They began bombing from an altitude of 3,000 meters. We assaulted the enemy aircraft after they had finished, and the Grummans tried to prevent us. I dropped down, feigning to escape, inviting the enemy to pursue me. One took the bait. I immediately pulled up and engaged him in a dogfight. He was right on my six o’clock. I made a sharp turn and ended up behind him. In a panic, he dove down and tried to break away—just what I had hoped for. I fired my 20-mm cannons towards the direction he was fleeing. He flew right into the stream of my bullets, as if drawn there. Yellow flames spouted from his plane. I caught a glimpse of the pilot parachuting away, then immediately sought out my next target.
I saw two of our birds attacking a B-17. I pulled up and headed in their direction, not to aid in their assault but to pick off a Grumman that was attacking the Zeros.
I flew up behind the Grumman, which was bathing a Zero from the rear with bullets, and opened fire with both my 20-mm and 7.7-mm guns. The Grumman fell away, but so did the Zero under attack. The B-17, meanwhile, escaped.
The interception lasted for just over ten minutes. The many large ripples on the surface of the ocean far below indicated where aircraft had crashed. I couldn’t tell which side had taken greater casualties.
There were no friendlies around me.
Then, just as I was about to head back to Rabaul, I spotted a single Zero below me. It was Miyabe’s. I made my decision.
I immediately went into a dive and came up behind him. At about 1,000 meters, I fired at his plane. There was no chance of hitting him at that distance. It was merely my way of signaling that I wanted to start a mock dogfight.
Miyabe nosed up and turned towards me. For a split second, we were facing each other, but our planes were too close. We passed by one another and quickly put 2,000 meters between us. Then we both made wide turns and faced each other again, understanding each other without words.
Miyabe had responded to the mock battle challenge. We were at the same altitude, so this would be an even match.
We both closed the distance. I made a wide left turn, attempting to get behind him. He made a similar turn. Our aircraft drew closer and closer together as we chased each other. This was a proper dogfight, as the nickname comes from two dogs going in circles, nipping at each other’s tails.
We both dipped our wings down, continuing to turn sharply. We twisted through the air like pestles sliding inside a mortar. I felt an immense g-force all over my body, like my innards and eyeballs were being crushed. If you’ve never experienced the pain of g-forces, I’m sure it’s very difficult to understand. It’s so intense you feel like you’re dying. Just imagine large stones weighing several hundred kilos on top of your body, if that makes sense. If you haven’t built up your dorsal and abdominal muscles, it can snap your spine. Your facial muscles are yanked backwards, making you look inhuman. Your eyeballs are forcefully pushed back, making your eye sockets look sunken, like a bare skull. Your field of vision narrows sharply, like you’re looking down the wrong end of a telescope. The instant you cry uncle to the anguish of the g-force, you’ve lost the battle.
Even if this was just a mock dogfight, I was determined not to stop turning. I didn’t care if I died. I screamed out in pain, but I kept my eyes fixed on Miyabe above the crown of my head and didn’t ease up on the control stick even by an inch.
Suddenly he stopped turning and transitioned into level flight. Damn, I win! I thought, and turned onto his tail. His plane was slowly drawing towards my crosshairs, but then in the next instant he went into a loop. To pull a loop from an inferior position and at reduced speed like that was akin to suicide. I followed him. I kept my eyes locked on him overhead as I pulled on the stick. The moment I came out of the loop, he’d be right in my sights. Then his life would be in my hands…
Then the unbelievable happened. His plane had vanished. Not only was he not in my sights, he was nowhere to be seen in my entire range of vision.
As I continued to loop, I turned and twisted my head, looking for him. His aircraft was gone. I instinctively went into a steep dive. It was then that I felt a chill shudder down my spine, and I turned around to look—he was right behind me.
I can’t forget the shock I felt at that moment, even now. After the war, I got into many fights where my life was at stake, and it wasn’t just once or twice that I thought I was a goner. But I never again felt the fear that I experienced back then with Miyabe.
He was so close that our planes were nearly touching. He didn’t need his gun sights or anything. All he had to do was pull the trigger and my Zero would be blown away. He’d won, no question about it. I felt like I was about to lose my mind. I was in a state of panic, to use a foreign word as we’ve come to do.
After he saw me turn around and look at him, he increased his speed and pulled up alongside me, then passed me by. Just then, his plane entered my sights. It happened in the blink of an eye.
I pulled the damn trigger…
I won’t make excuses for myself.
I did something that one must never do. It was as though, after fighting a kendo match with bamboo swords and losing, I had cut down my opponent with a real sword the minute his back was turned.
I hated him. And he had thoroughly beaten me. Did I leap without thinking at the first opportunity to shoot him down? It would be a fair accusation. I have to accept the label of “coward” if you wish to call me that.
But what really stunned me was what happened the next moment. The tracer bullets that I had fired arced away as if spooked by his plane, which was in my sights. I felt like I was trapped in a nightmare. Had I been dragged into some sorcerous realm? Was he a demon?
He rapidly swung through the air and once again came up behind me. I didn’t turn around this time. I didn’t even think about trying to escape. I wanted to be shot down by Miyabe. From the second I fired on him, my life no longer had any value, whatsoever. I would have been perfectly satisfied with him shooting me down. It was my dream to die at the hands of a true fighter pilot. It didn’t matter whether the pilot was American or Japanese.
But Miyabe didn’t open fire.
“Shoot, damn it!” I yelled. “Fire! Shoot me!” I shouted at the top of my lungs.
Once I realized that he had no intention of doing so, I banked hard then dropped into a dive. My only choice was to blow myself up in that case. Yet once again something incredible occurred. Miyabe raced ahead of me, cutting across my flight path. I had to turn sharply in order to avoid a collision. He opened up his windshield and signaled with his hand to stop.
As soon as I saw his signal, I lost the will to blow myself up. From my cockpit I signed back, “Roger.” Self-destructing in such a way was for cowards. I would go back to the airfield, confess to everyone in the unit that I had fired on Miyabe, and then commit seppuku. I had no intention of apologizing to him; it wasn’t the sort of thing that could be settled with a simple apology. What would saying “sorry” accomplish? Instead I meant to go ahead and express my feelings by disemboweling myself.
After touching down on the runway and climbing down from the cockpit, I was heading towards the command post when Miyabe, who had landed after me, came running up.
“Listen, don’t tell anyone. That’s an order!” he said, a ferocious expression on his face. “You fired on me, but I’m still alive. So there’s nothing to report.” Then he added, “Don’t throw your life away.”
He understood. He understood everything I was feeling. My resolve to commit suicide wilted in my heart. And I didn’t die.
Do you think me a coward? I think my grandfather would have done it—sliced a cross into his abdomen, without relying on an aide to cut off his head, either. So why did I not go through with it?