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CHAPTER FOUR

Battle of the Philippines

Shortly after the air battles of Formosa ended, the 2nd Naval Air Fleet’s Storm Corps received orders to head to Clark Field in Luzon.¹⁴ “Tomorrow, embark for the Philippines” came the directive. Other Air Groups were given the same ultimatum, but we went separately in several waves. Taking off on October 18 or 19, my squadron was in the second or third wave.

The Philippines.

The air bases in Taiwan had been hit badly in American attacks, and few Zeros were left in an operational state. It took some time to repair the damaged planes because there were no parts. We cannibalized hopelessly wrecked planes for duralumin plate and used it to patch bullet holes in the fuselage. The color was different making the mended Zeros look battle worn and tired.

Once repaired, we were immediately sent to the Philippines in teams of three or five. Who went when depended entirely on the state of repairs. The Model 32 Zero which I had flown since Kasanohara was in good shape, so my departure came early on. My destination was the central airbase in Clark Field. The Americans were already pounding bases in the Philippines and we had to be careful about our time of arrival. It was preferable to land at nightfall to avoid daytime raids.

We flew over the Bashi Channel between Taiwan and the Philippines and headed south to the northern edge of Luzon. A long road running southwards from Lingayen Gulf was visible from the air. I figured that this must be the “Manila Highway.” Several lines which looked like landing strips came into view in the distance ahead. I counted nine in total as I approached but couldn’t tell if they were runways or just crofts. I soon realized that it was indeed the colossal Clark Field, albeit much shabbier than the fine bases in Taiwan. From appearances alone, my first impression was that it wasn’t worthy of its repute as a great stronghold. It was truly massive, though.

On the west side of the Manila Highway was a grass runway interspersed with white pavement. That was Clark’s central airbase, the one we were bound for. I chose a line that looked to be in good condition for landing. Although Zeros had spring suspension, the landing felt heavy. The runway was originally made of concrete, but the surface was potholed and uneven because of shelling. The holes were filled with dirt which soon became overgrown with weeds. I knew that I would have to be careful when landing from now on to avoid damaging my plane.

I imagined before arriving that there would be underground shelters given it was referred to as a “fortress.” The setup fell well short of my expectations with just a series of grassy landing strips. All of us were left somewhat disappointed. Aircraft parked on the grassy areas outside were always sitting ducks. There were some concrete shelters, but they could only house one fighter each. We kept our aircraft safe by hiding them in the bushes around Clark, covering them with branches cut from trees. This took time and planning.

Clark Air Base Complex

Nightly Bombings

Our quarters were originally built by the Americans in a forested area close to the western edge of the base. The building was raised off the ground with a small flight steps leading up to the entrance. It was spacious and very “Western.” Notwithstanding, there were no beds or chairs, so we made our bedding on the floor with a few blankets and looked forward to sleeping soundly in our new home.

This was never to be. From the very first night we endured air raids by American bombers and were abruptly awoken by the furious sound of shells exploding close by. Frightened out of our wits, we grabbed our blankets and rushed down the steps to take shelter under a big tree. Even at midnight, American bombers could accurately target the runways and barracks from high in the sky. This was hardly surprising as Clark Field originally belonged to them. We thought it prudent to take cover some place far away from its facilities.

We “slept” under that tree for the first night. I use the term loosely and we were all dreadfully tired the next morning. The following night was not much better. Again, we fled the barracks and sought safety elsewhere. Some of the barracks were hit and burned to the ground.

To the west of Clark Field was the Pinatubo volcano (1,486m), and Mt. Arayat to the east. Arayat was not particularly high, but it was a beautiful mountain. We called it the “Mount Fuji of Manila.” Clark was sandwiched between these two mountains. We heard rumors that anti-Japanese guerrillas were making bonfires halfway up the mountains to guide American bombers in their raids. The constant barrages and incessant worry prevented any hope of peaceful slumber.

