Teiji Nakamura, the Chief of Maritime Staff

Abstract

This chapter focuses on Admiral Teiji Nakamura, who along with Admiral Uchida from Chap. 2, Auer named his adopted son after. Like Uchida, Nakamura played a central role in the Japan Maritime Self-Defense Force (JMSDF) and became chief of maritime staff—a job he did not seek yet discharged well. The chapter describes the career of the distinguished and disciplined admiral, who also studied at the US Naval War College, and how he valued the importance of the (as yet) underdeveloped JMSDF. Being introverted and humble, he is hard to describe offhand, but the author explores his character and his values by describing three naval officers Nakamura himself admired: Commander Kiyoshi Kikkawa (his wartime commanding officer), Admiral Katsunoshin Yamanashi (who gave him a vision for the JMSDF’s future) and, lastly, Admiral Arleigh Burke (who supported the establishment of the JMSDF and promoted bilateral naval friendships).

Teiji and Teiichirō

In the mid-1970s, when James Auer was serving as the executive officer on the guided-missile destroyer USS Parsons homeported in Yokosuka, he met his future wife, Judy, who was teaching at the American school at Fleet Activities Yokosuka, and he married her in 1976. As they had no children of their own, they adopted three children in the 1980s. The eldest, Teiichirō, born in 1983, is Japanese. The second, Helen, born in 1984, is Korean. The third, John Ed, born in 1985, is Caucasian. A few years ago, when I visited Auer at the family’s house in the suburb of Nashville, the children were still in elementary school. They were running around, playing cheerfully in the large yard. From time to time, there were sibling quarrels. “Mom! Mom!” one of them appealed to their mother. “John Ed pushed me! (or some such complaint)” Growing up freely, wrapped in their parents’ love, they were no different from other American siblings.

But even a child notices the difference in the color of their skin. Once, John Ed asked Auer, “Dad, am I going to be Korean when I reach Helen’s age, and Japanese when I reach Tei’s age?” Teiichirō, whose nickname is Tei, has been aware from an early age that his roots are in Japan. When the Japan Maritime Self-Defense Force (JMSDF) minesweepers were dispatched to the Persian Gulf after the Gulf War, Tei prayed every night before going to bed, at Auer’s suggestion. “Dear God, please protect the JMSDF officers and sailors who were sent to the Gulf. I hope everyone can return to Japan safely. Amen.” For a while, Tei was crazy about plastic IJN aircraft models. Every time his father made an official trip to Japan, Tei begged him to bring back models like the Mitsubishi A6M Zero, the Mitsubishi J2M Raiden, the Mitsubishi G4M (Isshiki Rikukō), and the Kawanishi H8K (Nishiki Daitei). When Auer called home from Japan, Tei would persistently ask whether Auer had bought the model he had asked for and when he was coming back with it.

As mentioned before, Teiichirō was named after two JMSDF leaders whom Auer deeply respected, namely Teiji Nakamura and Kazuomi Uchida, taking a character from each of their given names. The two admirals attended Teiichirō’s baptismal service at Sophia University in Japan when the Auers officially adopted him. For Tei, the two admirals are like his grandfathers in Japan.

In June 1994, when he was 11, Tei visited Japan with Auer for the first time since his birth. A special Tan-Tan Kai meeting was held to welcome the father and son; Tei met the two admirals, who had last seen him at his baptism. Prompted by his father, Tei timidly went up to Uchida and Nakamura and exchanged words with them. Tei knew that Uchida had been on board the battleship HIJMS Yamato—something Auer had probably told him in advance—and that Nakamura had sunk an enemy ship by firing torpedoes.¹ He asked innocent questions such as “Was the Yamato big?” and “How did you feel when your torpedo hit the target?” Uchida and Nakamura’s faces creased in delight, and they answered slowly in English.

As mentioned earlier, Auer first met Uchida in 1970 when he came to Japan to research the founding of the postwar Japanese maritime forces. Chief of Maritime Staff (CMS) Uchida had assisted Auer’s research both as the head of uniformed personnel and on a personal basis. When Uchida granted a meeting soon after Auer’s arrival in Japan, someone from the JMSDF told Auer he was very lucky: Mr. Uchida is an intellectual, so he would immediately understand how important your research is and provide you with all the assistance you need. It would be different with someone else.

As predicted, Uchida was generous about cooperating with Auer’s research. Thanks to Uchida’s word from the top, other JMSDF personnel gave Auer their full cooperation. Auer would not have been able to complete his research if it had not been for Uchida. It is possible that Auer would not have become the expert in Japan-US security issues that he is today. Because of all he owed to Uchida, Auer took a character from Uchida’s name for his son.

Auer also first met Teiji Nakamura, the other admiral from whom Tei’s name was derived, during his 1970 sojourn in Japan to research the JMSDF. Back then, Nakamura was the director of the Fifth Staff Office of the Joint Staff Council.² Auer did not know much about Nakamura; since he was not directly involved in the JMSDF’s creation, he was not an essential person for Auer’s research. In fact, Auer canceled his first appointment with Nakamura when another meeting was arranged unexpectedly with Minoru Genda, famous as a central figure of the Pearl Harbor attack.

Learning that Auer had canceled on Nakamura to meet Genda, Asahi Shimbun journalist Shunji Taoka told Auer, “You must see him, by all means,” and called Nakamura then and there. Although they made a new appointment, Auer does not recall what they discussed when they met. Whatever it was, there was not much information useful for his research, he says. From my own experience, I know that Nakamura never wastes his breath. He does not speculate or talk about things he knows nothing about. When he first met Auer, he was probably like that, too.

After completing his doctoral dissertation, Auer remained in Japan as a political advisor to the commander, US Naval Forces Japan, playing an active role as the person most knowledgeable about Japan within the US Navy. Auer’s new mission was to investigate how leading figures in the Japanese government truly felt about issues that were critical for the US Navy. The methods he used to meet Japanese people in the course of writing his doctoral dissertation still proved useful in this new mission. With his proactive nature and a new title, he was able to meet almost anyone. It was around this time that he introduced Julian Burke, commander, US Naval Forces Japan, to Naka Funada, the Speaker of the House of Representatives, to discuss the issue of homeporting the aircraft carrier USS Midway in Yokosuka. He also met Eki Sone, a Diet member of the Democratic Socialist Party, amid the fuss over the rumor that chemical weapons were stored on US naval bases.

Auer attended the weekly meetings held in the political section of the US embassy in Tokyo and exchanged views with State Department officials. He got a chance to meet Michael Armacost, the future US ambassador to Japan, during one of these meetings. There were many things to discuss at these meetings. In the summer of 1971, the announcement of National Security Advisor Henry Kissinger’s sudden visit to China and plans for President Nixon’s own visit the following spring, called the Nixon Shock in Japan, stunned the country. Kept completely in the dark, many Japanese expressed distrust of the US as an ally. The United States was unable to pull out of the conflicts in Indochina, even as Japanese leftists actively fanned anti-US and anti-war movements. In February of 1972, the United Red Army caused the Asama Sansō Incident.³ With Japanese society in an uproar, it was a time when preserving the Japan-US alliance demanded a special effort. Auer’s work as a political advisor must have been very worthwhile for the lieutenant commander, who had just turned 30.

