“Good. There are too many dead brave boys as it is, far too many. Every life we spare is a godsend. What about the next objective? When will that attack take place? Do you know?”
“All the plans are being reviewed in light of what we learned from Operation Olympic,” Nimitz said. “That’s quite unsurprising; plans normally change based on actual experience and new information. We believe the Japanese put every bit of their effort into Kyushu. That may mean Operation Coronet will be less expensive than planned. Alternatively, it may mean that the Japanese plan to fight till the last man, woman, and child. We’ll win, but at a terrible price.”
Roosevelt nodded his head. Then he turned to stare out the window. “We’ll win, though. That’s past the point of doubt.”
“Yes, sir,” replied Nimitz. “How long and how costly are the only remaining questions.”
The President sighed. “That’s good, Chester. That’s good. I’ve been feeling an awfully lot like Moses lately, in sight of the Promised Land but not quite reaching it.”
“It won’t be long now, Mr. President. You’ll see it through until the end.”
“That’s what Ross tells me—or at least he tells me that I will if I keep doing what he tells me to do. Confidentially, though, I think he’s just blowing smoke, aren’t you, Ross? You see, Chester, I mostly asked you to come by today so I could say good-bye. I’m leaving for Warm Springs today. I can’t take another day of Washington springtime. I can’t even tell it apart from Washington winter sometimes.” He paused. “I don’t expect to be back.”
“That’s nonsense, Mr. President!” remonstrated Nimitz. “Of course you’ll be. You’re tougher than the rest of us put together.”
There was still a twinkle in the President’s eye. “That’s right. And only the good die young. If that were true, I’d live forever.”
He paused and chuckled. “Along with Douglas MacArthur,” he added.
• WEDNESDAY, 18 APRIL 1945 •
IMPERIAL JAPANESE ARMY HEADQUARTERS, TOKYO,
JAPAN, 0630 HOURS (X-DAY + 17)
Two large pillars framed the entrance to the headquarters of the Imperial Japanese Army. Atop one pillar was an equestrian statue and atop the other was a lantern. Admiral Yamamoto Isoroku, newly appointed minister of war in the cabinet of Prince Konoe, admired the way the horse and rider seemed to float above the tree line from the perspective of his limousine window. He wondered briefly if that effect was intended by the designer of the monument or was merely a happy accident.
The purpose of his visit to army headquarters was more serious, however. General Anami, the minister of the army, was generally considered to be one of the most powerful men in Japan, as well as an inflexible obstacle to any peace proposals. The Supreme Council was split down the middle, and it was Yamamoto’s job to bridge the gap between the parties.
The limousine came to a stop at the guardhouse. “The war minister to see the army minister,” his driver announced.
The guard snapped to attention, saluted sharply, and waved them through. The limousine crawled carefully through the cobblestone streets, sized long ago for horses and men. The army minister’s building was a two-story stone structure with a slate roof.
General Korechika Anami’s aide was waiting for them at the entrance. Yamamoto’s driver opened the door, and as the admiral emerged, the aide bowed deeply. “It is an honor to welcome the war minister,” he said. “It is with the deepest regrets that I must inform you that the general is engaging in his morning kyudo practice and is not yet available.” He bowed again, deeper than the first time. “The most profound apologies—”
“If there is fault, it is mine entirely. I am early,” Yamamoto interrupted. “And the general is noted for his mastery of the art. With your kind permission, I will watch the general as he shoots.”
“Of course, Minister.” The aide bowed again. “It would be my honor to escort you there, if I might?”
“Please. I would be in your debt.” Yamamoto followed the aide along a stone pathway that led between the army minister’s building and another stone office building on the right. The morning chill was rapidly wearing off as the sun rose in the spring sky. It looked to be a glorious day.
“It’s nothing, sir, nothing at all. I am delighted to have the opportunity to be of service. May I offer you tea?”
“I would be doubly in your debt. Thank you for your gracious hospitality.”
