Page 55 of Daikon
THIRTY-ONE
THE CALL ROUSED COLONEL SAGARA from a restless doze at five o’clock in the morning. It was Captain Onda at Tama Airfield on the other end of the line.
“We’ve searched everywhere,” Onda was saying. “As soon as it was discovered they weren’t in their room. I’m afraid they’ve deserted.”
“Fucking dogs!” Sagara shouted. “I want them arrested!”
“Yes, Colonel. The Kempeitai have already been alerted.”
“I want them shot !”
“Yes, Colonel. But I don’t think this should affect our mission. Lieutenant Otani can move back when we’re on our final approach and operate the switch.”
“Of course it doesn’t affect the mission. You said the fuel is good, didn’t you?”
“The fuel is excellent,” said Onda. “And the aircraft is ready.”
“All right. So the operation goes ahead as planned. Be prepared to take off!”
Sagara slammed down the receiver and threw himself back in his chair, a high-pitched whine sounding in his ears. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, trying to dispel it.
The past sixteen hours had seen things take a dire turn, with the Supreme War Council meeting through the afternoon and the cabinet in the evening.
The deadlock remained, but there was a palpable sense that the Badoglios, those favoring surrender, were gaining momentum.
By nightfall, a premonition of defeat had begun to permeate through the War Ministry hallways, clerks scuttling down the stairs with armloads of documents to burn in the courtyard.
Colonel Sagara had had several confrontations about it but was forced to give up and retreat to his office.
The crumbling discipline was more than he could contain.
He took a sleeping pill some time after midnight and lay down to rest.
The whining was maddening. Sagara stuck his fingers in his ears and agitated them up and down, without effect.
He hoisted himself to his feet and stumped into the hall. His clerk was not on duty. All was quiet. For a few brief hours, the Ministry of War was asleep.
He continued around the corner to look out a window of the conference room on the far side of the building, monitoring the situation in the northwest. The night sky there was glowing orange, as if the sun that was about to rise had shifted to the wrong side of the horizon.
But it wasn’t the sun. It was a city ablaze.
The Americans had attacked Kumagaya and it was being consumed in an inferno.
There were rumors that another atomic bomb had been dropped, but the colonel knew that this wasn’t true.
The B-29s, estimated to number around one hundred, were not Special Task Planes.
They had all used V500 call signs. That meant they were from Guam.
The whine in Sagara’s ears grew louder. He stuck his fingers in his ears and palpitated them, more violently this time. The ceaseless tone was maddening. He tried striking his ears with his open palms. It did no good.
A flutter in his chest, the whine rising to a scream. Then tightness gripped his heart, giving it such an agonizing squeeze that his legs turned to jelly and he fell to the floor.
He lay there in the dark, taking shallow breaths, the room roaring and spinning around him.
Slowly the pain subsided and the room settled. He became aware that his left arm was numb. And his tongue—it had turned into a lump of dead flesh in his mouth.
He gave himself another few minutes, staring up at the ceiling painted ocher by the fires devouring Kumagaya. Then, very carefully, he got to his knees.
“You don’t look well, Sagara-chūsa.”
It was Colonel Takeshita, entering Sagara’s office at seven o’clock in the morning.
Sagara was lying on his cot, a physical wreck, an intravenous needle stuck in his arm.
On the inside, however, he was feeling much better.
The bottle attached to the needle, now almost empty, contained an alarmingly potent dose of the “vitamin shot” that he had bullied from the medic.
This, coupled with the Philopon tablets he had taken, had had a wonderfully reviving effect on his brain.
“I’m quite all right,” he said, slurring his words. He swung his legs off the cot, placed his feet on the floor, took a grip on the side table, and cautiously stood up. “There. You see? Now, I hope you have good news. Because if the…”
He paused, choosing his words carefully to refer to the planned coup d’état.
“Because if the action doesn’t go ahead now, then there really is no point. I think you’ve all waited too long already.”
“It has to be today,” said Takeshita, looking strained.
“We’ve just heard that a special conference has been called at the Imperial Palace.
The Supreme War Council, the full cabinet, top military leaders, and government officials—all of them together in the Emperor’s presence.
Prime Minister Suzuki has planned a move, I think.
I fear War Minister Anami will have a difficult time holding firm. ”
Sagara stroked the numb side of his face. This was bad. The last time such an extraordinary meeting took place in the Emperor’s presence had been on December 1, 1941, to confirm the plan to attack Pearl Harbor and declare war on the United States.
He removed the needle from his arm. He moved to his desk, holding on to a chair en route, and sat down. His left leg and left arm were working. Somewhat.
“And I’m afraid that’s not all,” continued Takeshita.
He reached into his pocket and extracted a sealed letter.
“The War Minister has rescinded his order for the attack on Tinian Island. He says it cannot proceed, that the situation is too delicate now. He told me to place this in your hands and ensure that you understand it.”
