Wounded Tiger

Chapter 118
September 2, 1945, 9:00 a.m. Tokyo.

The battleship USS Missouri rested proudly in Tokyo Bay surrounded by five other battleships and nearly 200 American warships of every kind. U.S. Navy carrier planes flew overhead in formation—powerful imagery to the world of total victory. A resourceful photographer positioned his launch to snap a picture of the bow of the Missouri arching high over the iconic Mount Fuji in the distance, exactly what every American delighted to see on the front page of their newspapers.

On board, hundreds of sailors in khaki or white, Marines, journalists, and photographers from around the world cascaded over gun turrets and railings, and filled every conceivable place to sit, stand, climb, or perch for this once-in-a-lifetime historic event. Packed beside Japanese and American reporters on an upper deck, Fuchida looked down on the admirals, generals, colonels, and marshals representing the Allied Powers and standing in a tightly packed group on the area below referred to as the “surrender deck.”

Earlier that morning, Fuchida arranged for a boat to transport the official Japanese delegation to the ceremony, but the Americans provided a destroyer instead. He and a party of liaison officers came separately shortly after 7:30 a.m. at the same time the many international correspondents and cameramen boarded.

Just before 9:00 a.m., the Japanese delegation—comprised of eleven men representing the Imperial General Staff, the civil government of Japan, the Imperial Army, and the Imperial Navy—soberly formed three rows before a table bearing two huge, open books: the formal Japanese Instrument of Surrender.

The sun began to break through the overcast skies when General Douglas MacArthur, supreme commander of the Allied Powers, approached the microphone stand. The eyes of all were riveted on his well-known image.

In the previous four years, Fuchida had experienced excitement, frustration, anger, pride, joy, disgust, fear, despair, sadness, and a thousand other emotions, yet now felt strangely detached as he observed this almost mystical event.

MacArthur began in slow, deliberate words that echoed from the ship’s speakers across the water: “As I look back on the long, tortuous trail from those grim days of Bataan and Corregidor, when an entire world lived in fear, when democracy was on the defensive everywhere when modern civilization trembled in the balance, I thank a merciful God that He has given us the faith, the courage, and the power from which to mold victory.”

Fuchida was surprised, as he was expecting triumphant arrogance from the general. He could have bragged of America’s power and victory, but he didn’t.

“We have known the bitterness of defeat and the exultation of triumph,” MacArthur said, “and from both we have learned there can be no turning back. We must go forward to preserve in peace what we have won in war.” He looked up momentarily from his written speech at the concerned eyes of the military leaders.

“Men since the beginning of time have sought peace. Various methods through the ages have attempted to devise an international process to prevent or settle disputes between nations, but military alliances, balances of power, and leagues of nations have all failed, leaving the only path to be by way of the crucible of war. We have had our last chance. If we do not now devise some greater and more equitable system, Armageddon will be at our door.”

Unconsciously, Fuchida nodded in agreement.

“The problem, basically, is spiritual and therefore requires a spiritual renewal and improvement of human character that will harmonize with our almost matchless advance in science, art, literature, and all the material and cultural developments of the past two thousand years. It must be of the spirit if we are to save the flesh. Let us pray that peace be now restored to the world and that God will preserve it always.”

Fuchida looked down at his feet, stunned. He was entirely unprepared to hear such humble words from the victorious supreme commander of the Allied Forces. He knew if the Japanese had won, they would never have spoken to the Americans with such magnanimity. He moved to get a better view of MacArthur.

“It is my earnest hope,” the general slowly said into the microphone, “and indeed the hope of all mankind, that from this solemn occasion, a better world shall emerge out of the blood and carnage of the past—a world dedicated to the dignity of man and the fulfillment of his most cherished wish for freedom, tolerance, and justice.”

Justice? Fuchida wondered as the formal signing began. Whose justice? To him, it wasn’t justice that had prevailed; it was simply superior power that had prevailed. The emperor spoke of “everlasting peace,” and now General MacArthur spoke of “peace” that God would preserve. He didn’t buy it. Peace wasn’t coming. More trouble was coming. It was the nature of the world. It was the nature of man himself. He was convinced—there would never be peace.

…

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