Читать книгу Memoirs of a Kamikaze - Kazuo Odachi - Страница 13
ОглавлениеCHAPTER THREE
Blooded in Taiwan
Lead-up to the Second World War
The Kamakura period marked the onset of the first samurai government of Japan in 1185. Samurai hegemony lasted throughout the Muromachi and Tokugawa (Edo) periods, finally coming to an end in 1868 with the Meiji Restoration. Following the Meiji Restoration, Japan’s new imperial government embarked on a path of rapid modernization to catch up with the West.
At that time, most Asian and Pacific countries were controlled by Western colonial powers. As Japan started to flex its political muscle on the international stage, it came into conflict with the gigantic Qing dynasty of China, and Russia, which was seeking hegemony over China and the Korean peninsula.
Japan won the Sino-Japanese war of 1894, and then managed to subdue Russia in the Russo-Japanese War of 1904-05 with a lauded naval victory in which the Russian Baltic feet was decimated. This result signified Japan’s entry as a force to be reckoned in international politics and inspired Asian countries who had long suffered under colonial oppression.
Japanese leaders at the time had experienced the turbulent days leading up to the Meiji Restoration. They were aware that Japan was out of its depth against Russia in terms of its military power and resources. In order to stop the war as quickly as possible, they engaged early on in diplomatic discussions with Russia with American President Theodore Roosevelt serving as mediator. The Japanese leaders were men who embodied the ancient proverb by Sun Tzu, “Know your enemy, know thyself, and you shall not fear a hundred battles.”
Nevertheless, Japan’s victories made future military leaders arrogant. A couple of decades later, this culminated in Japan’s aggressive military, economic and political machinations in China resulting in Chinese antipathy toward Japan and growing distrust among former allies such as Great Britain and the United States, who also had stakes in China.
In the Great Depression from 1929, powerful nations aimed for the formation of a bloc economy. Japan was undergoing significant population growth but lacked resources. Faced with serious economic and social challenges, Japan opted to advance its interests in Manchuria and other parts of China. Although losing 100,000 men and using a massive proportion of the national budget in the Russo-Japanese War, victory enabled Japan to legitimately secure a foothold in South Manchuria. At the time both the Japanese government and her people considered Manchuria to be a “lifeline.”
In addition, many Japanese opinion leaders were of the belief that Japan had an obligation to bring independence and prosperity to Asian countries oppressed under Western colonial rule. As the first modern state in Asia, Japan saw itself as the region’s leader, and sought to establish a new Asian cooperative scheme to counter traditional colonial powers. Firm in their resolve, Japanese leaders became oblivious to growing anti-Japanese sentiment throughout Asia, and a cruel war ensued that pitted Japan against China and other Asian countries.
Chiang Kai-shek aimed for unity in China and from the early 1920s and began advancing through to the north to subjugate military cliques in the region. He reached Beijing in 1928, causing considerable tension with the Japanese Army in Manchuria. In 1931, Japan sparked the Manchurian Incident in northeast China. The following year, the Japanese Army initiated the establishment of “Manchoukuo” (the State of Manchuria) with the “Last Emperor” Pu-Yi of the Qing dynasty on the throne. This action was heavily criticized by the League of Nations and led to Japan’s withdrawal from the organization.
Japan plotted to broaden its interests and influence Beijing and Tianjin in northern China. The main purpose was to cope with the growing influence of Communism exerted by the Soviet Union over northeast China, and to prepare for war with the Soviet Union in the future. Tension continued to escalate between Japan and the anti-Japanese front led by Chiang Kai-shek of the Chinese Nationalist Party, as well as Mao Zedong of the Chinese Communist Party. On July 7, 1937, a confrontation between the Japanese and Chinese armies known as the Marco Polo Bridge Incident broke out in the outskirts Beijing at midnight.
At the time the Japanese Cabinet and Army were divided into factions supporting either all-out war or peaceful negotiation. The pro-war faction looked down on the Chinese Army as lacking vitality and fighting spirit, and assumed that victory could be attained in a relatively short period of time. They took the initiative which led to further repercussions in Shanghai and middle China along the Yangtze River. The Shanghai Incident broke out in August 1937, and military aggression started to intensify. In December that year, Japan invaded Nanjing, the capital of China. Chiang Kai-shek retreated to Chongqing in Sichuan Province to the west of China, thereby establishing a secure center for all out resistance backed by the Americans, British, and the Soviet Union. The second Sino-Japanese War was now in full swing.
