At sea south of Japan, the Third Fleet received Nimitz’s ceasefire order at 6:14 a.m. on August 15—west of the International Date Line, and thus one day ahead of the United States. Before dawn that morning, Task Force 38 had launched hundreds of warplanes to hit Tokyo—and the first wave was already over the Japanese capital, dropping bombs and firing rockets. The American airmen found Japanese fighter resistance unexpectedly fierce, calling it “the most determined air opposition since the Okinawa operation.”8 Seven U.S. aircraft went down in air combat on the morning of V-J Day, and another two were lost to accidents. The others turned for home, and were back aboard their carriers by eleven o’clock.
At noon, the Missouri sounded her whistle and siren for one full minute. Her battle flags and admiral’s four-star flag were broken out at the main. Halsey ordered a signal run up: “Well Done.” He told the carriers to stow their attack planes on their hangar decks, so that the flight decks could be reserved for defensive fighter operations. The combat air patrol was reinforced. Halsey was not convinced that the peace would stick—and even if the Japanese government really meant to surrender, there was every reason to expect kamikaze attacks by defiant pilots. In a message that prompted hearty laughter throughout the fleet, he ordered the Hellcat and Corsair pilots to “investigate and shoot down all snoopers—not vindictively, but in a friendly sort of way.”9
Halsey’s wariness was well-founded. Twenty minutes later, radar scopes detected inbound bogeys. The combat air patrol and picket destroyers shot down eight Japanese warplanes during the next several hours. The last, at 2:45 p.m. on V-J Day, drew the final curtain on the Third Fleet’s war: the fleet did not fire another shot in anger.
General MacArthur, as supreme commander for the Allied powers (SCAP), lost no time in asserting his authority. His headquarters in Manila began broadcasting directly to Tokyo on several frequencies, issuing instructions regarding communications, disarmament, release of Allied prisoners, a formal surrender agreement, and the forthcoming arrival of occupation forces. He directed that a “competent representative,” authorized by the emperor, should fly into Manila to confer on these matters.
No one could say whether the rank and file of the Japanese army and navy would obey the emperor’s surrender edict. The first occupation units might have to fight their way into Japan after all—or short of that, they might find critical installations sabotaged or booby-trapped. The troops would have to be prepared for all contingencies, but they would also have to pour into the defeated nation quickly, so that a critical mass of strength could be obtained. The great movement of forces would involve every branch of the service—army, navy, marines, and the Army Air Forces, staging from both MacArthur’s and Nimitz’s theaters. The needed ground forces were scattered across Okinawa, the Marianas, and the Philippines, where they had been preparing for the Operation OLYMPIC landings on Kyushu. The Third Fleet, still at sea off Japan, was assigned to enter and secure Tokyo Bay, including Yokosuka Naval Base. Because of the press of time, the Yokosuka landing force would have to be assembled using marines and bluejackets already at sea with the fleet. Without knowing the state of the facilities ashore, they would have to be accompanied by electricians, carpenters, plumbers, police, doctors, interpreters, and—Mick Carney recalled—“all the 101 other things that go to make up the daily life in a civilized community, in this case superimposed by military authority.”10
The 11th Airborne Division would fly into Atsugi Airbase, southwest of Tokyo, in a massive airlift beginning on August 26. The Army Air Transport Command planned to send 300 C-54 transports into Atsugi per day, the largest airlift of the war—but the big four-engine planes would be landing at an airbase that had suffered months of heavy aerial bombing, and most of the ground installations had been reduced to rubble. The logistical challenge was stupendous. The paratroopers would be flying into an airfield that was, as of V-J Day, a hotbed of militarist sedition and rebellion. Immediately following Hirohito’s broadcast, Japanese airmen at Atsugi had vowed to climb into their planes and launch suicide attacks against the U.S. fleet. Officers who attempted to restore discipline were attacked and beaten. “The airbase was pandemonium itself,” recalled Saburo Sakai. “Many of the pilots were blind drunk, shouting and cursing wildly.”11 In the capital, meanwhile, rebellious army units seized Ueno Hill and Atago Hill near the city center, and urged the rest of the army to join their revolt.12 Demonstrations and mass suicides took place on the plaza outside the Imperial Palace. Admiral Yonai was deeply worried that military discipline would break down, and that Japan would descend into chaos. He finally managed to put down the mutiny at Atsugi by persuading Prince Takamatsu, the emperor’s brother, to visit the base in person. Yonai also mobilized naval base troops at nearby Yokosuka and sent them in to occupy Atsugi, where they removed the propellers from the aircraft. “During my long career as Navy Minister,” Yonai later said, “I probably never worried so much as I did during the period from the 14th to about the 23rd of that month.”13
