Japanese soldier holding the head of a prisoner he has just killed in China.
CHAPTER 8 – OUTRAGE
09:36 (China Time)
Monday, August 1, 1932
Spanish consulate, International Settlement
Shanghai, China
Spanish Consul Jose Maria Marquéz looked up from the document he was reading when someone knocked lightly on the door of his office.
“Yes?’’
His secretary, a middle aged Spaniard woman who could speak Chinese, half opened the door at his call. The consul was struck at once by the grave expression on her face.
“I am sorry to disturb you like this, sir, but a Spanish journalist just came to the consulate with some dreadful news from the French Concession. He asked to urgently speak with you. Should I let him in?’’
“Of course, Miss Obrador! Send him in!’’
Marquéz got up from his chair and went around his desk to greet with a handshake the medium-sized man in his thirties who walked in.
“Good day to you, sir. I am Jose Maria Marquéz, Consul of Spain in Shanghai.’’
“And I am Rodrigo Dominguez, from the ABC newspaper. I am however afraid that this is not a good day…for many.’’
“Oh, what do you mean?’’
“To make it short, sir, I just came out of the French Concession, where I witnessed the Japanese troops there engaged in an orgy of killings.’’
Marquéz’ expression hardened at once on hearing that: this was unfortunately not the first time that the Japanese Army would engage in what would be considered in Europe as barbaric acts of mass killings.
“Are they killing Chinese inside the French Concession, Mister Dominguez?’’
“No! The Japanese are hunting down and killing every French person that they can find, be they men, women or children. I myself was nearly bayoneted by a Japanese soldier and I was only saved by my Spanish passport.’’
Marquéz nearly stepped back in horror on hearing that.
“How…how extensive is that killing?’’
“Japanese soldiers are on the prowl in the whole concession, from what I saw. They don’t even bother to carry away the bodies of their victims and I stumbled on more than one pile of dead European-looking persons. Another thing: many of the dead women and teenage girls I saw looked like they had been raped before being killed, while some of the men and boys had been decapitated.’’
Both shocked and stunned, Marquéz showed an easy chair to the journalist, then sat down heavily in another chair, his face ashen.
“Dear Mother Mary! Why would the Japanese commit such atrocities against the French?’’
“That is probably in retaliation for the massive bombardments made by the French against Japan three days ago, sir. The Japanese claim that over 200,000 Japanese citizens died in those bombardments. So, do you think that you could influence the local Japanese Army commanders into stopping those massacres, sir?’’
Marquéz slowly shook his head in response.
“They wouldn’t listen to me. In fact, the local Japanese Army commander is probably the one who issued the order to massacre the French occupants of the concession.’’
“Do you know by chance how many French citizens reside in Shanghai, sir?’’
“The latest figures I am aware of mention around 2,000 persons.’’ replied the Consul, closing his eyes in grief. However, the reaction of Dominguez to that number deeply shook him.
“Two thousands? But…just in the portion of the concession I traveled through, I saw at least 5,000 bodies, all European-looking. From the extent of the killing and shooting I saw and heard, there must be at least 10,000 people that are already dead around the French Concession.’’
“TEN THOUSANDS? But that would mean that the Japanese are not killing only French citizens.’’
“Because of the language barrier, the Japanese soldiers are probably killing anyone that looks French, sir.’’
Marquéz wobbled in his chair as the implications of this became clear to him.
“But, there are thousands of White Russians who had fled the Bolshevik Revolution and who sought refuge here in Shanghai in the past years. There are also thousands of other European and American citizens living in the French Concession. Are you sure about the number of dead you saw?’’
“Sir, my job as a journalist accustomed me to count rapidly the size of crowds at particular events. If anything, I may have underestimated the number of bodies I saw and I can certify that the huge majority of them looked European and not Chinese.’’
It took Marquéz nearly a minute to regain his composure after hearing those words. Getting up from his chair, he went back to his desk, where he grabbed the receiver of his telephone and started composing a number.
“Mister Dominguez, would you be ready to accompany me and my military attaché in an inspection tour of the French Concession?’’
“Are you mad, sir? That would be our death warrant!’’
“Maybe not: I am now going to call the British, American, Italian and Portuguese consuls to inform them of what you saw and to ask them to accompany us to the French Concession. It will probably be more difficult for a Japanese officer to attack a whole diplomatic convoy rather than a single car.’’
