilet. Then he looked for a way to avoid the rebels.
At this point, Tokugawa’s urgent summons reached him and he went down to the great vault in the basement. He walked into the stifling, airless room shortly after three o’clock and began to pace the floor with other members of the Imperial staff.
Kido was furious at this attempt to upset the surrender but was convinced that it would come to no good. He reasoned that word of surrender had already gone out to the United States, and that the Emperor’s voice would so inform the people tomorrow. The soldiers could not win. Dripping with sweat, the bespectacled Marquis listened as the excited rebels searched for the phonograph record. If they should find him in the cellar, he would die quickly.
Meanwhile, Major Hatanaka had no new information as to the whereabouts of the recording. None of the seventeen men imprisoned near the main gate would say anything about it. As he stood in the woods near the Emperor’s residence, his disillusioned compatriot Colonel Ida approached him out of the darkness. The sad look on his face warned Hatanaka what to expect. Ida spread his hands and blurted out: “I tried to persuade Headquarters but I couldn’t. In fact they were quite cool to me. Hatanaka, withdraw these troops or you’ll have to fight the entire Eastern District Army.”
The rebel eyed him calmly and answered: “I’m not afraid to fight. We have occupied the Imperial Palace and the Emperor is in our custody. Moreover, we have hostages including Shimomura, the Chief of the Cabinet Information Board. We have nothing to worry about.”
Losing his temper, Ida shouted, “Nonsense! It is impossible to run the Guards Division without General Mori and he is dead. So don’t be stupid.” As Hatanaka bridled at this remark, Ida quickly shifted his attack. “Withdraw the troops before dawn and together we’ll take the responsibility for the coup. My dear Hatanaka, tomorrow morning this will all be a dream. People will forgive us and pass it off as midsummer madness.”
Hatanaka bit his lower lip, as he always did when frustrated. His disheveled hair was matted on his sweating brow, his uniform was soaked from exertion in the humid August weather. Ida waited for the pale, almost feminine-looking rebel chieftain to answer. Hatanaka finally said, “Go and ask Anami what I should do. I’ll wait for your return.” The two parted in the moonlit forest clearing.
With Ida off seeking Anami, the chief conspirators, Hatanaka, Shiizaki and Koga, met at three thirty to plan their final strategy. The record was not yet in their hands. Koga ordered a soldier to bring in the manager of the broadcasting station. That terrified man told Koga the record was somewhere in the Imperial Household Agency just a short distance away. Immediately the search centered on that building, where Marquis Kido cowered in an underground shelter and wondered what his fate would be.
As flashlights played about the wooded areas of the palace enclave, Hatanaka strove to keep the rebellion going. Ida had left believing that the rebels would surely disband shortly, but Hatanaka had second thoughts. Though time was running out for him, he might just be able to find the record before dawn. With that in his hands, the surrender could be thwarted. Otherwise he had little cause for cheer. Ida no longer was an ally. General Tanaka would not be talked into giving support. No word had come from Anami. Even within the palace walls, dissension was breaking out among regimental commanders who had sided with the conspirators.
One of them, Colonel Haga, had gone along with the plan because Hatanaka assured him that General Anami was coming to the palace to personally persuade Hirohito to reconsider the decision to surrender. When Anami did not appear by three o’clock, Haga became suspicious and confronted the ringleaders. “Where is Anami?”
Hatanaka stalled for time. “I’ll make a call and see if he’s on his way.” After he left, Major Koga walked into the room and Haga continued his questioning. No one had told him of Mori’s death. Koga could not carry on the deception and confessed: “General Mori is dead and we want you to take charge of the Guards Division.”
Haga was stunned at the news. “Who killed him? Why? I’m sure you know the story.”
Koga proceeded to tell him everything.
By four o’clock Hatanaka was losing his grip on his men. His soldiers were bedeviled in their search by the protracted shutdown of electricity in the Imperial Household Agency. Flashlights illuminated very little in the cluttered rooms of the huge building. Soldiers repeatedly passed by the door leading to the small group of men huddled in the cellar. In that refuge, Kido and the others spoke in whispers as the noise of rebellion ebbed and flowed around the corridors. They were soaked with perspiration and parched by thirst. But at least they were alive.
Few of the sleeping citizens of Tokyo were aware of the palace crisis, though the stillness was occasionally broken by gunfire. In his bedroom General Anami could hear firing from the direction of the palace, and said to his brother-in-law Takeshita, “For that also, I will offer my life.” He had sat for the last three hours talking and drinking. Takeshita mentioned that the general was possibly drinking too much to perform the traditional suicide with a knife. Anami reassured him that he would have a steady hand. “The wine will make my veins dilate better and the blood will flow more freely. There is nothing to worry about,” he said. Anami continued talking about his family.