During the same week, however, it was becoming clear that the Japanese government, including the top echelon of the military, was committed to surrender in good faith. Radio messages between Tokyo and Manila were brisk, clear, and courteous in tone. The Japanese readily submitted to MacArthur’s instructions, often requesting clarification in such a way as to confirm that they were committed to full and rigorous compliance. On August 17, two days after his more famous surrender broadcast, Hirohito issued a second Imperial Rescript in the form of a direct order to the armed forces, instructing them to “comply with our intention” and to “maintain a solid unity and strict discipline in your movements.”14 Prince Naruhiko Higashikuni, appointed that day as interim prime minister, declared that “no action or words in violation of His Imperial Majesty’s instructions is to be permitted any one of his subjects.”15 Members of the imperial family were dispatched to bases and headquarters all across Asia, acting as personal representatives of Hirohito, to ensure that all overseas Japanese armies laid down arms. When Tokyo requested safe conduct for the aircraft transporting these emissaries, MacArthur quickly assented.16
In obedience to MacArthur’s instructions, a Japanese truce delegation flew to Manila on August 19. It was headed by General Kawabe, Umezu’s deputy on the army’s imperial headquarters staff. A conference at Manila City Hall was formal but civil. The Americans gave detailed instructions concerning the disarming of warplanes and warships, the securing of ordnance and weapons, the evacuation of Allied prisoners, the establishment of navigational lights and buoys, and the clearing of mines.17 The Japanese asked for permission to muster and disarm their own troops, especially in Tokyo. The situation was potentially volatile, they said—but with a bit more time they could get their recalcitrant hotheads under control. The Americans were firm, but willing to show a certain degree of flexibility. They agreed to a forty-eight-hour delay in the landings at both Yokosuka and Atsugi. A Japanese participant said that he was impressed by the bearing of the victors, finding them stern but fair, “neither arrogant nor mocking.”18
On August 27, a major portion of the Third Fleet anchored in Sagami Bay, a shallow indentation on the coast of Honshu, southwest of Tokyo Bay. The fleet included battleships, cruisers, and destroyers—but not aircraft carriers, which had all been left at sea, where they could provide air cover while remaining less exposed to counterattack. The Missouri anchored off the Miura Peninsula, near the historic coastal town of Kamakura. Mount Fuji loomed to the west, just 40 miles away. At sunset, from the fleet’s vantage point, the sun was aligned directly behind Fuji, so that the sinking red orb appeared to descend directly into the black stratocone’s caldera. Admiral Halsey and the rest of the Dirty Tricks Department crowded out onto the Missouri’s flag bridge veranda to watch the breathtaking spectacle, and summoned the ship’s photographers to record it.19 After the sun sank out of sight, according to an officer on the nearby battleship Idaho, Mount Fuji “cast forth the bright red bars of light so prominently se
en on Japanese maritime flags. We knew we had come to the right place.”20
At dawn the next morning, a squadron of minesweepers began the perilous work of clearing mines from the entrance to Tokyo Bay. With the assistance of Japanese harbor pilots, a safe channel was charted and buoyed. An anchorage was cleared in the southwest quadrant of the bay, including the zones around the Yokosuka and Yokohama waterfronts and the river estuaries that led up to Tokyo. The Missouri anchored in ten fathoms of water, about four miles off Yokosuka, with her accompanying cruisers and destroyers arrayed around her. Nearby were three other battleships, including the South Dakota, now serving as flagship for Admiral Nimitz, who had flown in from Guam the previous day.
