As the ministers filed out of the bomb shelter, Anami took Suzuki aside and asked him to wait two days before seeking the emperor’s intervention. The prime minister refused, saying “our opportunity is now—we must seize it at once.” After Anami walked away an army medical officer named Kobayashi, who had heard the exchange, approached Suzuki and asked why it was impossible to wait just a few more days before responding to the Allies.
The prime minister looked at the doctor and, as though speaking to a slow-witted child, said, “if we don’t act now, the Russians will penetrate not only Manchuria and Korea but northern Japan as well. If that happens our country is finished. We must act now, while our chief adversary is still the United States.”
“General Anami will kill himself,” Kobayashi responded.
Suzuki nodded gravely, looked the physician in the eye and said, “yes, that will be very regrettable.”20
The man of whom they were speaking was not quite ready to fall on his ceremonial sword, however. After the deadlocked cabinet meeting Anami returned to his official residence, where at 8 P.M. a group of ten young army officers arrived to secure his authorization for the coup they planned to launch the following morning. Among the men seeking Anami’s blessing was the firebrand Hatanaka, who told the war minister that the peace factions in the Big Six and cabinet had decided to kill Anami if he continued to resist the emperor’s decision to accept the Allied surrender terms. The young officer’s ploy to gain the war minister’s approval of the coup was apparently fairly transparent, for Anami simply laughed. He then went on to say that the plan the conspirators had presented—which involved the imprisonment and possible execution of Suzuki, Kido, Togo, and others, as well as the proclamation of martial law throughout the country—was not detailed enough. Despite their pleas that he give them a yes or no answer immediately, Anami sent the plotters away with the promise to consider their plan further and give them his decision soon.
The remainder of the night passed quickly for the war minister, who quite probably spent the hours until dawn contemplating what a coup—whether successful or not—would mean for the nation and for himself. Just after sunrise on August 14 Anami breakfasted with Western District Army commander Field Marshal Hata, who had driven straight from Hiroshima and gave the war minister a no-holds-barred account of conditions in the first city to feel the horrifying effects of a nuclear explosion. What impact the aging soldier’s account had on Anami we do not know, though the historical record does show that just before the two men parted the war minister asked Hata to share his insights about the effect of the atomic bombing with the emperor. With the field marshal’s unflinching report almost certainly still on his mind, Anami stepped into his staff car just after 7 A.M. for the drive to his War Ministry office.21
At roughly the same time, Lord Privy Seal Kido was walking into a hastily arranged meeting with Hirohito. The purpose of the audience was to inform the emperor that since late the previous day American B-29 bombers had been dropping leaflets across the country—leaflets that told the Japanese people not only about the surrender terms put forth in the Potsdam Declaration, but also about the imperial government’s August 10 conditional acceptance of those terms. The American tactic was profoundly dangerous for both Japan and its emperor, Kido told his sovereign, because it could very well spark widespread public revolt and would likely set off the military coup d’état that most senior government officials feared. Soon after Suzuki arrived to join the discussion, Hirohito declared that he would order all members of the Big Six and the cabinet to attend an emergency imperial conference at which he, as emperor and titular commander in chief of the nation’s armed forces, would instruct the attendees to accept the terms set forth in Secretary Byrnes’s cable. Moreover, Hirohito said, he would command them to draft an imperial rescript that would be broadcast to the nation. And finally, the emperor directed that the imperial conference be convened at 10:30 that very morning so as to give any coup plotters within the military less time to put their plans into action.22
Immediately upon hearing of the emergency conference, Anami urged the emperor to first receive a delegation of senior military officers, a group that would include the war minister himself, Field Marshal Sugiyama, the navy’s Fleet Admiral Osami Nagano, and Field Marshal Hata. Anami apparently assumed that the latter officer, much-decorated and widely respected, would argue in favor of continuing the war despite the Americans’ use of the new bomb. The war minister must therefore have been deeply surprised when the elderly Hata, with tears rolling down his cheeks, described in gruesome detail the destruction and suffering in Hiroshima. The field marshal then peered closely at each man in the room and pronounced what was effectively the death knell for the hawks’ hopes of prolonging the war. Speaking in his capacity as commander of the Japanese forces slated to defend Kyushu in the event of an Allied invasion, he said he did not believe such an assault could be stopped and therefore agreed with the emperor’s decision to accept the terms set forth in the Byrnes cable.23
Having thereby dropped his own bombshell, the field marshal sat to await Hirohito’s response. After a moment’s reflection, the emperor quietly said that there was no way Japan could halt either the oncoming Soviet forces or the Americans’ further use of their new bomb, and he therefore asked the gathered senior officers to support him in his quest to end the war immediately. Having issued what was tantamount to an imperial command, Hirohito rose and slowly walked from the room, pausing only for a moment to mutter that he would see them all shortly in the bomb shelter.
