1945

by Robert Conroy

  "What about you?" one of the rangers asked.

  "That's my problem. Hirohito goes first and then the rest of us."

  Hirohito and a wounded ranger headed for the first helicopter. The emperor hesitated momentarily as he realized that the frail-looking craft was expected to fly him out over the Pacific. He turned, waved at Joe, then boarded. Joe was glad to see that the wounded man was one of the Japanese speakers. Good. Someone was using his head and killing two birds with one stone.

  Hirohito looked out through the window as the helicopter began its slow, noisy ascent. Joe wanted to scream for it to hurry, to make all the dead and wounded relevant.

  Prudently, the pilot kept the chopper low and headed away from the approaching Japanese. The second helicopter lifted off and two more landed in their place. These were quickly filled with wounded and flew away. Wounded now had the highest priority. The dead would have to remain.

  The sequence of drop-down and liftoff continued despite Japanese fire, which got closer and heavier. As the Americans departed, it meant fewer and fewer remained to man the defenses, and Joe realized that he had a difficult decision to make.

  Suddenly, a helicopter was hit and exploded in a burst of flames. It crashed to the ground. No one left it. The approaching chopper pilots ignored the fire and carnage to land and remove more men.

  "How many left?" Joe yelled after still another pair had lifted off. The men sounded off. Only five were left alive, counting himself.

  Two more helicopters managed to land, avoiding the flaming ruins of the burning one. Two men filled one and it lifted off.

  "Go," Joe ordered.

  A ranger looked aghast. "What about you, sir?"

  "No room at the inn, buddy. I'll be all right. Just get your asses out of here."

  The remaining rangers didn't need more urging. They sprinted to the last helicopter and flung themselves into the cabin, and the chopper immediately took off.

  Joe turned and saw Japs approaching less than a hundred yards away. The sun was beginning to rise and the whole area remained lit by the lights and the fire. "Hurry!" he screamed at the approaching Japanese. "Hurry! The Americans are getting away. Kill them!"

  With that, he stood and shot at the helicopter, which was now safely out of range. He only stopped when the wave of advancing soldiers raced by him.

  A militia officer trotted up to him, saw the kempei uniform, and saluted. "Are you all right, sir?"

  "Yes, but some of them may have gotten away." Joe gestured vaguely in the direction of some hills to his left. "Send your men in that direction." The officer did as he was told and Joe was again alone.

  Joe thought he had a few minutes before they started to think and wonder just what he had been doing inside the American perimeter. They wouldn't believe for long that he'd been captured and escaped, or that he'd bravely followed the American raiders.

  He staggered. His leg hurt like a bitch. The wounds didn't seem serious, but walking was going to be painful and slow. But what choice did he have? At least one guard had seen him shoot another. Did that man still live? Had he informed his comrades about the kempei officer's strange behavior? Soon the place would be crawling with investigators.

  After all, one didn't lose an emperor and then just write it off. No, real kempei would be here soon. The time for masquerading as a kempei officer was over.

  Joe limped down the path. His cache of equipment, food, clothes, and the precious radio were miles away. He would either have to get to them or find some other civilian clothing and, once again, let himself be swallowed up and made invisible by the throngs of refugees. Joe could only hope that the Japanese wouldn't be looking too hard for a man with one arm.

  CHAPTER 75

  USS MIDWAY

  An honor guard of marines stood on the deck of the carrier. Halsey had personally checked to make sure that the rifles they carried were unloaded. The last thing they needed was for someone to go crazy with revenge and shoot the emperor of Japan.

  Halsey still couldn't believe this was happening, and he was reasonably sure that Nimitz didn't either. The approaching helicopter had first landed on one of the smaller escort carriers, where it was refueled and sent on to the Midway. It was a shame that helicopters had such short legs, but Halsey was certain that future ones would see the problem rectified.

  Almost daintily, the helicopter carrying Hirohito poised above the flight deck and lowered itself to land gently. There was a momentary wait while the blades stopped whirling.