From here the Americans could gaze in any direction, all around the compass rose, and see nothing but Japanese territory. The sensation was exhilarating but also unnerving. Some believed that the surrender had been a sham, and that the Japanese intended a treacherous attack. The fleet remained on hair-trigger alert, with the crews at general quarters and the naval guns trained on targets ashore.
For the carrier air groups, the first days of peace were as busy as any they had experienced during the war. Between August 16 and September 2, Task Force 38 pilots flew a total of 7,726 sorties, more than in any comparable period of the war.21 Carrier planes dropped leaflets on Allied POW camps, urging the prisoners to remain in the vicinity of their camps until Allied personnel could reach them. “The end is near,” one such leaflet stated. “Do not be disheartened. We are thinking of you. Plans are underway to assist you at the earliest possible moment.”22 Relief parcels containing food, clothing, medicine, and cigarettes were dropped by parachute. In Tokyo Bay, a number of prisoners actually made their way to the waterfront and began shouting and signaling to U.S. patrol vessels. Nimitz authorized a rescue mission. Small craft went up the estuaries and embarked prisoners from camps closer to Tokyo. The infamous Omori 8 Camp, on an artificial island off Yokohama, was completely liberated on August 29. By the end of that day, more than seven hundred Allied prisoners had been evacuated to the hospital ship Benevolence, at anchor in the bay. The half-starved men ate heartily and put on weight at a fantastic rate, often 4 or 5 pounds per day.
The 4th Marine Regimental Combat Team went ashore at Yokosuka on August 30. They landed in full combat gear, as if expecting a fight—but they encountered no hostile troops and no evidence of trickery. On a warehouse they found painted, in English, “Three cheers for the United States Navy and Army!”23 The base was largely deserted, and the few Japanese servicemen who remained were anxious to avoid trouble. By nightfall, 10,000 marines and naval personnel were safely ashore. The Japanese base commander, Vice Admiral Michitaro Tozuka, was polite and compliant.24 Mick Carney, to whom Tozuka surrendered with a deep bow, found the situation disorienting, even alarming: “Little kids in the street made the V sign at us. How do you interpret this thing?” He found the friendly attitude of the Japanese “scarier than if we’d found a sullen or resistant attitude. . . . The thing was weird.”25
Bomb damage was evident everywhere at Yokosuka, and many of the facilities were filthy. A marine officer recalled, “They had evidently given up; the floors in the barracks had not been scrubbed in months, they were half an inch or an inch deep in mud. The facilities were in terrible conditions. The cesspools were emptied daily and the waste matter carried away in wooden carts and oversized buckets, all of which leaked. We had swarms of flies in the streets, in the barracks, in the mess halls, and it took us several months to renovate the sewage system to clean up this place. I was worried about the health of the men.”26 When Admiral Halsey went ashore later that afternoon, he found the officers’ club “overrun with rats of an extraordinary size and character.”27 The bunks in the barracks at Yokosuka were generally too short for the Americans, so cots and hammocks were brought in from the fleet. The Seabees went to work immediately, constructing galleys and mess halls, repairing the electrical grid and telephone network, repaving the roads, and applying layers of asphalt to the Japanese airstrips. In the weeks ahead, they would build chapels, cold storage units, baseball diamonds, gyms, water chlorination plants, and hot water showers.
The airlift into Atsugi commenced on August 28, when advance elements of the 11th Airborne Division landed in the first C-54 transports. They were greeted cordially by the Japanese staff, with salutes and handshakes, and escorted to barracks recently occupied by kamikaze pilots, which had been carefully cleaned and prepared for their arrival. They were offered a fresh-cooked meal served in the mess hall. By August 30, more than three hundred C-54 Skymasters were shuttling continuously between Okinawa and Atsugi, a flight of 980 miles. They landed at Atsugi at the rate of about twenty per hour, or one every three minutes. Task Force 38 carrier planes provided fighter escort along the route.
