We learned of Shikishima Unit’s fate in October of ’44. And after that we heard news of continuous launches of special attack units in the Philippines, which made us begin to wonder if we were to follow in their footsteps.
Miyabe-san arrived as an instructing officer towards the end of our training period. I believe it was in the beginning of 1945.
I clearly remember my first impression of him like it was only yesterday. His whole being gave off a strange sort of aura. There were several members of the Tsukuba Air Unit that had transferred there from the front lines, and, having survived many life-or-death situations, they all seemed intimidating. Miyabe-san, too, had that special air about him.
Strangely, the more intense fighting someone had seen, the less inclined they were to discuss the war, while those with little experience in battle tended to act like they were the authority on what the front lines were like. Miyabe-san, too, rarely spoke of his experiences in battle. He wasn’t the type to talk of glory or brag about his exploits.
Instructing Officer Miyabe’s rank was ensign, but he always spoke very politely to us. The few instructing officers there who had graduated from the Naval Academy tended to speak very rudely and yelled at us as a matter of course. But Miyabe-san never once raised his voice when speaking to a student. While he was technically an ensign, he was a so-called “special duty officer,” treated as a notch below an officer who had graduated from the Naval Academy. Once, I witnessed a young ensign from the Naval Academy chewing out an SDO lieutenant junior grade. Such were the ways of the military.
The student aviators who had graduated before us were branded “reserve officers” or “spares” and considered one rung below those who had attended the Naval Academy, too, so we were sympathetic towards the SDOs. But the non-comms must have thought of us as belonging to a privileged class.
While Miyabe-san was very polite, he was an extremely strict instructor. He was infamous for not readily giving passing marks to his students. Where other staff would give us qualifying marks, it was extremely common for him to give out F’s.
Therefore, he wasn’t popular with many students, me included.
“I’m sure to someone who’s just back from the front, our flying skills are pretty bad. But that attitude is even nastier than bragging about war experiences.”
“I bet he doesn’t like the fact that we’re officer candidates, but why harass us in this way?”
I also sensed something obstinate in Miyabe-san’s methods. I thought that maybe what someone had said was right on the mark: he was probably unhappy with the fact that we were graduating right into the rank of ensign with hardly any effort at all, while it had taken him over a decade of work to get there. I could understand such feelings, but it was not our fault.
After Miyabe-san began instructing us, there was supposedly scant progress in our training. Finally, a group of students complained about him to a more senior instructing officer.
The next day, when Miyabe-san drilled us on in-flight turning, he failed every one of us. I could understand giving a majority of students F’s, but to fail everyone seemed like it was just plain harassment.
Again we complained to the senior instructor, but Miyabe-san’s attitude didn’t change one bit. He continued to fail most of his students. Our hearts almost went out to our nemesis, because here was a man made of incredibly stubborn stuff. Eventually, he was relieved of his duties as an instructor.
However, they were short of teachers, and Miyabe-san was quickly reinstated. But he was limited to carrying out in-flight training only, and it was another instructor’s duty to grade our practical skills. This was probably an order from above.
The arrangement clearly had an effect on Miyabe-san. Well, of course. A sensei who can’t mark his pupils is, after all, not a real sensei at all. The situation had probably greatly wounded his pride. From that point on, his instructing style became even more meticulous. Serves you right, we thought to ourselves.
However, he was obviously disgusted whenever he said, “You have improved some,” which irked us to no end.
One day after I had completed a turning drill, Miyabe-san said, “You’ve made progress.” But I could see on his face that his words weren’t sincere. I felt that my performance had at least been adequate. Quite irritated, I suddenly found myself saying, “Instructing Officer Miyabe, are you really that dissatisfied with the fact that I have improved?”
He looked stunned. “No, of course not. If I have given you that impression, then the blame is entirely mine,” he replied and deeply bowed his head.
His attitude struck me as a mere hypocritical courtesy. “If that’s the case, then why can’t you look even a tiny bit happy about my progress?”
Instructor Miyabe fell silent.
“Or are you really thinking that I’m totally hopeless?”
He didn’t reply.
“Well? Or are you, in fact, just being spiteful?”
“To be perfectly honest, Flight Student Okabe,” he said, “I think your flying skills will not be worth a damn in combat.”
I felt myself flush red. “How… on what grounds?” was all I could manage.
“Flight Student Okabe, if you were to go to the front right now, you would almost certainly be shot down.”
I wanted to object, but I couldn’t think of a single thing to say.
“I do not continue to fail everyone out of mere spite. I have seen too many pilots lose their lives in battle. Many men more skilled than me with longer military careers have been shot out of the sky. The Zero is no longer the invincible fighter it once was. The other side now has excellent aircraft, and their sheer numbers are overwhelming. Battles are severe and unforgiving. Do you think I am just blowing wind about the front lines?”
“Um… no.”
“At the Mariana Islands, and at Leyte, many young pilots were sent into battle before they had acquired sufficient experience or training. Most died on their very first mission.”
Instructor Miyabe spoke in a matter-of-fact tone. I couldn’t come up with any reply.
“I have mentioned my concerns to the squadron leader, but he was deaf to my words. In fact, he ordered me to give passing marks to all students except in the case of an extreme blunder. He said that great skill didn’t matter anymore because they’re short on pilots and want as many fresh ones as they can get as soon as possible.”
I nodded.
“As I instruct such excellent young men as yourselves, I honestly find myself thinking that you should not be made pilots. I think you all can and should do something better with your lives, more magnificent work than that. If I had any say in the matter, I would not send any of you to your deaths.”
Instructor Miyabe’s words lodged in my heart and stayed with me all through the postwar years. Whenever I was having a hard time at work, those words came back to me.
“That was terribly impudent of me.” Instructor Miyabe bowed his head and then turned and walked towards his quarters.
I was ashamed. I’d judged him in such a shallow manner, and I couldn’t forgive myself for it.
I completed the pilot curriculum at the end of February. The short training had taken less than a year to finish. The old Preparatory Flight Training Program would have taken more than two years to complete, so it was patently obvious that ours had merely been a crash course.
That night I was handed a single sheet of paper. On it was written the question: “Do you volunteer for the Special Attack Force?” And I was ordered to submit an answer by the following day.