When the Japanese sergeant found out that two other Americans were back in the field collecting supplies, he sent Major Lamar and two Japanese soldiers after them.
Sergeant Ed Starz and Major Cheng had spent nearly thirty minutes watching the Chinese peasants pick up the equipment. Seated inside a small building, the two agents ate watermelon and wondered when the Japanese would come for them. Cheng kept assuring Starz that everything would be all right. Starz watched the peasants and waited expectantly. Suddenly the band of workers scattered. One of them shouted to Cheng, “The Japanese are coming.” Then he too ran away.
Cheng reacted violently. He tried to climb through a rear window of the building. Starz ran toward him, grabbed at his collar, pulled him back into the room and told him to act like a man. Together, they walked to the door. More than thirty Japanese soldiers were coming straight toward them, armed with rifles, bayonets, swords, poles, and poles with knives fastened to the ends. Starz breathed deeply and went forward to meet the enemy. Cheng followed.
The two OSS men were quickly surrounded by bayonets. An officer with a pistol in his hand approached and took off Starz’s belt and revolver. Starz asked if he could speak English. The officer could not. Starz’s jacket, pants and shorts joined the other articles on the ground. He was left standing in his shoes and undershirt. Cheng too was stripped.
The order was given: “Kneel down.” They knelt, and were then forced to face a stone wall. Starz looked back over his shoulder and saw one of the Japanese pulling his sword from its scabbard. He tensed for what was to come. Nothing happened. He looked again over his shoulder and saw the tip of the sword still touching the ground. Fascinated, Starz watched the sharp point, waiting for it to sweep up in an arc and flash into his neck. It stayed where it was. As the seconds dragged by in the cabbage patch, Starz began to think he might survive.
Through Cheng, the Japanese told the men to turn around. They were allowed to sit on a bench with their backs resting against the stone wall. They saw three men come into the field, one of them Lamar, fully clothed and smiling, the other two Japanese, fully armed and sullen. Lamar motioned for Starz to get up. As the sergeant rose, bayonets were pushed toward his face and he sat down quickly.
Lamar was suddenly seized and stripped down to his shorts. When he started to protest, one of the Japanese smashed him in the mouth. He was prodded over to the bench and seated beside Starz. As the Americans began to talk to each other, Cheng was put between them to stop all contact. Again a ring of steel closed in on the captives. They sat and stared back at the weapons.
Soon the Japanese patrol leader made another move. Because of the rain, he prodded the three men into the building where Starz and Cheng had previously taken shelter. By now, more Japanese officers had arrived, and Cheng attempted to explain the purpose of the mission. At Lamar’s urging, he asked that he and his companions get their clothes back. The enemy soldiers considered the proposal for a few minutes and then made a significant gesture. The OSS team was allowed to dress.
At this point Lamar produced a paper signed by General Wedemeyer. It stated that the purpose of the paratroopers was to bring relief, not to fight. The Japanese thought the note was terribly funny. It seemed that they had no idea that Japan had surrendered, that the war was over. Nevertheless, a subtle change took place. In a few minutes, cigarettes and watermelon were passed to the prisoners.
Outside, a Japanese officer rode up on horseback and said something to the guards. Five minutes later, another officer arrived and went straight to the OSS team. He began to apologize for their detention and said that news of the surrender had just reached Mukden. Hands were shaken all around.
Still the Japanese remained cautious, in case the news of surrender proved false. Starz, Lamar and Cheng were blindfolded and taken outside. They were guided to a truck and put in the back, where Hennessy, Leith and Kido joined them shortly. The reunited team was driven to military police headquarters.
For the first time all of the men were treated cordially. Sake and hot tea were served. Better yet, a bottle of Johnny Walker Scotch was broken open and shared. Even Sergeant Kido was treated courteously.
He had been having a difficult day. At one point in his detention, the Japanese had begun to beat him, though most of their abuse was verbal. The Nisei confused them. At military police headquarters, Kido overheard an officer speaking on the telephone: “We have an American-born Japanese here. What do we do with him?” Though Kido’s status remained perplexing, they finally allowed him to interpret and present Hennessy’s views.