The Second World War was fought between the Axis powers (Germany, Italy, Japan) and the Allies. It was triggered In September 1939 with Nazi Germany’s invasion of Poland in spite of having had its independence guaranteed by Britain and France. In September 1940, the Tripartite Pact between Germany, Japan, and Italy was concluded under the Fumimaro-Konoe Cabinet. It provoked a strong reaction from the United States and the Allies who enforced strict economic sanctions against Japan such as an embargo on oil and iron exports.
In the spring of 1941 Prime Minister Konoe maximized efforts to negotiate with the U.S. and avert hostilities. A major reason for conflict between Japan and the U.S. was economic competition in China, especially after the Russo-Japanese War. The U.S. grew evermore distrustful of Japan after the Manchurian Incident, and so the crucial issue at the heart of negotiation for the Americans was the withdrawal of the Imperial Japanese Army from China.
In the middle of negotiations in July 1941, the Japanese Army moved into the southern region of French Indochina making the situation extremely volatile. Konoe tried urgently to talk directly with President Franklin Roosevelt. According to the dictates of the Meiji Constitution, however, the prerogative of supreme command for both the Army and Navy was wielded by the Emperor and was completely independent of the Cabinet or Diet. Even the Prime Minister had no mandate to command the nation’s military.
Roosevelt and Churchill were already determined to wage war with Japan at that time, and the slow pace of the negotiations under Konoe gave the Americans ample time to prepare for war. Konoe pleaded with Army Minister Hideki Tojo to withdraw the Army from China. His pleas were rejected outright, resulting Konoe dissolving his cabinet in October 1941. Tojo succeeded Konoe as Prime Minister.
Tojo did not jump immediately into hostilities with the United States as Emperor Hirohito still sought a peaceful resolution. In both the Army and Navy, especially in the Navy, there were staunch opponents to waging war against America. It was acknowledged that Japan had neither the military power nor the resources to match the United States in all out armed conflict. Nevertheless, the line of thought that favored immediate military action in order to acquire territories to bargain with in negotiations came to the fore, lest Japan missed its chance and faced absolute defeat in the future.
The catalyst that finally forced Japan’s hand was the Hull note (“Outline of Proposed Basis for Agreement Between the United States and Japan”) which was delivered to Japan on November 26, 1941. It demanded that Japan abandon its interests and claims in China, not only those which had been acquired by invasion, but also those rights and interests which were legally procured through negotiation after the Russo-Japanese War. It was essentially an ultimatum that Japan could never agree to, and was thus equivalent to a declaration of war.
Commander in Chief of the Combined Fleet, Isoroku Yamamoto, was strongly opposed to the Tripartite Pact and any thought of entering a war against America. Now he was obliged to plan and prepare the Navy for an attack on Pearl Harbor on December 8, 1941. The operation resulted in a spectacular victory and solidified America’s resolve for war. Many have since observed that Roosevelt and Churchill actually desired that Japan make the first move to force America’s hand.
In the early stages of the war, Japan achieved some outstanding victories on the Malay Peninsula, Singapore, Philippines, etc. It expanded its control over the West Pacific and even closed in on the north of Australia. It was the Battle of Midway in June 1942, northwest of the Hawaiian archipelago that proved to be a major turning point in the war. Japan lost many carriers, aircraft, and experienced pilots.
In February 1943, Guadalcanal in the Solomon Islands was captured by the U.S. after some furious fighting. In February 1944, Truk Lagoon, Japan’s main military base in the South Pacific theater, was laid to waste by naval air attack and hundreds of Japanese fighter planes were destroyed. In June to July 1944, Japan’s stronghold in Saipan was annihilated in the Battle of Mariana Sea. In October of that year, the Japanese Naval Fleet was routed in the Battle of Leyte Gulf which Odachi participated in while stationed in the Philippines.
In February to March 1945, the U.S. recaptured the Philippine islands which General MacArthur departed with his famous words “I shall return.” Shortly after, Japanese military might was decimated in the Pacific following their defeat at the famous Battle of Iwojima. The Japanese mainland was now the target of ferocious air raids. In the spring of 1945, the U.S. began its operation to take Okinawa. The Japanese Army and Navy stationed there were wiped out by June.
Meanwhile, the war in China was also going badly for the Japanese. Supported by the United States, the staunch anti-Japanese resistance led by Chiang Kai-shek was a constant thorn in Japan’s side. Japan won most of its battles in China initially, and came to occupy major cities throughout the country but could not make China yield completely. The Americans even commenced with B-24 and B-29 raids against mainland Japan and Taiwan from deep within the Chinese mainland.