MacArthur arrived on August 30. It was a clear, sunny day, with superb visibility all along the south coast of Honshu. During the five-hour flight from Okinawa in his C-54 Bataan, the general alternated between pacing the aisle and visiting the cockpit. When Mount Fuji appeared in the cockpit windshield, more than 100 miles ahead, he buckled in to the right-side pilot seat and remained there for the remainder of the flight. The Bataan flew over the waist of the Miura Peninsula, low enough that the great bronze Buddha at Kamakura could be seen from the windows. Then it made a wide turn over Tokyo Bay, providing a fine view of the Third Fleet at anchor. Descending, the plane flew over verdant farmland and rice paddies. Crossing the boundary of the airbase, MacArthur and his pilot could see the bombed-out remains of hangars and ground installations, and Japanese planes whose propellers had been removed. The Bataan touched down at exactly 2:00 p.m., and taxied behind a guide jeep to a parking area, where a large contingent of officers, soldiers, and war correspondents were gathered.
Before debarking, MacArthur instructed all officers on the plane to remove their sidearms and leave them on the plane. The weapons were useless, he said, because there were “fifteen fully armed Jap divisions within ten miles of us. If they decided to start anything, those toy cannon of ours wouldn’t do any good.”28 MacArthur would not carry a sidearm for his entire six-year stint in occupied Japan. General Kenney, MacArthur’s air commander, said that he realized only in retrospect that the gesture was a masterstroke of psychology, because “it made a tremendous impression on the Japs to see us walking around in their country unarmed and simply with utter disregard of danger from the nation of 70 million people we had defeated. To them it meant that there was no doubt about it. They had lost.”29
The Japanese had assembled about fifty cars and buses of various makes, colors, and vintages, many retrofitted to run on charcoal. This fleet of jalopies, which would carry MacArthur and his party to the New Grand Hotel in downtown Yokohama, was led by a rattletrap red fire truck that started up with a loud backfire. CBS radio correspondent Bill Dunn judged that “not one of the dilapidated, battered, and wheezing charcoal burners” looked capable of making the 18-mile journey.30 MacArthur climbed into the back of a Lincoln sedan, and the motorcade set out on pockmarked roads through a landscape of well-tended rice plots and small wooden houses. Thousands of armed Japanese troops lined the roadway, at intervals of about two meters, facing outward with their backs to the road in the “present arms” position. This, the Americans learned, was a gesture of respect. Some civilian farmworkers looked up curiously at the passing cars, and a few even waved, but most kept their eyes down.
As they entered the outskirts of Yokohama, the Americans saw at ground level the results of their firebombing campaign. Fields of ash alternated with heaps of debris, with nothing left standing except stone chimneys and the gutted remains of concrete office blocks. Indigent civilians were seen foraging among the ruins. Many were living in makeshift huts and lean-tos made of lumber, piping, and corrugated metal. Downtown Yokohama was better preserved, but it was a ghost town. “Shop windows were boarded up, blinds were drawn, and many of the sidewalks were deserted,” Courtney Whitney recall
ed. “Down empty streets we were taken to the New Grand Hotel, where we would stay until MacArthur made his formal entry into Tokyo.”31
As MacArthur’s car pulled up in front of the hotel, the manager and staff were waiting on the front steps to greet him. They appeared genuinely happy to receive him, as if they were conscious of a great honor. Bowing deeply, gesturing the way forward with open palms, the manager escorted MacArthur to the elevator, and up to his suite, the best in the hotel. The furnishings were old and threadbare, but the rooms were clean. An hour later, the general came back down to the dining room, where he was served a steak dinner. His aides fretted about the risk of poison, but MacArthur serenely replied, “No one can live forever,” and cut into his meat.32 The hotel manager later thanked MacArthur for his trust, adding that he and his staff were “honored beyond belief.”33
The dining room was crowded with Allied officers and war correspondents, who were arriving from Atsugi in a constant stream. Somehow the kitchen was able to turn out enough food to feed them all. The supply of steaks gave out, leaving nothing on the menu but fish sautéed in oil. MacArthur urged his officers to eat the fish even if it was not particularly appetizing, as a show of good faith to the staff, because “this was doubtless the only food they had to offer us.”34
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