Nimitz kept a framed photograph of MacArthur prominently displayed in his office in Guam. Visitors naturally assumed that it was a gesture of respect. When the Pacific fleet intelligence officer, Ed Layton, asked why the photograph was there, Nimitz smiled and replied, “Layton, I’ll tell you. It’s to remind me not to be a horse’s ass.”15
On April 13, General Sutherland, MacArthur’s right hand, traveled to Guam and proposed a basic reorganization of the Pacific theater commands. The multiservice theater command, he said, had been shown to be an unworkable “shibboleth.” MacArthur wanted command of all army forces throughout the Pacific, including garrisons on islands under Nimitz’s command. Nimitz was welcome to take command of the Seventh Fleet, which had been under MacArthur’s command for the past three years. Each service would assume administrative and logistical responsibility for its own forces, regardless of their locations. After the Okinawa operation, added Sutherland, “no army troops would be allowed to serve under an admiral.”16
MacArthur’s proposal amounted to an amicable divorce between the army and navy, but it would require complex administrative reassignments that would absorb staff attention during preparations for the largest operation of the war. The issue could only be decided by the Joint Chiefs of Staff. As Leahy later observed, “The problem of command in the Pacific was one of those situations that would not remain quiet despite successive ‘settlements’ made.”17 Judging that it was the only way to avert an open break between the army and navy, the chiefs issued the necessary directives. MacArthur took the new title “Commander in Chief, United States Army Forces in the Pacific,” or COMAFPAC. In an “eyes only” message to MacArthur, General George Marshall referred to “a great deal of most unfortunate rumor and talk in this country” about the army-navy feud, and asked the new COMAFPAC to “do your best to suppress such critical comments in subordinate echelons and I will do the same here with a heavy hand.”18
No sooner was that issue resolved, however, than a new quarrel broke out over the command setup for DOWNFALL. Nimitz wanted to keep the model that his commanders had employed since Operation galvanic in November 1943, in which the invasion force was landed under naval command, and the ground general took control of his forces only upon setting up his headquarters ashore.19 MacArthur not only rejected this proposal but refused to discuss it further, insisting that it be sent up to the JCS for a ruling. He took special umbrage at the suggestion that the fleet commander, during the passage to the invasion beaches and the initial landing phase, should control “all publicity, including army as well as navy elements.”20
In Washington, the issue seemed headed toward stalemate. Marshall bluntly told King that they were “apparently in complete disagreement” about the command structure for DOWNFALL, and insisted that the JCS immediately choose “a commander with the primary responsibility for this campaign.”21 The threat was implicit. If the question could not be settled in the next JCS conference, it would have to be appealed to the president of the United States. As the two Pacific offensives converged on Japan, it was growing harder to sustain the case for two autonomous theater commanders. MacArthur was senior to Nimitz, and he was unrivaled in public popularity and stature. FDR had been a dyed-in-the-wool navy man, but Truman was a veteran of the army. Recognizing the weakness of his position, King retreated. The JCS issued a directive assigning “primary responsibility” for DOWNFALL to MacArthur, with the face-saving proviso that Nimitz or his designated fleet commander would have broad leeway, if not autonomy, during the amphibious phase of the operation.22 Operation longtom, the proposed landing on the China coast, was scrapped.
ADMIRAL BARON KANTARO SUZUKI, the prime minister who assumed power in April 1945, was a decrepit old man of seventy-seven years, hard of hearing and prone to nod off in meetings. Long retired from the navy, he had served for nearly a decade as a grand chamberlain of the imperial court, and was personally close to Hirohito. During the aborted army coup d’état of February 1936, he had been shot and nearly killed. Privately, there seems to have been an understanding between Suzuki and the emperor that the new government must find a way to end the war, even if it meant acquiescing to harsh Allied demands. When the time was ripe, it was agreed, the emperor would be invited to issue a “sacred decree” to end the war.
At the same time, every figure in the leadership was cognizant of the threat of military uprisings, assassinations, and even civil war. If the government was overthrown, there would be no chance of opening talks with the Allies, and Japan would be completely destroyed. In a sense, the peace party’s struggle to end the war was a conspiracy that had to be kept secret long enough for it to succeed. That Suzuki had narrowly survived an earlier assassination attempt only made the point more poignant. As Richard B. Frank writes in Downfall, his study of the end of the Pacific War, “The recognition of deadly threats from within is a key to understanding the motivations of some of the tiny handful of men controlling Japan’s destiny.”23
The reshuffled cabinet represented an attempt to integrate the various ruling factions, which were stalemated on fundamental questions of war and peace. Admiral Yonai, the furtive peacemaker, was retained as navy minister. General Korechika Anami was brought in as army minister, a move that placated Hideki Tojo and other hardliners of the army’s ascendant “control” faction. Admiral Soemu Toyoda, the former commander in chief of the Combined Fleet, was made chief of the Naval General Staff, in which capacity he would join the hardline “fight on” caucus with Anami and army chief of staff Yoshijirō Umezu. Shigenori Togo, a former ambassador to the Soviet Union, was appointed foreign minister. Togo accepted the post only after receiving assurances that he would be free to pursue a plan to extract Japan from the war within one year.