When Hirohito entered that chamber, the same one in which the fateful August 10 imperial conference had been held, some twenty men stood and bowed in silent deference. The room was very warm and more than a little humid, and those in attendance—the Big Six, cabinet members, palace officials, and the emperor himself—were soon bathed in sweat. Dressed in a simple military uniform, Hirohito sat down behind a small desk at the head of the room, and nodded to Suzuki to begin what all those present knew was to be a momentous meeting that would quite literally change the course of Japanese history.
The aged prime minister rose to his feet and carefully recounted, yet again, the terms outlined in Secretary of State Byrnes’s official response to Japan’s conditional surrender offer. Suzuki then called upon Anami, Umezu, and Toyoda to recite their by now all-too-familiar list of reasons why the Byrnes note was unacceptable. The three military men spoke passionately, though one suspects that by this time both Anami and Umezu were simply going through the motions for appearances’ sake. When the chamber was once again quiet, the eyes of all present turned toward Hirohito. As tears welled in his eyes, the emperor said:
I have listened carefully to all the arguments opposing Japan’s acceptance of the Allied reply as it stands. My own opinion, however, has not changed. I shall now restate it. I have examined the conditions prevailing in Japan and in the rest of the world, and I believe that a continuation of the war offers nothing but continued destruction. I have studied the terms of the Allied reply, and I have come to the conclusion that they represent a virtually complete acknowledgement of our position as we outlined it in the note dispatched a few days ago. In short, I consider the reply to be acceptable.
Pausing briefly to take a deep, shuddering breath and to draw a handkerchief across his eyes, Hirohito assured his listeners that he believed the Byrnes cable was evidence of the Allies’ good intentions to maintain “the national structure,” referring, if rather obliquely, to the continuation of the monarchy. The emperor then looked pointedly at Anami and Toyoda, and added that he fully understood how difficult it would be for the officers and men of the nation’s armed forces to be disarmed and to see their beloved country occupied. After expressing his own deep sorrow for the hardships and suffering his subjects had experienced, Hirohito concluded:
As the people of Japan are unaware of the present situation, I know they will be deeply shocked when they hear of our decision. If it is thought appropriat
e that I explain the matter to them personally, I am willing to go before the microphone… . I am willing to go wherever necessary to explain our decision. I desire the cabinet to prepare as soon as possible an imperial rescript announcing the termination of the war.24
Once again having clearly expressed his imperial will, Hirohito rose and walked slowly out of the room with tears streaming down his cheeks. Many of those to whom he had spoken then broke down completely, sobbing for their emperor, their nation, and—because many were almost certain to be charged with war crimes by the Allied occupiers—quite probably for themselves. Then, despite their deep emotion, they got on with the work Hirohito had charged them to do. The cabinet members convened almost immediately after their sovereign left the bomb shelter. They drafted and then ratified the nation’s unconditional acceptance of all the terms set forth in the Byrnes cable, and ordered the response to be transmitted immediately to Washington via Japan’s embassies in Sweden and Switzerland.
Within hours the emperor would be in the Household Ministry building, recording the imperial rescript message. But even before he stepped before the microphone the coup d’état he and so many others feared was already under way.
