An Inoffensive Rearmament (18 page)

Always the general would call me in and ask, “What are you and that dumb administration officer trying to do to the coffee
sukoshis
?” I would shake my head hopelessly, mumble something, and go out. On occasion, if the administration officer was successful in the footrace to the front office and got to me in time, I could run in and explain to General Shepard the administration officer's side of the story before the coffee
sukoshis
arrived in tandem at his door. On these fortunate occasions, the general would listen as usual to the girls' complaints, but at least the harassed administration officer and I would win a moral victory over the
sukoshis.
Every time I saved face for the administration officer, I earned the wrath of the coffee
sukoshis.
After these pyrrhic victories, it usually cost me several bars of candy before I found my coffee good enough to drink.

In addition to being an excellent cover for organizing the NPR, the Civil Affairs Section Annex was well suited to assist in the initial development of the Japanese military force. Besides our headquarters in Tōkyō, there were eight civil affairs regional headquarters located in the key geographical subdivisions of Japan. The staffs at these regional headquarters were not large, but all the military and civilian personnel had had considerable experience working with local Japanese officials and community leaders. The regions knew their areas, were in direct communication with our office, and maintained close liaison with all Japanese institutions and activities under their surveillance. Most important, at a time when every officer and person that could be spared went to Korea, civil affairs was a going concern in Japan. In July, August, and September, while our troops departed Japan and fought in Korea, the civil affairs regions located camps for the NPR, processed supplies and weapons, and organized the first raw Japanese recruits who reported into their regions. The military and civilians of those field organizations performed magnificently and deserved the lion's share of credit for helping to secure our military bases in Japan while our divisions struggled to retain a toehold on the Korean peninsula.

CASA's overriding mission in those hectic early days was to put a Japanese military force in the field immediately to take the place of the American divisions that had gone or were on the way to Korea. Our plan called for recruiting, inducting, and deploying in camps 75,000 recruits in a period of two months. Since we wanted maximum distribution of the force, this meant that in that period we had to locate and prepare for occupation about fifty camp facilities. Fortunately, we were able to house about 40,000 of the 75,000 troops in camps previously occupied by American forces. The remainder of the units had to be located in various factories, schools, workers' dormitories, and any facility that had some kind of roof. We pushed the Japanese contractors unmercifully to prepare these camps for our first inductees.

As I was responsible for the final approval of the camp facilities, my office was always crowded with Japanese governors, mayors, and lesser politicians promoting their particular locations. Even months after the entire force had been established in its camps, the politicians continued to visit me to give glowing reports on the facilities they had available for camps in their areas.

On the day after President Truman relieved General MacArthur from his command (April 11, 1951), three Japanese governors came in to pay their customary courtesy call. While we exchanged greetings and drank coffee, I thought it would be interesting to see what the Japanese thought of General MacArthur's departure. So I asked, “What do you think, gentlemen, of what President Truman did to General MacArthur?”

“Ahh!” responded one of the governors. “Truman-san does not beat around the bush.” I am sure his was the most poignant evaluation of the MacArthur affair.

A second governor, evidently deeply concerned about “face” for Japan, said with real disappointment in his voice: “General MacArthur has five stars. General Ridgway only three.” At the time General Matthew B. Ridgway replaced General MacArthur, Ridgway was a lieutenant general, whereas MacArthur, of course, was a five-star commander.

While we rushed frantically all over Japan searching for camps, initial directives went out through Japanese rural police channels to recruit the men. To our great relief, 400,000 Japanese volunteered for the force of 75,000. There would be no problem recruiting people. But who would command this mob when it assembled in the various camps, and who was going to train them? Even as the recruits began to report to the rural police induction centers, there were only a handful of Japanese officials at the desks in the director's civilian office, and the top Japanese to wear a uniform had not yet been selected.

