“You really loved each other,” Keiko said.
He nodded. “We never had children, but we were very happy.”
After we walked out of the nursing home, I noticed Keiko dabbing at her eyes with a tissue.
“I’m frustrated,” she said. “Grandfather made sure everyone else was happy, then went off and died himself. How is that possible? It’s just not fair.”
“It’s not like he was the only one. Three million people died in the war. Or just counting the men in uniform, two million and three hundred thousand. Grandfather was just one of millions.”
Keiko fell silent. She didn’t utter a word during the entire taxi ride.
We got out at the train station. As we were heading towards the platform, she suddenly snapped, “You said before that Grandfather was just one in 2.3 million war dead. But to Grandma, he was her dear husband. And he was Mom’s father, her only one.”
“And just as he was Grandma’s one and only husband at the time, all the other 2.3 million who died meant everything to those they left behind.”
Keiko gave me a surprised look.
“You might laugh at me for saying this, but right now I’m feeling the sorrow of all those people who died in the war.”
Keiko nodded gravely. “I’m not laughing.”
We were silent on the bullet train.
Keiko seemed to be lost in thought, and I pondered on our conversation with Tanigawa. When I closed my eyes, I felt like I could see my grandfather. But it was hazy, like a mirage, and I wasn’t able to capture a clear image of him.
Sometime after passing New Osaka Station, my sister broke her silence. “Listening to people who fought in the war, it makes me feel the rank and file were really treated like they were expendable.”
I nodded.
She continued, “They figured they’d always have a fresh supply of men if they just sent out draft notices. Apparently, officers used to tell soldiers that horses were more valuable than them. That they were ‘penny postcards’ that were easily replaceable.”
“Penny postcards?”
“The postage on a draft notice was a penny back then. So to the higher-ups, Army soldiers, Navy sailors, and pilots were worth just a penny each. And they could afford to buy as many as they wanted.”
“And yet the recruits all fought bravely for the sake of their country.”
My sister nodded ruefully. After another stretch of silence she said, “Can I discuss something with you?”
“Sure.”
“I’ve been doing all sorts of research about the war, and there’s something I’ve realized as a result.”
“What’s that?”
“The timidity of the admiral class.”
“Wasn’t the Imperial military always pushing it though?”
“It wasn’t that they were pushing it. So many of the operations were just foolhardy and suicidal. From Guadalcanal to New Guinea to the Battle of the Philippine Sea to the Battle of Leyte Gulf—it’s all the same. The famous Battle of Imphal in India, too. What we mustn’t forget, on the other hand, is that Imperial General HQ and the General Staff who hatched those operations could rest easy knowing there was absolutely no risk to their own lives.”
“So the higher-ups could come up with all sorts of rash plans if all they were going to lose were rank-and-file soldiers.”
“Exactly. But when they were commanding on the front and faced the possibility of their own deaths, they became extremely timid. Even when they were winning, they feared counterattacks and were quick to retreat.”
“I see.”
“I don’t know whether it should be called timidity, or caution, but take the attack on Pearl Harbor. The field officers urged a third wave of attacks, but Fleet Commander Nagumo chose to turn tail as fast as he could. At the battle of the Coral Sea, after sinking the USS Lexington, Fleet Commander Inoue pulled back the landing troops that were sent to invade Port Moresby, despite the fact that that operation had been in support of the landing. And during the first battle of the Solomon Seas in the early stages of the Guadalcanal Campaign, Fleet Commander Mikawa withdrew after defeating the enemy fleet, choosing not to pursue the American transport convoy even though the original goal of the operation was its destruction. Had they taken the opportunity to sink the transport ships, they might have prevented the later calamity on Guadalcanal. Halsey supposedly said that there were quite a number of battles where he’d have been done in if the Japanese forces had given just one more push. The foremost example of that is Kurita Fleet reversing course in the Battle of Leyte Gulf, like we just heard.”
I was stunned to hear such a detailed analysis of the war from Keiko. She must have read a ton of books, I thought.
“So why were there so many weak-willed men in the military?” I asked.
“I’m sure it comes down to each person’s character, but in the Navy’s case, I think too many admirals were like that. So maybe there was a structural issue.”
“What do you mean?”
“The admirals were the elite. The most gifted officers, graduates of the Naval Academy, were further handpicked for the Naval War College, which future admirals attended. These were the elite among the elite, so to speak. This is just my personal opinion, but I think their timidity was a result of their elite status. I can’t help but feel they were constantly thinking about their own careers.”
“Their careers? In the middle of a war?”
“I might be reading too much into it, but there are just too many instances. Researching individual battles, I feel that they prioritized not making any major mistake instead of focusing on destroying the enemy. Remember what Izaki-san said, for example. In the assessment for awarding medals to fleet commanders, sinking a warship earned the most points, while destroying dry docks, oil reserve tanks, and transport convoys didn’t amount to much. So they always put off such targets.”
“But that doesn’t mean they were only thinking of their careers.”
“Well, sure, I could be overthinking it. But these elites who entered the Naval Academy in their mid-teens, who fought their way through fierce competition, who went on to live the cutthroat competition of the small world called the Imperial Navy—is it so unnatural to think that they were saturated from head to toe with the desire to climb the ranks? That drive must have been especially strong among the admiral class, the very best students… During the Pacific War, all the fleet commanders were over fifty, and actually, the Navy hadn’t engaged in naval battles for nearly forty years, not since the Russo-Japanese war. In other words, since joining the Navy and until the Pacific War began, they didn’t experience actual combat and spent their lives competing for promotions within the Navy.”
Wow, I thought. While I was surprised by Keiko’s unexpected breadth and depth of knowledge, what was even more impressive was her keen insight.
“When I researched what the Navy was like back then, I realized something,” she continued. “Your promotion order in the Imperial Navy was basically determined by your Naval Academy standing, which they called the ‘hammock number.’”
“So your ranking at graduation essentially decided the rest of your career.”
“Right. The best test-takers are the ones who got ahead. Just like with bureaucrats today. So long as you avoid any major mistakes, you continue to get promoted. This might be going too far, but I think star students who excel at written exams might be great at playing by the book, but fragile in situations that aren’t covered by it. Also, they don’t imagine they could be wrong.”