An Inoffensive Rearmament (8 page)

Our military weakness was especially transparent in Tōkyō. On June 19, I attended a military review held on the Imperial Palace Plaza in honor of Secretary of Defense Johnson. A special reviewing platform had been constructed for the secretary, military staff, and distinguished guests. I don't believe I have ever witnessed such a galaxy of stars as flashed on that day in the Tōkyō sun. In the place of honor was Mr. Johnson and next to him was General MacArthur, with General Bradley, chairman of the Joint Chiefs.

The Tōkyō newspapers called the affair a “gigantic military review.” They must have been referring to the squads of generals on the reviewing stand. Personally, I was shocked by the stark reality of our military weakness in the Far East. For it was obvious that the GHQ had scraped the bottom of the military barrel from the environs of Tōkyō to assemble a conglomeration of 12,000 “troopers” from the Army, Navy, Marines, Air Force, and WACs, or Women's Army Corp. It was a pathetic picture, sadly demonstrating the depth to which our military position in the Far East had degenerated. If Johnson, as a civilian secretary, could not recognize our inadequacy on that day, surely General MacArthur and General Bradley, both distinguished soldiers, knew that we were playing world power politics with inadequate military capabilities.

Socially, the review was a huge success. American ladies sitting in the stands on the left of the secretary's platform sighed with deep emotion as they admired the elegance of General MacArthur. And he looked magnificent, head high, chin up, blanketing a huge shadow over Secretary Johnson, General Bradley, and the lesser generals who crowded the reviewing stand.

It is doubtful, however, that the “gigantic military review” impressed the Russians. If they could have been as blinded by our military elegance as were our ladies and national leaders, everyone would have been much better off. But on the eve of the Korean aggression, we had been fooling ourselves so long and so effectively that we believed our own propaganda. The dollar had become so much
of a symbol of power in the United States that we believed it could buy anything in the world, even the defeat of international communism. Glibly, we talked of loans and military aid to Taiwan, Korea, and Japan. At the same time at home, we were cutting our own military forces. Like the Romans, we were going to buy mercenaries to fight for us, or so we thought.

In June 1950, the newspapers were proclaiming that in the forthcoming meeting with Secretary Johnson and General Bradley, General MacArthur would unfold his program for securing Japan, Taiwan, South Korea, and all of Southeast Asia. According to the press, MacArthur's plan was a great bargain. He had found a way for the whole of Southeast Asia to be “bolstered by US aid at low cost.” The American public and the free world were also pleased to learn, one week before the communists' attack, that MacArthur was reassuring his distinguished visitors in Tōkyō that “South Korea is being effectively buttressed against Communist assault and subversion by American support of the Syngman Rhee regime.”

Everything was rosy. No one questioned reality. Our great public figures guaranteed our security. It was a small wonder then that only a few days before the communists marched into South Korea, peacemaker Dulles should glare defiantly across the 38th parallel, while Chairman Bradley should relax in the Tōkyō Army Exchange Store examining a fishing pole.

To all outward appearances, by the middle of June, our “total diplomacy” in Japan had been a resounding success. The Communist Party had been decapitated. Russians had been driven out of the country. And a decision had been made to sign a unilateral peace treaty with the Western Allies. We had been tough, and the Soviet position in the Far East had been sorely rocked. Yet the situation was loaded with danger because our hard line rested on a pathetically soft military capability. Although no one seemed to be concerned, reaction from the communist world was inevitable and only a question of time. The counterattack in Korea caught us unbalanced and unprepared. It will be the same every time we act from our emotions rather than reason and when our commitments are beyond our military capability.

CHAPTER THREE

BASIC PLAN

At the time the Korean tragedy exploded upon the world, I had completed two and a half years' duty in Japan, serving in various military government assignments throughout the country. Two months before the communist attack, I had come to Tōkyō as executive officer to Major General Whitfield P. Shepard, then chief of the Civil Affairs Section, at General MacArthur's headquarters. It was a pleasant assignment, especially desirable as my wife and two children were comfortably located in a Western-style Japanese house on the outskirts of beautiful Meiji Park, a fifteen-minute drive from the office.

By early July, however, as the first understrength battalions of the 24th Infantry Division were flown from southern Japan onto the Korean Peninsula, the tempo at the Dai Ichi Building, MacArthur's GHQ in Tōkyō, reached fever pitch. The war struck hard and furiously. Each day more and more of my friends disappeared from their usual jobs, without a word of good-bye. A few days later, I would read about them in the official reports, making history in Korea, or filling a space on the casualty list.

The Korean War caught MacArthur's headquarters completely by surprise. A makeshift staff, known as Republic of Korea (ROK) Headquarters, was hurriedly thrown together at the Dai Ichi Building to direct the war against the communists. Officers for this small command headquarters came from various sections in GHQ. Many continued to work in their primary assignments, running the war
on a part-time basis in addition to their other duties. It was fortunate that this stopgap arrangement continued only for a few weeks because for some of the officers the dual responsibilities became a nightmare.

