Surprisingly, not a single anti-aircraft shell was fired by the enemy’s airfield as the trio did this. They dropped quite low for the second round, and an anti-aircraft gun had a pretty decent chance of scoring a kill. I think it was out of chivalry and a sense of humor that the enemy didn’t fire. Had it been us, an academy-trained officer would have turned red in the face and screamed, “Fire, fire! Shoot them down!”
“That was mature of them,” PO1 Ohta admitted of the Allies’ bigness.
A few days later, they sent bombers to hit our base at Lae. But I heard their planes also dropped copies of a letter that read: “Your formation loop the other day was spectacular. We’re ready to welcome your next visit.”
This happened between bouts of mortal combat, but it only ever did because the Rabaul aircrew were so skilled.
I think Rabaul Air Corps’ Zero fighter force was truly the best in the world at that point in time.
Miyabe-san came to Lae in mid-July that year. Around then, aircrew arrived intermittently from the interior, and some had served on carriers.
It was never announced, but rumors quietly spread among aircrew that we had lost four carriers at Midway. We thought it was dreadful, but the news didn’t carry a real sense of danger. We were practically invincible, and we were hardly scared of American and British fighter planes. We figured we’d never lose so long as we had the Zero.
I’d heard that the newly arrived aircrew included fighter pilots from the First Carrier Division, and that stirred up a spirit of rivalry in us. Sure, carrier pilots had to be excellent, but it wasn’t like they saw aerial combat every day. We felt something akin to pride over the fact that we were risking our lives day in, day out. And to be honest, we thought that they wouldn’t have screwed up so badly and lost their carriers if they were indeed so excellent.
Guided by medium bombers, Miyabe-san and the others flew Zeros from the mainland, arriving at Rabaul on a 6,000-kilometer course via Taiwan, the Philippines, and Truk Lagoon. After we were dismissed from the official welcome-aboard for them, one of the pilots called out to me.
“I’m looking forward to working with you,” he said. It was Miyabe-san.
He was a tall man. I glanced at his insignia and saw that he was a Flight Petty Officer 1st Class, the highest subordinate rank.
Flustered, I raised my voice and replied, “The pleasure’s all mine, sir.”
Miyabe-san smiled. “So how do you fight here in Rabaul?”
“Yes,” I said, unsure as to how to reply.
“How do the enemy fighter pilots fight?”
“They are rather not bad either, sir.”
“Interesting. I look forward to hearing all about it.”
I was greatly puzzled by his politeness. Rank was everything in the armed forces. There was an enormous gap between a Flight Petty Officer 1st Class and a Flight Seaman 1st Class.
I could only reply loudly, “Flight Seaman 1st Class Izaki, sir!”
“FS1 Izaki, is it? I’m FPO1 Kyuzo Miyabe. Think well of me, please,” Miyabe-san said, slightly bowing his head.
I had no idea how to respond. My military career wasn’t long by any means, but I had never before met a superior like him. I figured he was either extremely well-bred or a fool.
“Flight Petty Officer Miyabe, sir. If I may ask, were you on an aircraft carrier?”
He momentarily clammed up. I immediately realized that what had happened at Midway was a military secret and was about to quickly change the subject, but he spoke first.
“Yes, I was on the Akagi,” he said, following it up straightaway with, “But that’s no longer a possibility.”
The rumors were true, then, I thought.
“Don’t take the U.S. forces lightly. They are formidable opponents,” he stated firmly.
I couldn’t press him for details. We fell into a brief silence, after which I informed him about our standard method of aerial combat. I told him that the other side preferred fighting air battles in formation, just as we did, and that they sought opportunities for surprise attacks. I explained how they sometimes waited for the moment we were regrouping after an air raid. Miyabe-san listened intently to everything I said.
His attitude was wholly unexpected. More than a few veteran pilots who had fought in China were extremely proud of their records and didn’t care to listen to anything aircrew like me had to say. There, most air battles were one-on-one dogfights, but here the enemy attacked in formation, using radios to coordinate among themselves. Many a veteran pilot downplayed this and chased an enemy too far, believing it would be no different from their engagements in China, only to be taken out by a third plane.
The next day we sortied to Port Moresby. We the tactical air control team consisted of three flights, or nine planes. Miyabe-san was PO1 Hashimoto’s plane two, me the third man.
The skies over New Guinea were dotted with clouds that day. They were a huge bother to pilots since we couldn’t see if the enemy was lurking on the other side. A cloud straight ahead was one thing, but any to the side or rear were unsettling. An enemy aircraft could appear all of a sudden and shoot us down. Of course we used clouds to our advantage as well, but more often than not cloud cover worked in favor of the intercepting side lying in ambush.
On our way I looked towards Miyabe-san a number of times. He seemed agitated, constantly scanning the area, occasionally repositioning his aircraft, keeping a sharp lookout. On more than one occasion, he rolled so he was flying upside-down, not neglecting to pay attention to the blind spots below. He sure is cautious, I thought. The pilots at Rabaul were as cautious as anyone, but I thought his vigilance was a bit too extreme.
About an hour in, all of the crew were visibly laughing at his bizarre movements. Here as we flew in neat formation was a single aircraft restlessly shifting about to check the surroundings, and it sure did stand out.
I thought he either had a terribly prudent mindset or was just a big coward.
The Owen Stanley Range came into view. The magnificent mountain range had 4,000-meter-class peaks and divided New Guinea in half lengthwise. Port Moresby lay to the south of this range, and our base at Lae was on the north.
Actually, I loved those mountains. They had a severe sort of beauty. It sounds strange, but flying over them gave me courage.
After crossing the Stanleys and just when Port Moresby was about to come into view, enemy planes suddenly pounced through a break in the clouds in the sky ahead. It was a perfect sneak attack. We banked hard to the left, but my flight in the far rear of the formation was late in making the turn. The enemy’s lead plane took aim at me and latched on. I was positioned such that my topside was exposed to him. Oh boy, I’m a goner! I thought.
Just then, the plane that was pursuing me suddenly burst into flames and blew apart. A piece of its fuselage hit my plane. The next instant, a Zero slipped past me incredibly fast. It was Miyabe-san’s plane two. His Zero shot down another enemy plane, then made a sharp turn and got behind yet another one that was attempting to flee, pelting it with bullets until it, too, fell from the sky. This all took place in a matter of seconds.
What remarkable technique! And so fast!
It gave me goosebumps. I didn’t even know when Miyabe-san managed to move into a position to attack the unfriendlies. He’d been flying alongside me.
Our formation of Zeros reassembled and took it to the enemy with great ferocity. As they had the initial advantage, they gave us one hell of a fight at first, but we quickly turned the tables. Even I got it together and downed one plane.