We relocated to another airfield to the south in the Clark network. Our new quarters were a small hike from the west side of the base. It was a shabby little cottage of the likes seen in comic books. It didn’t take long before bombing commenced in this area as well, and again, we were forced to run for our lives in the dark of night. At times we even slept under the wings of our Zeros. We reasoned that the pinging of bullets hitting metal would alert us to the need to bolt. It was virtually impossible to rest there as well. The bombings continued almost every day, but we had yet to see any American fighters in the skies overhead. This indicated to us that the American carriers were still quite a distance away from the Philippines.

The Battle of Leyte Gulf

Intelligence filtered through that the U.S. fleet with its many carriers was approaching from the east of the Philippine Sea. It was coming to support a large body of troops led by General MacArthur which had landed on Leyte Island in the mid-east region of the Philippines.¹⁵

On October 23, 1944, bombers and fighters of the IJN’s 2nd Naval Air Fleet made an all-out attack on Leyte Gulf. I wasn’t aware at the time, but the strike happened two days after the first Zero Kamikaze suicide attack mission departed from Clark. Ours was not a suicide mission, but was a desperate foray all the same, involving more than 120 planes. Some reports say the number was 250.

My Zero was part of a team tasked with securing air superiority to protect our bombers. We flew ahead at an altitude of about 4 to 5,000 meters, keeping a sharp look out for intercepting fighters. An assortment of bombers made their way in formation below us. There were torpedo bombers and dive bombers to go after shipping, and others to take out targets on land. It was a majestic sight with their wings glittering in the sunlight. Something began to stir inside me. I tightened my scarf and removed my gloves securing them under my legs. I remember the excitement as I scanned the sky vigilantly to my right, left, up, down, forward and behind.

A mass of black storm clouds came into view ahead. This meant heavy rain, thunder and lightning. The inclement weather would wreak havoc on our visibility and possibly result in collisions, so we were ordered back to base. We were deployed again the following day, but my team returned without encountering enemy planes. I heard that some of the other teams didn’t have such a quiet time of it.

Arriving back at base, I left my Zero with the mechanics. I noticed a communications officer scurrying around in a panic. I asked him what was up. He moved close and whispered in my ear. “The battleship Musashi was attacked and sunk in the Sibuyan Sea.” The Imperial Japanese Navy rarely told the rank-and-file what was going on, so we relied on kernels of information passed down through unofficial channels, or by word of mouth. In any case, I was gob-smacked at the news. Our team had just flown over the Sibuyan Sea and didn’t see the Musashi, let alone have any inkling that it was in trouble below. Sure, the ocean is expansive, and we were short on planes so couldn’t keep tabs on everything going on. Still, it was hard to believe that the almighty Musashi had been destroyed with nobody to defend it from the sky (see photos).¹⁶

“Joining” the Kamikaze Special Attack Corps

I noticed Zeros from other Air Groups flying into Clark Field during the day and night. We could identify where they came from and what squadron they belonged to if they came to our barracks, otherwise we had no idea who they were. At rollcall each morning we saw unfamiliar pilots in our ranks. “Who’s that?” we’d ask each other. “He came in last night.…”

I remember Zeros flying in from Singapore and Borneo to join us. Squadrons seemed to be coordinated randomly and we never really knew who was in charge. I heard of a strange mix up where the captain of an Air Group originally based in Borneo landed in Clark Field, but his men flew to the airbase in Manila instead. We didn’t care about their problems, however, as we had plenty of our own to worry about.

Our planes were changed frequently because of maintenance issues. Each Zero had its own peculiar feel so we needed to take care flying different machines. After taking off I always tested the controls by pushing hard to the right, left, and up to gauge the aircraft’s responsiveness.

I came to the Philippines from Taiwan as a pilot in the 2nd Naval Air Fleet’s 221st Air Group. Completely unbeknownst to me, at some stage in the proceedings I was transferred to the 1st Naval Air Fleet’s 201st Air Group. Most of the original pilots in the 201st had been killed in air battles east of the Philippines in the Mariana islands, Solomon Islands, Rabaul, Palau and so on. Suffering heavy losses throughout their campaigns, the 1st Naval Air Fleet was forced to retreat westward, and its fighters ended up at Clark Field in a last ditched effort to prevent the Americans reclaiming the region. Carriers made up the backbone of the 1st Naval Air Fleet, but its flyers were forced to become land-based as most were sunk at the Battle of Midway. Eventually, it was pilots of the 201st Air Group who filled the initial units of the Kamikaze Special Attack Corps.

