- [Narrator] Back in 1974, a Japanese college dropout
called Norio Suzuki heard a rumor. Apparently, on a lone
island in the Philippines, far out in the dense jungle,
was a Japanese soldier, a lieutenant no less, who'd been there since
the end of World War II, that's almost 29 years at this
point, refusing to surrender. Initially, Norio brushed
this off as a hoax. If he'd been missing for that long, he must have been declared dead. Plus, there was no way
someone could survive out in the jungle for that long. However, he did some research. The lieutenant, by the name Hiroo Onoda, had been missing since
the war ended in 1945 and declared dead in 1959. That was odd, it was a
suspiciously long time to wait to declare someone dead, so he must have been
seen alive at some point. And if he'd survived that long, what was to say he wasn't still there? Inspired by this wild legend, he decided to take
matters into his own hands and embarked on a daring adventure to find the lost soldier
and bring him home. But it wouldn't be that
easy, not by a long shot. So, get ready, because we're about to take one heck of a deep dive
into the story of a man who fought for nearly 29 years
after World War II had ended. (light suspenseful music) - Whoa. (bell dings) - [Narrator] To begin, we need
to meet the mysterious man, Hiroo Onoda. Hiroo was born in 1922
in the town of Kainan, in Japan's Wakayama Prefecture. He grew up in a bustling family as the fifth of seven children and later embarked on
a career as a salesman for a Japanese company operating in China. But destiny had other plans for him, and eventually, everything
changed on December 7th, 1941. History buffs might recognize that date. It's the day when the
Japanese Imperial Forces attacked the United States
Naval Base of Pearl Harbor. This was a world-shattering event that altered the course
of the Second World War. It was a catastrophic event that would lead to the US
declaring war on Japan, embroiling the two countries in conflict. Following this, all able-bodied
men aged 17 to 40 in Japan were drafted for the army. In May 1942, Hiroo was called
up for his army physical, passing it with flying colors. So, at the tender age of 20 years old, he was inducted into the 61st
Infantry Regiment in Wakayama, before being assigned to
the 218th Infantry Regiment. His first orders? To head to the war front
in Nanchang, China. But in December 1944, American forces landed in
San Jose in the Philippines. The Japanese soldiers
were immediately relocated to fight against them, with Hiroo's regiment
ordered to defend Lubang, a small, narrow island, barely
48 square miles in size, forming part of the
Philippines archipelago. As the American invasion escalated, Hiroo received a battlefield promotion to a full-fledged second
lieutenant by January 10th, 1945. Then, he received a set of orders that would change his life forever: Major Takahashi said,
"Apprentice Officer Onoda "will proceed to Lubang Island, "where he will lead the Lubang Garrison "in guerilla warfare." It was a huge responsibility, one the Hiroo was keen to undertake. But then General Akira Muto, chief of staff of the 14th Area Army, delivered a haunting message
that echoed in Hiroo's ears: "You are absolutely forbidden
to die by your own hand. "It may take three
years, it may take five, "but whatever happens, we
will come back for you." As a newly appointed lieutenant given direct orders from a general, these words were burned into Hiroo's mind. He swore an oath to fight
the war till the bitter end. But despite his conviction, he didn't have the confidence
of his fellow soldiers. Being such a young soldier in command, Hiroo still had a lot to prove. And boy, would he be put to the test. On February 28th, a force
of 50 American soldiers landed on Lubang Island. A battalion of Marines led by four tanks put boots down in the small town of Tilik, and in the battle that ensued, the town was completely wiped out, with the American forces
immediately overwhelming the Japanese troops. To protect his unit, Hiroo ordered a retreat
into the mountains, changing their strategy to
that of guerrilla warfare. Despite the name, this didn't mean all the
soldiers put on monkey suits. Rather a guerrilla campaign
is a type of warfare where smaller groups of soldiers attack larger armies
by relying on sabotage, surprise ambushes, and
hit-and-run tactics. Hiroo knew it wouldn't be
safe for all the soldiers to remain in the same place,
as they'd be sitting ducks if they became surrounded
by the Americans. And so, the soldiers splintered
into three-man cells. It meant two soldiers could stand guard facing either direction, while the third soldier
prepared meals and set up camp. Hiroo's three-man cell was
joined by Corporal Shimada and Private Kozuka. They were later joined by Private Akatsu, a sickly young soldier who'd
been iced out from his cell. The men continued to carry
out guerrilla warfare against the American forces
over the summer of 1945. Held in the dense, jungle-thick mountains, these three-man cells