On July 26, 1945, the Potsdam Declaration demanded Japan’s unconditional surrender. Cabinet, Army and Navy leaders debated furiously about the pros and cons of accepting the conditions. On August 6 and 9, atomic bombs were dropped on the cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. The Soviet Union took this opportunity to declare war against Japan and rushed in to take over Manchuria and the northern territories formerly occupied by Japan.
It was with an official declaration by Emperor Hirohito that Japan surrendered to the Allies. At noon on August 15, Hirohito made his official announcement to the Japanese people over the radio. This was just as Odachi’s was about to depart on his final Kamikaze mission from Taiwan. Odachi and his comrades fought against Allied forces for around one year, a relatively short period. However, it was the time in which the writing was on the wall for the Japanese. As many veteran senior pilots had died, the now hopeless responsibility of protecting the country fell on the shoulders of Odachi and his friends through the most desperate of tactics—Kamikaze.
Although we didn’t know it at the time, the Imperial Japanese Navy 1st Air Fleet had been routed. The gravity of our losses wasn’t immediately clear to us then, but it was precisely at this juncture that I entered the war.9
I sensed beforehand that I would be dispatched to a base somewhere in the south, either Taiwan or Saipan. In mid-August 1944, we were transferred from Kasanohara to Hsinchu Air Base on the northwest side of Taiwan. New intelligence reported that 11 American carriers were preparing to mount an assault on Taiwan. The IJN’s 2nd Fleet was directed to Taiwan to defend. As our carriers had already been destroyed, naval aircraft were only deployable from ground bases.
The 221st Naval Air Group had little more than 60 airmen. We headed to Taiwan separately in four or five squadrons, of which I was in second or third group to leave. We carried personal effects in our blue zippered parachute bags. My possessions fitted in but there was no room left for the parachute.
I dropped the bag behind the seat and secured it with a cord to stop it falling on me in case of some sudden maneuver. A spanner left in the cockpit by mechanics once smacked me fair in the head.
I was impressed by the majestic mountains of Yakushima and the beautiful coral reefs of Okinawa as we flew overhead. Taiwan came into view before long. I was happy to arrive but there was little indication that we were within spitting distance of the combat zone. I was taken aback when I flew into Hsinchu Airbase with its four long runways forming a tetragon, and one more runway set on an angle. All of them were paved with asphalt or concrete with the zones between the landing strips covered in lush green grass. It was an impressive base of the likes I had never seen before, designed to facilitate landing from all directions in any wind condition. Moreover, several planes could land simultaneously. As it was our first landing, however, we took our aircraft down with extreme caution.
Hopping out of my cockpit, I was once again awestruck by the quality and size of the base. It was so big that I had trouble identifying any of the other crews. All I could see were a few big aircraft parked in the distance. There were several other air bases in Taiwan besides Hsinchu including Taichung, Tainan, Kaohsiung, Yilan, and Hualien. The oldest were Kaohsiung and Tainan, the latter being particularly spacious allowing us to land in any grassy zone we liked. The runways in Kaohsiung and Tainan were paved, but Hsinchu was the best.
Our orders were to intercept B-24 bomber raids, fly patrol, and provide air cover for an Army convoy sailing to Xiamen. When not out on sorties we continued training. Our first taste of action, however, didn’t happen until the middle of October.
Gearing Up
New improved fighters like the Grumman F6F Hellcat were making life difficult for Japanese airmen. Faced with such formidable opposition, fewer of our planes were making it back, and our fleets were frequently rearranged to compensate for losses. The airplanes of the 1st Air Fleet were originally tasked with patrolling the southwest Pacific. We were supposed to provide back up when necessary, but with the 1st having been routed in the Battle of Mariana, there were hardly any operational fighters left in the area. It seemed inevitable that we’d be in the thick of it a lot sooner than we had envisaged.
The island of Taiwan.
For the first few months, however, all we did was train in the same format as Kasanohara except for tactical training which involved eight vs. eight Zeros instead of four vs. four. It was as close to real combat as possible so there was no room for mistakes. If information came in that Americans were approaching the east coast of Taiwan, we would fly to Hualien Airbase. If there was intelligence of the enemy somewhere in the south, we would fly to Tainan or Kaosiung. All the air bases in Taiwan became home as we pogoed around the island.
