“This was a very dangerous mission. On each sortie, the B-17s met with intense resistance from the Luftwaffe, and each time more than forty percent of the bombers failed to return. They say no aircrew survived four missions. Even so, in order to defeat Hitler and Nazism, the American military continued the daylight raids. And the American pilots bravely flew into German airspace. Over five thousand B-17 crewmembers were killed in action. That’s actually a thousand more than our Special Attack Force dead.”
“That many?”
“Such is war. Just as the Americans risked their lives fighting so their homeland could claim victory, we too put our lives on the line. Even if we were to die, we didn’t think it was meaningless as long as we were protecting our homeland and our families. We went into battle believing that to be true. I know that you who were born and raised in the peaceful postwar era can’t possibly comprehend what that was like, but we really believed that as we fought. Otherwise, how could anyone go to his death as a kamikaze? How could anyone give his life if he thought his death would have no meaning or value? I’d rather die first than tell my late friends, ‘Your deaths were in vain.’”
Keiko was silent. An oppressive tension filled the room. Okabe was the one to break it.
“Even so, I disapprove of the special attacks. I absolutely disapprove,” he said in a very firm tone. “There was no hope of surviving a kamikaze mission. While the American B-17 bombers had a huge number of casualties, there was still a chance that they would make it back alive, which allowed them to be courageous. It wasn’t an operation that was guaranteed to kill them.
“This is what I heard from someone after the war, but Fifth Air Fleet Commander Matome Ugaki, who had advocated for all planes to become kamikazes, went to each of the special attack pilots before they sortied and shook their hands, weeping as he spoke words of encouragement. And then he asked, ‘Does anyone have any questions?’ A veteran aviator who had served since Midway took up the offer and said, ‘If I score a hit on an enemy ship with my bomb, am I allowed to return, sir?’ Fleet Commander Ugaki had the gall to tell him, ‘No, you don’t.’”
“What?” I said, unable to check my disbelief.
“That’s the truth about the special attacks. The tactic wasn’t about winning. Pilots hurling themselves at the enemy was its very purpose. And by the latter half of the Battle of Okinawa, volunteering was out—they simply ordered you to do it.”
Chapter 9
Kamikaze Attack
We met Former Navy Lieutenant Junior Grade Takanori Takeda at a hotel in Shirogane, Tokyo. He had reserved a hotel room just for our meeting.
What I found surprising was that Takeda had been the president of a large corporation that even I knew about, one listed in the First Section of the Tokyo Stock Exchange. Keiko, too, said that she had heard his name before. He had been a student at Tokyo University when he had joined the flight student reservists, and after the war he had gone back to college, gone on to graduate school, and then joined a company. He had served in the vanguard of Japan’s postwar economic recovery.
Initially, I felt it was a bit strange that a former kamikaze pilot would turn into a corporate bigwig. But in terms of Takeda’s own career, it seemed that the short year-plus he’d spent in the Navy was the exception to the rule.
My sister and I were supposed to meet up in the lobby before going to his room, but Keiko emailed saying she was running late.
I phoned up to Takeda’s room. Soon thereafter, he and his wife came down to the lobby.
“I’m Takeda,” the man said in a firm voice. He was tall, with white hair and a matching moustache above his lip. “Dandy” would have been an appropriate description, and he looked far younger than an octogenarian.
“I’m Kentaro Saeki, Kyuzo Miyabe’s grandson. My sister’s running late, I’m afraid. Thank you very much for going to the trouble of reserving a hotel room, sir.”
“Oh, it was nothing. It just happened to overlap with a getaway we’d already planned. We haven’t gotten out of the house for a while, so this was a perfect opportunity for us.” Takeda glanced at his wife and laughed. “Why don’t we have some tea or something while we wait for your sister?”
We went into the lounge area, sat at a table, and were placing our orders just as Keiko arrived—surprisingly, with Takayama in tow.
“Takayama-san said he was really interested in hearing what you have to say, sir. So he was hoping to join us today.”
Takeda, instead of replying, turned to look at me.
“That’s going to be a problem, Keiko,” I said. “This is a private discussion. It has nothing whatsoever to do with Takayama-san.”
Keiko looked troubled, but I was not going to bend on this point even if she begged.
“It’s fine. Please, have a seat,” Takeda said.
“Much obliged, sir,” Takayama said with a polite bow of his head. He sat down, then handed a business card to Takeda and introduced himself.
“A reporter,” Takeda muttered as he read the business card. His expression briefly clouded over.
“This isn’t an interview. I simply wish to be present during a personal discussion, if you’d please be so kind.” Takayama bowed deeply.
Takeda nodded silently. “We’ll talk later, in our room.”
Takayama and Keiko placed their drink orders with the waiter.
“However, as I said on the phone, I will not discuss myself or the kamikaze units. I will only discuss my memories of Kyuzo Miyabe,” Takeda said, adding milk to his black tea.
Takayama suddenly opened his mouth. “Why are you unwilling to talk about the kamikazes, sir?” Takeda turned towards him. “I’m very interested in the fact that you were a kamikaze pilot yourself, Takeda-san.”
“I was not a kamikaze pilot. I received flight training and was merely put in that standby pool. Kamikaze pilots were those who were selected to actually sortie in a special attack unit.”
“This may be audacious of me, but I think it would be incredibly valuable for someone like you to talk about your kamikaze experience.”
“I do not want to discuss such things, especially with the likes of you.”
“Why not?”
Takeda heaved a deep sigh, then looked Takayama squarely in the eye. “Because I don’t trust your newspaper.”
Takayama’s expression stiffened.
“After the war, your newspaper changed your tune to gain popularity. You denied everything prewar to pander to the masses. You robbed the people of patriotism.”
“We examined prewar excesses and repudiated war and armies. We corrected people’s crooked patriotism. For the sake of peace.”
“I’ll thank you to not throw around the word ‘peace’ so flippantly.”
Takayama’s expression shifted at Takeda’s words. After a heavy silence, Takayama said, “Then, please allow me to ask one question. Were the kamikaze pilots selected from a pool of special attack personnel?”
“Yes.”
“And was the pool comprised of volunteers?”
“That’s how it was, yes.”
“Which means that you volunteered. Correct?”
Takeda didn’t reply and took a sip of his tea.
“So doesn’t that mean that there was a time when you yourself were an ardent patriot?”
Takeda’s hand froze as it held the teacup.
Takayama plowed ahead. “After the war, you became a great corporate warrior. But even you were once a patriot, and I can’t help but be terribly interested in that. Back then, the whole populace, even people like you, were utterly brainwashed.”
Takeda put his cup back on the saucer, striking the spoon with a loud clatter as he did. “I was a patriot, but I hadn’t been brainwashed. Nor were my comrades who died.”