were completely cut off from central military command, which is why they were unaware
of the catastrophic events that unfolded on the 6th of August, 1945. It was a day the world never forgot: The Americans dropped
the first atomic bomb on the Japanese city of Hiroshima. The bomb annihilated the city, completely destroying
some 60,000 structures and ending the lives
of some 66,000 people. Three days later, the Americans dropped
the second atomic bomb on the city of Nagasaki,
razing it to the ground and wiping a further 69,000 people off the face of the Earth. Following this apocalyptic
demonstration of power, Japan admitted defeat. The official surrender of Japan was announced by Emperor
Hirohito on the 15th of August and formally signed on the
2nd of September, 1945, bringing the horrendous war to a close. Orders were delivered
through central command, passing on that Japan had surrendered and all soldiers were to stand down, though it took longer for the news to reach further areas of the war front such as the Philippines. There weren't iPhones or internet
access back in those days, just telegrams, letters,
and word of mouth. With that in mind, it
was the middle of October when news of surrender
finally reached Lubang. A squad of Japanese soldiers had encountered a group of local islanders who'd immediately fled in terror, but one of them left
behind a piece of paper. Printed on it in Japanese was a statement that read,
"The war ended on August 15th. "Come down from the mountains." The soldiers dismissed it
as a ruse from the islanders to force them to evacuate the island. Meanwhile, they still
heard distant gunshots and remained steadfast in their belief that the Americans were
attempting to lure them out. As the year drew to a close, a Boeing B-17 flew over their hideout, dropping a bundle of papers. These were prints of the
official surrender order from General Yamashita
of the 14th Area Army. But the soldiers scrutinized every detail, filled with skepticism. The leaflet said that any
soldiers who surrendered would be rewarded with "hygienic succor" and "hauled" to Japan. Now, succor, which means
to give assistance or aid, was a word typically used at this time when liberating prisoners of war. To the active soldiers, this
seemed incredibly suspicious. But what troubled Hiroo the most was the mention of a, quote,
"Direct Imperial Order" in General Yamashita's command. He had never heard of such an order, and the grammar of the text
suggested that the general was issuing the order to himself. Something didn't add up. With doubt clouding their
minds, the soldiers concluded that the leaflets were clever
forgeries by the Americans. It would later transpire
that the pamphlet's error was a simple printing mistake. But it was too late, the
soldiers remained vigilant and unwavering in their fight for Japan. As their guerrilla campaign dragged on, supplies began to dwindle, and the men were starting to get hungry. All groups had begun with a
three-month supply of rice, which Hiroo's cell had carefully rationed to last as long as possible. But by March, the other
soldiers had run out. They came to Hiroo's
camp and begged for rice, but the tough lieutenant refused. He gave them all the same answer: "You men made pigs of
yourselves when you had rice, "so now you don't have any. "If we give you rice,
we'll all be in trouble. "You don't know how to conserve." Now, if there's something that
makes me feel weak-willed, it's hunger. And with all that constant
clambering through the jungle, you can imagine how
hungry the soldiers were. As more leaflets urging
surrender rained down from above, the hungry and homesick soldiers found themselves teetering on the edge. Finally, in April 1946, 41 of the three-man cells
gave in and surrendered. Hiroo's four-man cell, however, stood their ground and
refused to give up on Japan. As the days and weeks wore on, the Japanese troops who had surrendered began leaving notes out that read, "Nobody is searching for
you now but the Japanese. "Come on out." But these four soldiers
still refused to accept the war had really ended and more importantly, that Japan had lost. Instead, they chose to believe the surrendered Japanese soldiers were actually captured prisoners of war and that the Americans were forcing them to lure out Hiroo's cell. With that in mind, every time the searchers
called out for Hiroo's team, the cell quickly relocated. Still, the leaflets left a deep impression on Private Akatsu, who,
at just 22 years old, was the youngest member of the cell. One evening, after they
had finished their meal, he raised the all-important question: What if the war really had ended? All eyes turned towards the lieutenant. Rising to the occasion,
Hiroo made a bold statement. "If that's what you all truly think, "I'll go and check," he said. But then, Private Kozuka
suddenly intervened. He reminded them of the strange