FROM THE TIME OF their first, clandestine meeting in the War Ministry bomb shelter on August 11, the coup plotters had worked diligently—if covertly—to lay the groundwork for the revolt they fervently believed would save both the nation and the armed forces. Takeshita, Hatanaka, and the rest had begun reaching out to fellow officers, both in Tokyo and at key army and navy installations throughout the country, attempting to determine which men could be counted on to support them and which might have to be “neutralized.” They had also extended feelers to certain members of the Kempeitai, the nation’s dreaded, military-run secret police. When the revolt began, the plotters reasoned, Japan’s equivalent of Nazi Germany’s Gestapo would be needed to help secure the Imperial Palace and the Tokyo headquarters of NHK, the national radio broadcast service. And, once the coup had succeeded, Kempeitai agents would arrest those whom the revolt’s leaders designated as “defeatists.”
The plotters had decided to launch the coup at 10 A.M. on August 14, but War Minister Anami’s continued evasions about whether he would join the revolt forced a postponement. Takeshita tried to intercept Anami before the day’s imperial conference in order to ascertain the grizzled general’s position once and for all, but he arrived minutes after his brother-in-law had walked down into the imperial bomb shelter. When Anami finally reappeared, Takeshita could tell from the look on his face that a momentous decision had been made. Pulling the war minister aside, the younger man begged for him to order the mobilization of troops to “maintain security” within the city—a very thinly veiled plea that Anami support the coup. Then, repeating a rumor that was circulating within the War Ministry, Takeshita said that army Chief of Staff Umezu had thrown in his lot with the plotters.
The statement—which was untrue—did not sway Anami.
“The emperor has made his decision,” the war minister said wearily, “there is nothing I can do. As a Japanese soldier I must obey my emperor.”25
Takeshita finally had the definitive answer he had been seeking, though it was not the one for which he had been hoping. Knowing from the look on Anami’s face that his mind was made up and his decision would not change, the younger officer turned and walked slowly back to his waiting staff car. Before he headed back to the War Ministry to share the news with his fellow conspirators, Takeshita sat for several minutes pondering what he now knew to be a simple truth: without his brother-in-law’s active support, the coup was doomed to certain failure. What then, he wondered, was the point in going ahead with it?
As Takeshita sat thinking, Anami was himself already on the way back to the ministry building. Just after 3 P.M. he walked into his outer office to find a dozen subordinates waiting none too patiently, desperate to know the outcome of the imperial conference. Keenly aware that the young officers wanted to hear that the nation would fight on and that the enemy would never be allowed to set foot on Japan’s sacred soil, the war minister took a deep breath and then broke their hearts: the emperor, he said, was firm in his desire to end the war, and would announce Japan’s acceptance of the Allied surrender terms to all his subjects in an imperial rescript to be broadcast the following day. So there would be no misunderstanding about his own position, Anami then further stunned the gathered officers by saying that he, like all other Japanese soldiers, was honor-bound to accept that decision and bend to the imperial will. With a final glance around the suddenly silent room, the war minister turned, walked into his office, and firmly closed the door.
Though Anami had intended that his pronouncement would dampen the fires of revolt among his subordinates, it had exactly the opposite effect on Major Hatanaka and several of the other men standing in the now deathly silent room. Already furious that the morning launch of the planned coup had been postponed, they knew that the revolt would have to be put in motion before the broadcast of the imperial rescript if there was to be any hope of success. After a quick hallway conference, the men split up and rushed from the building.