“Think nothing of it, sir. Ah, there is the general.”
Two men were standing in a small rectangular courtyard, deeper than it was wide. One man, wearing traditional garb, held a very long bow above his head, pulled back the string, and let the arrow fly at a small target nearly thirty yards away. Behind him, standing at ease, was an enlisted man, an orderly or a batman of some sort.
Stone buildings defined the four sides of the courtyard. A gravel walk rimmed a neatly manicured garden. A small pond off to the left had lily pads on its surface. There was an artistic absence of symmetry in the way a grove of bamboo anchored the far right and flowers the left. There was a large, intriguingly shaped stone. A path on the narrow end nearest Yamamoto led to a wooden bridge that crossed nothing.
There was a small target made of straw very close to the archer in addition to the target farther away. Arrows jutted from both targets, with some arrows stuck in the ground to either side of the farther target. The arrow just shot quivered in the center of the target.
As was proper when practicing kyudo archery, General Korechika Anami, Imperial Army minister, was dressed in a jacket that left one shoulder bare, hakama skirtlike pants, and the special yukage archer’s glove on his right hand. His yumi bow was over six feet in length, significantly taller than the medium-height Anami himself. The army minister was slightly overweight. His hair was black except for a touch of gray at the temples. His hairline was receding, but he wore a wide mustache to compensate. His nose was wide and his ears were prominent.
Yamamoto did not call out make any other noise. Anami did not recognize Yamamoto’s presence, either. He was giving himself completely over to the act of shooting itself.
Yamamoto was not an expert on kyudo, but he had some familiarity with the art and enjoyed watching a skilled practitioner of the discipline.
The nearby target, the makiwara, was used for warmup. The main target, the mato, was twelve sun in diameter. The sun was a traditional measurement that equaled a hair over one inch. The target was exactly twenty-eight yards away.
Anami breathed in a measured, very deliberate series of inhaling and exhaling. His posture was straight but not rigid. Smoothly and elegantly he performed the hassetsu, the eight stages of shooting. First, feet one arrow length apart, toes in line with the target. Then shoulders, hips, and feet parallel to the ground and straight to the target, bow resting on left knee. Bow up, arrow nocked. Then came monomi, or looking at the target with half-closed eyes. This sent the archer’s spirit to the target. Anami would now neither blink nor move his eyes until after the shot.
He raised the bow over his head and drew until the string was well past his ear. A novice or clumsy kyudo archer could cause himself a great deal of pain if the string hit his ear or face upon release. Now he was at the moment of kai, in which the success or failure of the shot was determined. The release, hanare would merely confirm it.
In a way, Yamamoto thought, the idea of kai summarized how he felt about this war. The opening action had determined the inevitable result. Everything since had simply been hanare.
Anami held the bow at the moment of kai for a good slow count of six before moving to hanare. The arrow sped from the bow and the bow itself spun in Anami’s hand, the string stopping in front of his forearm in a perfect yugaeri. Yamamoto was impressed.
His haya shot having been completed, Anami repeated the process with the otoya arrow in a fluid motion, then performed yudaoshi, the lowering of the bow. Neither of these shots, Yamamoto noticed, hit the target.
Anami stood silent
ly for a minute in meditation, then handed his bow and the remaining arrows to the batman. He stripped off his glove and handed that over as well. Only then did he turn to Yamamoto.
“Good morning, Admiral.” The army minister bowed, the slight inclination of a peer to a peer. Yamamoto returned the bow with equal precision. “I’m afraid the last two shots didn’t go in.”
“Seisha seichu, General Anami. ‘Correct shooting is correct hitting,’ and your form was admirable.”
Anami smiled at the compliment. “You are too generous, Admiral. I am a poor amateur, a novice with little skill.”
“Not at all. I thought your hassetsu was elegant and smooth in every respect. And not every kyudo artist can finish with a yugaeri the way you did.”