  An improvised red carpet was laid from the helicopter to the carrier's superstructure. Then a naval officer in a clean dress uniform walked to the helicopter with as much dignity as he could manage. The hatch was opened and the carrier's band began to play the Japanese national anthem, which was followed by "The Star-Spangled Banner." Halsey thought that the latter was played with more verve and gusto than the former.

  Hirohito leaned out of the chopper and stepped onto the deck. There was a collective gasp from the hundreds of crewmen who had gathered around the flight deck for the historic event, even though it had been unpubhcized. The carrier was a small town that kept few secrets.

  Hirohito stood for a moment. Then he smiled slightly and walked forward to meet President Harry Truman, who had emerged from the shadows of the superstructure and was walking toward him.

  As the men approached each other, the throng of sailors commenced to applaud and then cheer as they realized the significance of what was occurring.

  CHAPTER 76

  TOKYO

  Japanese naval captain Minoru Genda was almost universally conceded to be a brave and extraordinarily brilliant officer who had a tremendous future before him. In his younger days- he was still only forty-one- many had despaired that he would not live long enough for his brilliance to blossom. He had been part of an acrobatic-flying group and had later been nicknamed the Madman because of his intense feelings that naval air was the way of the future. His fervor in proclaiming that carriers had made battleships obsolete had won him few friends in a big-gun navy.

  Genda had helped plan the attack on Pearl Harbor and had taken part in numerous other battles. Some felt that if he had not been sickly during the ill-fated Battle of Midway, it and the war would have turned out differently for Japan.

  Most recently, Genda had been assigned to help coordinate Japan's air defenses, which meant he had little to do since Japan's air defenses were virtually nonexistent. Thus, he could often be found at Anami's subterranean headquarters, and his presence was even looked forward to by those who considered him a hero.

  After a cursory search for weapons- none of any kind were permitted in Anami's presence- Genda was admitted to Anami's private office. As he entered, a clerk closed the door behind him. As Genda expected, he and Anami were alone. The errand Anami had sent him on required a high degree of secrecy.

  But first, there was a personal concern. "Your arm. What happened?" Anami asked.

  Genda grimaced. His left arm was in a large cast. "Sir, the trip to Kyushu was even more dangerous than I expected. This is courtesy of an American plane my pilot and I almost couldn't evade. It looks worse than it is, however, and it will heal in a few weeks."

  "I am glad for your safe return," Anami said with sincerity. He wished he had many more Gendas to depend on. "But tell me, is the situation as bad as we've been led to believe?"

  "It is," Genda conceded sadly. "If anything, it is worse."

  The day before, Anami had received frantic coded signals from Kyushu that Hirohito had been kidnapped by an American raiding party. Anami had prevailed on Genda to fly to Camp 7 on Kyushu and verify the disaster.

  Genda awkwardly lit a cigarette with his good arm. "I was able to confirm that an American raider force knew precisely where Hirohito was, and after a brief fight, they took him away by helicopters, which they used to fly him out to their ships. Witnesses saw a man fitting Hirohito's description with them, and it may be that the emperor went willingly. A Japanese officer w
as also seen assisting the Americans, which indicates a conspiracy, at least at the lower level. We must assume that the emperor is in American hands and will cooperate with them. The Japanese officer in question has not been found."

  And doubtless won't be, Genda didn't add. Whoever the Japanese officer was and anyone else in on the conspiracy were in hiding and not worth looking for. Hirohito's taking had stunned the Tokyo headquarters, but, so far, the news had not spread to the rest of Japan. It did, however, present a unique opportunity for those brave enough to take it.

  Anami took the bad news with surprising calm. Then he smiled grimly. "No," Anami finally said. "Hirohito was murdered by the Americans. It is an unspeakable atrocity that we will blame on them."

  "But, sir, Hirohito may make public announcements for the Americans, even calling for surrender. What then?"

  Anami slammed his fist on his desk. "They will be denounced as lies and fabrications. We will inform the world that Hirohito is dead and that his son Akihito is the new emperor, and that I have been appointed regent. We shall simply ignore anything Hirohito does and says for the Americans. We will announce that, after murdering him, the Americans have hired an actor to pretend he is the emperor."