Across from the palace, about a quarter mile away, Kempei Tai headquarters too was well aware of the situation at the palace. Makoto Tsukamoto, the colonel who had been recalled from Formosa only a short time before, was sleeping when gunfire sounded. Kempei officers wanted to call out their own troops to march against the rebels but Tsukamoto feared such action would only cause further bloodshed. If the military police tried to disarm a hot-headed, fully armed force, the greatest slaughter might occur.
Because of his visit to the War Ministry on the eleventh, Tsukamoto knew that Colonel Ida must be involved in the violent demonstration. He resolved on two courses of action. First, the Kempei soldiers would be maintained in a state of readiness to prevent a spread of the revolt beyond the Imperial compound. Second, he could send for Colonel Ida’s father to speak with his son and talk him out of the coup. A messenger was dispatched to the countryside while Tsukamoto held on in Tokyo, awaiting the arrival of the mediator.
By this time, Ida himself had become a mediator. Rebuffed by General Tanaka, he had already told Hatanaka to disband his men by dawn. At 4:00 A.M. he arrived at the single-story bungalow of the War Minister to speak to Anami about the situation at the palace.
He found Anami and Takeshita in the bedroom and immediately guessed what was about to happen. Anami had wrapped a white cloth about his abdomen and put on a white shirt given to him by the Emperor. Ida burst into tears and cried, “Let me die with you.” Anami walked over to him and slapped his face hard, then slapped him again several times. The two fell into each other’s arms and wept. Straightening up, Anami gazed at his young protégé. “Live on after me and serve your country.” He patted the colonel’s shoulder and asked him to sit and drink some wine.
Together with Colonel Takeshita, the men toasted each other and talked quietly for half an hour. At four thirty, Takeshita was called out to speak with a messenger who had arrived at the front door. Ida got up and said goodbye to his commanding officer who smiled sadly at him. Filled with grief, Ida went outside the house and waited for a car to pick him up.
Inside, Anami moved quickly. He had wanted to die outdoors on the ground in the manner of repentant sinners. But, since too many people were around, he chose the only other alternative. He walked out into the corridor, knelt down, and cut open his stomach from left to right.
Takeshita found him a few seconds later. The general was still conscious and in terrible pain. Yet he was able to plunge the dagger into his neck just below the right ear. He remained kneeling in a spreading pool of blood.
For a moment Takeshita’s instinct for the rebellion revived and he forgot his brother-in-law’s agony. Running out onto the lawn, he found Ida and said, “Anami has committed seppuku. I can get his seals to use in the coup.”
Ida was shocked. In disgust, he snorted, “Don’t be silly,” and Takeshita dropped the issue.
Behind them on the blood-soaked floor, General Anami writhed in pain. When some of his men approached him, Anami summoned his voice and croaked, “Get out of here. Get out.” Within minutes the stricken general fell across the threshold of his bedroom and lay on his face.
Ida went on to the War Ministry while Takeshita went back to the room.
He was joined by Colonel Hayashi, Anami’s secretary, and for a time the two watched the great body in its death throes. Then a phone rang. While Hayashi went to answer it, Takeshita rushed to Anami, picked up the dagger, and pushed it back into the neck wound. Still Anami did not die. Takeshita took the general’s jacket, spread it over the huddled form on the floor, and then stepped back to watch in silence. The only sound was the heavy breathing of the unconscious War Minister. Minutes passed and the tableau remained frozen. Anami was dying hard.
While Anami bled, violence was being done elsewhere in the name of the Emperor. As in 1936, when soldiers hunted down men who opposed their plans, squads of fanatical men had gone out into the warm summer night to track down and slay men they thought were betraying Japan. There was no concerted plan. Hatanaka and his men at the palace had been in contact with various officers around Tokyo, and a loose scheme had been discussed. But the soldiers who walked the streets of the capital this night struck out at the officials of the Government in haphazard fashion. At widely separated points in the city, they moved in to kill.
The primary target was Premier Suzuki, the man held most responsible for the surrender. The first warning of danger came to Secretary Sakomizu as he lay in bed at the official residence of the Premier. He was exhausted after the ordeal of the Emperor’s conference and the late-night wrangling over the wording of the surrender message to the Americans. At 11:30 P.M., he had gone to his room. Thirty minutes later, the Palace called to say that the Emperor had made the recording to be broadcast later that day. The last job was done.
Sakomizu’s rest was interrupted once again by the arrival of another member of the Foreign Ministry, who discussed with him various problems associated with the text of the communiqué to the Allies. When that was done, Sakomizu went to sleep.
At 4:00 A.M. the chatter of a machine gun brought him to a puzzled alertness. The gunfire was outside the building and was accompanied by raucous shouting. The rebels thought they would find Suzuki inside, but earlier that night the old man had gone to his suburban home to get some well-earned rest. Sakomizu thought immediately of Suzuki and told an aide to call him. Fortunately, just two days before, a telephone had been installed in the Premier’s private home.