Auer formed a close relationship with Nakamura around this time, developing unconditional respect for his character and insight. Auer focused on interactions with JMSDF uniformed personnel more than ever in those days. Nakamura had served at the MSO as the director general of the Operations and Plans Department⁴ and then as the commander of the Fleet Escort Force,⁵ the head of the JMSDF’s largest and strongest operating surface force. Thus, he became an important contact for Auer. Although Nakamura had left no strong impression on Auer when they first met, in the course of their many meetings, Auer came to feel that Nakamura was an extraordinary person.

Auer frequently visited Nakamura at the official residence of the commander of the Fleet Escort Force, located between US Fleet Activities Yokosuka Base and Kannonzaki, the eastern end of the Miura Peninsula. They would discuss how the Japanese and US navies could work together. On occasion, Auer would intimate the US Navy’s intentions to Nakamura, who would relay this information to CMS Suteo Ishida. Nakamura, for his part, sometimes communicated the intentions of the JMSDF uniformed personnel to the US Navy through Auer.

Auer called on Nakamura even when there was no official business to discuss. Nakamura’s views on current affairs were always accurate and correct. If Auer wanted to understand something about the politics and economy of Japan, he would not go wrong so long as he listened to Nakamura’s opinions. Moreover, Auer was charmed by Nakamura’s crisp personality. The mere pleasure of Nakamura’s company made Auer feel that he should sit up straight, to show respect for this great man.

Their friendship continued even after Auer was appointed in August 1973 as the executive officer of the guided-missile destroyer USS Parsons, part of the Seventh Fleet, homeported at Yokosuka. Auer later studied Japanese at the Jesuit Language School in Kamakura from September 1975 to December 1976, and then studied in the JMSDF Command and Staff College for a year from January to December 1977. He was the first international student from the US Navy to be accepted by the college, which is the educational institution for senior officers (captains, commanders, and lieutenant commanders) who are expected to command various forces and become flag officers in the future. This period nearly overlaps with the period when Nakamura was the commander in chief of the Self-Defense Fleet⁶ and then the CMS. Auer further served as the commanding officer of the Yokosuka-based frigate USS Francis Hammond from January 1978 to January 1979. Auer became acquainted with more and more Japanese naval personnel and deepened his exchanges with them; in particular, he remained actively in touch with Nakamura even after the latter’s retirement.

Auer feels that becoming acquainted with Nakamura was the blessing of a lifetime. For Auer, Nakamura embodies the best aspects of the organization of the JMSDF and the state and nation of Japan, which Auer came to be deeply associated with by fate. For this reason, Auer took a character from Nakamura’s name for his son. This required some persuasion of Nakamura, who tried hard to decline the honor, saying that he was nobody special and did not deserve it.

Teiji Nakamura, the CMS

Auer is not alone in holding Teiji Nakamura in high regard. People within and outside the JMSDF who have met Nakamura have equally high esteem for the man. He has numerous fans in the US Navy, too. When Auer was serving as the executive officer on the guided-missile destroyer USS Parsons, he once invited Nakamura to come aboard and give a lecture for officers onboard. Impressed with Nakamura’s character and the logic of his lecture, the officers asked why there were no such highly respected admirals in the US Navy. Auer and Commander Rudolph Daus, the ship’s commanding officer, tried hard to explain that someone like Admiral Nakamura was also exceptional for the JMSDF.

Hideo Kimura, a Japan-US relationship consultant and a good friend of Auer who became acquainted with Nakamura through Auer, is the one who told me this anecdote. Kimura always likes to tell lewd jokes, but when he talks about Nakamura, he suddenly becomes humble. He still gets quite tense and straightens up when he faces Nakamura. “Look, you should know that there are two types of distinguished men,” he once told me. “The first type lets you think that you could be like them if you tried hard enough, whereas the second makes you think that you’ll never match them, no matter what you do. Mr. Nakamura is the latter type.”

Kimura’s father, who used to run a business on the Miura Peninsula before he passed away, had met Nakamura once. “He’s like Admiral Katsunoshin Yamanashi,” he told his son. Kimura’s father had had an opportunity soon after World War II to meet Admiral Yamanashi. One of Yamanashi’s junior colleagues was himself starting a business on the Miura Peninsula, and so the admiral had taken the trouble to visit Kimura’s house near Kannonzaki to pay his respects. Kimura’s father was very impressed and talked about the episode long after, saying, “The distinguished admiral who served as the president of Gakushūin, the imperial school, and who educated the crown prince bowed deeply to me. There was no arrogance or obsequiousness. He is such a respectable man.” It is fascinating to know that Nakamura left people with an impression of being like Katsunoshin Yamanashi—all the more because he respected Yamanashi very much, as will be discussed later.

Kimura was working as a secretary to the local Diet Member Eki Sone, the secretary-general of the Democratic Socialist Party, when Auer was serving as a political advisor to the commander, US Naval Forces Japan. His father had introduced Kimura to Sone. It was Kimura who arranged the meeting between Auer and Sone. A foreign ministry official before the war, Sone was also one of the people who respected Nakamura. When Nakamura retired as the CMS, some argued it was a waste of talent and that he should be made advisor to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs to capitalize on his knowledge and experience. Upon hearing the argument, Sone unexpectedly raised objections. Making use of Mr. Nakamura’s talents is good. But if Japan were by any chance involved in war, no one but Mr. Nakamura could command the Japanese fleet. What would happen then? I oppose using him as a half measure.

Others reconsidered, concurring with Sone’s objection, and so the idea of Nakamura’s employment at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs was dropped. Fortunately, a situation has not arisen requiring the JMSDF to prevent a foreign invasion. And so, with no opportunity for him to command the fleet, the admiral is enjoying a life of peaceful retirement to date.

Nakamura was appointed the 11th CMS in March 1976 (Fig. 3.1). His relatively short service of one and a half years ended when he was relieved by Ryōhei Ōga in September of 1977. While some wanted him to serve longer, Nakamura stepped down to make way for a junior colleague.

Fig. 3.1

Admiral Teiji Nakamura, 11th Chief of Staff, JMSDF. (Photo credit: JMSDF)

It must be added that he had not expected to become the CMS, nor was he eager to assume the position. I’d like to serve on the front lines as much as possible. I don’t want to oversee naval administration at the central headquarters. Nakamura hesitated, but those around him prevailed upon him to serve as the JMSDF’s highest-ranking officer.

He was therefore relieved when he retired. Unlike many other flag officers, he did not seek reemployment in private companies with close ties to the Defense Agency. He appears to have thought that he should not inconvenience his junior colleagues by becoming a defense contractor employee supplying the JMSDF. To the best of my knowledge, the only admirals reaching the top position of CMS who did not parachute into private companies on retiring were Nakamura and Uchida.