The main decision-making body of the government remained the six-headed Supreme War Direction Council (SWDC), of which all the aforementioned were members. But a new and important change was now introduced: SWDC conferences would be limited to the six principals, without aides or lower-ranking officers in the room. The “Big Six” would conference behind closed doors, with the Marquis Koichi Kido (the Lord Keeper of the Privy Seal) and the emperor to make eight. And it was these eight men—influenced by perhaps ten or fifteen more—who would grapple toward a consensus in the closing weeks of the Pacific War.
Consensus was their elusive goal. Nothing could be done unless and until it was established. To describe their painstaking ritual of group decision-making, the Japanese used an expression derived from ancient gardening practices: nemawashi. What it meant, literally, was the process of extracting the roots of a mature tree from the soil before it was transplanted to a new location. Each individual root had to be dug out of the ground. It was a meticulous and delicate job that required time and care. If it was done badly, the tree might die. Nemawashi explained why a formidable statesman like Admiral Yonai, a former prime minister who had led a secret peace faction since joining the government in 1944, could not bring himself to speak plainly to his colleagues. Even after the defeat of Nazi Germany, when the inevitability of Japan’s defeat was no longer in doubt, Yonai found that “it was difficult for me, or I think for anyone else, to broach the subject of war conclusion to anyone.” He spoke to Suzuki only in an “abstract way,” remarking that “I don’t think we can continue with this much longer.”24
The same institutional defects that had produced Japan’s irrational decision to launch the war in 1941 now prevented a rational decision to end it. There was no real locus of responsibility or accountability in Tokyo. Power was dispersed in piecemeal fashion across various military staffs and bureaucracies. Army and navy leaders were figureheads who could be manipulated, deposed, replaced, or even killed by younger officers down the ranks. A sudden turn from war toward peace would require the compliance of many widely scattered interests and players, including officers in the middle ranks of both services. A stubborn lack of consensus, combined with the chronic threat of revolt, explained what the U.S. Strategic Bombin
g Survey called the “unusual time-lapse between the top civilian political decision to accept defeat and the final capitulation.”25
At Yonai’s suggestion, Suzuki had ordered the SWDC staff secretary to prepare a survey of Japan’s overall economic and strategic position. The secret report, entitled “Survey of National Resources as of 1–10 June 1945,” was presented on June 6. The conclusions were spelled out with culturally atypical directness—not only was defeat inevitable, but the national economy was headed toward a crackup, and the Japanese people were losing faith in their leaders. Statistics told the story of shipping losses, production declines, depletion of oil stocks, disruption in rail transportation, and a worsening food situation. With the pending loss of Okinawa, sea communications with the Asian mainland would be severed, and entire industries would have to suspend operations. Shortages of consumer goods would cause skyrocketing inflation, and the food situation would reach the point of crisis by the end of 1945, with the “appearance of starvation conditions in the isolated sections of the nation.” As for the military situation, all remaining warplanes would be deployed as kamikazes, but critical shortages in aviation gasoline loomed. Even assuming that the suicide planes and submarines managed to sink one-fourth of the U.S. invasion fleet, “it would be difficult to defeat American plans through annihilation on the sea.” The report detailed the overwhelming power of American fleets and air forces, and warned that “about one-half of the approximately 60 divisions assigned to the Western European Theater of Operations have been redeployed against Japan.”26
Admiral Toyoda, one of three hardliners on the Big Six, later told American interrogators that the statistics proved that Japan’s war-making potential was in precipitous decline. And yet, he said, no one in the room summoned the courage to propose that Japan accept defeat on Allied terms. “When a large number of people are present like that, it is difficult for any one member to say that we should so entreat,” said Toyoda, “so the decision was that something must be done to continue this war.”27 The roots would have to be dug out of the ground, one by one. More time was needed. Caught between competing impulses to seek peace or go on fighting, the SWDC moved to do both. The council unanimously adopted a two-track “fundamental policy.” The army and navy would mobilize forces for an all-out defense of the homeland. The foreign ministry would ask the Soviet Union to initiate and mediate peace negotiations with the Allies. On June 8, Hirohito gave this plan his official sanction, as he always did when his advisers were unanimous.
“Ketsu-go,” the operational plan to repel an Allied invasion of the homeland, was circulated the same week the Suzuki government came to power. It involved a climactic, spasmodic effort to pour substantially all of the nation’s remaining military and economic resources into countering an invasion. Ketsu called for a massive troop buildup, to be accomplished through the mobilization of new and reserve army divisions; the deployment of forces to the regions considered most likely as points of invasion; the construction of coastal fortifications behind the expected invasion beaches; and an unprecedentedly large kamikaze assault on the Allied fleet. The plan correctly anticipated that the invasion would occur before the end of the calendar year 1945. The Japanese were also right in assuming that the first landing would come in southern Kyushu, to be followed in the spring of 1946 by a larger invasion of the Kanto Plain and the Greater Tokyo region.