Although we were still officially in training, there was always a high degree of tension. We were never that far from the action and were ready to scramble without delay. We heard about losses being sustained here and there, and flight drills were conducted with the understanding that it would become the real thing at a moment’s notice. We were ready. Our senses had been honed and some of our men had already seen combat, even boasting of shots that had found their mark. We were all brimming with confidence, at the beginning.…
The completion of a training mission was signaled by the lead plane rocking its wings. One of our planes once veered away to fly under a suspended bridge in a river valley. I mischievously followed suit, and so did the rest of the fighters in our section. Another time we flew close to the river surface causing fishing boats to capsize. We were all aged only 17 to 19 after all. Just teenage lads wanting to have a bit of fun. Rowdy behavior took the edge off our volatile situation.
Taiwan was a bountiful place, and there was always a big basket full of bananas and citrus fruits located at the front of the barracks. Our three daily meals were excellent, just as they were in Kasanohara. The mess staff cooked our meals and took care of menial tasks such as washing the dishes. We often slept outside on the grass protected by a smoldering pyrethrum coil which kept the mosquitos in check. In August and September, the soft breeze at night made it more comfortable than sleeping inside the stifling barracks.
Escorting Convoys
With training concluded, my debut sortie was to the Xiamen channel between mainland China and Taiwan. We were to escort supply ships in what was going to be our first real opportunity to test the fruits of our hard training. We were fired up and determined to deal to any enemy planes unlucky enough to cross us.
We didn’t know why the fleet was headed to Xiamen but assumed that the Army was preparing to transfer military units from northeast Manchuria to the south. The fleet headed from the Yellow Sea (located between mainland China and the Korean Peninsula) to the north of Taiwan. The Yellow Sea was relatively stable at the time, but the area surrounding Taiwan was becoming increasingly perilous. Japan had already defeated the Chinese Nationalist Air Force by this stage, so the odds of being intercepted by Chinese fighters were low. Moreover, no U.S. or British fighters had been spotted west of the line between Okinawa and Taiwan. Still, we didn’t want to take the Chinese factor for granted. Should they appear, we had no idea what they would be flying. It could be American or Soviet Union-built aircraft, and we had no clue whatsoever about the latter. This element of the unknown kept us edgy and vigilant.
The weather was fine, and visibility was good. We could see scores of ships in convoy heading to the East China Sea via the Taiwan Strait. We flew over them in two formations comprised of eight Zeros each. We circled at around 5,000 meters altitude as the ships cut through the blue sea below. Each escort mission lasted about two hours. When one team finished they would “rock” their wings for the other to take over. Once, I took my aircraft down to about 200 meters to make a pass over some of the ships. The sailors on deck waved up at me. I felt a strong responsibility to keep them from harm’s way. As it turns out we didn’t encounter any enemy planes on our debut mission.
The B-24s
Taiwan remained calm for a while after we arrived, but we kept an eye on what was happening in the east. The first enemy airplane that we saw, however, flew in from the west. It was a giant B-24 Liberator (see photos). I heard later that they raided Taiwan a few times before we arrived there. The B-24s flew at approximately 6,000 or 7,000 meters as they dropped their payloads on our facilities and then headed westward to their bases. We assumed that they came from Chongqing deep in the west of China. They were certainly capable of traveling great distances.
When news came through from our Army stationed in China that four B-24s were en route to Taiwan we scrambled to intercept. I chased one B-24 at high attitude on its return journey. No matter how much I accelerated I could not close the distance. A little more, a little more.… I kept the pursuit going until noticing that I had almost flown as far as mainland China. I had to give up the pursuit as my fuel was running out.
The B-24s were much bigger than we imagined. We knew that they had four propellers and a wingspan of 34 meters, but they took our breath away when we saw them for real. The airframe was sturdy and covered in duralumin plate. They were completely different to the “Mitsubishi G4M Type-1 Attack Bomber” (Allied reporting name “Betty”) which was the biggest plane in the Imperial Japanese Navy. Our planes were smaller and painted a drab grey color. We almost felt cheated.
Another time I intercepted a B-24 and fired into its fuselage. I was sure that my bullets hit home but to my utter surprise the bomber flew away as if nothing happened. I learned later that B-24s were protected by thick resin “armor” around the fuel tanks. We were advised that shooting at B-24s was virtually futile. Even so, whenever we had drinks in the barracks we discussed how to shoot down these giants. Somebody observed, “Their machine gun turrets spin around like this, so it’s useless hitting them from this direction. The best way must be to shoot underneath from the rear of the fuselage.…” Another pilot mentioned, “Wait for it from a higher position in front, fire at it as you dive and then fly under the fuselage to attack on the turnaround.…” These strategies were easier said than done. I was never able to get myself in a position to try them out.