pamphlet they had received, referencing the "Direct Imperial Order." He convinced them that the other soldiers had fallen into the Americans' trap, taken prisoner by believing
in that forged letter. This was enough to sway their view, and they refused to
bear the responsibility for those other soldiers who they believed had been captured. The four of them vowed
to keep on fighting. It was now mid-April in 1946, and little did they
know but these four men were the last remnants
of Japanese resistance in the Philippines. After the main bulk of
the Japanese contingent had surrendered, the islanders on Lubang
began to feel more at ease, venturing into the
mountains to cut timber. Meanwhile, whenever Hiroo's squad, which was always on high
alert, heard them coming, they'd hide in the bushes like ninjas. They considered the islanders enemies because when the American
forces had initially landed, swiftly sided with them, turning against the
occupying Japanese force. These islanders had acted
as guides for the enemy, so now the cell avoided them at all costs. But luck wasn't always on their side, and sometimes they were spotted. When that happened, there
was only one option left: Shoot at the islanders to scare them off. It was all they could think to do to protect their secret
hideout from being discovered by the people they thought were the enemy. The soldiers were living in
their own version of reality. You have to feel bad for the islanders, who had to constantly deal
with the aggressive tactics of Hiroo's squad. But being shot at was just
the start of the problems, they also had their food stolen too. When the islanders went up
into the mountains to work, they often brought along
bags of uncooked rice. They'd hang the sacks from trees and leave them behind after finishing work to use the next day. But little did they know, there were very hungry
soldiers hiding in the jungle. Hiroo's squad would steal the rice like bandits in the night, but these meager portions of rice alone weren't enough to sustain them. Fortunately, Lubang had
an abundance of flora and fauna the soldiers
could hunt and scavenge. The tropical climate meant
that one fruit was found, quite literally, by the bunch, bananas. Lubang was also a wildlife paradise, with wild water buffaloes,
wild boars, wild chickens, and even iguanas that could grow up to a
whopping three feet in length. Lizard meat doesn't
exactly sound appetizing, and hunting wild animals with what precious little
ammunition they had seemed like a huge waste, which is exactly why the
soldiers focused their attention instead on the cows the
islanders raised for meat. They justified this hunting as taking resources from the enemy. It was bad news for the
islanders and the cows, but from this bare sustenance, the soldiers continued
the struggle for survival. To truly grasp the unique situation these holdout soldiers
found themselves in, we need to understand the
lay of the land on Lubang. The population of the entire
island was only 12,000, mostly consisting of farmers that resided in the north of the island. So, Hiroo's cell focused their movements around the less populated and jungle-covered mountains in the south. They developed a circuit, a rough ellipse moving
counterclockwise through the region. They wouldn't stay at a camp location for more than three to five days, as they were riddled with paranoia, convinced the enemy troops
could appear at any moment. Living in such a remote area, isolated from the outside world, and strictly following their routine, the soldiers slowly brainwashed themselves into the belief that the
war was still raging on. Though one soldier remained skeptical. You see, Private Akatsu was
never as convinced as the others that Japan was still at war. Three times he abandoned the group and disappeared into the jungle, only to be brought back
by Corporal Shimada. But then, one day in September 1949, four years and 210 days
since the war had ended, Private Akatsu vanished. The other soldiers feared the worst, that he had been captured
by American troops. But they were in for a surprise. In 1950, more than six months later, they stumbled upon a leaflet that revealed the shocking truth. Private Akatsu had surrendered
to the Filipino troops in March after spending
six months on his own at a location on the
other side of the island. A note was attached with
Private Akatsu's handwriting, saying that when he eventually
decided to surrender, the Filipino troops
greeted him as a friend rather than an enemy. Surely that was enough evidence to convince them the war was over? But as they were pondering
the private's surrender, they spotted a mysterious
aircraft circling above them. Assuming this must all
be part of an enemy trap, they quickly moved on. So, instead of casting doubt,
Private Akatsu's departure sent the group's paranoia
levels through the roof. They started seeing all
islanders as spies in disguise. At this point, you might have assumed that the Japanese authorities had given up trying to search for them, but their efforts continued. In February 1952, seven years