For over an hour, the American unit sparred with a collection of enemy colonels, who grew progressively more friendly over the flowing Scotch. At one point, a Colonel Kamata lamented the fact that he would have to commit suicide the following morning because he was responsible for the death of several escaped prisoners. No one attempted to dissuade him. The relaxed conversation drifted into random observations about Manchuria and the Japanese Kwantung Army, with only occasional further references to the Americans’ mission.
While they chatted together, another truck drove up. The Americans were taken to the main prison camp, this time without blindfolds.
At the camp, strange things had already begun to happen. Guards were suddenly more friendly. Six Allied men had been suddenly released from solitary confinement, one of them after living in the “hole” for over one hundred days. Within the camp, General George Parker had noticed these signs of thaw and wondered at the reasons for them.
Hennessy and the others were taken to the office of the commandant, Colonel Matsudo, who received them graciously. While the mercy team talked, they could see prisoners outside, straining to understand just what was going on inside the room. News of the six strangers filtered quickly to every corner of the compound. Some men connected them with the parachutists earlier in the day. Most assumed that they were merely more prisoners for Camp Hoten.
Matsudo refused to allow the OSS team into the barracks. He asked instead that the mission stay overnight at a local hotel. In the meantime, he would cable Tokyo for further instructions. Hennessy protested vigorously, but Matsudo refused to give in. Though the atmosphere was not dangerous, the opposing sides had reached another impasse.
Late in the afternoon, Hennessy agreed to wait until morning to see the Allied prisoners. Matsudo in turn promised to evacuate his own men from the prison as soon as possible and turn over its administration to the Americans. On this note of compromise, the meeting was adjourned.
Prisoners trying desperately to get a clue from the proceedings at the headquarters building saw Sergeant Harold Leith raise his hand to them and make an OK signal with his thumb and index finger. They heard Sergeant Kido sound a piercing whistle in their direction. These signs of confidence sustained them during a long night, in which few of the Allied captives slept well.
In Japan, a second message from MacArthur was received before the first one had been answered. The Allied High Command called for a delegation of Japanese to proceed at once to the Philippines for conversations. MacArthur wanted the Japanese to deliver all secrets about Japan’s armed forces and to receive Allied plans about the occupation.
No one in Japan wanted to go. Though anxious to comply with the requests from the Supreme Commander, officers in the Army and Navy gagged at the thought of going to the camp of the enemy and laying bare the national defenses. General Umezu, as Chief of Staff, was the logical man to head the delegation, but he absolutely refused to participate. The choice then fell on Lieutenant General Kawabe, his second in command. Kawabe too loathed the idea, but he accepted the job and chose his staff. Fifteen men, representing the Foreign Office and the military, were picked to make the trip. Several ran away immediately to the mountains rather than face the unpleasant and degrading task. Their places were quickly given to new men. Plans went ahead for takeoff on the following day.
On the same afternoon—August 16—station JNP in Tokyo answered MacArthur’s first message. Com
munication Number One to the conqueror was polite and helpful.
HIS MAJESTY THE EMPEROR ISSUED AN IMPERIAL ORDER AT 16 O’CLOCK ON AUGUST 16 TO THE ENTIRE ARMED FORCES TO CEASE HOSTILITIES IMMEDIATELY.
IT IS PRESUMED THAT THE SAID IMPERIAL ORDER WILL REACH THE FRONT LINE AND PRODUCE FULL EFFECT AFTER THE FOLLOWING LAPSE OF TIME:
A. IN JAPAN PROPER 48 HOURS
B. IN CHINA, MANCHURIA, KOREA, SOUTHERN RE GIONS EXCEPT BOUGAINVILLE, NEW GUINEA, THE PHILIPPINES SIX DAYS.…
WITH A VIEW TO MAKING THE AUGUST WISH OF HIS MAJESTY REGARDING THE TERMINATION OF THE WAR AND THE ABOVE MENTIONED IMPERIAL ORDER THOROUGHLY KNOWN TO ALL CONCERNED, MEMBERS OF THE IMPERIAL FAMILY WILL BE DISPATCHED AS PERSONAL REPRESENTATIVES OF HIS MAJESTY TO THE HEADQUARTERS OF THE KWANTUNG ARMY, EXPEDITIONARY FORCES IN CHINA AND THE FORCES IN THE SOUTHERN REGIONS RESPECTIVELY. THE ITINERARY, TYPE OF AIRCRAFT, MARKINGS, ETC., WILL BE COMMUNICATED LATER. IT IS ACCORDINGLY REQUESTED THAT SAFE CONDUCT FOR THE ABOVE BE GRANTED.…
Yet even as the Emperor slowly deactivated the Japanese war machine and tried to smooth the way to peace, obstacles were put in his path. The plans for Kawabe’s mission were plagued by growing fears that a plot was afoot to destroy the planes that would carry the sixteen delegates to the Philippines the next morning. It was rumored that the delegation would be attacked, possibly from Atsugi Airbase, just after taking off from Tokyo.
