I resigned myself to meeting the same fate there.
Several days later, on the way back from a mission, I ran into engine trouble and was forced to land at Nichols Field. It was there that I happened to cross paths again with Miyabe. He had been on the Zuikaku, and after attacking the American task force, he’d landed at that base.
Miyabe was aware of the special attacks, too. The actions of Lieutenant Yukio Seki and his Shikishima Unit had been reported to the entire armed forces. No kamikazes had been launched from Nichols Field, but the esprit de corps of the aircrew there had fallen to an all-time low.
More than a few books about the kamikazes written after the war claim that when the armed forces heard what Shikishima Unit had done, morale skyrocketed among the aviators. But this is decidedly untrue. Our morale was very clearly abysmal. Of course it was!
The day after I landed at Nichols Field, all the aircrew were assembled. Judging from the tense looks on the faces of the base commander and the squadron leader, I assumed our time had come. I’m sure the other guys thought so too.
After spouting some words about the unprecedented peril that Japan was facing, the base commander said, “All those who wish to volunteer for the Special Attack Force, step forward.”
Everyone stepped forward. They had heard of the Shikishima Unit and already resigned themselves. I stepped forward, just as I had at Mabalacat. I couldn’t suddenly refuse now.
Then I witnessed something unbelievable. One man hadn’t moved, in fact. Miyabe.
The squadron leader turned crimson and bellowed on behalf of the base commander, “All volunteers, step forward!”
But Miyabe didn’t budge. His face was ashen.
The squadron leader drew his saber and yelled again, “All volunteers step forward now!”
Miyabe was as immobile as a statue. The squadron leader’s body shook with rage. “Flight Chief Petty Officer Miyabe!” he yelled. “Do you hold your life so dear?”
Miyabe was silent.
“Answer me, damn it!”
Miyabe very nearly shouted, “I do, sir!”
The squadron leader’s mouth fell open in disbelief. “And you dare call yourself a member of the Imperial Navy?”
“Yes, sir,” Miyabe said, loud and clear.
The squadron leader glanced at the base commander, who muttered, “Dismiss them.”
An officer barked, “Dismissed!” The aircrew fell out of line and walked back to the barracks. No one spoke to Miyabe.
The next morning, there was no mission, but a strange mood had settled over the air contingent. The previous day’s “volunteering” for special attacks weighed heavily on everyone’s minds.
I invited Miyabe, and the two of us walked up a hill some distance from the airfield. Neither of us said anything.
Once we arrived atop the low hill, I sat down on a patch of grass. Miyabe sat down as well.
At last he said, “I absolutely refuse to volunteer for any special attack unit. I promised my wife to come home alive.”
I nodded silently.
“It wasn’t to die that I’ve fought until today,” he said.
I couldn’t manage a reply.
“No matter how severe the battle, I can fight like hell as long as there’s even the slightest chance of survival. But I can’t abide by any tactic that will result in my certain death.”
Honestly speaking, I felt the same way.
But looking back now, out of the thousands of aircrew back then, how many dared say such a thing out loud? Miyabe’s words revealed what really lay in the hearts of most of us. Yet, at the time, his words were frightening. They made me feel a bizarre, eerie sense of dread. I realize now that it was the fear of seeing my own self.
Miyabe suddenly asked, “Was that your first time volunteering, Tanigawa?”
“My second time. I first volunteered at Mabalacat.”
“I have a wife,” he said.
“So do I.”
Miyabe looked stunned. I told him how I’d gotten married four days before leaving Japan.
“Do you love her?” he asked me.
I nodded without thinking. Ah, so I do love her…
“Then why did you volunteer to become a kamikaze?” he demanded.
“Because I’m an Imperial Navy pilot!” I shouted.
And then I burst into tears. That was the first time I’d cried since becoming a fighter pilot. Miyabe simply stared at me, saying nothing.
As I made to stand up, he said, “Listen to me very carefully, Tanigawa. If you are ordered to fly as a kamikaze, find an island, any island, and just crash-land there.”
I was astonished. Those were frightening words, most definitely worthy of a death sentence at a court-martial.
“Even if you die a kamikaze, it won’t alter the state of the war one bit. But your death will hugely affect your wife’s future.”
An image of Kae floated up in my mind. “Don’t say that. If I’m ordered to, I’ll go, that’s all.”
Miyabe didn’t reply.
Just then, a siren sounded, and moments later an explosion boomed in the distance. An enemy air raid.
We raced towards the bomb shelter. On the airfield, the maintenance crew were moving the aircraft into the bunkers. At that point, we no longer launched interceptors against air raids. Instead of sending the few airplanes we still had only to have them shot down by a massive formation of enemy aircraft, we’d resorted to preserving as many as possible. There were only a precious few battle-ready ones at Nichols Field.
But luck wasn’t on our side that day. We were late in detecting the incoming fighters, and most of the aircraft on the ground were strafed. Nichols Field was left without a single operational aircraft. Soon thereafter, it was decided that the aviators there would be pulled back to the interior.
We boarded a transport plane that arrived from Clark Base, stopped over in Taiwan, then landed at Omura in Kyushu. We were ordered to rejoin our previous units.
I parted ways with Miyabe in Omura. I don’t remember our final conversation, but I would never see him again.
After a stint as an instructor at Iwakuni, I served with the Yokosuka Air Corps to defend the mainland’s skies. Beginning in March of 1945, a large number of kamikaze planes took off from southern Kyushu, headed for Okinawa. In the final days of the war, “All Planes Kamikaze” became the slogan. I’ve heard that they no longer asked for volunteers but ordered men into it.
I expected they would eventually call me up, but happily that day never came. I was at Misawa when the war ended. I only learned much later that Miyabe had died a kamikaze.
After the war ended and I returned to my village, everyone looked at me differently. I was like something unclean, and no one dared to approach me. They’d murmur behind my back, “He’s a war criminal.” One day, when I was walking along the riverbank, some children called out, “Here comes the war criminal!” and threw stones at me.
It was unbearable. The same people who had only yesterday cursed the British and the Americans as demons had done an about-face and now cried, “America, banzai!” and “Long live democracy!” And I, who had once been a local hero, was treated like some god of pestilence. My father had passed away, my brother had taken over the household, and Kae and I lived in the annex. My brother made it clear that he saw me as a burden.
Somehow a false rumor began circulating that all pilots who had participated in the attack on Pearl Harbor were going to be hanged as war criminals; and that any persons or villages sheltering them would face severe punishment. When I caught wind of this, I steeled myself for what was to come.