after the war had ended, another airplane dropped
leaflets into the jungle, and among them was a letter from Hiroo's oldest brother, Toshio. The letter stated that the war had ended and that his brothers
were all out of the army. There were also letters
from Private Kozuka's and Corporal Shimada's families,
together with photographs. Compelling evidence, right? Nope, the soldiers dismissed
them as another enemy hoax. They believed the photos were fabricated as a clever trap by the Americans. How? Well, Corporal Shimada's family was stood in front of a house
that he didn't recognize, indicating the photos were fake. Little did the men know, though, that Tokyo had been extensively
firebombed during the war, and most of the city had
needed to be rebuilt. So, they still refused to
believe Japan had lost, and instead, they let
their imaginations run wild with theories on how the
Americans forged the photographs. This would have been a lot
harder over 70 years ago because Photoshop didn't even exist. Ironically, the various leaflets
and messages sent to them saying that the war was over only served to further
entrench their conspiracies. Living in the humid jungle
for so long, though, their uniforms were now beginning to rot. To patch the holes, they used thread from the
fibers of a hemp-like plant that grows in the forest and cut pieces of canvas
off their tent for patches. Luckily, there was no malaria on Lubang, and, being isolated from the
main population of the island, they rarely got sick. They kept track of the calendar by memory and counting rations. They took care of their
military-issued swords and guns by polishing them with palm
oil to keep them from rusting. But gradually, the gun butts and slings absorbed so much palm oil
that the giant jungle rats would sniff them out and gnaw at them. They also stole materials
from the islanders, including clothes. They raided the islanders'
houses for coffee and canned goods. Unsurprisingly, the islanders became increasingly hostile towards the soldiers and tried various methods
to flush them out. Some of the wackier ideas
included leaving dirty cartoons or nude photos of women in the mountains to entice them to reveal their location. But rampant paranoia overwhelmed any desires
they had by this point, and the soldiers steered clear. Eventually, sick of
being taken advantage of, the islanders began fighting back. In June 1953, Corporal Shimada
was wounded badly in the leg after being shot at by a local fisherman. Then, in a heartbreaking turn
of events just a year later, Corporal Shimada was accidentally shot and killed by a Philippine
Army mountain unit during their training. While accidental, the cell saw
it as the enemy closing in, fueling them further into
their wartime delusion. Just 10 days after Corporal
Shimada's untimely demise, a Philippine Air Force plane made several passes over their location. It dropped more leaflets,
and a loudspeaker blared out, "Onoda, Kozuka, the war has ended." You'd think this would
be the moment of truth, the revelation that would
get the message through, but no. Enraged over Corporal Shimada's death, it only hardened their desire for revenge. They saw it as yet another
cunning ploy by the Americans to lure them out of hiding. At this point, I'm not sure if these guys were staunchly patriotic
or straight-up crazy. Either way, I guess spending
nearly a decade in the jungle will do that to you. But they weren't the only ones
being impossibly stubborn, as the Japanese government,
true to General Muto's words, refused to give up on them. In 1959, the now two-man
cell found themselves faced with yet another attempt to lure them out, but this time, it was in the
form of a large search party. Loudspeakers were set up, with the party saying, "Lieutenant Onoda. "Private First Class Kozuka. "The war has ended." They also played the
Japanese national anthem and a lot of old Japanese
folk songs the two recognized. The search party went
around the whole Island. Every time they came near them, however, the two trekked back
further into the jungle, still convinced this was a trick. The search party stayed for
an unbelievable six months, from May until late November. That's some serious commitment. But no matter what the search party did, the two remained hidden. On the last day of the search, however, something extraordinary happened. Hiroo heard a voice over the loudspeaker, saying, "Hiroo, come out. "This is your brother, Toshio," and immediately, he recognized the voice. It was his brother's. Now, you'd think this is the moment he'd finally come out of hiding, right? He knows his brother. He trusts his brother. There's no voice-changing
technology available yet, so this had to be him, right? There could be no doubt
in Hiroo's mind, right? Right? Unbelievably, Hiroo convinced himself that this was just a prisoner sent to imitate his brother perfectly. Talk about hearing what you wanna believe. But that's not all. As they wrapped up the search, the party left behind something that could have shattered