The aide waited breathlessly as it rang several times. When the sleepy voice of the Premier answered, he blurted rapidly, “Your Excellency, soldiers are now attacking the Ministry. When they don’t find you here, they’ll come after you at your home. You must get away.”
The cold chill of remembered nightmares seized the aged Premier. Only nine years before, his sleep had been rudely shattered by another band of fanatics such as these, and he had lived in dread since. As he thanked the man for calling, Suzuki wondered what he would do. He put down the telephone and stood listening. Then he ran to his bedroom and woke his wife, who followed him out the back door. The old warrior slipped out and ran hurriedly down an alley toward his chauffered automobile.
Within fifteen minutes, soldiers entered the house and confronted a terrified maid, who told them that the Prime Minister was not home. The soldiers searched the rooms and then poured gasoline around the kitchen. A match was dropped onto the floor and a rush of flame leaped high. When the maid tried to pour water on the blaze, an officer pushed her aside and threatened to kill her. She retreated from the house as it burned brightly in the darkness.
Premier Suzuki rode in the dilapidated car through the quiet streets of Tokyo with his aged wife and two servants. Looking back, he could not see any pursuers nor could he see flames. After about an hour he reached his sister’s home and collapsed, exhausted, into a chair. Assassins had missed him again.
They had also just missed Baron Hiranuma. At that moment the aged statesman lay cowering behind furniture in a building near his blazing home. Outside, soldiers stood around the inferno, laughing in the belief that their quarry had just been consumed in the fire.
Back at the palace, the rebellion foundered. The phonograph record still remained in its hiding place. Chamberlain Tokugawa, righteously incensed at this invasion of Imperial property, was finally seized by some of Hatanaka’s men at about 4:30 A.M. The Chamberlain was so angry at the effrontery of the rebels that he shouted, “Your actions tonight are deplorable.” For this remark, a soldier punched him in the face.
Tokugawa was questioned for thirty minutes on the whereabouts of Marquis Kido and the precious recording. Beneath his feet the Marquis paced the floor of the vault and wondered how long he could remain free. Tokugawa told the officers nothing, denying any knowledge of the record’s hiding-place in a loud voice so that his own people would understand what to say to the searchers. At 5:00 A.M. he was set free. From watching the troops running around the rooms and listening to their conversation, Tokugawa got the impression that they were losing heart, that the spirit of the revolt was fading. He guessed correctly.
Hatanaka’s authority had collapsed. Only shortly before, Colonel Haga, the man who was supposed to take control of the Guards Division, lost his temper with the ringleaders. Heartsick at the news that General Mori had been shot down, Haga realized that he had been duped, and screamed, “Get out of here.” Koga, Ishihara, Shiizaki and Hatanaka got out. Koga and Ishihara were disconsolate. Both of them had been appalled when Mori died, and since then nothing had gone right. Ishihara, in particular, had become almost hysterical as the night wore on, and was of little help.
Hatanaka had one last card to play. He took several men with him and raced to the broadcasting studios of NHK, the government radio station. There he went to Studio Twelve and pointed his gun at Morio Tateno, a radio announcer on duty.
“Let me speak on the radio at the five A.M. news hour.”
Tateno refused, saying, “You have to get the permission of the Eastern Army Headquarters.” Because of the air-raid alert, the Army automatically took control of radio broadcasts.
The furious Hatanaka berated Tateno, who could do nothing but repeat the statement. No one could go on the air without sanction from General Tanaka.
As the two stood there arguing, the telephone rang. Hatanaka picked it up. General Tanaka’s office had traced him to the radio station. Hatanaka identified himself and listened quietly as the voice on the other end urged him to give up the rebellion. The disheveled ringleader stood with the receiver in his left hand, the revolver in his right. Finally he broke in: “I want only five minutes. We want to let the nation know what the young officers think.” When the voice on the phone refused his request, Hatanaka hung up.
He was defeated. There was nothing else he could do to stop the surrender. As he stood in the studio, the Japanese reply was on its way to Switzerland. Harry Truman was sitting in his office at the White House waiting patiently for some word. General Anami, Hatanaka’s beloved leader, lay on the floor of his bedroom bleeding to death. The Emperor slept on, undisturbed by the frenzied search for his recording. Hatanaka fought alone.
He wiped tears from his eyes and walked out the door of the studio, muttering to his aides, “We did our best. Let’s go back to the palace.”
Hatanaka’s forces had broken up while he was away. General Seiichi Tanaka, commander of the Eastern District Army, had come to settle the crisis. After hearing reports from his officers, he had decided to make a personal appearance on the palace grounds to persuade the troops to disband. On the way there, Tanaka sat back in his seat, his eyes closed, his mind burning with indignation at the young officers who had perpetrated the incident. As the car sped around to the main gate, Tanaka wondered where to begin his delicate job of diplomacy. He finally settled on the First Guards Regiment as a likely trouble spot.