To die a warrior’s death, even at the hands of their countrymen, seemed to many of the delegates preferable to the dishonorable chore ahead of them. But they also knew the importance of an orderly transfer of power. Even Captain Toshikazu Ohmae of the Navy, who only two days earlier had been among the more fanatical die-hards, was determined that the process must not be jeopardized, that the surrender must be consummated without trouble.
Late on the sixteenth a message mentioning “internal problems” was sent to Manila, requesting a forty-eight-hour delay of the mission. MacArthur’s headquarters agreed to postponement till the nineteenth.
The leader of the defiant group at Atsugi Airbase was a Navy Captain, Ammyo Kosono, a man totally committed to further prosecution of the war. For the past several weeks he had worked desperately to prevent defeat.
A highly capable aerial tactician, he had been given command at Atsugi in order to guard against B-29 flights over Tokyo. As he watched his finest men go down in flames during the summer months, Kosono became increasingly alarmed about his nation’s chances for survival. Powerless to stop the bombers’ attacks, he concentrated his hopes on defeating an enemy invasion, and thus salvaging at least a conditional peace. To that end, he exhorted fellow officers to maintain a spirit of optimism and faith. Most laughed at him. Enraged, Kosono decided that such weak-minded men must be purged from positions of influence.
On August 7 he asked Admiral Onishi to get him transferred to Naval General Staff Headquarters. When Onishi seemed inclined to grant his wish, Kosono plotted further to stage his personal reforms from within. Three days later, his plans were abruptly interrupted by news of the Emperor’s peace offer through Switzerland. The shock of this development temporarily immobilized him. His transfer to the General Staff would surely be discarded, and he would have to revise his tactics.
Forty-eight hours later he was back in action, trying to persuade senior naval officers to continue the war. In discussion after discussion, his proposals were met only with scorn. But Kosono did not give up. Day and night, he schemed and plotted with those junior officers who were favorably inclined to his strategy. By the second week of August, he had convinced a sizable group of young men to join him at Atsugi. To forestall the prospect of open warfare between Navy factions, on August 14 he visited Admiral Kudo at Marine Force Headquarters in Yokosuka.
When Kosono burst into the room, Kudo was about to have lunch. Sensing immediately that he was dealing with a desperate and distraught man, the cautious admiral handled his visitor with great tact.
Kosono explained the problems he had been having in past days with Navy men who objected to his plan for continuing the war. He then came to the point of his visit:
“I don’t want to fight my own countrymen. My enemy is the Army of the United States only. Please don’t send any soldiers to fight me at Atsugi.”
Admiral Kudo listened to his guest and then calmly assured him, “Kosono, that will never happen.”
Kosono returned to his fighter command to prepare for renewed hostilities with America. When he arrived, his aide informed him that the Emperor had just held a second meeting in the air-raid shelter to demand that the cabinet accept the Potsdam Declaration. This news staggered the exhausted captain who had spent nearly seventy-two hours in ceaseless pursuit of support.
Late that afternoon, he went to bed. A recurring touch of malaria compounded his poor physical condition and forced him to send for a doctor, who noted that Kosono had a high fever and appeared near collapse. Although the doctor prescribed bed rest, the overwrought commander got up early that evening and sought out several senior officers around Tokyo to enlist their support. Surprisingly, this time he received encouragement from nearly everyone, and he went back to Atsugi convinced that he would prevail over the “traitors” around the Emperor.
