As I saw them off, I thought that if Japan was being reduced to such tactics, then we were done for. In the first place, there was no way deploying such inexperienced pilots would produce any results. It was obvious that they’d be gunned down by enemy interceptors.
Soon thereafter, I myself was transferred to the interior. My new base was Omura in Nagasaki. It wasn’t as a kamikaze. Instead I was to be a part of the fighter escort directly guarding them or establishing air supremacy.
The military didn’t officially recognize individual kill scores, but I’m sure HQ was well aware that I had shot down a considerable number of enemy aircraft. By that point almost none of the veteran pilots who had served since the outset of the war was still alive. So the fact that I had served at Rabaul made me seem fairly seasoned.
In March, the American fleet arrived in the seas near Okinawa, and Kamoya Base saw near-daily kamikaze sorties. Most of them were reserves or boy pilots from the Prep Program.
I felt sorry for the student reservists. Sure, it was nice to be pampered and granted a commission right upon entering the military. But they were only taught the basics of piloting an aircraft then sent off to become kamikazes. And I think almost all of them failed to actually strike American warships. An aircraft isn’t so easy to handle that barely a year of training could make them proficient in the cockpit.
Faced with an onslaught of unfriendly fighters, there was no way they could escape. Getting away while loaded down with heavy bombs was no easy task, even for seasoned pilots.
At that time, the only goal of the Navy—as well as the Army—was to launch as many kamikaze attacks as they could. Older Type 96 fighters and even some seaplanes were deployed on kamikaze missions. I’ve heard that in the worst cases, training planes were used, too.
I’m not the type of man who readily sympathizes with others, but I felt very sorry for those young pilots. They thought they were doing it for the sake of Japan and for their families. And after so much distress, their deaths weren’t rewarded in any way. Their deaths were a total waste. Their deaths had no value at all.
You might think that kamikaze sorties were solemn, stern affairs. But since it was an everyday occurrence, we grew accustomed to it. At first the ground crews would tearfully wave their hats in farewell, but after a while it became part of the daily routine.
Does that sound heartless? But that’s how humans are built. If we didn’t grow numb to it, we’d suffer nervous breakdowns. I’m sure that at first the commanders who ordered special attacks felt like they were slicing off a part of their own bodies. But after a while they must have drawn up the lists of pilots like it was just paperwork. I can’t blame them for that. That’s just how people are.
But it’s a different matter if you’re the one being sent off to die. You only live once.
They were truly upstanding young men. I had assumed that reserve officers coming straight from college would be a soft bunch. But lo and behold, they were all manly.
I’d seen plenty of officers from the Naval Academy who spouted off brave words but were useless in combat. Meanwhile, the reserve officers sucked as pilots but went off to their deaths with dignity. Once I saw a Naval Academy graduate raising his voice and asking, “I have to go too?” when he was ordered to join a kamikaze mission. How pathetic.
After the war, I met many yakuza, but the student reservists were so much tougher. They hadn’t been handpicked or anything. They’d been taken on in droves, and just a short year before they had been college students. So where did that bravery come from? How could plain students become so strong?
Perhaps the concept of dying for the sake of loved ones really makes ordinary men grow that strong…
What do you think?
Yeah, of course you wouldn’t know. How could someone wallowing in today’s world comprehend their strength?
The fact is, I don’t know, either.
Some kamikazes were boys as young as seventeen. Those kids had such sparkly eyes. “I will happily go to my death,” they’d boldly declare, but I could tell that in the bottom of their hearts they were wrestling with terror. On the morning of their missions, all of their eyes would be puffy. They’d probably wept into their pillows all night without even realizing it. Yet they tried not to show any weakness. Damn, they were amazing!
And yet—I’ll say it again. Their deaths were completely pointless.
The special attacks were devised as a way for the military brass to save face. By the Battle of Okinawa, the Navy didn’t have a single fleet capable of taking on the American military. By all rights, they should have thrown up their hands and said they could no longer fight. But they did not see that as an option. Why? Because they still had aircraft. And so they decided to use all those planes in kamikaze operations. That’s what special attack personnel died for.
It was the same with the Yamato. There was no way they could defeat the U.S. forces that had landed on Okinawa, but they couldn’t just stand by idly and watch the island be taken over. When the Imperial Army was fighting a hopeless battle on Okinawa, the Navy couldn’t be sitting on its hands. Could they allow the Yamato to remain while other ships had been destroyed? If not, they had to deploy her even if defeat was the only possible outcome.
After the war, I opened several gambling dens. It’s the amateurs who don’t know how to cool it. Once they’ve squandered a lot of cash, the blood rushes to their heads, and figuring there’s no point in holding onto what little they have left, they bet it all.
For the General Staff, ships, airplanes, and troops were like gambling money. When they were winning, they were stingy, missing the chance to win big. Once the situation gradually worsened and they started losing, they got pissed off and bet everything at once, like typical amateurs.
So was the use of the Yamato in a suicide mission a total waste? Did all of the kamikazes in the Battle of Okinawa die entirely in vain? Not so.
At Okinawa, many soldiers and civilians fought a desperate battle. In the face of the Americans’ overwhelming advantage, they were ready to die to the last man. Well, does one sit idly because going there would be no use? Mustn’t a bushi aid them even if he knows he won’t survive?
What am I saying… Aw, shit. There’s something terribly wrong with me today.
Was the Yamato’s sea kamikaze mission a total waste? As far as results go, yes. But Admiral Ito, and the crew of more than three thousand, martyred themselves for Okinawa. The Shinpu Special Attack Force was the same.
They may have been killed for the sake of the General Staff and Combined Fleet Command, but what they offered up their lives for was their nation, and Okinawa.
Enough. I’m sick of talking about the Yamato.
My task was to guard kamikazes and to shoot down any enemy aircraft that tried to attack them. But by that point, we were already vastly outnumbered and there was no hope for victory. The Americans had positioned picket destroyers well forward of the main task force and were able to detect incoming kamikazes via radar. They could even discern the planes’ altitude. If our planes were at 3,000 meters, they’d be at 4,000 meters, and if we were at 5,000 meters, they’d come in at 6,000. They would always be waiting to ambush us from above.
Then, from their cushy position, they would attack. The escort fighters, flown by seasoned pilots, could dodge that first strike, but the inexperienced kamikaze pilots were unable to, and many were felled in the initial assault.