The B-29 bombers (see photos) were bigger than the B-24s and superior in performance. These beasts also ventured into our skies on occasion but wouldn’t hang around long. I assumed that they were on recon missions taking aerial photos of Taiwan before returning to base in China. They flew higher and faster than B-24s. We tried to intercept them, but it took too long for Zeros to reach 8,000 or 9,000 meters. At 6,000 meters I would have to put on an oxygen mask while climbing at full throttle, but the propeller would spin meaninglessly at this altitude because the air was too thin. The speedometer needle fluttered near the bottom of the dial and we’d burn through the fuel. The B-29s soon disappeared above us so we no chance to engage them.
We never heard of any B-24s or B-29s being shot down around Taiwan. We were uneasy that Japan’s leaders were not developing better planes to match these airborne fortresses. It was all we could do to take off and save our planes when they came to bomb our bases. We attempted to engage if they came within a feasible range, but they mostly flew high in the sky leaving us as helpless spectators while they wreaked havoc on our airfields.
The Zero
The Zero was designed by Mitsubishi Heavy Industry and Nakajima Aircraft Company as a carrier-based fighter for the Navy. It debuted in 1940. According to the “Imperial Calendar” in use in Japan at the time, this was the 2,600th year of the founding of Japan, so the Zero was named after the last numeral of this year. The Zero proved itself to be a highly capable fighter plane in the air battles over China, and it featured prominently in the Pacific from December 1941. Greatly respected by the enemy, it remained Japan’s most famous fighter to the end of war. Over 10,400 were produced with ten modified variants. By the end of the war, it was altered again to carry bombs in Kamikaze suicide missions.
The first mass-produced Zero was the Model 21. Its maximum speed was 533km/h, and had a cruising distance of up to 2,530km. It was powered by a 1,000 horsepower engine and was armed with two 7.7mm and two 20mm machine guns. Compared with fighters of other countries, the Zero’s cruising distance was relatively good, it had excellent turning ability, and daunting attacking capacity. These capabilities were enabled by a total weight of only 2.4 tons, almost 1 ton lighter than the Grumman F4F Wildcat (see photos). It was half the weight of the later Grumman F6F Hellcat. Its light weight, however, was only possible through compromises. Its defensive ability and the strength of the airframe was sacrificed making the Zero prone to catching fire when hit. There was no plating to protect the pilot, and if it dived at a velocity of 63040km/h, there was a very real danger of the plane disintegrating in mid-air.
Japan failed to develop a viable successor to the Zero, relying on minor tweaks here and there to bolster firepower. This led to gradual increases in weight which in turn decreased its turning ability. By contrast, U.S. fighter capabilities improved significantly with the development of aircraft like the Hellcat.
Solo and Team Combat
Air tactics began to change as the battle in the Pacific intensified. Before my time it was common for three fighters to make one unit. Japanese pilots would fly in formation until the enemy came into view then would break off to assail targets individually in dogfights. The early Zero pilots were very adept at this mode of attack and used a special “twisting-in” maneuver like a corkscrew loop called “hineri-komi.” When chased by the enemy, the standard Zero tactic was to climb suddenly at maximum speed then turnover at the highest point to steal the advantage. I heard of one situation where a Zero was chasing an American fighter, with another fighter chasing that Zero, and yet another Zero chasing that fighter all in a chain. This scenario suited Japanese pilot tactics. There was always banter of who shot down how many planes and we would celebrate the feats of “Shoot Down Kings” (aces).
The situation started to worsen for us from around the Battle of New Britain (Rabaul) in 1943, especially with the introduction of the new Grumman F6F Hellcats.10 They had double the horsepower of the F4Fs and were a superior machine to our Zeros. They hunted in packs of four and avoided individual dogfights focusing instead on team battles. U.S. pilots researched our strategies thoroughly and formulated maneuvers to take advantage of our weaknesses. For example, our famous sharp-turning hineri-komi defensive ploy had one major drawback in that the Zero’s speed would drop significantly for a few seconds at the point of turnover. One of the four American fighters waiting at altitude targeted this instant and unleashed a spray of lead just as the Zero was about to plunge into the dive. If the Zero was caught in this trap, there was no way to escape.
The Japanese pilots had to adapt to keep ahead of the game, so adopted a similar four fighter team and style of combat. These changes were already being implemented by the time I started my training. We were advised against individual combat and told instead to take the initiative, making concentrated bursts in first contact. This meant that good team-work was vital. The most effective method was to fly at altitude to spot enemy aircraft in advance, then make a rapid dive toward them and shoot at the crossing point. The difference between winning and losing came down to which side detected the enemy first.