With Dominguez watching on anxiously, Marquéz spent a good half hour on the telephone, calling a number of other consulates around the International Settlement. That half hour however left him more disappointed and frustrated than hopeful. Putting down the receiver, he gave a disillusioned look at the ABC reporter.
“Out of the seven consulates I just called, only the American Consul-General accepted to go with me to the French Concession. He is going to bring with him the commander of the U.S. Marine unit based in Shanghai.’’
“Only one?’’ exclaimed Dominguez, shocked. “What about the British Consul-General?’’
“He was the first to refuse my request to accompany me, saying that the situation was too dangerous and unstable. Do you have a camera with you?’’
In response, Rodrigo patted the leather pouch he carried by a strap across his chest.
“I always have a still camera with me these days, sir. However, I didn’t dare using it while trying to leave the French Concession: a Japanese soldier seeing me taking photographs of the victims probably would have shot me on sight.’’
“A sensible precaution on your part, Mister Dominguez. With some luck, you may just be able to use your camera from my diplomatic car while we tour the French Concession. The American Consul-General promised to be here within thirty minutes. That will give me time to grab one of our local interpreters who speaks both Chinese and Japanese, along with my naval attaché.’’
As promised, a big black sedan flying the American flag showed up at the entrance of the Spanish consulate some twenty minutes later. Marquéz, closely followed by Dominguez and the consulate’s Japanese interpreter, Hiro, went first to speak to Consul-General Edwin Sheddan Cunningham, talking to him through his opened rear window.
“Thank you for accepting to come with me, Mister Cunningham. This is Mister Rodrigo Dominguez, the Madrid journalist who came to warn me about a massacre in progress inside the French Concession.’’
Cunningham first shook hands with the Spanish journalist, then looked up with concern at Marquéz.
“We have been hearing a lot of rifle shots coming from the French Concession since early this morning. We in fact can still hear shots right now. I am not sure that the Japanese will pay any regards to our diplomatic status once we are inside the French Concession. We may thus have to bluff our way through. If you don’t mind, I will take the lead: I am very good at bluffing and I also speak both Chinese and Japanese. At the worse, Major Huntsman, who is riding with me, will help reinforce my bluff.’’
Marquéz gave a quick look at the tough-looking Marine Corps senior officer wearing his Class ‘A’ uniform, then looked back at Cunningham, a nearly bald, 64 year old man. The American Consul-General was an old hand in China and had been serving in Shanghai for a good twelve years already.
“I was planning to make the French Municipal Council Building, on Avenue Joffre, our first destination, in case Japanese soldiers ask us where we are going.’’
“Sounds fine with me.’’ replied Cunningham. “If you don’t mind, I would like to go inspect afterwards the Shanghai American School, on Avenue Pétain. If you are ready, we can start rolling now.’’
“I am!’’ said Marquéz, who then went to his diplomatic car, in which his driver was already sitting behind the wheel. Both sedans soon were rolling towards the French Concession, situated south of the International Settlement.
At first, things went fairly well, with the few Japanese Army checkpoints they encountered inside the International Settlement letting them pass without much ado. However, that changed drastically as they entered the territory of the French Concession. They encountered a Japanese Army roadblock at the entrance of the Concession, where Cunningham needed a good minute of talking to convince the Japanese lieutenant in charge of the roadblock to let them pass. Behind the American consulate car, Marquéz blew air out in relief as they were finally allowed to roll inside the French Concession.
“Damn! Those Japanese soldiers looked mean as hell to me.’’
“They don’t only look mean, sir: they are!’’ replied Dominguez while eyeing something to their front left. Looking in that direction, Marquéz stiffened on seeing over a dozen bodies sprawled around the sidewalk. Some of those bodies were those of women and girls, something made evident by the fact that their skirts and panties had been pulled out of the way, leaving their groins exposed. Cold rage filled the Spanish diplomat as he understood that these women and girls must have been raped before being killed.
“You may start taking pictures, Mister Dominguez, but make it discrete. I will warn you if I see Japanese soldiers around.’’