their beliefs once and for all, Japanese newspapers. It was the first real up-to-date news the cell had seen in some 15 years. But instead of accepting the truth, their paranoia reigned supreme. The enemy had obviously
infiltrated these newspapers, doctoring articles to deceive them because none of the
articles contained reference to the East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere. The what? You've probably never heard of it, but it was an idea cooked
up by the Empire of Japan, in which Japan would essentially be the central power in Asia, with all other countries
surrounding it as vassal states. Unsurprisingly, this was an idea hated by every other country in Asia, and when Japan lost World War II, they were forced to abandon it. But to Hiroo and Private Kozuka, again, the idea of Japan losing
the war was impossible, so the Sphere must exist. They believed that if
Japan had truly lost, there would be no news delivered because the entire population would have to have been wiped out. It's a morbid thought, but it gives us a glimpse into
the extreme indoctrination these soldiers experienced
through wartime propaganda. For some context, when Hiroo
arrived in the Philippines in 1944, Japan was already losing the war, but in the homeland, the
propaganda slogans being repeated were "100 million souls dying for honor." So, it was established that
the entire population of Japan would rather perish before surrendering. Hiroo took this literally and sincerely believed that
Japan would not surrender so long as even one Japanese
person remained alive. Both Hiroo and Private Kozuka
believed it was their duty to hold out until the East
Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere rescued them. The fact that none of
the Japanese newspapers even mentioned it convinced the two men that these were deliberately
faked by the Americans. A classic conspiracy
loophole of circular thought. It's astounding to think that even in the face of
overwhelming evidence, they clung to their beliefs so rigidly. What Hiroo had done was
effectively create a mental prison that kept him trapped in
this delusional world. As Hiroo and Private Kozuka
held on to their conspiracies, they continued their guerrilla tactics. They conducted what they
called "fire raids," setting ablaze piles of rice
harvested by the islanders. They saw these fires as beacons,
signaling their presence and dedication to their duties
as the "Onoda squadron." It was all in the hopes
of clearing the way for the Japanese landing party they believed would soon arrive. However, their actions
did not go unnoticed. The islanders, who had
turned from tolerating them to hating them by this point, reported these raids to the local police, labeling them as "mountain devils," fueling the tension between them. Following the war, living conditions gradually
began to improve on the island, and the soldiers observed
as many of the villages were lit up with electric lights. And then, in late 1965,
something remarkable happened: They managed to steal a transistor radio. Finally, they had a way to hear news straight from the horse's mouth. News on how the war was advancing, on how much land Japan had claimed, and how close they were to winning. But what they heard instead on the news was foreign relations with America, that space flight was being tested, that the Philippines had a new president. There was no news of the war at all? It was as if it wasn't even going on. Surely, this was the last straw? This must have been what
got them to see the light. (groans) Nope. They dismissed any news
as American propaganda. They continued resisting. Sadly, this would come
at another grave cost, when tensions between the islanders and soldiers escalated to a boiling point on October 19th, 1972. As the pair were once again
burning the islanders' rice, the local Philippine
police force were called, shots were fired, and in the chaos, Private
Kozuka was killed. It was a devastating blow
that left Hiroo all alone, surrounded by the consequences
of his misguided actions. Nevertheless, he continued
his one-man patrol around the island,
disguised in camouflage, unable to break out of his
strict military routine. Just three days after
Private Kozuka's death, another search party was dispatched. Once again, the search party
left newspapers behind, hoping to catch Hiroo's attention, but mistakes in the reporting
cast doubt in his mind. Though they'd reported
Private Kozuka's death, none of the articles mentioned Private Kozuka's cherished
"1,000 stitch waistband," a special cloth where family and friends sewed stitches for good luck. To leave out such an
important detail to Hiroo, led him to believe that the newspapers had been tampered with, fueling his suspicion of a
larger conspiracy at play. With his unwavering belief in the righteousness of Japan's cause, Hiroo clung to the notion that the Philippines would switch sides from America to Japan. He convinced himself that