His choice was fortunate, for that large unit was just about to join with Hatanaka. Troops were marching out the gate in full battle dress as Tanaka’s automobile pulled up.
The general leaned out of the window and shouted, “Oh, it’s you, Watanabe,” to the regimental commander, who was fastening his helmet as he walked down the steps of his headquarters. “I’m lucky to be on time. Your orders are false. Call back the troops.”
Whether or not Watanabe knew the truth, he immediately obeyed the general’s command. His soldiers returned to quarters and the very last reinforcements for the rebels put down their guns and were dispersed to barracks.
Tanaka went on to stamp out the fire. He found one of the hapless conspirators, Major Ishihara, and put him under arrest. “You fellows have really done it,” he shouted. He heaped invective on the distraught officer, who cringed, wild-eyed, under the attack. Colonel Fuwa, Tanaka’s assistant, sat on Ishihara’s left and watched him closely because he feared that violence might erupt at any minute. The rebel was trembling, hysterical, capable of striking at his tormentors. As Ishihara was led off to jail, Tanaka turned away from him in disgust.
The general walked on through the wooded grounds and spoke to knots of soldiers, urging them to break up the gathering and go back to their barracks. He cajoled, threatened, prodded and ordered. The troops were sullen, tired and frustrated. But they listened and the momentum swung to Tanaka’s side. As the first streaks of morning appeared in the sky, the rebellion petered out. The coup was dead.
In the bedroom of the War Minister, Anami’s life flickered. He had been unconscious for over two hours, yet his breathing continued in an irregular, noisy manner. His body moved about on the floor, thrashing, writhing in the welter of blood from his wounds. Men came and went. They stared at the figure in silence. Some cried. All were transfixed as they saw a proud man attempting to die.
As Anami’s life ebbed, another military man made a decision. Far to the southwest of Tokyo, at Oita Airbase, the duty officer, Lieutenant Tanaka, made a telephone call to Captain Takashi Miyazaki, aide-de-camp to Fleet Commander Admiral Ugaki. He informed the sleepy officer that Ugaki planned to take his own life by flying a suicide mission against the American ships off Okinawa. As commander of the Kyushu kamikaze forces, the admiral felt it proper to follow the example of his own men and dive into an enemy vessel. With the war ending, he had no desire to live on.
Miyazaki dressed hurriedly and raced across the runway as sunlight broke through the darkness. He arrived at the admiral’s quarters in a hillside cave. The fortunes of war had driven him into this primitive lair, which served as both office and bedroom.
Ugaki lay fully dressed on a cot. Miyazaki stood before him and collected his breath before speaking. “The duty officer tells me you have ordered a sortie of carrier bombers. May I ask your plans, sir?”
The admiral smiled up at him, knowing full well that Miyazaki already knew what he intended that day. He said nothing, just continued to smile.
In Tokyo, Hirohito woke up at twenty minutes before seven. Only then was he informed of the drastic developments of the long night. He asked that General Tanaka be brought in to report on the coup. That redoubtable warrior was supervising the last stages of the withdrawal of dissident elements from the compound. At 7:00 A.M. he met a member of the Household staff on the palace grounds; he presented him with his calling card, and inquired as to the Emperor’s health. Assured that he was well, Tanaka offered, “The rebellion is over.”
And it was. Peace came once more to the spacious acreage in the center of Tokyo. Early risers going to work on the fateful morning of August 15 could not possibly imagine the drama that had gripped the sacred ground in the past hours. On the surface everything looked normal. But in the forests lurked three men who would have turned the city into a battleground had they succeeded in their plan. Hatanaka, Shiizaki and Koga had so far eluded arrest but they knew their hours of freedom were numbered. Tanaka let them stay out of sight, assuming that they would probably commit suicide.
At the War Minister’s home, nothing had changed. Anami still clung to life. He had been unconscious for nearly three hours. When Colonel Shinaji Kobayashi, from the staff of General Sugiyama, came to see the dying man, he was sickened at the prolonged struggle he witnessed. Though others had wanted to speed Anami’s death, none actually dared interfere. Kobayashi acted immediately. He ordered everyone from the room except one military physician, to whom he gave explicit instructions. The doctor agreed and opened his medical kit. From it he drew a hypodermic needle. He approached the thrashing form, bent down, and inserted the syringe in an arm. General Korechika Anami died in seconds.
When assistants cleansed the body, bloodstained papers that had lain under Anami for hours were revealed. One read:
Believing firmly that our sacred land shall never perish, I—with my death—humbly apologize to the Emperor for the great crime.
Anami had offered himself in payment for the mistakes of the Army.