I asked Instructor Yamaguchi about it when he stopped by the barracks after dinner. “It was probably a woman,” he replied matter-of-factly. But as to that, my mind wasn’t settled, and in the evening I got poor marks during signal-communication drills. The transmission speed is fifty-five letters per minute. From the OD’s room, the instructor sent in all manner of playful messages.
“Haveyoufoundlarkeggs?”
"Yesterdayastudentsnuckintothekitchentocabbagesugar Iknowwhodiditbutwon’ttelltheseniorofficersDestroythismessag ewhenyougetit." (Those who got it laughed.)
“Raiseyourhandifyougetthefollowingabbreviationsn.”
“hoshiyohoshi.” (This means “from gunner to gunner.”)
“kayotsushi.” (“from captain to signaler.”)
“tototototo.” (“make an all-out charge”—a signal we will doubtless use some day.)
They made the rounds at 2130. Senior Aviation Petty Officer D.’s suicide left me dismayed.
June 28
In the morning, the chief flight officer gave us a lesson on torpedo tactics in the drill hall. But whatever the topic (navigation, torpedoes, etc.) it is all basically a review of what we learned at Tsuchiura. This officer doesn’t appear to be comfortable in the classroom anyway, and his talk grew livelier when he turned to the military situation on Saipan.
The newspapers all say, “Our women bravely rise up! Reenactment of the Mongolian Invasions at Iki Island!” But it seems the hostile troops have already seized a good portion of the island. Should Saipan fall, all the bases north of the South Sea Islands, such as those on Tinian, Iwo-jima, Guam, and Truk, will likely be useless, and the enemy will advance full clip toward the Philippines and mainland Japan. We have yielded control of the skies, and the enemy task force cruises freely around the Marianas. I hear that the combined fleet lost three of its jewels—the aircraft carriers Taiho, Shokaku, and Hiyo—and that it has already left the theater of operations, fleeing to a point not so very far from where we sit behind the scenes. The enemy fleet has emerged more or less unscathed, they say. It’s distressing to think that this operation degenerated into yet another lost battle. Japan must retain some kind of confidence in her future success, but it’s all so mortifying. I cant bear to sit on my hands back here. Sometimes I fear we might not complete our training in time. But even as I say this, the thought steals into my mind that I might actually return home alive. I banish this idea as best I can, partly because we are forbidden to entertain it, but mostly because I know I lose my edge in the cockpit if I ever allow it to take root, and this would be dangerous. There is no denying that the grim complexion of the war unsettles me, though. I am also, to some degree, affected by Fujikura’s opinions.
Flight training this afternoon, as the sky cleared up. They say the better trainees be allowed to fly solo before long. I guess I’m making some sort of progress, but I had a stomach problem for three days, coinciding more or less with the naval battle in the Marianas. I brought up three large basins of vomit, so exhausting myself that I had to take a few days off, and thus I’ve fallen behind. I feel very questionable.
Today I was assigned the duty of recording secretary. I attended the division officer at field headquarters, clipboard in hand, and timed each flight from takeoff to landing.
“Aircraft #X taking off.”
“The wind has shifted.”
“Aircraft #Y, you are not clear for takeoff.”
“‘Gyro’ requests permission to land.”
“‘Gyro’ may land.”
‘“Deck’ will now land.”
On and on it went. It was quite nerve-wracking.
Wakatsuki suffered an accident. His plane (#4) flipped when its landing gear hung up on an obstruction during landing, and he ground to a halt upside down. I held my breath. We wear seatbelts and shoulder straps to bind us into the airplane, but in due course Wakatsuki untangled himself and emerged unperturbed with the instructor. God bless the Red Dragonfly. Had it been a real warplane, they would have both been goners. The Red Dragonflies are very stable. If we ever lose control in the air, they tell us, we should simply let go of the stick, and the plane will right itself naturally. Wakatsuki had a slight limp. But nevertheless he managed to sprint to the command tent and shout out a report, his face flushed, “Aircraft #4, Cadet Wakatsuki, reporting in from the third flight! The landing gear was damaged, and the propeller was completely destroyed. There is no other problem."
The division officer motioned Wakatsuki forward until they stood face to face, then he gave him a whack. “Idiot! You sound like you’re proud! You damaged the undercarriage. You wrecked the propeller. And there is no other problem?”
Relieved of my recording duty, I climbed into aircraft #7 for her eighth flight of the day. After taking off, I penetrated the clouds at an altitude of 300 meters. I call them clouds, but they were wispy, more like mist really. They slipped by at tremendous speed. The airfield vanished and then reappeared through the rifts. The island mountains of Amakusa were draped in clouds. The scene brought back a memory of a trip to Unzen I once made with my parents during the rainy season, when our bus climbed up through the mist.
All in all, the most difficult thing is to complete a pull out at five meters as you come in to land. Unlike army pilots, navy fliers must execute a pullout-and-stall at a height of five meters in order to drop the tail of the plane for a three-point landing on the deck of an aircraft carrier. No matter how many times I try, I wind up touching down front-wheel first. I need more experience if I am ever to get the hang of it.
Flight operations exhaust me. I crave for books during our evening study sessions. Strange to say, though, these days I don’t ever feel like taking up the Manyoshu. Stray poems from it come to mind during breaks between lectures and flight training, but I feel no inclination to open up the book and read. Instead, I want to read someone who can school a young fighter on matters of real consequence, firmly but responsibly, and in light of our actual situation. But such books are few and far between. Otherwise, I prefer to read something short and sweet, say, the fairy tales of Andersen, or the stories of Chekhov. Some men attain self-forgetfulness through the pleasures of the table, but only one thing really eases my mind: reading a great book that admits me to a wonderfully secure world. I write home for a few.
July 8
Yesterday was the night of the Star Festival. We stood in ranks facing the moon and practiced issuing commands. The Milky Way was beautiful.
The Star Festival puts me in mind of the girls in the merchants’ district of Osaka. Dolled up in large-patterned red yukata and yellow waistbands, they sit outside on benches, fans in hand, and chat idly along in their regional accent.
“That’s not right, Yuki-chan. That’s just not fair.”
“Yeah, but my brother said it’s okay.”
The sweet colloquial rhythms of Osaka echoing in my ears, before my eyes a slip of silver paper inscribed with the words “Star Festival,” the glow of sparklers…. But soon enough we are placed on Defense Condition 1. No time to fantasize about girls in yukata. It would appear that better than a dozen B-29s flew in from the direction of Chengdu, China, for a midnight raid on northern and western Kyushu. Yahata, Sasebo, and other cities all suffered damage.