A friend inquired, “Kazu, when were you transferred to the 201st? Your name is on the flight roster.” I was surprised to say the least. “Really? I had no idea!” (Kazu is short for Kazuo, my given name. There was another pilot who shared the same family name of Odachi. His given name was Umesaku, so we just called him Ume.) The squadron leader and section leader were scheduled to arrive at Clark Field separately, but they didn’t show up and we had no clue of their whereabouts. That’s why I was never informed of my transfer. The system of command was in a state of utter confusion.

“No.1 Rapid Mission” and Kamikaze Special Attack Initiation

It was widely understood that what happened in the Philippines would ultimately dictate the outcome of the war. The U.S. forces led by General MacArthur moved to reoccupy the Philippines. Fully cognizant that allowing them to land would spell disaster, Japan focused everything at her disposal to prevent the American advance. This was referred to by the Japanese high command as “No.1 Rapid Mission.” The basic strategy was to use the Imperial Japanese Navy’s last remaining four carriers as bait to entice the U.S. fleet toward the Northern Sea. This would then provide an opening for the battleships Yamato and Musashi to enter Leyte Bay from the west, and attack the huge American convoy transporting troops. The airplanes of both the 1st and 2nd Naval Air Fleets were supposed to attack U.S. carriers defending the convoy. The strategy was a gamble, and it failed. Bad judgment led to the destruction of most of Japan’s carriers and battleships, including the so-called “unsinkable” Musashi. Many fighters were also destroyed in the Leyte attacks. With few ships and aircraft left, Japan was unable to take the initiative in campaigns thereafter. It was under such desperate circumstances that the Kamikaze Special Suicide Attack Corps was initiated by Vice-Admiral Takijiro Ohnishi, also known as the “Father of the Kamikaze,” who arrived in Manila as the incoming Admiral of the 1st Naval Air Fleet.

Kamikaze Special Suicide Attack missions took various forms. Zeros and other kinds of craft were sacrificed by both the Navy and Army. For example, small manned rockets called “Ouka” were attached to the undercarriage of bombers which flew them towards a target ship. The “Kaiten” was a manned torpedo fired from a mother ship on a oneway trajectory into enemy shipping. Vice Admiral Ohnishi was only in charge of the 1st Naval Air Fleet so there must have been decision makers higher up who formulated strategies that involved both the Navy and Army. Following in the tradition of Samurai warriors, Ohnishi killed himself by cutting his stomach open (seppuku) the day after Japan’s surrender. His suicide was presumably to take responsibility for deaths of young men in Kamikaze attacks. He never apportioned any blame to his superiors, and it has not been clarified to this day who was ultimately responsible for the strategy.

Vice-Admiral Ohnishi arrived in Manila on October 17, 1944. Two days later, he visited the 201st Air Group’s headquarters in Mabalacat near Clark Field. The town was located about 100km from Manila and was surrounded by several air bases in the Clark grid. Ohnishi met with four 201st Air Group officers including Commander Rikihei Inoguchi and Deputy-Commander Asaichi Tamai. Ohnishi informed them of his plan to form a Kamikaze Special Attack Unit in the 201st Air Group. The officers all concurred.

Tamai immediately set about recruiting ‘volunteers’ for the first mission. Lieutenant Yukio Seki was appointed captain of the first suicide unit. Tamai then chose other members mainly from among former cadets of Yokaren A-class whom Tamai had instructed. The first Kamikaze suicide mission consisted of four sections with 23 airmen in total.

Inoguchi and Lieutenant-Commander Tadashi Nakajima (leader of the 201st Air Group) published a book after the war called “Documents of the Kamikaze Special Attack Unit.” It was translated into English in 1958 as The Divine Wind. They described the scene in which pilots were chosen based on Tamai’s account to Inoguchi.