Page 17 of Daikon

His father wasn’t angry about the broken camera.

He was beyond being able to use it and in any event no longer had the energy to be angry.

He just lay there in his bed on the tatami when Shingen returned home with his dirty pack and new stitches.

He just lay there, quiet, in his room, surrendering to the tuberculosis, making no effort to fight it, making no effort to survive.

The colonel wearily pushed the memory aside, feeling the last of his own energy draining away.

What he needed was a proper rest, but rest for him had become elusive.

He had tried again the previous evening, returning to his billet in Ochanomizu, taking a bath and sipping a warmed bottle of sake before lying down for what he had hoped would be an uninterrupted six hours of oblivion.

But sleep didn’t come. He just lay there, exhausted, with disjointed images cascading through his brain, like a malarial fever without the sweat and the tremors.

It had finally driven him to get up and get dressed and return to the Ministry well before dawn.

He tried to concentrate, but it was no good. Nothing more could be accomplished in this mental stupor. He had to rouse himself. He had to be sharp.

He opened the drawer of his desk and resorted yet again to the tiny green bottle.

Philopon was printed in red katakana characters across the label, and methamphetamine small on the side.

He had begun taking the tablets in the previous year, finding them a miracle for boosting his energy and focus in these increasingly difficult times.

He also found them to have a certain aphrodisiac effect that was not unwelcome.

But it had come at a price, the lasting disruption of sleep.

And without sleep, he was needing Philopon tablets more and more.

“Yes, what is it? I’m busy!”

Colonel Sagara looked up as the door opened following the soft knock. His stern look switched to a smile and he rose to his feet.

“Oh, pardon me, Takeshita-chūsa. I thought it was my clerk. Come in, come in.”

The visitor was Lieutenant Colonel Masahiko Takeshita, head of the Domestic Affairs Section in the Military Affairs Bureau, one floor down, opposite side of the building.

They were only acquaintances, not friends, but Sagara was nevertheless glad to see him.

Takeshita was excellently situated to know the latest happenings with the Supreme War Council and the Suzuki cabinet.

His brother-in-law and confidant, General Korechika Anami, was the Minister of War.

Takeshita took a seat and accepted the cigarette Colonel Sagara offered. The two men settled back and smoked in silence for a moment.

“I understand there was some trouble down the hall,” Takeshita began. “You had to reprimand one of the officers, I believe.”

“Haga.” Sagara snorted his disgust, expelling smoke through his nostrils.

Takeshita nodded his approval. “That was entirely proper.”

A slight smile lifted the corner of Sagara’s mouth at the memory of Haga’s alarm. There was a moment there where he really could have shot the man in the head.

“I was only doing my duty,” he said.

Another moment of silence. A meaningful pause. Takeshita was arriving at the point of his visit.

“Sagara-chūsa,” he said, “the situation with the government is critical, as you know. General Anami is holding fast on the Supreme War Council, but this movement behind the scenes—I think we need to question Prime Minister Suzuki’s sincerity about continuing the war. Don’t you think?”

“I completely agree,” said Sagara. “Suzuki is a fox. The man can’t be trusted.”

“This Potsdam Declaration has the politicians losing their heads,” said Takeshita. “They’re showing their Badoglio spirit. We’re at the point now where even a small shift in the balance…” He left the sentence unfinished as he leaned forward to the ashtray to flick his cigarette.

Badoglio . Since the surprise capitulation by Italian premier Pietro Badoglio in September 1943, following Mussolini’s ouster, the name had become a pejorative in Japan’s Imperial Army, spat at those suspected of cravenly seeking surrender.

“It’s regrettable,” continued Takeshita, “but I think we’ll soon reach a point where action will have to be taken. To prevent a wrong move.”

Sagara regarded his visitor’s face. “Are you referring to some sort of… change of course in leadership?” He did not use the term that initially formed on his lips: coup d’état.

“If it comes to that, yes.” Takeshita drew in a final lungful of smoke and ground his cigarette out in the ashtray.

“That’s why I’ve come to you, to gauge your feelings.

There are twelve of us now, mostly in the Military Affairs Bureau, and we’re drafting a plan.

An influential body on the outside has already been formed, the sort of patriotic civilians we’ll need. ”

Sagara stubbed out his own cigarette. He set the butt in the ashtray parallel to Takeshita’s.

“Takeshita-chūsa,” he said, “accepting the Potsdam terms for surrender would be the greatest catastrophe ever to befall the nation. The spirit of Japan would not survive. And so of course I’ll do whatever needs to be done to prevent it.”

Colonel Takeshita nodded his approval. “I was hoping that would be your feeling. Now, here is how we’re thinking we should proceed.”

It took only a few minutes for Takeshita to outline the broad strokes of the planned coup. With the support of a handful of key Army commanders, seizing the capital and isolating the Imperial Palace would not be very hard.

“And what about General Anami?” said Sagara, asking the obvious question. “Has any of this been presented to him? What are his feelings?”

“We need to be careful about involving the General too early,” replied Takeshita. “We must consider his position. But I can assure you that when the time comes, there is good reason to believe that the General could be talked into accepting the premiership. For now, that’s all I can say.”

General Anami at the helm. That would be perfect.

Sagara could think of no man better to lead a military government after Suzuki and the Badoglios were swept out of the way.

Anami was beyond all doubt courageous, a rock cliff standing immobile against the thundering waves.

Anami in charge would ensure the spiritual victory that must come in the end and greatly improve the prospects for a real victory, the physical victory that Sagara believed could still be achieved.

It was excellent news. And for Takeshita, General Anami’s brother-in-law, to drop by at this very moment—surely that was providential.

This was the man.

“Pardon me, Colonel,” said Sagara as Takeshita was rising to leave. “But there’s something I feel I must tell you. If you could spare just a few more minutes of your time.”

Takeshita resumed his seat.

Sagara retrieved the initial Hikari cable from the pile on his desk: Possible new-type bomb recovered from B-29 crash site…

He handed it to Colonel Takeshita and began to explain.