Rendered nearly sick by the sight of the bodies, Marquéz watched their surroundings as Dominguez took a few pictures. However, the two cars, while slowing down for a moment, did not stop and they soon turned on Avenue Joffre, the main artery of the French Concession. There, proofs that a massacre had occurred became overwhelming, with bodies sprawled everywhere, some of them decapitated. All the bodies were apparently those of Europeans and many of the dead women and girls, some as young as nine or ten, showed signs of rape. At one point, Marquéz had to stick his head out of his window in order to throw up after seeing over twenty human heads, which had been impaled on top of the spikes of an iron park fence. He still had his head out when a dozen Japanese soldiers suddenly ran out of a building’s entrance and ran across the street, where they pointed their rifles and made the two diplomatic cars stop. His horror quickly turning to fear, Marquéz could only sit and watch in his car as a Japanese officer started a shouting match with Cunningham, who was sitting in his own car.
“For God’s sake, Mister Dominguez, hide this camera, NOW!’’ shouted the diplomat, near panic, as three Japanese soldiers approached his car with their long rifles pointed at him and with bayonets fixed to their weapons. Thankfully, the reporter acted quickly and discretely, hiding his camera behind his back and then sitting tight against the bench seat’s backrest. The first Japanese soldier to get to their car then shouted repeatedly one word while nearly touching Marquéz’ nose with the tip of his bayonet.
“PASSPORTS! PASSPORTS!’’
Moving slowly and deliberately, Marquéz took out his diplomatic passport and presented it to the soldier, who briefly examined it and that of Dominguez. When he looked at the Japanese passport presented by Hiro, the translator, the soldier calmed down noticeably and spoke with him for a few seconds before going to join his officer, leaving two soldiers near the Spanish diplomatic car. Hiro, his face quite pale and with cold sweat on his forehead, turned in his front passenger seat to speak to the consul.
“The sergeant went to see his officer, to know what he will decide about us. I however would be quite surprised if they let us continue further.’’
“Well, we now can only hope and pray, I suppose.’’
Hiro, one of the rare Japanese Catholics around, nodded his head at Marquéz’ pious wish. His prediction soon turned out to be accurate, with Cunningham’s car turning around before stopping side-by-side with Marquéz’ car. The American Consul-General then spoke to Marquéz through the opened windows of their cars.
“We have to turn around now: that Japanese lieutenant threatened to shoot us if we continued towards the Municipal Council Building. Follow me closely: we are going to check the Shanghai American School.’’
“We are with you!’’
Telling his driver to turn around as well and follow the American car, Marquéz kept his eyes wide open, scanning the streets and buildings around him as they rolled westward down a side street towards Avenue Pétain. Up to now, he had seen well over 3,000 European-looking bodies lying around, noticeably more than the known French population of the Concession. That could only mean one thing: the Japanese Army was presently engaged in an indiscriminate massacre of all the European-looking people they encountered inside the French Concession. Marquéz knew that the large majority of the Caucasian people living in the French Concession was actually not French. Most of them were in fact White Russians, who had fled the Soviet Union during the Bolshevik Revolution, while there were also many American, British, Dutch German, Italian, Portuguese and Spanish citizens living here. The reason why the Japanese would engage in such an indiscriminate act escaped him, but it was bound to have heavy consequences around the World.
The trip to the Shanghai American School, situated on the Avenue Pétain, was both tense and horrifying, with hundreds more bodies sprawled around and with many decapitated heads in evidence. Thankfully, the few bands of Japanese soldiers they saw were apparently too busy looting, raping and killing inside various buildings and houses of the sprawling French Concession to take notice of the two diplomatic cars. However, Marquéz’ heart sank when they arrived at the grounds of the Shanghai American School. Normally, at least two U.S. Marine soldiers stood guard at the entrance gate of the campus, along with a few French Concession policemen. Now, he could see none of those soldiers and policemen around the gate. The American consular car, still in the lead, stopped beside the guardhouse flanking the gate, where Major Huntsman got out of the car and entered the guardhouse. He was back out in seconds, his face grim.
“OUR MARINES WERE KILLED, ALONG WITH THE LOCAL POLICEMEN.’’
Huntsman then got back in his car, which drove off towards the nearest building of the campus. Stopping in front of that building, which was the administrative and faculty center of the school, the occupants of both cars, save the drivers, got out and nearly ran inside. What they found was dozens of bodies of men and women, some of them shot but most showing stab wounds from bayonets. As Edwin Cunningham was surveying the scene of carnage, Marquéz noticed something.