The next day, the fifteenth, after listening to Hirohito’s recorded broadcast, Kosono mounted a wooden platform near the Atsugi runway and addressed the rows of pilots standing stiffly at attention:
“I realize that, by the Government’s acceptance of the Potsdam Declaration, the Japanese army forces are demobilized. However, since that moment, there has begun a national war, which means defense of our country by the individual. If you want to fight with me, stay here. If you don’t, you can go back to your homes. I’ll fight on with absolute certainty of victory.”
Kosono marched off the platform, leaving behind hundreds of airmen struggling to make a last painful decision. When he walked through camp a few hours later, he noticed the renewed spirit of the men and felt that they would stand by him.
Within the next twenty-four hours, leaflets hurriedly printed by the Atsugi warriors began to fall on Tokyo. They clearly stated Kosono’s case:
Government officials and senior statesmen who were caught in an enemy trap have enticed the Emperor to issue the message ending the war. It was a terrible thing to do. The Emperor is a God. There is no such thing as surrender in Japan. There is no surrender in the Imperial forces. We, as members of the Air Force, are sure of victory.
There was an immediate reaction from the Government. On the afternoon of the sixteenth, a black limousine swept into the Atsugi base. From its fender flew the standard of Admiral Teraoka, Kosono’s superior in the Tokyo military district.
Realizing that Teraoka’s visit was anything but a social call, Kosono posted three armed officers outside his office before greeting the admiral. Then, at Teraoka’s request, he led the way to a secluded room where they could speak privately. Teraoka demanded that the rebellious captain explain his actions. Kosono was happy to comply:
“The Emperor wants to sacrifice himself to save the nation. He is just like a father who wants to bear the blame for his son’s wrongdoings. As a son, can you stand to see him do that? We must fight.” Kosono kept talking as the admiral watched him closely. “The Emperor’s declaration about the end of the war proved to me that he has an affliction in his mind.” At this statement, Teraoka nearly interrupted, but Kosono quickly continued: “We must make an effort to get rid of his affliction. It is our duty.”
Teraoka was incensed at the reference to the Emperor’s mental state but refrained from pursuing the point. Instead, he warned the agitated Kosono: “Remember, there is a very slight difference between being loyal and disloyal. In these present conditions, be careful of what you do.” He then strode briskly from the room and walked through a cordon of Kosono’s supporters who stood with swords in their hands.
Within an hour Teraoka reported Kosono’s statements to Admiral Yonai at the Naval Ministry. That devoted servant of the
Emperor was also enraged at the references to Hirohito’s mental capacity, and marked Kosono down as a dangerous element to be dealt with summarily. He invented and discarded a number of plans to deal with the situation, then finally came to a decision which he hoped would resolve it peaceably. He went to Prince Takamatsu, the Emperor’s brother and a close friend of Kosono, and asked him to call the rebel captain directly. Takamatsu did so, but Kosono refused to listen to him. His plans for a coup continued.
At midnight that evening, Kosono was still laboring at his desk over the final aspects of his grandiose scheme. Suddenly his fingers began to tremble violently. The spasms increased, out of control. He jumped up and screamed at the top of his voice. His secretary was struck dumb by the spectacle. As Kosono retreated to a corner, the terrified secretary bolted out to summon a doctor. On their return, the two men found the sweating captain squatting on a cushion, mumbling the names of ancient gods. It took the efforts of both men and an injection of morphine to quiet him.
Though Kosono had a period of rationality the following day, it was short-lived. Men sent by Admiral Yonai to talk with him that afternoon found him trussed in a straitjacket. From Atsugi Airbase he was removed to the Nobi Navy Hospital. For Ammyo Kosono, the war was over at last.
On the morning of the seventeenth, after a pleasant night at the Yamato Hotel in Mukden, OSS Major Hennessy and four of his team were driven to the Hoten camp. One man was missing from the group. Major Cheng-Shi-Wu had deserted his friends. Frustrated the day before in his effort to escape, he had finally managed to merge into a crowd of Chinese spectators after leaving the prison for the hotel.
At the camp the team met the senior Allied officers and then circulated among the joyous men. In the confusion, one voice shouted clearly, “Hiya, fellas, it’s all over. We’re here to bring you home.” Pandemonium took over the yards and barracks.
The World War II Chronicles Page 24