As the time approached for opening, our first camps were faced with two impossible obstacles: the lack of American personnel and the total inexperience of the Japanese staff. With Korea crying for American personnel, GHQ had absolutely no one to give us. On the Japanese side, with purgees eliminated from the force there was no one with any military experience in the NPR Headquarters, and no one in the field to command a camp. This was a bootstrap operation in every sense of the expression.

Americans, accordingly, had to assume command of the NPR at the national level and at the camp level in the field. At the national level, CASA became a Japanese headquarters. At the camp level, we decided to assign one American officer, preferably a major, to each one thousand Japanese inductees and a maximum of two to each camp. Most of the NPR camps were staffed by one American officer and two enlisted personnel. These Americans brought their Japanese inductees into camp, housed them, fed them, organized them into battalions,
selected leaders from among the recruits, and gave them their initial training as soldiers.

To paraphrase from the past, “Never have so few controlled and trained so many.” I shall never forget the hectic experience we had with the initial one thousand inductees we moved into an abandoned American camp. I had been frantically calling GHQ for a week begging for an American officer to command our first Japanese camp. Even on the day the recruits for this camp were being processed by the National Rural Police at their induction centers (a two-day affair), we had no American to assign to command them. I was seriously considering sending my deputy, Lieutenant Colonel Glover, when an American major stuck his head into my office. He wore the cross rifles of an infantryman. My hopes soared. “Who are you?” I asked, my excitement growing.

“Major Kenneth Stevens,” he answered, saluting. “I was told at GHQ to report to Colonel Kowalski.”

“You're in the right place,” I rejoiced to myself. “Sit down, Major Stevens, I'm Colonel Kowalski.”

“Is this where I get lined up for Korea?” he asked hopefully.

“No, Major,” I answered. “Here you get lined up for the NPR.”

“What's that?” he asked with a frightened look.

“Relax, Major, you'll find out soon,” I offered. After verifying his assignment with GHQ, I beamed with pleasure at the realization that my prayer had been answered with a real, live, and somewhat sleepy infantry major.

I learned from Major Stevens that he had just arrived by plane from the West Coast. He said he had been on the move for about three days. He was exhausted. He had been told in the United States that he was going to Korea and now he wanted to know if there was anything he could do to get out of the NPR assignment. I did a superb sales job on him, if I say so myself, and as I began to unfold a small part of the plan for the new Japanese force, his eyes grew in excitement. I knew I had him.

“Now, Major Stevens,” I continued. “You are going to take over one of the most challenging and exciting jobs you have ever had in the Army. You are going to be daddy to a new Japanese military force. You will organize, house, administer, equip, and train a Japanese infantry battalion, the first in the new Japanese army. And you're going to do that without letting a single Japanese know that they are anything but part of a police force.

“The Japanese National Rural Police, that's like our state police, are assembling your new recruits at five of their police stations, in two-hundred-man groups. They are coming to your camp tomorrow, one thousand of them. They have no officers and no noncommissioned officers. You will get no Japanese officers or noncoms. They are raw recruits. If you are lucky some of the inductees may have been noncommissioned officers in the Imperial forces. They have no weapons and no equipment. When they arrive, they will not even have their mess kits, but they will be damn hungry and you better find some rice to feed them. The first thing you will have to do is set up some kind of organization to move them about. Select and appoint your own leaders. Get what help you can from the rural police, and God help you.

“By the way, Major Stevens, have you ever been to Japan before?” I asked.

“No, Colonel,” he smiled. “I have never seen a live Japanese until I got off the plane this morning.”

“Well, OK then, you have no problems,” I said, smiling.

“Your camp is here.” I pointed on the map. “It's about a ten-hour train ride. Sergeant Ratcliff, my assistant, has shipped one thousand beds, mattresses, and pillows to your camp. They should be there tomorrow about the same time your men arrive. We are also shipping you a thousand carbines. Two American noncoms will report to you tomorrow. You're practically a plutocrat,” I laughed. “Now, as soon as you house them and feed them, I want you to organize them into an infantry battalion. Colonel Albergotti, our G-3, will give you a table of organization. Most important, Major Stevens,” I emphasized, looking at him severely, “as soon as you receive your carbines, I want you to teach those men how to shoot. I mean load and shoot in a hurry. You can watch them hit something at a later time when you have time to do that. Right now teach them how to load and shoot. Do you understand?” I asked for further emphasis.

