One Man's Justice (8 page)

Takuya heard that day that eight prisoners had been executed by headquarters staff who had been relocated to the caves near Yamae village. Apparently the executions had been carried out in the woods near the municipal crematorium at Higashi-Abura-Yama, to the south of Fukuoka. Among the staff were a number of officers from the Nakano ‘School' of subterfuge, who were readying themselves to infiltrate enemy lines once the Americans landed. Evidently these men had used the blindfolded prisoners as targets to test the effectiveness of Taiwanese Takasago hunting-bows provided by a local archery club, but with such poor results that the idea of using them as
weapons was abandoned. After the abortive experiment, the prisoners were taken one by one into a small clearing deeper in the forest, where they were beheaded. The bodies were then wrapped in straw mats and buried in shallow graves.

Distracted by the thought of the devastation inflicted upon Nagasaki, and frantically busy processing data and issuing air-raid warnings and all-clear signals following the attacks by a combined force of approximately three hundred bombers and fighters on targets all over Kyushu that day, Takuya registered what had happened to the American prisoners, but had no time to ponder their fate.

The following day, the tenth of August, another combined force of about two hundred and ten bombers and fighters darkened the skies of Kyushu, pummelling Kumamoto and Oita cities with incendiaries. In the course of two hours on the morning of the eleventh, over a hundred and fifty aircraft wreaked havoc on the city of Kurume, destroying four thousand five hundred homes. There was no respite from the raids; around two hundred planes attacked Kyushu on the twelfth, followed by another hundred and fifty B-29s on the fourteenth. Massive quantities of bombs were dropped on Kyushu, and there were even reports of large numbers of schoolchildren being killed in relentless strafing by American fighter planes.

By now, the urban centres in Kyushu had been reduced to ashes, the munitions factories all but destroyed, and food supplies diminished to such an extent that those living in the vicinity of the main cities and towns were on the verge of starvation. The destruction of most port facilities, the dropping of large numbers of mines into the sea and the
lurking menace of enemy submarines made maritime transport virtually impossible, and since late July the frequent sorties by US fighters over southern Kyushu had virtually ruled out rail transport during daylight hours.

On the evening of the fourteenth of August Takuya heard from a colleague some news which he could hardly believe. Evidently the man had been told by an officer attached to the headquarters staff in the caves at Yamae that there were indications that some central government officials were prepared to accept the unconditional terms of the Potsdam Declaration, and that at noon of the following day, the fifteenth, the Emperor would be making a radio announcement of momentous importance. Apparently the broadcast would either ratify the acceptance of the Declaration or reject it, the likelihood of the former being very strong.

Surely this couldn't be true? The deployment of reinforcements, the preparation of weaponry and the strengthening of defences around anticipated landing-points in Kyushu had just been completed. Military installations and munitions factories might have been destroyed and cities razed, but there were still enough forces to repel the Americans. The decisive struggle was yet to come. Before its outcome was clear, it should be unthinkable even to consider surrendering.

This supposedly reliable information from government sources in Tokyo surely represented nothing more than the view of a small group of weak-kneed politicians, thought Takuya. Those people should be exterminated immediately for harbouring such treasonous thoughts on the eve of the decisive battle for the homeland.

He felt flustered as he attended to his duties. When he heard the seemingly interminable reports of American bombers and fighters attacking targets across the entire country, he couldn't help but think that this talk of surrender must be only a groundless rumour. Enemy aircraft were just as active that day as any other day, with some two hundred and fifty Superfortresses attacking targets in the Kanto, Fukushima and Niigata areas for several hours before midnight on the fourteenth. Within hours of those raids, a force of around two hundred and fifty carrier-borne aircraft made yet another wave of strikes on the Kanto area in the two hours after sunrise. Surely, thought Takuya, if the suggestion that the purpose of the Emperor's impending radio broadcast was to accept the Potsdam Declaration carried any credence, this would have already been conveyed to the Allies, who would in turn have ordered the American military to cease hostilities. The fact that as many as five hundred aircraft bombed and strafed targets all over the country from the night of the fourteenth into the early hours of the morning of the fifteenth was indeed proof that the war between the United States and Japan was continuing unabated.