Sagara took the letter and stared at it for a moment.
He opened it and took his time digesting the hastily written words. War Minister Anami was countermanding his order to attack… Tinian Island.
“Do you understand the War Minister’s order?” asked Takeshita.
Sagara folded the letter, returned it to its envelope, and set it on the desk.
“The War Minister asked me to get your clear confirmation,” pressed Takeshita. “Do you understand his order that I have just placed in your hands?”
Sagara took a deep breath, inflating his meager chest, and let it out.
“War Minister Anami has rescinded his order to attack Tinian Island,” he affirmed. “The War Minister has ordered me not to proceed with the attack on Tinian Island. I understand.”
Takeshita nodded with relief. “Good. Good. I’ll let the General know.”
Sagara rose from his desk after Takeshita left and made his way to the window. He used the cane that the medic had provided and which he at first had angrily cast away.
He froze, catching sight of himself in the mirror over the sink. His face was gaunt, his eyes sunk into their sockets. And his hair—when had it turned gray?
He continued to the window and looked out at the devastated city, aware that he was now in a similar state.
He rubbed his left arm. It had minimal feeling.
He wiped the spittle collecting at the side of his mouth, which he could no longer fully control.
And the ringing in his ears… his body was falling to pieces. Why? What did it mean?
He contemplated this for a time, going over the events of the previous two weeks.
There was no doubt that destiny had been guiding his actions.
But what if the physical toll on his body was also part of a higher plan?
What if the chains binding his flesh to his spirit had been weakened on purpose to prepare him for death?
He imagined sacrificing himself in the coup d’état that would be launched within hours. He could hunt down Prime Minister Suzuki, either at his residence or when he arrived at the Imperial Palace, and shoot him in the head. The image gave him pleasure. But it did not feel right.
And then he remembered the burning city. When the pain seized him and he collapsed two hours before, he had been watching Kumagaya aflame. He had “died” watching a burning city. His death linked to conflagration.
His eyes suddenly grew wide. He understood. He was destined to die…
On the plane.
He returned to his desk and called Tama Airfield. He waited as Captain Onda was summoned.
Was that all? He was meant to occupy Keizo Kan’s seat, to take the place of a deserter, a traitor? Was that the culmination of his destiny, merely to operate the switch?
No, there had to be something more.
It would reveal itself.
“Onda-tai-i,” he said when his aide came on the line. “Hold your departure. I’ve decided to accompany you.”
The colonel ignored the regulation concerning the conservation of fuel and rejected the indignity of a motorcycle sidecar. He took a staff car the forty kilometers to Tama Airfield. There would be no repercussions. He would not be coming back.
The Renzan bomber was sitting in front of the hangar, a fuel cart beside it, pumping gasoline into the outboard tanks.
The car pulled up beside it and the driver helped Sagara out.
Captain Onda jogged over from the hangar to greet him, followed by Captain Yoshino and Lieutenants Otani and Kamibeppu.
Their faces clouded as they drew near and saw the colonel’s condition.
“Sagara-chūsa,” Onda exclaimed.
“I’m all right,” said the colonel, speaking slowly and carefully. It was not easy using his tongue.
He surveyed the Renzan parked in the morning light. The small squares of metal where the bullet holes had been repaired were now painted, restoring the bomber to perfect blackness. If the high-altitude air currents were as predicted, they would fly into night and reach the target at dawn.
The men were gathering around. Sagara turned to face them, looking from one to the next, reading their determination, their dedication, their courage. These were truly the best of Japan. He could not wish for better. The thought stirred a wave of emotion that made his eyes glisten.
He mastered it and removed the letter from his pocket, War Minister Anami’s letter countermanding the order to attack Tinian Island.
“I have just received this from General Anami,” he said, holding the envelope up. He cast a knowing look around at the group. The right side of his mouth rose in a ghastly lopsided leer. “We have been ordered to proceed with the attack on San Francisco.”
The crew was nodding, enthusiasm rising.
Sagara tucked the letter back into his pocket. “Onda-tai-i,” he said. “Are we ready to go?”
“Just another few minutes to finish the fueling,” Onda replied.
“Excuse me, Sagara-chūsa,” said flight engineer Otani. “But we’ve been hearing rumors from Tokyo.” He glanced at navigator Kamibeppu. “It’s had some of us concerned.”
“You don’t need to worry about that,” Sagara said.
“Everything is in hand, I can assure you. There have been plans in place for some time to deal with the Badoglio clique, and loyal forces in the Army are about to take action. By this time tomorrow, the Suzuki government will have been swept aside and General Anami will be in charge. It will be a one-two punch, our attack on the enemy on the far side of the ocean, a harder blow even than was struck at Pearl Harbor, and the establishment of a military government here at home. By this time tomorrow, Anami will be premier and Japan will be on the right path!”
The crew broke out in a cheer, slapping one another on the back.
The fuel cart was disconnected and wheeled to the opposite wing.