Surrender

Six years ago, U.S. dive bombers sank three small Japanese cargo ships in the harbor of the tiny island of Anatahan, 61 miles north of Saipan. Thirty-three Japanese soldiers and sailors scrambled ashore and set up camp on the island. The men lived on lizards, mangoes, bananas and coconuts, made clothes for themselves out of parachute nylon salvaged from the wreckage of a B29.

The derelict group was rent by a minor civil war: eight of the men were murdered by their companions; the others were held in thrall by a dictatorial seaman named Ichiro, who threatened death to anyone trying to escape. When the U.S. Marines took over the island in 1945, the Japanese hid in the hills. Letters from home, dropped obligingly on the beach by the U.S. Navy, told them the war was over and urged them to come home, but the Japanese refused to surrender.

Last week, finally persuaded by a letter from his brother, Petty Officer Junji Inoue, clad in parachute shirt and pants, stepped out of Anatahan's bushes and gave himself up to the crew of a Navy tug. Still holding out with one machine gun in the island's hills: 18 of his companions, who were still unconvinced that peace had broken out.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.