After regaining his composure, Takuya slept for a few hours before returning to his post at 8 a.m. The weather forecast was for clear skies and high temperatures, so more large-scale air raids were expected in the course of the day.

As noon approached Takuya ordered his staff to assemble in the operations room. The men stood rigidly to attention in two neat rows. As he waited for the broadcast he thought that the Emperor could only be taking this unprecedented
step to deliver words of inspiration to his people before the curtain went up on the final decisive battle for the homeland.

The hands of the clock reached noon, and after a recording of the national anthem the Emperor's announcement began. It was delivered in a strange, high-pitched voice, reminding Takuya of the prayers he'd heard recited by Shinto priests. Takuya and his comrades stood stiffly at attention, their heads bowed. The sound quality of the radio in the tactical operations centre was excellent, and the transmission of the Imperial rescript was heard clearly by all present.

Takuya listened intently to every word and lifted his head in disbelief on hearing the words ‘We have ordered Our Government to communicate to the Governments of the United States, Great Britain, China and the Soviet Union that Our Empire accepts the provisions of their Joint Declaration.' The ‘joint declaration' was obviously the Potsdam Declaration, acceptance of which meant nothing less than unconditional surrender.

Takuya felt suffocated. He couldn't believe this was happening. He had known that the war would some day come to an end, but he had always thought Japan would be the victor. Beyond a doubt, the current fortunes of war clearly favoured the enemy, and it might take months, even years, before the tide could be turned and victory claimed. By this stage, in his mind, the victory he had envisaged had been deferred to the distant future, which Takuya felt less and less confident he himself would see. In any case, it was unthinkable that the war should end in defeat. And
to concede defeat in this fashion, before the decisive battle for the homeland, was even more inconceivable.

When the broadcast was finished Takuya felt faint, and he had to concentrate in order to prevent his knees buckling. The Emperor's words echoed in his head, leaving no room for other thoughts.

Takuya's men all stared at him, the bewilderment on their faces revealing that they had failed to comprehend the broadcast. Some even seemed buoyed by the Emperor's words, having interpreted the message as a veiled exhortation to redouble their efforts on the eve of the final struggle. Clearly the men were confused by the absence of the word ‘defeat', and did not realise that Japan was about to surrender to the Allies.

Takuya turned toward the men, and in an emphatic tone said, ‘It's all over. We've lost.' His strength draining from him, he shuffled back behind his desk and slumped into his chair.

The men remained as they were, staring at Takuya in disbelief. Moments later, muffled sobs could be heard from among the ranks. Propping his elbows on the desk, Takuya fixed his eyes firmly on the knots in its surface.

Eventually the men started to move silently back to their own desks.

Takuya wondered what would happen after the surrender. American warships would probably put US troops ashore all over Japan, and enemy aircraft would swarm on to surviving airfields, delivering loads of soldiers and weapons. No doubt the victors would waste little time in menacing the populace into submission as they went on to occupy all
of Japan. Physically sound males would be forcibly relocated to work somewhere as labourers, and young women would most likely become the object of the victors' sexual desire. Those who resisted, he thought, would be thrown into prison or shot.

As if time had stopped, Takuya remained immobilised in his chair, a look of physical and mental exhaustion on his face.

The door opened and Colonel Tahara came in. When one of the men called the room to attention, Takuya stood up and bowed to his superior.

The colonel walked up to Takuya. ‘You heard His Majesty's speech. We've had direct word from High Command that the Emperor has agreed to accept the Potsdam Declaration. Orders are to burn all documents at once,' he said hurriedly before disappearing out of the door.

Takuya turned to the men and barked out the order. ‘Burn every document in the building. Now go to it!'