Although he had not sought the position, Nakamura discharged his duties as CMS with great zeal once he was appointed. The JMSDF in the 1980s was still inferior to the US Navy in terms of armament and equipment. To begin with, due to constitutional, political, and budgetary restrictions, the JMSDF was not allowed the vessels, aircraft, and other weapons and equipment necessary for a reliable allied navy. Undeterred by what was lacking, Nakamura always contemplated what the JMSDF could do with what it had, doing his best under the given circumstances. He endeavored to make the JMSDF a first-class “ready force” in terms of morale and skills, despite its inadequate equipment.

The person who knew Nakamura best around this time was probably Vice Admiral Nariaki Tomita, who served as the senior aide-de-camp to the CMS. He had also served on the staff when Nakamura had been the commander in chief of the Self-Defense Fleet. According to Tomita, Nakamura was a strict and imposing commander. He valued logical thinking—that is, the process of contemplation—and loathed baseless ideas. Similar exercises were repeated every year, yet he did not neglect careful planning. If his subordinates created and submitted plans merely imitating similar exercises carried out before, he demanded a detailed explanation of their thought process, causing them to stammer. This meant staff members were tense when they reported to Nakamura.

Nakamura was strict not only with his subordinates, but also with himself. The CMS is required to give lectures at various events. Nakamura wrote the speeches himself. He would write a draft in cramped handwriting on the back of a newspaper advertising insert, which he would put away in a desk drawer to revise a few days later. The staff grew used to the sight of Nakamura sitting at his desk in a dark room, lit only by the light of a desk lamp, after a busy day’s work of meeting a stream of visitors.

Nakamura considered that capable administrators alone could not build and maintain a first-rate navy; he felt specialists in various fields were essential. Without aircraft specialists, minesweeping specialists, and torpedo specialists, the JMSDF could not be recognized as a true navy. Therefore, he established specialist courses in addition to the Command and Staff Course at the JMSDF Command and Staff College, and also tried to promote specialists so their achievements in less conspicuous fields could be appraised appropriately.

The JMSDF’s top post comes with a measure of grandeur, requiring the CMS to review units and give addresses at JMSDF ceremonies, such as naval reviews, JMSDF Officer Candidate School graduation ceremonies, JMSDF foundation ceremonies, change of command ceremonies, and vessel delivery ceremonies. Just dealing with these official events takes up time. But Nakamura was not in favor of showy ceremonies and socializing. Instead, he made the rounds of JMSDF bases in remote areas, where the chiefs of maritime staff rarely visited, as much as his schedule allowed during his term in the post.

“There is a saying in Buddhism: Those who light up a corner are the real national treasures,” Tomita explained. “Admiral Nakamura always appeared to care about the hardships of JMSDF personnel silently striving to do their duty in remote areas.” Nakamura visited such places as Wakkanai, Yoichi, Hakodate, and Tappizaki in the north, and Iwo Jima, Okinawa, Kikaijima, and Amami Ōshima in the south; not everyone in the JMSDF knew there were bases in these locations. Moreover, bringing just an aide-de-camp, he visited the northern bases in cold winters and the southern bases in hot summers, when the natural conditions were harsh.

When Tomita accompanied him, they flew in the evening from Atsugi Air Base to Iwakuni Air Base and stayed there overnight. Early the next morning they transferred to the flying boat PS-1 to inspect the naval exercises in the East China Sea, after which they landed off Koniya, Amami Ōshima, to visit Base Facility Amami.⁷ Next, they flew to Ōmura Base in Nagasaki and stayed overnight in Sasebo. The following day, they boarded a helicopter to fly to Iki, where they descended from the hovering helicopter using a rope harness to visit Guard Post Iki.⁸ They also inspected Coastal Defense Group Tsushima,⁹ Mutsurejima, and Sub Area Activity Shimonoseki¹⁰ in Yamaguchi, again by helicopter. Then they stopped at Ozuki Air Base, flew to Kanoya Air Base in Kagoshima, staying there overnight, and returned to Atsugi the next day. The entire journey took only 4 days and three nights. Tomita says that the director general of the Operations and Plan Department¹¹ in the Headquarters Sasebo District¹² scolded him for lacking judgment as an aide-de-camp and letting the CMS travel in such a reckless way. The personnel who greeted the CMS, their supreme commander, at each base must have been on edge; yet, surely they sensed an unusual degree of enthusiasm in the unconventional admiral’s mode of arrival, descending by harness from a helicopter instead of touching down on the landing pad.

Nakamura, logical in everything, knew well that cooperation with the US Navy was the JMSDF’s top priority; he made efforts to maintain it. Big countries such as the United States, the Soviet Union, and China surround Japan. Because Japan can’t possess a navy with the full capabilities that other navies have, it can’t compete with any of those countries on its own. Japan has to ally with one of those countries to secure its safety. Whenever Japan allied with continental countries before World War II, it failed. In the final analysis, Japan must join hands with the United States, politically and economically. Japan couldn’t survive if it were to alienate the United States. Hence, the Japan-US Security Treaty is the basis of everything else. Japan and the United States are both maritime countries, which, under their democratic systems of government, share a common interest in protecting the peace in the Pacific. The JMSDF should be able to compensate for the capabilities the US Navy lacks in the Western Pacific, and it should seek to have the capabilities to do so. Those were Nakamura’s thoughts.

In the mid-1970s, however, when Nakamura served as the commander in chief of the Self-Defense Fleet and the CMS, the US Navy neither valued nor counted on the capabilities of the JMSDF. Some US Navy personnel even looked down on the JMSDF. During Nakamura’s appointment as the commander in chief of the Self-Defense Fleet, one of his staff came back mortified from a meeting where US naval personnel told him that “[t]he JMSDF is a training force, not a combat force.” The US Navy was, frankly, unconvinced of the JMSDF’s dependability in case of an emergency.

The former IJN officers who had fought the US Navy realized that this lack of confidence would hinder cooperation, so they tried to build a relationship of mutual trust between the JMSDF and US Navy. The Sister Ship program pairing Japanese and US vessels was introduced, exchanges among young officers and sailors were encouraged, and the Japanese and US navies endeavored to hold more substantial and realistic joint exercises at sea. Although it had not acquired the level of capability it desired, the JMSDF aspired to have a professional relationship with the US Navy. Nakamura also cared about the ties between the younger generation of Japanese and US naval leaders. He introduced Manabu Yoshida and Hiroshi Nagata, two future chiefs of maritime staff, to Admiral S. Robert Foley, Jr. commander, US Seventh Fleet. Foley later became commander in chief, US Pacific Fleet (CINCPACFLT), and proposed that then-CMS Yoshida send JMSDF ships to participate in the Rim of the Pacific Exercise (RIMPAC).

As the Vietnam War ended and Nakamura retired as the CMS, the United States gradually began to emphasize the necessity for Asian countries to build up their own defense capabilities. It also began to ask the JMSDF for closer cooperation in maintaining peace and security in East Asia. The JMSDF itself began to improve its capabilities to meet the US Navy’s expectations. The cooperative working relationship between the two navies was to blossom in the 1980s in the shape of RIMPAC and sea lane defense. A decade before that, Nakamura had promoted preparation and training so that the JMSDF could play an active role in cooperation with the US Navy in the future. Manabu Yoshida believes that Nakamura, during his time as CMS, sowed the seeds of the JMSDF’s more active and extensive cooperation with the US Navy in the early 1980s. Even now, successive chiefs of maritime staff who have come after Nakamura, including Yoshida, call on Nakamura at every turn to ask his opinion.