“Hey, I see the bodies of male staff, along with those of older female staff, but none of the younger secretaries are visible.’’
Cunningham swore loudly as he understood what that could imply.
“Those fucking barbarians! They may just have kidnapped those young secretaries to bring them to their barracks.’’
He didn’t have to finish his sentence, as Marquéz understood at once what those Japanese soldiers wanted to do to the school’s secretaries. Now truly worried about the fate of the students of the institution, the two consular teams left the administrative building to go inspect the other buildings of the campus. Their worst fears were realized when they found over 200 dead teenage boys inside the school’s gymnasium. Cunningham then understandably broke down and cried on contemplating that horrible sight. As a grim Major Huntsman did his best to console the old diplomat, Rodrigo Dominguez took multiple photos of the bodies piled inside the gymnasium. As for Marquéz, he was devastated to see that his earlier hunch was a correct one.
“Damn! Not one single girl in sight!’’
Major Huntsman, his expression grim, soon looked at the two Spaniards and at their Japanese translator.
“Let’s search the rest of the school. Maybe the girls were locked up in a separate building.’’
Marquéz was then tempted to say that Huntsman’s hope was a wishful one but stopped himself in time and followed the Marine major out of the gymnasium.
While working quickly, in case that some Japanese soldiers returned to the campus, the group of diplomats searched the other buildings of the campus but found only the bodies of male staff members and students, plus those of a few elderly women, but didn’t see a single student girl. That seemed to be too much then to Major Huntsman, who nearly collapsed in tears while mumbling.
“Kate… Please, God, tell me that she is safe.’’
Cunningham, still traumatized, managed to explain Huntsman’s reaction to Marquéz in a shaky voice.
“The Major has a fifteen year old daughter. Her name is Kate and she was studying at this school.’’
“Santa Maria!’’ exclaimed in a low voice Marquéz. “But why all this? Why are the Japanese killing indiscriminately all the foreign people in the French Concession? I may understand their anger at the French after these reported air bombardments on Japan three days ago, but this school is clearly marked as an American-owned and operated facility. Why would the Japanese risk becoming at war with the United States?’’
“I…I frankly don’t know. It just doesn’t make any sense.’’
“Uh, if I may, sir.’’ Said timidly Hiro, who had stayed mostly back up to now. “I may have an answer to your question.’’
That earned him at once four pairs of hard eyes. Marquéz however kept his reply neutral: he knew Hiro as being a gentle, timid and sensitive young man whose interests in life were poetry and classical music.
“Go ahead, Hiro.’’
“Well, sir, I know a young Japanese Army officer whom I have befriended during the last few weeks. Basically, we have the same tastes in music. To keep things short, he told me yesterday that his commanders in Shanghai and in the rest of China have been unable to get directives or orders from Japan since the French bombings of three days ago. Apparently, those bombings completely wiped out the Japanese Army High Command in Tokyo, along with many military and industrial facilities around the rest of the country. As a result, the Japanese Army commanders in China have decided to act on their own and not wait for directives from Tokyo before launching retaliatory actions against the French in China. My friend said that his division commander was telling his officers that, to make sure that no French person could escape by using a false passport, all non-Chinese persons inside the French Concession should be equally targeted when the time to act came.’’
“But, why didn’t the Japanese commanders in China ask for directives from the Japanese government, if their High Command was wiped out?’’ Protested Huntsman, who had regained some of his composure. Hiro shook his head slowly while making a pinched half-smile.
“Things don’t work like that in Japan, Major. The Japanese government doesn’t control the Japanese Army: it is actually the other way around. Please remember that Prime Minister Inukai was assassinated last May by young navy officers, an act that was actually verbally supported by the Japanese Army.’’
Marquéz nodded his head at Hiro’s explanation, which made sense in its own crazy way. As for Cunningham, he got angry on hearing the young Japanese man’s words.
“I don’t care what twisted logic those damn Japanese officers used to justify their actions of today: this is still an atrocity and an act of war against the United States!’’
“Then, I suggest that we leave now and return to our respective consulates to spread the word about these atrocities, before some Japanese soldiers could return here. If we get killed now, then nobody will be able to alert the rest of the World about this.’’
While still angry, Cunningham saw the wisdom in Marquéz’ suggestion.