  Amazing, Genda thought. How could Akihito be proclaimed emperor of anything when no one knew where he was? Anami's control of Japan was far from absolute. Genda forced a smile. "Excellent. But how will that enable us to win the war?"

  Anami chuckled. "Why, Captain, we have already won the war. This attempt by the Americans to undermine the Empire shows how bankrupt they are. Our counterattacks will begin very shortly and they will bleed the Americans so badly that they will sue for a peace that leaves us strong."

  "And if they don't?"

  "Then we will fight on, Genda. We will fight on forever. We will never surrender and be destroyed as the Americans have planned for us."

  "Good. Then I will return to my duties with greater zeal."

  Genda stood and bowed. The cast on his arm threw him off-balance and he nearly stumbled. He grasped the edge of Anami's desk for support while grimacing in pain.

  Anami rose quickly and steadied him. "Genda, are you all right? Perhaps you should see a doctor before going back to duty?"

  "I'm all right," Genda insisted.

  As he said that, the hand encased in the cast squeezed a rubber bottle, which emitted a puff of misty fluid that hit Anami square in the face. For a second, the general appeared puzzled. Then his eyes widened and he began to choke and spasm soundlessly. He sat down hard on his chair and slumped forward. Genda waited a moment. There was no need to check for a pulse. He only wanted to be sure that it was safe to proceed.

  The mist was a nerve gas, a particularly virulent derivative of a German gas called sarin that General Ishii had managed to bring with him from Manchuria. It killed on contact with the skin by paralyzing the nerves. It also evaporated into the air and lost its potency almost immediately, which made it useless on the battlefield, yet marvelously lethal in this instance.

  Finally, Genda was satisfied that enough time had passed and that it would be safe to handle the general without fear of contamination, particularly since the air vent in the underground office had been humming and pulling out stale air. "Help!" Genda hollered. "The general has collapsed. Help!"

  The door opened and others rushed in. They pulled Anami off his chair and laid him on the floor. At least two checked for a pulse that wasn't there, then started pushing on his chest as if that would start his breathing again.

  General Homma rushed in from his own office down the hall and took command, chasing out gawkers. Only a couple of men who continued to try to revive Anami remained. "What happened?" he asked Genda.

  Genda spoke clearly. It was imperative that his version be told and heard first. "We were talking when he suddenly clutched his chest and pitched forward. He didn't make a sound. He just fell over and didn't move."

  Homma nodded and responded firmly, "A doctor has been summoned, but for what purpose I don't know. It appears that General Anami has suffered a heart attack or a stroke." He looked at the faces assembled just outside the open office door. Many looked stunned, but some appeared strangely hopeful. "I am senior here," Homma went on, "therefore, I am assuming command. You will return to your duties and continue as before. Captain Genda, you will follow me and make a brief statement for the record."

  Genda's statement to a clerk was a formality. Anami was dead of a massive heart attack probably brought on by the immense strain of his duties. In a few minutes Genda was aboveground after watching Homma begin to take over the reins of the Japanese government. Only the plotters knew that a coup had just occurred, and that Homma and Ozawa were part of it. As part of their plans, "emergencies" had sent both Admiral Toyoda and Field Marshal Sugiyama away from the headquarters.

  Even though political assassination had been a macabre kind of Japanese tradition in the decades prior to the war, Genda deeply regretted that necessity had forced him to do it. Genda was a warrior, not a murderer. Anami had been a warrior too before he had succumbed to the madness that was keeping Japan in the war. Now Genda would inform his friend and mentor Admiral Ozawa that his mission was completed.

  Even now, General Homma was setting more wheels in motion. There were others to round up or dispose of before a new government could be formed under General Homma and Admiral Ozawa. A government, Genda hoped, that would bring an end to the war that was destroying Japan.

