With American forces overrunning the Philippines and overcoming organized Japanese resistance on the archipelago, Lieutenant Onoda scurried about the rugged terrain of Lubang. He was cut off from communications with his chain of command, and so did not receive official word of the Japanese capitulation in 1945. Without new orders countermanding his last received instructions to fight to the death, Onoda displayed a single-minded devotion to what he claimed was his duty, hid in the jungles and mountains of Lubang, and fought a deadly one-man war. For 29 years.
For nearly three decades, Onoda survived with his tiny command in the dense thickets of Lubang. They erected bamboo huts and eked out a living by hunting and gathering in the island’s jungle, stealing rice and other food from local farmers, and killing the occasional cow for meat. Tormented by heat and mosquitoes, rats and rain, Onoda’s band patched their increasingly threadbare uniforms, and kept their weapons in working order.
Over the years, Lieutenant Onoda and his tiny band came across various leaflets announcing that the war had ended. However, they dismissed them as “fake news” – enemy propaganda and ruses of war. On one occasion, they encountered a leaflet upon which had been printed the official surrender order from their commanding general. They examined it closely to determine whether it was genuine, and decided that it must be a forgery. Even when they recovered airdropped letters and pictures from their own families urging them to surrender, Onoda’s band convinced themselves that it was a trick.
As the years flew by, Onoda’s four-man contingent steadily dwindled, as he lost comrades to a variety of causes. In 1949, one of them simply left the group, wandered alone around Lubang for six months, and eventually surrendered to authorities. Another was killed by a search party in 1954. His last companion was shot dead by police in 1972, while he and Onoda were trying to burn the rice stores of local farmers. Onoda was thus finally alone. Yet he kept on fighting, faithful to his last received orders, doggedly conducting a deadly one-man war.
In 1974, a travelling Japanese hippie backpacker found Onoda, and befriended him. He managed to convince the holdout that the war had ended decades earlier, but Onoda still refused to surrender, absent orders from a superior officer. Returning to Japan with photographic proof of his encounter with Onoda, the holdout’s new friend contacted the Japanese government, which in turn tracked down his former commanding officer.
Travelling to Lubang, Onoda’s wartime commander personally informed him that the war was over, that he was released from military duty, and ordered him to stand down. In 1974, clad in his battered and threadbare uniform, Lieutenant Onoda handed in his sword and other weapons to representatives of the US and Filipino military, and finally brought his war to an end nearly three decades after WWII had ended.
Lieutenant Onoda returned to a hero’s welcome in Japan. However, admiration for his single-minded devotion to duty was not universal. Back in Lubang, the inhabitants did not view Onoda as a conscientious and honorable man devoted to duty. Instead, they saw him as a bloody minded deadly idiot. During his 29 year holdout, Onoda had inflicted sundry harms upon the Lubangese, stealing, destroying, and sabotaging their property. He also needlessly killed about 30 local police and farmers with whom his band had clashed while stealing or “requisitioning” food and supplies, in order to continue fighting a war that had ended decades earlier.
A militarist through and through, Onoda believed that the war had been a sacred mission. The pacifist and futuristic Japan to which he returned was unrecognizable to him. Onoda found himself unable to fit in a country and culture so radically different from the one in which he had grown up. Within a year of returning to Japan, he moved to Brazil, where he bought a cattle ranch, settled into to the life of a rancher, married, and raised family. He died in 2014, aged 91.
The most deadly outlaw and gunslinger of the Wild West was probably John Wesley Hardin (1853 – 1895), who killed dozens of victims – including one man whom he shot for snoring too loud. According to his own claims, which might or might not have been exaggerated, Hardin killed 42 men. Contemporary newspapers verified 27 killings that were attributed to him.
The son of a Methodist minister and a member of a prominent Texas family that included a judge and a legislator, Hardin was a bad âun from early on. His violent career started in 1867 with the stabbing of a schoolmate, and a year later, at age fifteen, he shot and killed an uncle’s former black slave in an argument over a wrestling match.
After murdering his uncle’s former slave, John Wesley Hardin fled to Sumpter, Texas, with Texas’ Reconstruction Government agents hot on his tail. He became more and more deadly as time went by, and he claimed to have killed three Union soldiers in 1868, when they tried to arrest him. Within a year of that triple homicide, Hardin killed another soldier.
In 1871, the fugitive Hardin decided to try his hand at becoming a cowboy on the Chisholm Trail. He killed seven people en route, including two men in a card game, and an Indian “just for practice“. He killed another three men when he got to Abilene, Kansas. Later that year, he walked up to two black policemen who were looking for him, and shot them both, killing one and wounding the other.
As Hardin grew ever more deadly, he invested the time and effort to hone and facilitate his killing technique. He carried his pistols in holsters sewn into his vest, with the butts pointed inwards across his chest. He crossed his arms to draw, which he deemed the quickest way to get his pistols into action, and practiced his draw technique every day. He also kept on steadily piling up the corpses, and on his 21st birthday in 1874, he quarreled with a deputy sheriff and shot him dead.
A $4000 “Dead or Alive” reward was placed on Hardin. Choosing discretion over valor, he fled Texas with his wife and daughter, and settled in Florida as a businessman, using an assumed name. That peaceful interlude lasted until 1877, when Texas Rangers caught up with Hardin on a train in Pensacola, Florida. He tried to draw his pistol, but it got snagged on his suspenders, and the Rangers pistol whipped him into submission.
Back in Texas, Hardin was tried, convicted, and sentenced to 25 years in 1878. He made numerous escape attempts, including a tunnel into the prison armory, but they all failed. He eventually settled down, studied law behind bars, and was put in charge of the prison’s Sunday school.
In 1894, Hardin was pardoned after serving 17 years of his sentence. Upon his release, he took and passed Texas’ bar exam, and became a licensed lawyer. He moved to El Paso in 1895 to start a law practice, but got into trouble when he quarreled with John Selman, a lawman who had arrested a prostitute friend of Hardin. Heated words were exchanged, and that night, as Hardin was playing dice in a local saloon, Selman walked up to Hardin from behind, shot him in the back of the head, then pumped three more bullets into him as lay on the ground.
Where Did We Find This Stuff? Some Sources and Further Reading