Teiji Nakamura as a Naval Officer

Nakamura does not like flashiness or socializing; he is extremely honest with money, pays no heed to fame, and being generally reticent, never boasts of his achievements. He is a temperate drinker and not known for romantic rumors; he gladly shares his views if asked without ever lecturing anyone; and he takes initiative rather than scolding others. In a sense, Nakamura is somebody who could appear in a textbook on morals. He is not adept at interacting with people. He does not and cannot pay empty compliments to either his superiors or subordinates. He is not so tall, but he carries himself well and so seems larger than life.

With such a character, Nakamura might give strangers the impression that he is a little unapproachable. But he does not consider himself stiff at all. Indeed, on the last business day of each year in which he was the commander in chief of the Self-Defense Fleet, the atmosphere in the office was relaxed and highly enjoyable as the executive staff, petty officers, and administrative staff gathered around Nakamura. The successive former aides-de-camp who had served Nakamura still get together with him once a year even now, enjoying the reunion and remembering old times. Nakamura is said to be smiling and congenial during those gatherings. He likes to talk to youngsters, listening to their opinions and sharing his own. He always appears very natural: he never forces or demands anything; he visits anywhere he is invited but does not push if not; and he speaks very little. Even after his retirement, Nakamura’s attitude has remained unchanged.

Describing Nakamura’s personality in writing is difficult. There are no amusing anecdotes worth mentioning. When I interviewed him in person, he did not say much about himself, which does not make for an exciting story. He never said things like “Everything went well because I thought this and did that at that time.”

Even when I tried to draw him out by pointing out the fact that he was the only JMSDF flag officer who graduated from the Naval Academy at the top of his class, his answer was simply, “Well, that’s what they say.” This was no ordinary achievement, graduating at the top of one’s class at the Naval Academy, where, as at Tokyo Imperial University and Kyoto Imperial University, the smartest students had gathered before the war. And yet no one has ever heard Nakamura singing his own praises about this accomplishment.

Nakamura was known to be serious, smart, and hardworking even before he entered the Imperial Naval Academy. Born in Kyoto, Nakamura graduated from a junior high school in Tsu, Mie Prefecture; he was admitted to the Naval Academy in 1936 and graduated in July 1939. He was supposed to visit the West Coast of the United States on an overseas training cruise, but the Training Squadron turned back at Hawaii. World War II broke out with Germany’s invasion of Poland, forcing the cancelation of the visit; Japan-US relations were growing increasingly tense. That, it turned out, became the IJN’s final overseas training cruise. Whereas Japanese Americans warmly welcomed them in Honolulu and Hilo, the US Navy’s welcoming reception was much smaller, almost limited to a show of marching in file.

Nakamura was full of fighting spirit, ready to do battle against the United States. That nation he viewed as the sworn enemy to settle scores with, including the issues of arms limitation and the exclusion of Japanese immigrants. When navigating off Pearl Harbor, he remembers keeping a sharp eye out per his instructor’s direction to watch closely. No US Pacific Fleet vessels were observable from outside the harbor, needless to say.

After his first assignment at sea on board HIJMS Takao, the flagship of the Second Fleet, Nakamura was assigned in August 1941 to the destroyer HIJMS Yūdachi, where he served as the chief torpedo officer. In that position, he saw the outbreak of the war in December 1941 and took part in various missions and battles, most notably the Naval Battle of Guadalcanal (the Third Battle of the Solomon Sea). During this battle, his ship was hit and sunk on November 13, 1942, whereupon he was transferred to HIJMS Samidare in the same squadron. Later, he joined HIJMS Nagato, the flagship of the First Fleet, became a Naval Academy instructor, and served as the special attack commander of a kamikaze unit¹³ created for the coming decisive battle on the mainland, before seeing Japan’s defeat. In Nakamura’s more than 30-year career in the IJN and the JMSDF, the days of combat on HIJMS Yūdachi appear as though they were the most challenging and fulfilling experience.

To understand the character and personality of Teiji Nakamura (since he does not talk about himself), it would be helpful to look at three naval officers he admires. Several people suggested this approach to me, including Vice Admiral Tomita and Hideo Kimura, the Japan-US relationship consultant.

The first example of an officer Nakamura admires is Commander Kiyoshi Kikkawa, the commanding officer of the destroyer HIJMS Yūdachi, on which Nakamura served during the war. The second is Admiral Katsunoshin Yamanashi, vice minister of the navy in the prewar era. And the third is Admiral Arleigh Burke of the US Navy, one of the men who supported the idea of creating the JMSDF and helped to found it.

Commanding Officer as a Lifelong Model

Commander Kiyoshi Kikkawa served as the commanding officer of HIJMS Yūdachi starting in May 1942. According to “Fumetsu no kuchikukanchō Kikkawa Kiyoshi” (Immortal destroyer commanding officer Kiyoshi Kikkawa), written by Kōji Ishiwata, Commander Kikkawa was born in the city of Hiroshima in 1900. Despite being disqualified once for insufficient height and chest measurement, he was accepted by the Naval Academy on his second try in 1919, graduating in 1923. Due to his rather poor grades, after graduation he spent almost his entire career on board low-profile destroyers. As destroyers always lead the way for bigger ships, their commanding officers were informally called “rickshaw pullers” and looked down on. Commander Kikkawa never served in the mainstream of the navy, such as the Naval General Staff, the Ministry of the Navy, or the Combined Fleet Headquarters.

This inconspicuous mid-level officer rendered distinguished service on the actual battlefield. In the Battle of Badung Strait (the Battle off the Island of Bali) in February 1942, he commanded the destroyer HIJMS Ōshio that, together with its sister ship HIJMS Asashio, sank the Dutch destroyer HNLMS Piet Hein, damaged the Dutch cruiser HNLMS Tromp, and slightly damaged the US destroyer USS Stewart. Appointed the commanding officer of the destroyer HIJMS Yūdachi in May 1942, Kikkawa engaged in transporting supplies and soldiers from Shortland Island to Guadalcanal Island 18 times after US forces had landed on Guadalcanal Island in August. Thanks to skillful steering during these operations, the ship was never hit and survived without a scratch despite numerous US aircraft attacks.

On September 4, on its return trip after landing soldiers, HIJMS Yūdachi bombarded an enemy airfield¹⁴ and, encountering USS Gregory and USS Little by chance, sank the two US fast transports. On October 25, HIJMS Yūdachi saved 301 of the 550 crew of HIJMS Yura, boldly and calmly pulling up alongside the cruiser after repeated enemy aircraft attacks caused the ship’s ammunition to explode and touched off a fire.