“Luck, mere luck. You do me too much honor. And you must permit me to offer my congratulations on your elevation to the cabinet. The Emperor is fortunate to have such a devoted and talented officer in his innermost circle.”
The pleasant game of giving and refusing compliments would have continued, except that Anami’s aide returned, trailed by two enlisted men. One carried a lacquer tray on which a tea service rested. The other carried a small folding table. The aide bowed deeply to both men as the two enlisted men quickly and efficiently set up the tea service, including a small burner to keep the water hot.
“Shall we drink our tea in this lovely courtyard?” Yamamoto asked. “It seems a shame to be indoors on such a fine day, and I would be honored if you would drink tea with me.”
Anami looked at Yamamoto appraisingly, almost as if he were practicing monomi. Well, perhaps I am his target, the admiral thought. Or will be soon.
“Yes, it is a pleasant day,” the army minister replied. “But it is my honor to have the opportunity to drink tea with you. Let us walk, then, and I will show you this garden, small and limited though it is.” The aide and his men kept the two ministers in sight, staying far enough to be out of conversational earshot and close enough to provide more tea at a simple gesture from either man.
Again, the two men engaged in the ritual of compliments offered and rejected. The garden really was quite nice, Yamamoto thought, especially considering its position. A peaceful place to walk or sit could be a great asset to a military leader. He would have to see about the Imperial Navy doing something similar.
They sat together on a wooden bench on the narrow end of the park nearest the formal mato target. Most of Anami’s arrows were in the target. Only a few protruded from the ground. “Your kyudo is excellent, General,” Yamamoto said.
“Oh, it’s not very good at all,” protested Anami, pleased.
“I understand you also fence?”
“I make a poor and clumsy attempt at kendo, yes. It’s nothing. It distracts me from the cares of office, and that is a blessing.”
“So it is. You’re a wise man to think so deeply about how a man stays calm and centered no matter what the situation. I have much to learn from you.”
“No, my dear Admiral, quite the contrary. While I stand out in the early morning plunking arrows at targets, you are popular among the best-known geishas in Tokyo. Now that is a distraction from the cares of office. Perhaps you’ll teach me about that one day.”
Yamamoto laughed, but underneath he was concerned. While it was no particular secret that he frequently spent his free time in geisha houses, to have the army minister rattle off the fact so casually suggested the army was watching Yamamoto.
“Speaking of the cares of office, you must forgive me, my dear Admiral, for interjecting a note of business into this most pleasant conversation. It is always a delight to see you, and you are welcome at any time, of course, but may I ask if there was something specific that brought you here to watch my poor archery skills so early in the morning?”
“Of course, General. I, too, would prefer this moment stay fixed in time, but we have similar responsibilities. Yes, I did come here this morning with news. The American president died in his sleep. Prince Konoe was notified first, of course, and he directed that I be awakened to convey the news to the other members of the Supreme Council for the Direction of the War while he went to see the Emperor.”
There was no reaction. The general already had this news. However, he played his role in the appropriate way. “My heart is gladdened by the death of our enemy Roosevelt,” Anami said. “If only it had come much earlier.”
“Shikata ga nai,” Yamamoto said. It can’t be helped.
“You’ve lived in America, Admiral. Tell me, what does this mean? Is America stronger or weaker? Will it be divided while factions battle for control of the government? Is this good news for us?”
Yamamoto thought. “It’s hard to say. Americans are a strange people. Their assistant president will assume the office, and there will be no direct challenge to his right to reign.”
“So he’s somewhat like the Emperor?” Anami asked.
“Forgive my poor abilities. It is very difficult to explain such an alien system, and I’m not sure I understand it all myself. The president is both head of state and head of government, but he’s not elected by their diet, and they owe only a symbolic party loyalty to him. Governments don’t fall, even when it’s clear the legislature has turned against them, until the next four-year election.”
Anami shook his head. “But this means someone who’s lost the confidence of diet and people can remain for years as the head of the government! That’s insane, Yamamoto-san. How can any system like that function?”