Not of high enough rank to merit a staff car, Hatanaka jumped on his bicycle and tore off through the rubble-clogged streets of Tokyo. He made first for the headquarters of the Eastern District Army, where somewhat to his surprise General Tanaka refused to join any revolt. Hatanaka then pedaled as quickly as he could through the oppressive summer heat to the Imperial Guards Division command post. Two of the unit’s officers—majors Sadakichi Ishihara and Hidemasa Koga—were members of the conspiracy and Hatanaka likely communicated to them the importance of quickly seizing control of the imperial palace and either preventing the recording of the rescript or, failing that, keeping the completed recording from being broadcast. Late that same afternoon trucks bearing a battalion of troops from the 1st Guards Division’s 2nd Regiment rumbled through the gates of the Imperial Palace. This was unusual in that the sprawling compound was normally guarded by a single battalion, and one was already on duty. Moreover, the new arrivals were personally led by the regimental commander, Colonel Toyojiro Haga.26
After returning to the War Ministry Hatanaka huddled briefly with co-conspirator Lieutenant Colonel Jiro Shiizaki, then sought out Lieutenant Colonel Masataka Ida of the ministry’s Military Affairs Section. Like several officers who had been present when Anami had earlier announced his support for Hirohito’s decision to surrender, Ida had decided to kill himself and Hatanaka found him calmly preparing to commit seppuku.27 Believing that Ida’s position would allow him to issue orders that would support the coup, the firebrand major argued that a successful revolt would protect the emperor from the “traitors” that surrounded him and also prevent Japan’s surrender—thereby preserving both the national polity and the army. Assisting in the coup, Hatanka argued, was therefore a far more glorious path than Ida’s plan to preserve his own personal honor through suicide. The young major’s logic was at least partially convincing, for though Ida did not agree outright to lend his support to the coup, he said he would postpone his suicide and await further developments.
He didn’t have to wait long. Some three hours later, at about 10 P.M., Hatanaka returned to Ida’s ministry office, accompanied by Shiizaki. The two younger officers excitedly told Ida that the coup now had the support of key officers in the Imperial Guards Division; all that was needed to ensure the revolt’s success was for the division commander, General Mori, to join the plot. Hatanaka said that he and Shiizake were on their way to enlist the general’s support, and asked Ida to accompany them. His planned suicide now on hold, the older officer agreed and the three set off for the Guards Division headquarters.
Upon their arrival the men were joined by Ishihara and Koga, and all five conspirators dashed up several flights of stairs to Mori’s office. To their extreme exasperation, the general’s aide told the officers to take a seat in the waiting room; Mori was closeted in his office with a Lieuten
ant Colonel Shiraishi, his brother-in-law and a member of Field Marshal Hata’s staff, and would not be available for some time. Hatanaka and the others were thus forced to cool their heels, not knowing that less than a quarter of a mile away the technicians from NHK had just finished setting up their recording equipment and were awaiting the emperor’s arrival.
More than ninety minutes ticked by before an increasingly anxious Hatanaka finally stood up and burst into Mori’s office with Ida and Shiizaki close behind. Startled, the general demanded to know what the men wanted. As the young major stuttered out their request that Mori lead his division against Suzuki and the other “traitors,” anger and disbelief flashed across the general’s face. But then, possibly because he realized that his life and that of his brother-in-law might depend on how he reacted over the next few minutes, Mori became quite calm and agreed to listen to the conspirators’ reasoning. At that point, believing that the division commander was leaning toward cooperation, Hatanaka excused himself, telling Ida he had an important engagement. It was just after midnight as the young major dashed from the room; Ida and Shiizaki stayed with Mori for another hour, finally leaving when the general said he would have to pay a brief visit to the nearby Meiji Shrine before giving them his final answer.
Hatanaka, in the meantime, had made his way to the home of Masahiko Takeshita, pounding on the door until Anami’s brother-in-law ushered him inside. As the young major began recounting the evening’s events Takeshita stopped him with a raised hand and calmly said he had decided not to take part in the coup. When the stunned Hatanaka asked him the reason for this apparently sudden change of heart, Takeshita replied that Anami was not with them, and without the war minister’s support the revolt had absolutely no chance of success, so there was no point in even attempting it. Crestfallen, Hatanaka paced the floor, muttering to himself before finally turning to Takeshita and agreeing that the coup was most probably doomed to failure. But then, straightening up, he looked squarely at the older officer and said that he and his fellow conspirators had gained the support of the Imperial Guards Division and would carry on with the revolt despite the odds. Hatanaka bowed slightly, then walked out into the night.
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