The Naval Battle of Guadalcanal was where HIJMS Yūdachi rendered its most distinguished service. IJN vessels led by the battleships HIJMS Hiei and HIJMS Kirishima formed a special volunteer attack force¹⁵ and headed for Guadalcanal Island on November 12. Their aims were to regain command of the skies by bombarding the enemy airfield and to support the landing of Imperial Japanese Army forces on Guadalcanal Island again. Navigating at the forefront of the attack force, HIJMS Yūdachi sighted more than seven enemy cruisers and destroyers at 23:42 (JST) and raised the alarm for the entire force. A minute later, HIJMS Hiei also sighted enemy ships and, using searchlights, opened fire at 23:51. Meanwhile, HIJMS Yūdachi and its sister ship HIJMS Harusame crossed eastward, in front of the enemy fleet. The US fleet, trying to avoid a collision, broke formation and fell into disorder. HIJMS Yūdachi turned to port at around 23:48 and rushed into the enemy formation alone. At around 23:55, it fired eight torpedoes 1500 meters away from the enemy vessels, two of them hitting and crippling the cruiser USS Atlanta.

For the next 30 minutes, HIJMS Yūdachi placed herself in the middle of the enemy fleet and fiercely fired on the adversary at close range, severely damaging a few US cruisers and destroyers. At 00:15 the next day (November 13), Yūdachi momentarily suspended its attack and broke away from the enemy fleet, whereupon it was illuminated by a searchlight and received incoming fire, probably from a friendly cruiser, which struck the ship in several spots, including the engine room and the bridge, igniting a fire and crippling the ship. At 01:55 the destroyer HIJMS Samidare brought herself alongside HIJMS Yūdachi. Commander Kikkawa decided to abandon ship at 02:25; the crew of 207 transferred to HIJMS Samidare, with the commanding officer the last to leave the ship. Twenty-six Yūdachi crewmembers were killed in action, including the chief engineer. Although HIJMS Samidare attempted to sink HIJMS Yūdachi by bombarding and torpedoing the ship, it left the area without being able to confirm the sinking. HIJMS Yūdachi was eventually sunk by USS Portland’s shelling later that morning.

It was the young Lieutenant Junior Grade Nakamura who launched the eight torpedoes during the battle. After the war, the crew of HIJMS Yūdachi gathered and privately published a commemorative anthology titled Kuchikukan Yūdachi (Destroyer HIJMS Yūdachi) that detailed the records of the destroyer’s life, from the time of its commissioning until its sinking. Nakamura allegedly took the initiative in the compilation; the book shows good workmanship, certainly giving the impression that it was his work. There are no typos despite being an amateur undertaking. In the book, Nakamura himself writes about his experience during the Naval Battle of Guadalcanal.

“Hard aport! Commence fire!” Following the commanding officer’s order, I gave the order to commence fire. Upon hearing Torpedo Gunner Nomura’s reply of “Ready, fire!” I ran out to the flag deck to check the successive launch of torpedoes … I stared at the enemy through the binoculars around my neck, desperate to see if the torpedoes had hit the target. The bows of the first two ships almost overlapped as though they were one long ship, but nothing was happening. Not yet? And just when I thought the torpedoes might have missed, more than two columns of fire shot up consecutively. They had hit! I had no regrets. Just as relief washed over me, I saw flashes of gunfire from both sides.

Nakamura then devoted all his energy to loading the next set of torpedoes, but just as the preparations were completed, the ship took fire near where he was and he lost consciousness. I don’t know how long I was lying there. Suddenly I came to. I tried to move my hands, and they moved. My legs moved, too. I was able to stand up. I might have been injured, but it must have been nothing serious.

Thus, Nakamura narrowly escaped death after rendering distinguished service and survived the battle. Although he does not speak of his exploits, the battle must have left the young lieutenant junior grade with intense, vivid memories.

And yet, rather than his own experience, Nakamura appears to have engraved the leadership and conduct of Kiyoshi Kikkawa, the commanding officer of HIJMS Yūdachi, on his heart after World War II. Tomita speculates that, after becoming a commanding officer, Nakamura always contemplated whether he would be able to fight as brilliantly if he were placed in Commander Kikkawa’s position. In the book Kuchikukan Yūdachi, Nakamura records his recollections:

They say that the passage of time always makes every memory beautiful. Be that as it may, every moment of the 15 months I served on HIJMS Yūdachi is now precious and has given me valuable, irreplaceable guidance. …

There is no doubt that the commanding officer of HIJMS Yūdachi, Kikkawa, was the bravest in battle. However, it wasn’t all about bravery. Always cool and steady, he seized opportunities and, taking a broad perspective, considered contributing to the operations of friendly forces even if it meant sacrificing himself. His actions during the battle of September 4 and the Third Battle of the Solomon Seas are good examples of that.

He had an earnest and serious attitude toward the duties of a commanding officer. He well understood that their roles and strategic objectives obliged those higher up the chain of command to order those on the seas to conduct unreasonable and reckless operations; he accomplished his duties to the best of his ability, going above and beyond what was expected in contributing to the operation. While impertinent younger folks like me grumbled about the higher command and friendly forces, I never heard Commander Kikkawa utter a word of criticism. He never boasted or bragged about his achievements. He preferred simply to carry out his duties pragmatically and naturally.

Commander Kikkawa was strict about training. He especially never neglected his own rehearsals for battle, even for a day. His ability to judge the enemy’s situation in the dark during the battle, as well as the free flow of precise instructions regarding the conduct of battle coming from his mouth as he controlled the ship’s movements, must have been the fruits of his daily self-training.

Though strict when it came to duties and training, the commanding officer was such a good father figure when he was relaxing. Just being around his cheerful, frank, and informal character naturally made us laugh and feel at ease.

I could serve with Commander Kikkawa to the depths of hell, I thought.

I do not know if Nakamura could have shown leadership in a real battle the way Commander Kikkawa did. He himself could not have known unless he was in that situation. It is clear from this writing, however, that Nakamura saw in Commander Kikkawa an ideal commanding officer and made efforts to reach that standard. Incidentally, Commander Kikkawa, having lost his ship, declined a preliminary notice of an order to be a Naval Academy instructor and asked instead to continue serving on the front line. He headed once again to the Solomon Sea to take command of the new destroyer HIJMS Ōnami. On the night of November 25, 1943, his ship was detected by a US destroyer’s radar off Cape St. George, New Ireland Island, and it was sunk in a one-sided attack with him on board. Kikkawa was honored posthumously with a double promotion, unprecedented for a commanding officer of a destroyer; he was awarded the rank of rear admiral.

An Old Admiral’s Lecture

Nakamura has repeatedly stated that the second person he admires is Admiral Katsunoshin Yamanashi.

One day, Hideo Kimura had occasion to dine with Nakamura, and he invited a young JMSDF officer who happened to be visiting his house to come along. Nervous about the opportunity to meet Admiral Nakamura for the first time, the officer spoke few words during the meal, but, mustering up his courage at the end of the meeting, he asked Nakamura to name a person, military or civilian, he admired as a human being. Nakamura replied:

I have met two admirals in my life. One was Admiral Sankichi Takahashi, the other was Admiral Katsunoshin Yamanashi . I wondered how two admirals could be so different. Admiral Yamanashi really impressed me; he helped me realize that a person could cultivate their character to such a high degree. Since then, whenever I’ve had to make a decision, I’ve always wondered what Admiral Yamanashi would do, although I’m far inferior to him, of course.