“I must admit I’m not exactly sure. While I lived in the United States for several years, there were parts I never did learn to understand. But it does seem to work, insane though it surely is. Personally, I think the idea of combining the role of head of state with that of head of government in a single person leads to no end of mischief. Because the head of state stays above politics, he can unify the nation. But the head of government must involve himself in the issues of the day, and thus divide the nation. But then, they’re a young country. As they mature, perhaps their system of government will improve.”
“I’d like to see it fall apart, quite frankly, and the sooner the better,” Amani growled. “Any chance of that?”
“My guess is that it will not. The new president, who has an unpronounceable name, will at first be wholly subordinate to the men who surrounded Roosevelt, because it is through them he will have to work the levers of power. Because they are headless, they will not seek to change policy or direction in the immediate future, perhaps six months or so. But then the death of Roosevelt is not a big surprise. He has been failing for some time. American policy is now a cart moving on a well-rutted trail, stuck in its grooves.”
Anami grunted in acknowledgment. “Thank you for these wise insights, Admiral. It is always difficult to understand the Americans, and your crystal-clear understanding is an asset to the Supreme Council.”
“Oh, my insights about the Americans are nothing special, and I agree that they are a difficult people to understand.”
There was a pause while both men sipped tea and contemplated the garden.
“Was this the only reason for your visit, Admiral?” Anami inquired gently. “I’m afraid I have little to add to what already transpired at yesterday’s council meeting.”
The meeting of the Supreme Council for the Direction of the War had been unusually confrontational. Premier Konoe, who led the council, also led the faction that was willing to consider a negotiated peace. On his side were the foreign minister, Shigenori Togo, and the navy minister, Mitsumasa Yonai. Yamamoto was also part of Konoe’s alliance but was keeping careful neutrality in public to enable him to communicate with the other side.
Besides Anami, the war faction consisted of the army chief of staff, General Yoshijiro Umezu, a spit-and-polish career officer who would rather die than surrender no matter what the cost, and to Yamamoto’s private annoyance, the navy chief of staff, Admiral Soemu Toyoda, who had been promoted to the position with the understanding that he wou
ld follow the lead of his naval superiors. Instead, he was in full support of Umezu, the most militant member of the council. Worse, he was a powerful, elegant speaker.
Yamamoto sat for a moment, collecting his thoughts.
Anami said, “This wouldn’t, I’m sure, be a private attempt on your part to try to persuade me to accept the unacceptable.”
“No, Anami-san.” Yamamoto chuckled. “I know you too well for that.” He thought for another few seconds. “Could you tell me more about the idea of kai? I have only a rough and clumsy outsider’s understanding of the concept.” He spoke while keeping his attention fixed on the interestingly shaped large rock. It had a number of variably sized faces, small, flat surfaces connected by smooth, rounded angles.
Yamamoto felt Anami’s eyes on him, then he felt them looking forward, seeing the same garden view as he.
“Very well, Admiral,” Anami began. “Kai is the essence of kyudo. One prepares to shoot by moving the body into exact position in a smooth and natural manner, while staying focused on the target. Once that is done, every part of the outcome is now established, whether good or bad. Releasing the arrow releases the tension of both bow and body, but it changes nothing. Whether the arrow will hit or miss the target has already been settled.”
“Seeing the outcome is almost irrelevant, it would appear,” Yamamoto summarized.
“That’s correct. That part of the future has already happened.”
“But what if there happened to be a great delay between the moment of kai and the outcome? Weeks, or perhaps even months.”
Anami paused. Yamamoto could see that the general had figured out the trap.
“What, then, was your kai in this war?” Anami asked. He counterattacks, of course, like the smart warrior he is.
Yamamoto chuckled. “Your great intellect has found me out,” he said. “Yes, I did have a moment of kai. It was early. It was at Pearl Harbor. You know my intent, of course.”
MacArthur's War: A Novel of the Invasion of Japan Page 39