When shooting, I would press the center stick trigger with my right thumb for a few seconds. Any longer and the bullets would run out too quickly. It was often impossible to tell whose bullets hit the target but there were occasions when I knew I had hit the mark. Still, the Hellcat never let on that it was hit as its airframe had been redesigned to mitigate the impact of enemy fire. The only way to shoot one down for sure was to make a direct hit on the pilot in the cockpit.
Rainy days were spent in the classroom. We sat cross-legged and listened to lectures outlining the latest American tactics and discussions led by vets who had survived close run-ins with the improved Hellcats. To hone maneuvers in our four-fighter teams, for example, we were told where the first and second aircraft needed to fly. “When the first turns away, the third must follow behind in cover. Then, the second and the fourth which were here must fly in behind the third.…” This was all life-saving advice, but inevitably required incredible discipline and nerve under extreme pressure to execute.
Some officers were still under the false impression that Zeros were superior to Hellcats. One of them asked an instructor, “Why can’t we engage in dogfights to take advantage of the Zero’s agility?” The instructor told him plainly: “That’s impossible. It’s all just empty theory now. Go ahead if you insist, but you’ll be the first one to buy it.”
Instead, we were repeatedly told, “When you face the enemy, fly straight at him like a game of chicken. Never turn away earlier than the enemy. Go in with the intention of letting your propellers bite into his plane. This is the only way they will show their bellies, and that’s when you shoot. They don’t have strong hearts like you boys. Go for their guts.”
Sliding Maneuver
It was often commented that if two fighters with the same capability and skill engaged in combat, the victor would be the one who takes the higher position. If we found ourselves at lower altitude and needed to take evasive action, the first thing we were taught to do was accelerate into a dive. As the enemy followed, the next move was to press hard on the left pedal while pulling the center stick strongly to the right. This would make the Zero slide forward to the diagonal left. I could also do it the opposite way.
The irregular sliding movement generated air turbulence around the Zero, and in turn affected the trajectory of the enemy’s rounds. To successfully perform the sliding maneuver took considerable strength in the arms and legs, and it also induced a lot of torque on the airframe. I could hear my plane creak and was always afraid that it might fall to bits on me.
I had a habit of removing my gloves before any action to stop my hand from slipping off the controls. I also took off my headgear and placed it on my lap because it hindered neck movement and I couldn’t look around me. The most dangerous area was to the rear. I liked to assess if there was anything coming from behind. Rear-below was particularly treacherous as it was a blind spot from the cockpit. Even when I was in pursuit of an enemy aircraft I would check right, left, below and behind to make sure I wasn’t in somebody else’s sights. A surprise attack when engaging an enemy in front would not end well. We were told to watch the front 80 percent of the time, and the back 20 percent.
I could tell when the altitude was 4,000 or 5,000 meters without referring to the altimeter just by the feel to the plane. This is higher than the mightiest peak in Japan, Mount Fuji at 3,776 meters. We were advised to attach our oxygen masks over 4,000 meters, but few of us did. The mask had a long tube necklace which restricted head movement, so we usually held on until 6,000 meters. The air being so thin that high, it was hard to get enough oxygen without it. To compensate, I used to take two deep inhalations followed by one exhalation.
Earplugs were inserted on a rapid climb to protect the ears. I followed this protocol at first but gradually became accustomed to the pressure. High altitude also resulted in pain shooting through my mouth and teeth through sucking in the cold air. There was no heater, but we kept warm enough thanks to the heat of the engine and the exhaust fumes that infiltrated the cockpit.
Landing Woes
Each airbase had a 15 meter pole located in the midpoint of the runway with a streamer attached to the top to indicate the direction and strength of the wind. This was vital for making a clean landing. If the streamer was horizontal, we knew that the wind was blowing hard at about 12 to 13 meters per second. When we made unscheduled landings in different bases, streamers were often absent forcing us to wait until somebody ran out to the runway to attach one.
At bases with grass runways we identified suitable places to land by the flatness of the vegetation. If it was still long that meant it was dangerous to land on because it hadn’t been used for landing before. Fuel permitting, we’d do another pass over the base if we weren’t certain.
Paved runways with a headwind made for the best landing conditions. The Zero could make a three-point landing and come to a stop in about 150 to 200 meters. That distance increased with a tailwind. A side wind was a little tricky to cope with. The airframe caught the wind and tilted the aircraft so that one wheel touched the ground first meaning too much weight on one point. There were many incidents where planes were pushed to the side this way resulting in the wheels breaking up.