Katsunoshin Yamanashi was counted among the “navy men of good sense”¹⁶ before the war, a group of IJN leaders who supported the Washington Naval Treaty and cooperative relations with the United States and Great Britain, and who opposed the alliance with Nazi Germany and Italy and going to war with the United States. It was after the war that Nakamura met the admiral.

At the end of World War II Nakamura was serving in Chiba as the special attack commander of a kamikaze unit created to prepare for the decisive battle on the mainland. He led a unit consisting of kaiten manned torpedoes, kairyū two-man midget submarines, and shin’yō suicide motorboats. He was willing to set off with his subordinates to carry out a kamikaze attack if US forces started landing. A Japanese victory was out of the question, given the progress of the war, but a Japanese defeat was equally unimaginable. Nakamura was stunned by the news that Japan lost the war. At some time around August 16, he even discussed the possibility of becoming pirates on kairyū with his fellow officers and sailors.

After carrying out his final naval assignment as the aide-de-camp at Osaka Guard District,¹⁷ he began preparations for the university entrance exam to study again. He gave up that dream as raging inflation made it impossible to provide for his family. After a brief stint at a local demobilization bureau,¹⁸ he got a job at a company trading in naval goods the government had sold off to the public, but he left the company because he hated working with colleagues who made money by putting assets on the black market. Eventually he began managing accounts at a company run by a relative of his wife, which is how he was employed when the predecessor to the JMSDF, the Coastal Safety Force, was established in 1952. Nakamura applied to join the force at the suggestion of a former senior at his junior high school and classmates at the Naval Academy. He joined the service in June 1952. According to Auer, Nakamura’s family was strongly opposed to his serving in the navy again, but he joined up, nonetheless.

Having graduated from the Naval Academy at the top of his class, Nakamura would probably have had countless opportunities if he had aspired to succeed in civilian life. When I asked him why he was attracted to the JMSDF for all that, he replied: “I must have gotten excited at the thought of joining the navy again.”

Nakamura intended to go to sea upon joining the Coastal Safety Force. He was optimistic that the restrictive Constitution would be amended and that a formal navy would be established within 5 years or so. Unfortunately, neither hope was realized so soon. He had to work at the force’s general headquarters¹⁹ making budgetary request documents, not at all what he wanted to do, which made him think about quitting. Although he had a chance in 1954 to finally go to sea as a staff member of the Sasebo-based Second Flotilla Command, he was soon recalled and sent to the administrative office of the recently established Joint Staff Council. Frustrated, Nakamura protested by staying on at sea for 40 days. Presumably, the central headquarters needed the talent of someone who had graduated from the Naval Academy at the top of his class and could not just leave him at sea. In any case, the reality of the JMSDF he joined was far from ideal, and it differed from the IJN in many respects. Sometimes Nakamura felt depressed.

It was a little after this that Nakamura first met Admiral Katsunoshin Yamanashi. Nakamura wrote an essay titled “Yamanashi Katsunoshin taishō ni manabu (Learning from Admiral Katsunoshin Yamanashi),” in the bulletin of the Suikōkai, the naval association of which he once served as president.

I met Admiral Yamanashi in 1957, when I attended his lecture as a student at the JMSDF Command and Staff College . Although it was almost 40 years ago, I still remember the lecture as vividly as though it were yesterday. The admiral was already over 80 years old. He brought a few bulky foreign books to the desk on the platform, and never used a chair or microphone even though the school president had suggested that he do so repeatedly. Sometimes walking on the platform from one end to the other, sometimes reading from the foreign books, without a sheet of prepared notes in his hand, he patiently and tirelessly explained to us numerous historical facts and the achievements of great admirals one after another, as well as his thoughts on and assessments of them.

The lecture was supposed to start at one o’clock and end at four, but because it was coming to the most exciting part, it didn’t end at four or even five. It was well past six o’clock when he concluded the lecture. Twice he took short breaks, then continued his lecture, standing with a commanding posture, not once sitting in his chair. …

Back then, famous naval officers gave us quite a lot of lectures; sometimes we were disappointed by those that were merely nostalgic recollections from start to finish. When we attended Admiral Yamanashi’s lecture, which was on a completely different level, we were deeply impressed with its content, but more so with the admiral’s entire character that emanated from it. Even today, I cannot forget the strong impression of meeting a living exemplar of reaching such heights by cultivating one’s character. I always thought it was the good fortune of a lifetime that I was able to listen to Admiral Yamanashi’s lecture in person and experience the admiral’s character.

Meeting Yamanashi at the JMSDF Command and Staff College, the institution where future JMSDF leaders are educated, was probably a turning point for Nakamura: for the first time, he was able to personally visualize the future of the JMSDF. In the same essay, Nakamura continues:

Admiral Yamanashi came as a guest speaker to the graduation ceremony for those of us who had completed the course at the JMSDF Command and Staff College . We graduating officers, full of burning enthusiasm to rebuild the navy when we had joined the JMSDF, were by then inclined to become frustrated and often demoralized in the face of enormous political, social, and economic constraints. It was to this somewhat dispirited audience that the admiral gave a speech along the following lines:

“The JMSDF doesn’t have many ships or aircraft. Its equipment and facilities are really poor. But it has people. You who are graduating today are the JMSDF’s irreplaceable assets. Numerous hardships await you. You are not the only or the first to bear those hardships, however. It might be unimaginable for you who only know the IJN of the Shōwa era. But the Japanese Navy grew to the size it was wholly because those who came before us struggled so hard despite facing hardships no different from yours today, or even bigger ones, from the founding in the Meiji era, to the [First] Sino-Japanese War and the Russo-Japanese War, and through the era of arms limitation. To face huge hardships is what men should always wish for.”

… Whenever things did not go as planned during my service in the JMSDF, I cheered myself up by recalling the admiral’s speech on my graduation day.

There are signs that Nakamura, who has an inquisitive mind, also studied and learned from Admiral Yamanashi’s achievements. And his admiration for Yamanashi grew with additional study. Until he turned 90, Yamanashi spent at least 3 months every year preparing his annual lecture at the JMSDF Command and Staff College and examining the composition and emphasis of his speech, rehearsing constantly. He never boasted of his achievements or spoke ill of others. If someone tried to give him a compliment by mentioning that Emperor Hirohito (Emperor Shōwa) trusted him the most, he tried to change the subject by clearing his throat or suddenly bringing up a new topic. Rear Admiral Etsuzō Kurihara, who joined the cruiser HIJMS Katori as an ensign when Admiral Yamanashi was its commanding officer, remembers Yamanashi with nostalgia:

He was gentle. Nobody knew where he was or when he might be present. He didn’t stand on his dignity or have an intimidating look. He didn’t pay empty compliments. He dressed like a country person. And yet, before anyone was aware of it, he somehow elevated the discipline and morale of the ship to their peak. He was the best kind of leader.