“Yes, sir,” he answered.

“Colonel Albergotti, our G-3,” I continued to instruct him, “will call the civil affairs officer in the area. He will meet your train and will be instructed to help you in every way possible. I will call the Japanese governor of the prefecture in which your camp is located. He will also meet you at the train. He's a fine fellow and will take good care of you.”

“And now, Major Stevens,” I said, looking at him sharply again, “never forget what I am going to tell you now. You will be the only one in your camp, the only one in your area for that matter, who will know that you are organizing an infantry
battalion. Others, of course, will suspect it, but only you will know. As far as the Japanese are concerned, and that applies to all Japanese, the governor, the police, and the NPR, you are organizing a police reserve. The constitution of Japan prohibits an army. You will not call the men soldiers, and you will not call the officers by any military rank. If you ever see a tank, it isn't a tank, it's a special vehicle. You can call a truck a truck. Do you get what I'm saying?” I finally stopped.

“Yes, sir,” he answered.

“A lot of luck to you, Major. You will need it. Call me direct anytime.” I stuck out my hand and shook his warmly, congratulating myself that our first camp was on the way.

“Sergeant Ratcliff,” I added, “will arrange your train transportation and will take you up to Colonel Albergotti.”

When Sergeant Ratcliff took over, I couldn't resist calling out after Major Stevens, “Get moving, Major, your train leaves in two hours.”

Major Stevens did a splendid job. Most of the other Americans who followed him took over their respective camps with little more orientation than I was able to give him. Everyone sensed the urgency of the situation and appreciated the historical significance of the occasion and their own involvement, and they did their best.

As we struggled with the recruiting program and plans for the reception and training of the new force, word must have gone out through logistical channels to give us immediate support. Suddenly one day CASA was shipped 75,000 U.S. M-1 carbines and a like number of U.S. Marine combat boots for distribution to our Japanese volunteers. We experienced no difficulty in fitting the wiry Japanese troopers to the carbines, but it was a considerable problem to fit the Marine combat boots to the small feet of our Japanese defenders. Undaunted, our new allies proceeded to cut down the boots to the feet of their new owners as unconcerned as an American soldier might be in altering his trousers. Whoever thought of sending us the combat boots was a genius, for footwear for the new soldiers was every bit as important as weapons. Many of the inductees that summer came sans shoes or in sneakers.

During the months that the inductees were being processed and moved into camps, all planning and operational tasks had to be performed by Americans. For all practical purposes, the NPR became our creation and our creature. There was only a minimal Japanese staff assembled at headquarters, and the Japanese officials who were initially selected for the new army had little or no military experience.
We were fortunate that the prime minister had assigned some fine executives of the National Rural Police to help the new force get started. These men performed Herculean tasks, but they thought and functioned naturally in terms of their police experiences.

I don't suppose there was ever an army organized quite in the manner we organized the NPR, and certainly there was never an American advisory group that functioned as we did in Tōkyō. In the United States, in the building up for World War II in Europe and Asia, we expanded our force by the cadre method. We would withdraw from a trained or semitrained organization a cadre of officers and men, 10 or 15 percent of the unit. This cadre then became the skeleton upon which we built and trained a new unit similar to the parent organization from which we took the cadre. The expansion was accomplished simply by bringing in recruits from civilian life. In Japan, we had no cadres. We had no headquarters, no cooks, mechanics, or supply personnel. We brought in raw civilian recruits, formed them into companies, and then gradually integrated the companies into battalions. It was a “do-it-yourself” job, with inductees organizing themselves. Six months later, we began to organize regimental and division headquarters. General Headquarters evolved as Japanese officers became available.