  As he walked toward his hidden vehicle, he chuckled. Who on earth was also plotting the overthrow of the government? Despite his disclaimer, he felt that the kidnapping of Hirohito must have had high-level help for it to have succeeded so neatly. He earnestly hoped that the various sets of conspirators didn't get in each other's way.

  CHAPTER 77

  KAGOSHIMA BAY

  The weather on the flight deck of the Midway continued wet and miserable. Despite this, both men had dressed formally and intended to be photographed without overcoats. It was important that they be seen as dignified heads of state, and not as ordinary people scuttling about in the rain.

  Equally important was the need for a background that would convince the Japanese people that the emperor was both respected by the United States as a head of state, and that he was still in Japan. A picture of him anywhere else might be interpreted as his having fled the land and would mean his disgrace and the failure of his historic mission.

  At first there had been hope that something in the city of Kagoshima could be used as a background, but little was left that was more than three feet tall. Weeks of hard fighting, coupled with the flimsy construction of most Japanese buildings, had resulted in an appallingly unrecognizable collection of ruins.

  Then Undersecretary of State Joseph Grew thought of using Mt. Kagoshima as a background. While hardly as well-known as the snowcapped extinct volcano Mt. Fuji, it was well enough known to those who lived in the area as it dominated both the bay and the city. At any rate, it would have to do. The emperor and the president could only hope that enough Japanese soldiers would recognize the background as being uniquely Japanese and then be impressed by the message.

  The weather refused to cooperate, though. Rain and large flakes of soft snow obscured the view of the mountain from the carrier. A photograph near the side of the flight deck could be posed to show nothing of the carrier, which might indicate that Hirohito was a prisoner, and all of the mountain, which would indicate that he was free. If only, of course, they could see the damned mountain.

  Truman paced back and forth in the small room off the superstructure where he and Admiral Nimitz waited. "We can't stay here forever. Why not just take some pictures and get on with it."

  "If it comes to that, we will," Nimitz answered wearily. He desperately wanted to get the Midway and Truman out of the area. "But I agree with Mr. Grew and so does Hirohito. We need to get that mountain in the background if there's any way we can."

  "But we can't wait too much longer," Tru
man insisted. Indications were that the Japanese counterattacks would begin at any time if they hadn't started already. Who really knew what was going on in the misty hills beyond the bay? If it was too late to stop all the bloodshed, then they could at least stop some of it.

  "Still think we should shoot the little bastard," muttered Halsey. Truman stifled a grin. The belligerent little admiral's thoughts weren't all that far from his own. He still had a hard time accepting that there was nothing Hirohito could have done to prevent the current phase of the war from ever starting in the first place, much less stopping it without outside help. Truman wondered if the emperor hadn't gotten a sort of religious conversion when he'd realized the war was lost. Perhaps he was actually maneuvering to keep his throne and for a place in history as a great humanitarian.

  But, Truman thought, who the hell cares? End the war and worry later about what should have been done.

  The phone rang and Halsey answered. "There's a break in the weather," he said as he hung up. "If we act right now, we might get some good pictures."

  Truman and the two admirals raced out onto the flight deck, while Hirohito and Grew came from another room. Grew was the only person on the carrier Hirohito knew, and he had firmly refused to let the diplomat out of his sight. The former ambassador spoke fluent Japanese, which made him doubly valuable.

  Hirohito and Truman took up stations by the edge of the deck. It occurred to Truman that, with just one little shove, one small emperor would suddenly find himself in the middle of a deep bay. The thought made him grin.

  Cameras were hurriedly set up. In the background, the bulk of Mt. Kagoshima had become visible.

  "Now," the photographer said. A movie camera was set up alongside the still photographer. It had all been well rehearsed. The two leaders stood beside each other, close but not touching. They would not shake hands as such contact was repugnant to Japanese males. They smiled and appeared as equals while the cameras whirred and clicked. More pictures were taken of them bowing toward each other at a depth that signified utmost mutual respect. Most Americans had little idea that a Japanese bow was filled with meaning. Too deep a bow and one signified subservience to the other; too shallow and it indicated dominance over the other. The bow had to be just right to convey the proper message of equality.