As recently as January 1945, there had been only eleven fully mobilized army divisions in Japan. In April and May, as U.S. forces overran Okinawa, the Imperial Japanese Army began transferring units from Korea and Manchuria, and mobilized new and reserve divisions at home. By July 1945, a two-stage mobilization had brought the total to thirty frontline fighting divisions, twenty-four coastal defense divisions, twenty-three independent mixed brigades, two armored divisions, seven tank brigades, and three infantry brigades.28 At the same time, Japanese forces were transferred to Kyushu, where the next Allied thrust was expected. By the end of July there were fifteen divisions, seven independent mixed brigades, three independent tank brigades, and two coastal defense units on the island, with total troop strength surpassing 800,000. Due to shortages and declining munitions production, not all of these units were properly armed or equipped. Despite a prodigious attempt to stockpile ammunition in caves and bunkers impervious to bombing or bombardment, it was expected that many Japanese frontline units in Kyushu would run low on ammunition if the campaign lasted beyond a few weeks.
At the same time, Tokyo stepped up efforts to organize, arm, and train civilian militias. All men between the ages of fifteen and sixty, and all women between the ages of seventeen and forty, were drafted into these local fighting organizations, whose enlistment roles officially topped 25 million. Many were equipped with nothing better than spears or household weapons. Every citizen-fighter was exhorted to kill at least one barbarian invader before dying in turn. These preparations proceeded under the new national slogan: “The Glorious Death of the 100 Million.”29
After early June 1945 the Japanese air forces largely abandoned their attempts to defend against American raids, husbanding their remaining planes for the final battle. In July, about 9,000 aircraft were in reserve throughout the home islands; virtually all, including trainer aircraft, would be deployed as kamikazes against the U.S. invasion fleet. The aircraft industry was assigned to turn out another 2,500 planes for this purpose by the end of September. Pilot training had been so curtailed that many of the prospective kamikaze flyers could do nothing but take off and perform basic aerial maneuvers. Given the depletion of avgas reserves, most would remain grounded until the day they took off to fly their last mission.
American bombing raids and fighter sweeps continued to target Japanese airfields, and great numbers of planes were destroyed on the ground. But there was only so much the Americans could do to counter the kamikaze threat. Some of the enemy “airplanes” they destroyed on the ground were actually mockups made of plywood, while the real machines were dispersed and well hidden. American bombs punched craters in airstrips, but the kamikazes only had to take off—they did not intend to return or to land at all—and therefore they could operate from primitive dirt airstrips that were quickly and cheaply repaired. In attacking an invasion fleet off Kyushu, the kamikazes would enjoy two tactical advantages that they had not possessed during the Okinawa campaign. First, it was a short flight; and second, the attackers would fly from various airfields around the island, which meant that they would approach the invasion fleet from different directions simultaneously. The Japanese navy was also pouring major efforts into producing suicide submarines and speedboats, as well as suicide gliders to be launched from mountain peaks. The plan aimed to destroy one-fourth of the U.S. invasion fleet. Even if that estimate was out of reach, as it almost certainly was, the kamikazes could realistically hope to draw more blood off Kyushu than they had off Okinawa.
Even as they poured troop reinforcements into Kyushu, the Japanese could not discount the possibility that the initial attack would come on Honshu near Tokyo—or even somewhere farther afield, such as northern Honshu or Shikoku. Plan Ketsu provided contingency plans for troop movements to meet the invaders wherever they might land. Coastal sea lifts and rail transportation would be provided whenever possible. But given the ongoing disruption of transportation systems, combined with the myriad problems of a looming energy crisis, ground force mobility would be limited. If necessary, reinforcements would march across the country on foot, as in the ancient days of the samurai. If the Americans bypassed Kyushu and landed on the Kanto Plain, according to the IGHQ’s estimate, sixty-five days would be needed to move reinforcements from Kyushu to Nagoya, and an additional ten days to deploy them on the battlefield. If it took two-and-a-half months to get those reinforcements into action, it was doubtful whether they could arrive in time to save the capital.30
The situation might grow so dire that the headquarters could not maintain its communications with outlying regions. Anticipating the erosion of basi
c command-and-control functions, the army was reorganized into quasi-autonomous regional commands—the First, Second, and Third Armies, with responsibility for north, central, and southern Japan, respectively. Civil administration was decentralized, with more local autonomy granted to prefectural governments, so that they could deal with local crises brought about by food shortages and disrupted transportation. The growing assault of the B-29s, the loss of sea communications even in the Inland Sea and the Sea of Japan, the threatened breakdown of the electrical power grid, the depletion of remaining fuel stocks, and the specter of famine—given these calamitous trends, it was not clear whether the Japanese would be capable of mounting a centrally organized defense of their homeland.
The second “track” pursued by the Suzuki government, a bid for peace talks, was coordinated through Togo and the foreign ministry. Tentative peace feelers had been sent out through diplomats and private citizens in neutral European capitals, and through the Catholic Church. Allied intelligence had tracked and reported on these various cloak-and-dagger capers, correctly inferring that they did not have the full and undivided backing of the Japanese regime.* Hopes for a truce in China led nowhere, as did plans to ask Chiang Kai-shek’s Nationalist regime to mediate broader peace talks with the Allies.
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