I mitigated this danger by slowing down as I came in to land and moving the rudder the moment of touching down. If the side wind was coming from the left, I would press down on the left pedal to guide the airframe to the front-left, essentially straightening up in the wind. This was a subtle operation requiring careful consideration of how much we could be blown off course and landing slightly upwind and to the side of the runway’s centerline. Landing was much more difficult than taking off.
There was a rule for landing called the “mid-air pass.” When we approached the runway, we flew 200 meters overhead and passed by first. Banking our wings, the officer in charge looking through his binoculars confirmed by saying “Number such-and-such passed.” Only then could we start the landing procedure. Everyone on the ground watched as we came in. Even if they didn’t know the pilot, they could assess his skill level by how well he landed. After a successful landing the engine would be revved for a few seconds before alighting the aircraft and running to the command post to report in.
Aircraft landed separately at smaller bases. Runways were typically 50 to 60 meters wide, but planes were prone to swinging to the sides, so as much leeway as possible was appreciated. At large bases four planes could land in unison. We could even do eight simultaneously at the largest. It just depended on the conditions. We relied on hand signals and non-verbal cues to coordinate our approach. The runways on carrier decks, however, were considerably narrower and always a harrowing prospect.
Cockpit Lunches
We had lunch in the cockpit on long flights. This was usually a couple of rice balls wrapped in bamboo leaves made by the mess staff. We stuffed the rice balls in the pockets of our flying suits and looked forward to scoffing them in the cockpit. We never took water bottles for some reason. I don’t know why, but I guess it was because we never really got thirsty. No matter how loudly nature called, we refrained from taking a dump or a whiz in the cockpit. Having said that, if our bladders were bursting and peeing was unavoidable, one small consolation was that it dried quickly through the engine heat.
Some pilots tucked into their lunches as soon as they levelled out after take-off. They would move to the front of the formation and let the others know, even though enemy aircraft could appear at any moment. Boys being boys, sometimes pilots would sneak up behind those enjoying their lunches and frighten the living daylights out of them.
Fighter pilots were a special breed in the Navy. Each one was, in a sense, a lone wolf. Flight hours was more significant than official rank, and pilots who had done the hours and proved themselves in battle were treated with respect, even if their rank was low. They were allowed in the cadre’s chamber called the “Gun Room” which was off limits even to commissioned officers without enough flight hours.
Under the Commander was the Assistant Commander, Flight Commander, Squadron Leaders, Section and Assistant Section Leaders. The commander was usually a Colonel or Lieutenant Colonel. Under him were 60 to 70 pilots. Promotions came rapidly. I started at the lowest rank of Flight Petty Officer 2nd Class but was promoted to Flight Petty Officer 1st Class within three months, and Superior Flight Petty Officer three months later. Then Chief Flyer to Flyer 2nd Class, and Flyer 1st Class on August 15, 1945. I can’t remember when I was made Flyer 2nd Class.
Embroidered Scarf
In those days, most big towns in Taiwan had sugar companies run by Japanese. The factories had clubhouses where wives of employees took good care of us. On the second floor of one such clubhouse, there were five or six Japanese tatami-mat rooms in which we could rest. On the ground floor was a large hall, cafeteria, and a room for listening to music and playing Japanese chess. The facilities were built for company personnel and their families, but we were permitted to come and go as we pleased. These were still relatively carefree days as we didn’t know the misery that awaited us.
When stationed at the Hsinchu base, we occasionally visited the local town to unwind after long training periods, or after completing two to three weeks of sorties. Somehow this information always got out and we were greeted by throngs of Japanese girls living in Taiwan. It was quite perplexing when they called us by name. We had no idea who they were. We were invited to their homes for dinner, and ended up going to several houses each night. It was decided who would go where first by scissors-paper-stone. The families welcomed us with delicious food cooked by the mothers. Alcohol flowed freely. We went from one home to the next after an hour, indulging in three full meals in a single night.
One girl gave me a scarf on my second or third visit. It was made of cloth from a used parachute and was embroidered with pink cherry blossoms and a navy blue anchor, the symbol of Yokaren. Brushed onto the silk was a poem composed by a pilot who died at Pearl Harbor (see photos).
For you [your imperial majesty],
if my life is short like scattering cherry blossoms,
then I have no regrets. 11
The characters were so exquisite, I figured her father must have written it. She gave me another scarf with “221st Naval Air Group Storm Corps, One shot, one kill”12 and my name stitched on it. I wore it on all my sorties. The others liked to give me a hard time about it. “Hey, fashion Queen!” they would chide. “Piss off!” I replied. I wore this religiously when I sortied. I intended for it to be wrapped around my neck in my final mission as a Kamikaze pilot.