General Shepard, my boss during this hectic period, became deputy chief of staff of ROK Headquarters and worked round the clock. He was on the job sixteen hours a day, seven days a week, without the benefit of time-and-a-half pay. Meanwhile, General MacArthur was making headlines in all the newspapers. His majestic, “We go!” as he climbed on board his plane and set out for Korea bordered on comic opera except for the tragic seriousness that gripped those of us who wondered how many would have to follow.

Conferences at the Big House, as the Dai Ichi Building was called, were practically continuous, with General Shepard assuming a more and more secretive role. This was unusually disconcerting as he habitually discussed his problems with me.

On July 9, the telephone rang and when I answered, Major General W. A. Biedelinder, the G-1 (Personnel) GHQ, wanted to talk to Shepard. I buzzed the general and in accordance with our operating procedure remained on the phone listening.

“Say, Shep,” General Biedelinder began, “we want your exec [executive officer] to command a regiment in Korea. Will you make him available?”

I could hardly believe my ears. Command a regiment in Korea! I had been hoping for such an assignment for days. There was a long silence, so characteristic of a Shepard reaction, and then he finally answered, “I'll be over to talk with you in a little while.”

I hung up the phone and waited. I knew that General Shepard was aware that I had been listening, but he hardly stirred in his office; the place remained quiet as a tomb. After fifteen minutes of this cat-and-mouse game, I could stand the suspense no longer. I walked into his office and said, “General, I want to go to Korea.”

No answer.

“General,” I began again. “I don't want to seem ungrateful, but this is my chance to command a regiment.”

He cocked his head to one side, as was his habit, then, fixing me with a cold gray stare, he said, “You're not going. I need you here.”

His reaction made no sense to me. Anyone could do my job, but to command a regiment—that was a job for a soldier. But my arguments were as effective as
ramming one's head against a concrete wall. I have never worked for a more stubborn man. Finally, as he got up to leave, he gave me slight hope. “I will talk to you after I see Biedelinder.”

In about an hour, he returned from his talk with G-1, and as he walked past my desk, he motioned for me to follow him into his office. “Close the door and sit down,” he ordered.

I obeyed, my pulse beating wildly. As I sat down in a chair facing him, the general clasped his hands and with great seriousness began. “Frank, I know how much you want to command a regiment, but you are not going to Korea. I cannot let you go because you and I have a big job to do here in Japan. I have been designated by General MacArthur to organize the National Police Reserve [NPR], a Japanese security force of 75,000 men with four divisions. This is the beginning of the Japanese army. You are going to be my chief of staff, so forget Korea.”

While my head wheeled as I tried to assimilate the implications of what General Shepard had just said, he reached into his briefcase and pulled out a top secret document. “This,” he said, handing the document over to me, “is the Basic Plan. I want you to read it over and over until you know every sentence by heart.”

Then, while I thumbed through the Basic Plan that was to be the bible for the new Japanese military force, General Shepard continued, “The situation not only in Korea but here in Japan is serious. Our four divisions now stationed on these islands are all going to Korea. In a few weeks, except for the Air Force and a few Army Service troops, there will be no Americans left in Japan. We have a job to organize and train four Japanese divisions to take the place of the Americans. As you know,” he went on, “there are a quarter of a million American dependents, women, and children in Japan.”

I don't know rightly what I answered. My whole attention was concentrated on the Basic Plan, and I began to read hurriedly, trying impatiently to grasp the whole picture. When I finished reading, there were a million questions racing through my mind. As I looked up, General Shepard smiled and asked, “And now, what do you think?”

“This is tremendous, General,” I answered. Then, realizing the honor that my boss had extended by selecting me as his chief of staff, I mumbled inadequately, “General, I'm honored with the assignment.”

As quitting time approached that afternoon, there was consternation and confusion in the Civil Affairs Section, to which I belonged. We had our first top
secret paper to secure overnight, and we had no adequate safe for the purpose. I consulted my assistant, Lieutenant Colonel Wellington Glover, but when I showed him the “Top Secret” label on the Basic Plan his eyes popped. His assistance at that moment consisted of helping me to worry, which he did sympathetically. Finally, our administrative officer, Chief Warrant Officer John W. A. O'Brien, a calm, solid soldier, came to our rescue, suggesting we deposit the document in the security room of the chief of staff at the Dai Ichi Building. Relieved by this suggestion, Colonel Glover and I strapped pistols on and, viewing everyone we passed with suspicious stares, walked hurriedly the several blocks to the Dai Ichi with the Basic Plan securely locked in a briefcase, and the briefcase in my left hand, closely watched by my assistant.

At the Dai Ichi, I handed the document to the security sergeant, who glanced at it with such a complete lack of reverence that I hesitated to leave it in his care.

“Oh, it's the Basic Plan,” he said disdainfully.

“Yes,” I answered, almost adding, “shh, not so loud.”

As we left the Dai Ichi, Colonel Glover finally gathered sufficient courage to ask, “Say, Boss, what's in that paper anyway?”