As is well known, Yamanashi was the vice minister of the navy at the time of the London Naval Conference in 1930. He was one of the central figures of the Treaty Faction that reined in Kanji Katō and Nobumasa Suetsugu, the chief and vice chief of the Naval General Staff, respectively, who had insisted that Japan secure the ratio for its heavy cruisers and auxiliary ships at 70 percent of those held by the United States. Eventually the negotiators succeeded in concluding the London Naval Treaty, which restricted the ratio of auxiliary ships to 69.75% of US and British holdings. Yamanashi was not passively being cooperative toward the United States. According to Nakamura’s writings, Yamanashi recognized that “Japan addressed the matter of arms limitation, viewing the United States as its potential adversary; thus, for military personnel, the arms limitation talks were tantamount to war with no shots fired.” And yet, considering Japan’s national strength, Yamanashi concluded that agreeing on the best possible treaty for Japan was in the national interest. The public, however, did not accept that view. The argument that the signing of the treaty violated the emperor’s prerogative of supreme command spread like wildfire throughout the country. Then, in the fashion of both sides taking the blame, both Vice Chief of Naval General Staff Suetsugu and Navy Vice Minister Yamanashi were replaced. Furthermore, 3 years after the London Naval Conference, the admiral was transferred to the reserves in a personnel shuffle by Navy Minister Mineo Ōsumi. The postwar recollection of Reijirō Wakatsuki, the chief delegate plenipotentiary sent to the London Naval Conference, recounts the following:

Vice Minister Yamanashi was also purged from the Navy. … I told Yamanashi that, under ordinary circumstances, he should be the commander in chief of the Combined Fleet or the minister of the Navy in the future, so I couldn’t help but feel sorry to see him transferred to the reserves and put in the situation he was then. Yamanashi replied to me that he didn’t regret a thing. Big issues like arms limitation couldn’t be agreed upon without sacrifices, and somebody had to take the blame. He said that he did what he did to knowingly sacrifice himself, so it was no wonder that he was purged from important posts in the navy and found himself in that situation. Listening to him speak, I realized anew how splendid Yamanashi’s character was.

Yamanashi had not experienced active combat since serving on naval vessels during the Russo-Japanese War. Even if he had not been forced to retire early, he would have retired before the Pacific War anyway, as he was already 56 when he was transferred to the reserves in 1933. In that sense, he was an admiral without much war experience. Nevertheless, he carried out his duties to the best of his ability and tackled problems with plenty of fighting spirit. When he had fulfilled his duties, he stepped aside with good grace. It is easy to understand why Nakamura sympathized with his situation and how he handled himself and why he looked up to the old admiral as his role model.

Study in the United States

The third naval officer Nakamura admires is Admiral Arleigh Burke, a strong proponent of the JMSDF’s establishment. As mentioned in Chap. 2, Admiral Burke, after consulting his friend Admiral Sadayoshi Nakayama, established a program to let future JMSDF leaders study at the Naval War College in Newport, Rhode Island. Nakamura, the fifth officer to study there as a student, went to the United States in the summer of 1960. He flew to San Francisco and then crossed the continent by train. Seeing the United States, the country he had once fought, he wondered how in the world Japan could wage war against this huge country. After receiving 8 weeks’ English training in Washington, D.C., he moved to Newport in September to study at the Naval War College with other international students sent by various navies.

In Newport, he became a lodger and experienced American family life in the house where Uchida would later stay. I have already mentioned that the lady of the house had had a fiancé, a Naval Academy graduate, lost at sea onboard a submarine during the war; partly because of that connection, the family chose to host Japanese naval personnel as lodgers. In fact, Nakamura was the family’s first Japanese lodger. Probably because he left a good impression, the hostess looked after successive JMSDF officers as lodgers. Nakamura stayed in touch with her as if they were relatives, even after she moved to California.

Nakamura first met Burke when he joined a study trip to Washington, D.C., as part of a Naval War College course. Burke was then CNO, ranked at the top of the US Navy’s uniformed personnel. Nakamura paid Burke a courtesy call at the Department of Defense as one of the international naval officers. The admiral talked to every one of the 23 students sent by 23 navies. Although he spent only a few minutes with each, he encouraged the officers with very apt remarks. Nakamura thought that the admiral was a first-rate person. At the time, Nakamura had only general knowledge about the fact that Burke had ferociously battled the IJN in the South Pacific during the war, had come to Japan after the war, and been deeply involved in the founding of the JMSDF. Watching how Burke interacted with naval officers from all over the world, Nakamura was thoroughly in awe of him.

Later, when he visited the United States as the CMS to attend the nation’s bicentennial celebrations, Nakamura again met Burke (who had retired from the navy) at a reception held by the Japanese Embassy. At the time, the introduction of new antisubmarine patrol aircraft in Japan was completely frozen because of the Lockheed bribery scandal.²⁰ The P2-Vs and P2-Js then in use were getting older, the end of their operational life fast approaching. The successor model had to be introduced soon, but for political reasons, it was not possible. If this situation persisted, the capabilities of the JMSDF would fall behind.

Noticing Nakamura’s worried look, Burke appeared deeply sympathetic and cheered him up, saying, “The person in charge always faces a variety of problems, and you can only grow when you overcome those problems.” Nakamura felt a warmth exuding from the admiral’s own experience and his thoughtfulness in nurturing the younger generation. Those words came from a person who had endured similar difficulty, irrespective of national origin.

Except for a few parties they attended together when Burke visited Japan, these were the only interactions between the two men. They met only briefly and never discussed anything in depth, partly due to language issues. Nonetheless, Nakamura mentioned Burke alongside Katsunoshin Yamanashi as someone who had impressed him most. It was Burke’s grandness that gave Nakamura such a strong impression. Moreover, Burke’s goodwill toward the JMSDF in the postwar era would have been evident to Nakamura. They might even have felt the sympathy that was shared among naval officers who had fought each other in the Solomon Sea.

For CMS Nakamura, the highest-ranking officer of the JMSDF, former CNO Admiral Burke was a predecessor who had encountered similar difficulties some years earlier. Admiral Yamanashi and Admiral Burke, despite the difference of home country, appear to have shared similar talents in terms of their attitude and sincerity as leaders, something that Nakamura was well aware of, though he and Burke exchanged only a few words.

Cooperation with the US Navy

Although he had fought the US Navy with all his might during the war, Nakamura was placed in a position in the postwar JMSDF where he learned from the US Navy, accepted the ships and aircraft the US Navy transferred to the JMSDF as part of US military assistance, and trained with them. His American instructors, mostly kind and open, did not leave him with a negative impression. Navies generally did not entertain hatred or grudges toward individuals, insofar as war at sea was different from war on land, where soldiers killed each other face to face. In addition, there was no uneasiness about how the training and operations were carried out, for the US Navy and the IJN were both descendants of the Royal Navy. As a JMSDF officer from the founding era, however, Nakamura must have been frustrated at seeing how overwhelmingly well-off and powerful the US Navy was.

When he joined the JMSDF, Nakamura had thought about how long it would take Japan to recover the naval bases it had handed over to the United States and regain naval power comparable to that of the United States. While studying at the Naval War College in Newport, he was infuriated when he was shown The Bridge on the River Kwai. He lashed out at the American instructor: “What’s the purpose of showing me a movie about Japanese troops torturing prisoners? You’ve wasted the time and money the United States government has spent on me so far.” In one sense, Nakamura is a patriot of the old school who has not changed at all since the prewar era.