staying on Lubang Island, fighting for Japan with his sword in hand, would serve the greater
good for his country. And so, he continued hiding in the jungle, waiting for an imaginary
secret agent to contact him. But his family never gave
up searching for him. In the following six months,
three Japanese search parties attempted to persuade Hiroo to surrender. But still concealed in camouflage, they were unable to ever spot Hiroo hiding in the dense jungle. Then, one day, something changed. Hiroo believed his family
was being forced to do this by the Americans in some
sort of twisted power play, he couldn't bear to not at
least make contact with them. In a moment of weakness, he wrote out a thank you note
for some gifts they'd left, leaving it behind in the same spot. This at least established
that he was alive and cemented him as a legend in Japan. It was at this point that Hiroo's story captivated the interest of Norio Suzuki, the college dropout who, in 1974, traveled all the way to
the Philippines on a whim to find the long-lost lieutenant. And, by some stroke of feat, he achieved what the rescue
parties had been trying to do for almost 29 years in just four days. Norio had set up camp in
the jungle all on his own, when all of a sudden, Hiroo
just walked up to him. He immediately recognized
that Norio wasn't an islander. How? He was wearing thick woolen
socks with rubber sandals, something the islanders never did. Norio also spoke in a
polite Japanese dialect, which is perhaps what
convinced Hiroo to stay and talk with Norio for over two hours. After being totally
alone for several months, he seemed desperate for company. Norio carefully and gently
broke the news to Hiroo that Japan had, in fact, lost the war and had been at peace for years. Only then, looking into
the eyes of another man, did it slowly dawn on Hiroo
that everything he had dismissed for years as enemy propaganda
was actually the truth. That meant that he had been
fighting for over 10,000 days on the island for nothing. Still unable to fully
comprehend what he was hearing when Norio asked what it would take for Hiroo to finally leave the jungle, he replied a direct order
from his superior officer to stand down. The old major had long
since retired from the army and was now a book dealer
living in Miyazaki Prefecture, but Norio promised Hiroo he would bring the retired
major to the Philippines. To prove that he had indeed found Hiroo, they took several photos
together, side by side. And as promised, two weeks later, the long-awaited reunion happened. The major greeted Hiroo and
read out his final order, "The 14th Area Army has
ceased all combat activity." And just like that, after
fighting for more than 29 years, Lieutenant Hiroo Onoda's
war was finally over. He was reunited with his
oldest brother, Toshio, before being escorted to Manila, where President Marcos addressed Hiroo for the serious crimes
he'd unwittingly committed during this time believed
he was still in combat. Technically, all his actions
were acts of terrorism, but the president generously pardoned him. He was warmly welcomed as a war hero when he returned to Japan, which may seem strange
considering how long he spent in his crazy conspiracy delusion. But in Japanese culture,
there's a deep admiration for heroes who remain loyal to a cause, especially when it seems lost or hopeless. And so, Lieutenant Onoda was celebrated like one of those ancient heroes, a modern-day samurai, of sorts. His homecoming was nothing
short of spectacular: Roaring crowds, celebratory parades, and speeches by public officials. It was a true hero's welcome. Japan could finally celebrate
something from the war after their devastating losses, as their lost soldier finally returned. But now, Hiroo found himself in a strange and unfamiliar land. Japan had been dramatically modernized over the 30 years he'd been missing, and while he tried to
return to a normal life, things just weren't the same, so he embarked on a whole new adventure. In 1975, Hiroo packed his bags and moved to a Japanese
colony in Sao Paulo, Brazil, to assist his brother,
who owned a farm there. Who would have thought this
once super stubborn soldier would become a cattle
rancher of all things? This story is full of bizarre twists. Later in 1984, Hiroo found love and tied the knot with Machie Onuku, a Japanese tea ceremony teacher. Together, the pair returned to Japan and founded the Onoda Nature School, a camp where kids learned survival skills. Then, in 1996, Hiroo made
a pilgrimage back to Lubang and, as a gesture of appreciation, donated $10,000 to a local school there. And finally, on January 16th, 2014, after a life filled with adventure, Hiroo Onoda passed away at
the remarkable age of 91. Now, that is one heck of a life story. Do you think Hiroo's determination
to fight the war so long was a masterclass in dedication? Or was he totally out of his mind? Let me know down in the comments,
and thanks for watching. (light thoughtful music)