That defeat could become reality with such frightening ease dumbfounded Takuya. His notion of defeat had involved all branches of the Japanese Imperial forces choosing death before dishonour, and his own death had been a certainty in that scenario. Now he realised that there was nothing left for him to do. By this point, High Command would have already conveyed the news about the ceasefire to the air defence spotters and the electronic aircraft-detection posts, so there would be no more incoming reports to process, no more data to assess, no more air-raid alerts to issue. His duties had come to an end.

Unable to watch his men piling documents into boxes,
Takuya left his desk and stepped out of the room. The corridor was busy with stern-faced men carrying armfuls of paper to and fro. Takuya walked down the hall and out through the steel doors at the rear of the building.

The sunlight was so brilliant that for a moment he felt dizzy. The trees, ground and stones all seemed to be parched white. He was overcome by a sense that the air was seething, engulfing him in myriad tiny air bubbles. He squinted as he fought the dizziness. In the rear courtyard, the soldiers had already started a bonfire and were burning piles of the documents that had been carried out through the back door. The fire was burning fiercely, the flames flickering like red cellophane in the midday sun.

From the rear entrance to the building, among the soldiers carrying bundles of paper, appeared the lieutenant from the legal affairs section, walking straight towards Takuya. His pursed lips were dry and his eyes glistened. Stopping in front of Takuya, he explained that the request he was about to make was an order from the major at High Command.

‘The prisoners are to be executed. You are to provide two sergeant-majors to help. If we don't deal with the last of them before the enemy lands, they'll talk about what happened to the others. There are seventeen left. It's to be done straight away. People from headquarters staff up near Yamae village are waiting.'

Takuya understood that, to those at headquarters, the prisoners' execution was as important now as the burning of all the documents. They had already been sentenced to
death, and the fact that hostilities had ceased had no bearing whatsoever on their execution.

Although his duties collecting data and issuing air-raid alerts had finished, Takuya once again sensed that his destiny was linked to that of the captured airmen. He had followed their actions for days and months on end, had busied himself to the very last collecting data about the aircraft that dropped the atomic bomb on Nagasaki, and had himself issued the air-raid alert and the order to evacuate the city. Takuya had been in a position to know the full extent of the damage caused by the bombing and strafing attacks carried out by these men. So far his duties had assigned him a passive role, but that was all over now, and the time had come, he thought, actively to show his mettle. Only then would his duties be finished.

At the time of the previous two executions, Takuya's responsibilities as officer in charge of the tactical operations centre had kept him at his post, but the Emperor's broadcast released him from all duties. I want to participate in the executions, he thought. Taking the life of one of the prisoners with his own hands would be his final duty. The lieutenant had said that the executions would be carried out in order to dispose of remaining evidence, but for Takuya it was something personal, something he had to do as the officer in charge of air defence intelligence.

‘Count me in, too,' said Takuya.

The lieutenant nodded. ‘We'll be leaving soon,' he said, then he hastened back into the building.

Takuya followed him through the steel doors and hurried down the corridor to the air defence operations room, where
he called out to one of the two sergeant-majors. He was removing documents from a filing-cabinet, but came quickly over to Takuya when his name was called. His expression did not change in the slightest when he was told that he was to take part in the executions. A firm ‘Yes, sir' was all he said.

Takuya ordered the second sergeant-major to continue burning the documents. Putting on his service cap, he walked out of the room followed by the first one.

The prisoners, blindfolded with black cloth and their hands tied together with twine, were being loaded into the backs of two lorries outside. Takuya couldn't help being struck again by the physical size of the men in front of him.

A sergeant and a couple of lance-corporals jumped up after them and pulled down the canvas cover. The lorries moved off slowly past the bonfire and down the gentle slope.

Takuya and the sergeant-major stood under a cherry tree watching the hive of activity in the courtyard. Soldiers holding bundles of documents hurried out to throw the papers on to the fire, then scurried inside for more. The air was dead calm and there was no sound except the snapping of the fire.