And yet, the patriotic naval officer’s views did gradually change as he studied, at the JMSDF Command and Staff College as well as in the United States broadly; he began to think as a commander. Personally, he would have preferred that Japan have an independent navy, as it had before the war. However, he had to ask whether it was indeed a good thing for Japan. In order to fend for itself, Japan would have to have atomic weapons. And yet just having atomic weapons would not guarantee deterrence. Given these facts, the Japan-US security arrangements were the premise of everything. To protect the peace of Japan and guarantee the security of the Pacific, the close relationship between Japan and the United States was indispensable.

Then there were naval personnel in the United States, counterparts like Admiral Burke, who could be trusted and who shared the same objectives. The two countries would not have to fight each other again as long as the naval leaders of both countries enjoyed a genuine relationship of mutual trust, and both nations had reliable capabilities in times of war. It must have taken a naval officer so full of fighting spirit, hoping to defeat the United States, a long time to gain such understanding and conviction.

Come to think of it, however, it was to protect Japan that Nakamura fought the US Navy with all his heart and mind; likewise, prioritizing cooperation with the US Navy above everything else now was for the peace and security of Japan. For Nakamura, there was no contradiction in those two positions. Even after retirement from active service, Nakamura is still contemplating what the relationship with the US Navy means for his fellow naval officers and sailors who lost their lives in the war, and for the future of Japan and the Japanese he loves.

Chief Torpedo Officer Nakamura

On September 4, 1942, roughly 2 months before the torpedoes Nakamura had launched hit an enemy vessel during the Naval Battle of Guadalcanal, HIJMS Yūdachi sank two US fast transports after bombarding the enemy airfield on Guadalcanal Island. Nakamura wrote about this experience in the commemorative anthology Kuchikukan Yūdachi:

Suddenly I heard Chief Signalman Sone shout, “One black shape!” I turned my binoculars in that direction—they were certainly the silhouettes of ships. The commanding officer was busy giving gunnery orders and maneuvering the ship. I made up my mind to prepare the torpedoes for launch, without waiting for the command. “Prepare for battle, torpedo attack,” I ordered, and then, “Open block valve!” … I continued to observe the targets. There were two enemy ships: the first was the bigger of the two, yet smaller than a light cruiser; the second was a destroyer. The gunfire and searchlights had already begun when, on hearing the report, “Block valve opened,” I ordered, “Torpedo attack on the port side, heading the same way.” I could clearly see the aircraft onboard the enemy ship, illuminated by searchlight. Our shells made hits, and the enemy ship burst into flame. After adjusting the firing angle, I reported that the torpedoes were ready to fire to the commanding officer, but he replied, “No need to use torpedoes—firing the guns will do.” The tension was lifted from my shoulders at once. For the time being, I ordered, “Torpedo tubes to the center” to return them to the neutral position. Our shells hit the enemy ships, one after another. As we closed the distance, I could see the enemy crew in a panic. The fire spread to the entire ship. … Although it was too bad that I did not have the chance to fire the torpedoes, it was truly a satisfactory battle.

He did not have a chance to fire torpedoes on this occasion. The firing of torpedoes, whether preparations to fire were complete or not, would be canceled should the commanding officer decide against their use. According to Nakamura’s explanation, because a Type 93 torpedo would explode if its oxygen was ignited directly, it needed to be ignited first with ordinary air, then fed pure oxygen. The order to “open block valve” opened the passage for the ordinary air to be used in the ignition. As the volume of ordinary air was very limited, the pressure decreased with leakage if the valve was opened too early, whereas the torpedo would miss the firing timing if opened too late. The question of when to give the “open block valve” order was a delicate matter, Nakamura said, and one of the things he had to pay close attention to in giving the commands to fire.

Nakamura actually fired torpedoes four times outside training. The first time was on February 27, 1942, when he fired two salvoes of four torpedoes—eight in total—toward the Dutch cruiser forces led by HNLMS De Ruyter during the Battle of the Java Sea (the Battle off Surabaya). On this occasion, he was mortified that, just after they were fired, the Type 93 torpedoes self-detonated in front of his eyes, completely missing the enemy ship. The second time was on October 25 the same year, when he sank the friendly cruiser HIJMS Yura after the HIJMS Yūdachi had rescued its crew who survived the enemy bomber strikes and ensuing fire. The third was during the Naval Battle of Guadalcanal, when the eight torpedoes fired made at least two hits on an enemy ship. The fourth was in 1974, during his term as the commander in chief of the Self-Defense Fleet, though that time he did not fire the torpedoes himself: he supervised the disposal of the LPG tanker Yūyō Maru No. 10, which had caught fire after colliding with a cargo ship in Tokyo Bay.

Needless to say, he has not fired a torpedo in actual combat since World War II. Nakamura and other JMSDF personnel were very much on edge, however, because the sinking of the Yūyō Maru No. 10 had to be performed under scrutiny by the mass media. They must have felt like Nasu no Yoichi²¹ as he drew his bow aiming at the fan. After successfully completing this mission, Nakamura revealed his thoughts to his subordinates: “Although we’re usually treated as a nuisance, the nation relies on the JSDF at critical moments. Moreover, they expect us to faithfully do a perfect job.”

In 1941, on joining the destroyer HIJMS Yūdachi, Nakamura learned of his appointment as the chief torpedo officer when he was suddenly ordered to attend a weeklong course for chief torpedo officers held at the Naval Torpedo School. Nakamura’s class had graduated from the Naval Academy 8 months early because of the rapidly deteriorating international situation. Consequently, they had received little education in the methods of firing torpedoes and fire control, and they were utterly ignorant of methods of antisubmarine warfare (ASW). After the weeklong course, Nakamura studied desperately for 3 months before the outbreak of the Pacific War. He gathered documents, visiting the Naval Torpedo School and the Naval Mine School, and sometimes asked others about uncertain points, but mostly he studied on his own. On the days he went out for meetings and recreation, even if he returned to the ship in the middle of the night, he would sit at his desk and study. He says he never studied so hard in his life. Before the war, he had only fired one torpedo, fitted with a dummy head, in training.

For 35 years afterward, until he retired as the CMS in the postwar era, it seems Nakamura never neglected to study, preparing himself for battle. He seems to have always been ready so that he could open the block valve immediately. After the two occasions during the war described above, he never fired torpedoes in actual combat again. There was no need to fire a torpedo: in the postwar era, Japan had no direct involvement in combat.

Nevertheless, it is as though Nakamura always stood next to the torpedo tube so that he could launch whenever necessary. The nation did not acknowledge his service, yet he strove to accomplish his duties and to take the initiative to set a good example, burning with a sense of responsibility and mission. He did not boast of his achievements; he loved the sea, devoted his life to the IJN and JMSDF, and retired when the time came. This was Teiji Nakamura, the man whom the US naval officer James E. Auer admired so much that he named his son Teiichirō, borrowing a character from Nakamura’s own name.