“At that point, there was still a chance he might survive.”
“You really thought he might make it?”
“I wasn’t sure. But if he kept flying, perhaps he would. If he blew himself up, he would die for sure.”
“But there was only the slimmest chance. In which case, I wish he’d been permitted an end befitting a fighter pilot.”
Tears of anguish were running down my face. Staring at his wingman, who was throwing a tantrum, the flight leader said, “Death can come at any time. It is important to endeavor to live.”
“We won’t survive this war anyways. If my plane gets damaged in battle, please allow me to blow myself up.”
Flight Leader Miyabe suddenly grabbed me by the lapels. “Izaki!” he shouted. “Stop talking such garbage. You only have one life.”
The ferocity of his reaction left me speechless.
“Don’t you have family? Aren’t there people back home who’ll mourn your death? Or are you truly all alone in this world?” His eyes burned with rage. “Answer me, Izaki!”
“I have my mother and father back home in the country.”
“Who else?!”
“And a younger brother, sir.” As soon as I replied, the image of my five-year-old brother Taichi’s face floated up in my mind.
“Wouldn’t your family grieve for you if you died?!”
“They would, sir.” I could see Taichi bawling. My own eyes filled with tears that signified something other than anguish.
“Then don’t die, Izaki. Keep fighting to live no matter how much it pains you.”
Flight Leader Miyabe released his grip on my uniform and headed off towards the barracks.
That was the first and last time that the flight leader berated me. His words settled in the deepest recesses of my heart.
I recalled those words a year later.
At that time, I had left Rabaul and was part of the crew of the aircraft carrier Shokaku. In 1944, during the Battle of the Philippine Sea, my fuel tank was pierced by a bullet during an intense battle with enemy fighters.
I was lucky that the hit hadn’t ignited my fuel, but there was no way I would make it back to the carrier. To begin with, I was already surrounded by enemy aircraft, and they’d shoot me down sooner or later. These were new and powerful fighters, the Grumman F6F Hellcats which were even better than the F4Fs and against which Zeros were no match. Outnumbered to boot, it became increasingly obvious that there was no hope for victory. I’d certainly survived many a hard-fought battle, but I was beginning to think that my luck was running out.
I figured that since I was going to be shot down anyways, I might as well take one of them with me to the other side, and decided to fling myself at an enemy plane.
Suddenly, Flight Leader Miyabe’s angry voice reverberated through my mind.
IZAKI!
I could hear his voice clearly.
Do you still not understand?!
At the same moment, I recalled Taichi’s face.
The next instant, I went into a nosedive in an attempt to escape. Two Grummans gave chase. Their aircraft were capable of diving at much higher speeds. I made several evasive sharp turns, eventually coming very close to the ocean. I leveled out, skimming the surface as I flew. This prevented the enemy from taking aim at me from above, as they would strike the water. But the Grumman pilots were skilled too, and they stayed right on my tail and fired at me. I yelled, “How about this, then?” and descended until the edge of my propeller just grazed the water. One F6F crashed into the waves. The other stopped trying to stay on my tail and began gaining altitude. I held course, flying just above the ocean’s surface. Over the next thirty minutes, the remaining Grumman followed me from overhead, but eventually he gave up, turned around, and flew away. I had finally shaken off all enemy aircraft.
But my luck was close to running out. I was very low on fuel.
I put my plane down on the ocean.
I jumped into the water. I figured I was about 20 nautical miles from Guam. My only hope of survival was to swim to shore. If I swam the wrong way, I would simply die. If my endurance failed me partway, I would die. And I would die if sharks attacked. But I was still alive. I had to fight to keep on living.
Pulling off my pants, I untied my loincloth and let its length trail out behind me in the water. I had been taught that sharks don’t attack anything larger than them.
Somehow I swam for nine hours, finally reaching the shores of Guam. My lifejacket had failed at the seven-hour mark, after which I stripped naked and swam the rest of the way through will alone. I was mystified to discover such reserves of strength in myself.
What spurred me on each time I felt like giving up was my brother’s face—Taichi crying and calling out, “Big brother! Big brother!”
But I think my true savior was Flight Leader Miyabe.
Let’s get back to Rabaul.
I can’t forget what the flight leader once said as he ran his hand over a Zero’s wing: “I have a grievance against the men who created this aircraft.”
I was shocked, since I thought the Zero was the greatest fighter in the world. “I’m sorry to contradict you, sir, but I think the Zero is an incredible fighter. Its flight range alone is—”
“Yes, of course, its range is impressive,” he cut me off. “A single-seat fighter with a range of 1,800 nautical miles is unbelievable. It’s amazing that it can stay airborne for eight hours straight.”
“I think that’s an excellent capability, sir.”
“I had thought so, too, at one time. The Zero can fly far and wide across the vast Pacific Ocean. How excellent. When I was stationed on an aircraft carrier, I felt confident knowing I was riding a noble steed that could run a thousand miles. But…” He glanced around cautiously, making sure no one else was around before continuing, “That unique capability is what’s tormenting us now. We fly out 560 nautical miles, do battle, and then fly back another 560 nautical miles. The only reason they could create such an unrealistic battle plan is the Zero’s unique range.”
I thought I understood what he was trying to say.
“Sure, it’s great that this plane can fly for eight hours straight. But they never bothered to take the pilots into consideration. During those eight hours, a pilot can’t let his guard down for even a moment. We’re not civilian pilots. To spend eight hours flying in a combat situation never knowing when the enemy might attack is beyond the limits of anyone’s normal physical endurance. We’re not machines. We are humans, made of flesh and blood. Did the engineers who designed this aircraft never stop and think about the people who would be piloting it?”
I didn’t have a response. He was right. Spending eight hours sitting in a cockpit went far beyond the limits of physical endurance. We were making up the difference by sheer force of will.
Now I can look back and see just how correct Miyabe-san was. Even today, when people talk about the Zero they extol its astounding flight range. Yet, precisely that range inspired appallingly reckless operations. After the war, an Air Self-Defense Force instructor told me that a fighter pilot’s stamina and concentration lasted only about ninety minutes. If so, we had already lost our physical and mental acuity by the time we arrived at Guadalcanal after a three-hour flight. That instructor was talking about modern jet fighters, but I’m sure the conditions were similar for our propeller-powered Zeros.
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: it was a really grueling battle.
The Guadalcanal Campaign ended in February of 1943. The conflict drew to a close after six months of intense fighting that started in August of ’42.
Imperial General HQ had given up on recapturing Ga Island, and destroyers retrieved the 10,000-odd troops remaining there and retreated. Ship crew who saw the emaciated soldiers from “Starvation Island” were speechless.