“You are unfortunately right about that, Mister Marquéz. Major, you will put all your Marines on full combat alert as soon as we are back at the consulate. Let’s go!’’
10:48 (Washington Time)
Tuesday, August 2, 1932
The Oval Office, The White House
Washington, D.C.
U.S.A.
President Herbert Hoover picked up yet another newspaper from the pile on his desk and opened it to scan the titles of the articles in the first pages. As with the other newspapers he had checked to date, the titles expressed outrage at the horrible massacre of American citizens committed in Shanghai. More importantly for him, those newspapers all asked the same question: what was he going to do to avenge these atrocities and punish the Japanese? As an American citizen, Hoover was as outraged about this as the average American but, as the President, he had to face a few unpleasant realities that seemed to escape most of the newspapers’ editors and columnists. His secretary then stuck her head through the door connecting her office with the Oval Office.
“Mister President, the Secretaries of War, State and Navy are here, along with the Chief of Naval Operations and the Army Chief of Staff.’’
“Let them in, please, Miss Fairbairn.’’
Putting down the newspaper he had been reading, Hoover got up from the presidential chair to go greet his visitors with handshakes, then pointed to them the few chairs and sofas assembled around a low coffee table in one corner.
“Thank you for coming on such short notice, gentlemen. I am afraid that we have much to talk about and many hard decisions to take.’’
Himself taking place in an easy chair at the head of the coffee table, Hoover waited for his visitors to be seated before starting to speak to them in a somber tone.
“Gentlemen, you must have understood that I called you in so that we could discuss the tragic events of yesterday in Shanghai. As you probably know already, the nation is screaming for revenge against Japan. However, I believe that our most urgent priority right now is to safeguard the lives of the Americans still in Shanghai and in other Chinese cities occupied by the Japanese. Secretary Stimson, have you received more information from our consulate in Shanghai?’’
The tall, thin and mustachioed Secretary of State slowly nodded once his head at that.
“The State Department has in fact received five supplemental reports from our consulates in Shanghai, Nanking and Beijing during the night, with the most recent one received from Shanghai only three hours ago, Mister President. Our consulates in Shanghai, Canton, Nanking and Beijing are now surrounded and besieged by Japanese troops, with our China Marines detachments the only thing preventing their storming…for the moment. Unfortunately, our Marines are heavily outnumbered and their reserves of ammunition are limited, while they do not possess heavy weapons save for a few machine guns, contrary to the Japanese, who can bring in artillery guns. Our consuls report that other Western consulates and embassies around them are also under Japanese siege. However, the Japanese are presently holding their positions.’’
“What about the girls kidnapped from the American School in Shanghai?’’ asked General Douglas MacArthur, the Army Chief of Staff. “Does our consul there knows where they could be?’’
Stimson lowered his head in both sadness and cold anger before answering MacArthur.
“There…there was some information about those girls in the last message received from our Shanghai consulate. The bodies of many teenage Caucasian girls, most of them naked and showing stab wounds, have started to float ashore along the banks of the Whangpoo River during the night. Chinese fishermen and local inhabitants found those bodies and informed our consulate of this by telephone but, due to the Japanese troops besieging our consulate in Shanghai, our staff there was unable to go verify those reports and identify those girls. We must assume that at least a few and possibly all of those American girls are now dead, murdered by Japanese soldiers after being raped by them.’’
Hoover had to close his eyes then, overwhelmed by horror, while MacArthur angrily slammed his fist on the coffee table.
“Those barbarian bastards! We must make them pay for this!’’
“And we will, gentlemen!’’ replied Hoover, firming up his voice. “We are here this morning precisely to decide how to do that. First, I need to know what our present military capabilities allow us to do. Admiral Pratt, our navy will obviously be at the forefront of any intervention by us around China and Japan. What could we do with our present fleet?’’
The white-haired and mustachioed old navy officer sitting next to General MacArthur on a sofa took a couple of seconds to think over his answer while taking out a file from his leather briefcase.
“Well, if you would have asked the same question two weeks ago, my answer to you would be: not much. The Japanese Navy was then a very potent force, with its major warships equipped with radar and with planes superior to ours in both numbers and performances. However, the huge naval battle that took place around Formosa has essentially gutted the Japanese Navy. The French Naval Attaché in Washington passed to us four days ago a