I never saw her again. If letters were not censored the way they were, I might have kept in contact. I will always remember her name though. My wife kept the scarf in a drawer after the war. The color of the stitching was vivid pink, but it faded over the years. I told my wife that I received it from a young girl in Taiwan whose family I became friendly with. She understood its immense value and treated it with the utmost respect.
The Japanese girls in Taiwan must have been happy to have all these dashing young men from the mainland over there to protect them. We received love letters from girls who we didn’t know. The content was mostly the same. “Dear So-and-so, thank you for devoting your life in service to the nation. Stay well and good luck.” Some of the letters contained beautiful pressed flowers which really lightened our mood. Our superiors told us never to get too close. We all knew that “happily ever after” was an unlikely outcome. We weren’t destined to live for long, but we appreciated their kindness all the same.
Formosa Air Battle
On October 12, 1944, news came in that 12 enemy carriers had appeared east of Taiwan. It was time to scramble. Bombers and torpedo planes took off first to keep the American fleet at bay. We were determined to keep the air battle offshore and away from the island itself. Before long, hundreds of Japanese planes not stationed in Taiwan started arriving at our bases to refuel. Losses started to mount.
Fifty Zeros departed from Hsinchu in pursuit of the bombers. I was among them. We headed east and could see small dots like speckles of sand contrasted against the clouds to the north. There were too many to count. The dots soon grew to the size of beans and we realized that they were the enemy judging by their direction and formation.
We climbed to 4,000 meters, the optimum altitude for combat in the Zero, but the enemy climbed higher. We gave chase but then the enemy started to dive. We were now disadvantaged as their planes had considerably more grunt than ours. They had spotted us and were heading in our direction. I could tell they were F6Fs because I studied pictures of enemy aircraft every day. Thumb on trigger, I was resolved not to show the underside of my aircraft. We pushed our Zeros into full throttle and charged forward into the fray. We were all of one mind.
The wings of an F6F came into my sights. I knew that he was hunting me too. I was flying at about 350km/h and he at around 400km/h. The Zero had two pairs of machine-guns on each wing. We were approaching each other at approximately 200 meters each second, so I was focused solely on getting the timing right for my burst. I would need to press the button at 500 to 600 meters out, and then veer away at the last second to avoid collision. I was ready spray him the instant he showed his belly.
I held my shot. “Not yet, not yet.…” I fired and so did he. Passing each other by in a flash, it was too fast to get a look at his face. We got so close that I thought his propellers might cut into my neck. We were told never to hesitate at that moment, and just aim to carve the enemy with our own propellers. Of course, death was a certainty if this happened but at least we would take the enemy with us. I turned to pursue but he was gone.
The enemy was going too fast to give chase, so we returned to base. Only eight could keep in formation. Of the 50 Zeros in Storm Corps out on this first sortie, 17 did not return. I didn’t see any of my comrades being shot down. All I could see was the enemy in front of me. I had no idea how many successes we had. The tactics drilled into us so thoroughly were hopeless against the overwhelming clout of American planes.
This was my first real taste of combat. Those of us who came back sat in a circle drinking in our half-burned barracks. There were 17 empty coffins covered with white cloths in there with us. The sharp metallic sound of the F6F still rang in my ears. I knew we couldn’t compete, and I’m sure my comrades thought so too.
My team sortied again the next day, but we didn’t encounter the enemy. Our base had been heavily bombed in our absence, and all the barracks were burned to the ground. American bombers destroyed our beautiful airfields while we were out on sortie. If one U.S. carrier transported 80 planes, 11 meant that they had 880! How on earth could we defend our bases against these numbers? Why didn’t we have more warning?
We knew in our bones that we had been soundly defeated in the Formosa air battle. However, radio news broadcasts from the Imperial General Headquarters reported that we had won a “marvelous victory.” We could not reconcile the fact that Japanese scout planes and submarines missed such a large enemy fleet until it was too late. If we had known what we were up against, at least we could have been better prepared. It seemed to me that we were already defeated before the fight began.13
My personal effects, uniforms and pictures were all gone. My favorite photograph of a Zero taken high above the Sakurajima volcano also perished in the fire. The photos I have of this time now are few that I had sent home. The gate of the airfield was the only thing left standing. A young American airman was tied captive to a post with rope. His plane must have been shot down and he bailed out with his parachute. He looked to be around the same age as me and was clearly afraid for his life. I said to him, “It could be me tied up instead of you. We share a similar destiny.” Of course, he had no idea what I was saying and stared at me with a searching eye. It did think that such treatment of POWs must be in contravention of international treaties, but I kept my mouth shut.
