Burial in the Clouds (14 page)

However, let's not split hairs. Maybe I'm just in a funk, but I simply can't see any reason why I should bottle it up. I don't want to die. I have no wish to sacrifice my life in this war. Kashima, why don't we do the best we can to survive? Each time he reads your manly letters, Yoshino swells up with martial spirit and fresh courage. Don't let's be too gallant.

What's your daily training like? The absolute minimum requirement for our survival is that we avoid accidents during our routine flight training. Since coming here, we have lost two men during orientation flights in the navy Type-97 carrier-based attack bomber. I think you remember 0. (from Doshisha Univ.) and H. (from Hakodate Fisheries College), with whom we have been together since Otake. The instructor aboard the plane survived, though with serious injuries, but the two students perished. When we lower the flaps, the nose drops, and we must correct the bias with the trim tabs. It appears, however, that the pilot inadvertently reversed the tabs, and he couldn't pull out at an altitude of 200 meters. So the plane plunged into the sea, in a flash. I heard that the main wing was blown off when it hit the water. I was only two names away from this debacle on the flight roster. In the coffins, the men were adorned with the cherry-blossom insignia of ensign. It was a sad commission. Two students from Ryukoku University put vestments on over their military uniforms and read from the sutras. We held a wake for them all through the night, each member of the outfit taking a one-hour turn. They say the navy dislikes a quiet, solemn vigil, and that if the deceased loved to drink in life, well, then it should be “Bottoms up!” for a tribute. That's all well and good, but when it turned out that we needed to fetch another funeral wreath, in addition to what we already had on base, the deck petty officer said, keeping a straight face, “No problem. And why don't I get one more while I'm at it? We'll need it for the next time anyway.” I was dumbfounded. We bore the dead off to a crematorium in Nakatsu today. We didn't let the bereaved families see them, as the bodies were quite discolored. The stoker at the crematorium was feeble from malnutrition, and he moved about listlessly; his heart wasn't in it. Very evidently he simply wished to be done with this task of setting the coffins ablaze. I was disgusted. But the parents, who had hurried all the way here, were too absentminded even to shed tears, and, in their apathy, they stood there looking like a regular bunch of stupid grown-ups. Maybe they couldn't believe the coffins actually contained their sons. And what did the instructor say when we returned to base? “Don't let one or two deaths dismay you. We'll put you through the wringer twice as hard, starting tomorrow.”

Kashima, let's take the utmost care to make it through our training. Let's not earn the insignia of ensigns, or whatever, by dying. We can muddle along for the next several months, but then what will we do when we receive our commission, when we go into battle, when we make our sorties? No logic and no complaints will avail us then. I have known for quite some time that I will have to take measures, extreme measures, if I am to survive. I'm not yet at a point where I can say exactly how I am going to do this, not even to you. A thousand times the word “Coward!” crosses my mind, but I intend to banish it every time.

What I miss is the time I spent in Kyoto, as you might expect. I once expressed my gloomy feelings, and my nostalgia for Kyoto, in a long letter to Professor E., and received in return just another postcard of encouragement. I guess he had his reasons, but I had hardly written a letter of any kind before that, and since then I have been too discouraged to write to anyone again. I don't wish to place you under any obligation, or to make any demands. But I am wondering if you might reply to this letter. I'm going to post it from Beppu on our next day of liberty. If you reply, address the letter to me “c/o Kajiya Inn, Kamegawa Hot Springs, Beppu.” Let me know the address you use on your outings, too.

So long, Kashima. Take care.

*
Kisama, ore,
and
omae
mean, respectively, “you,” “I,” and, again “you.” They have a rugged, masculine sound in Japanese and would be more commonly used among soldiers, sailors, and so on. (In Japanese there are a number of equivalents for any given English personal pronoun; their usage can vary according to gender, degree of formality, and so on.)

*
The China Incident is a reference to the fighting between Japanese forces and nationalist Chinese forces in July of 1937 at the Marco Polo Bridge (near Beijing), which sparked the Sino-Japanese War (1937-45).

†
These words all have either slightly feminine or informal connotations, hence their disuse in military contexts.
Boku
is a first-person pronoun (“I”);
kimi,
a second-person pronoun (“you”);
ne
is in this context roughly equivalent to “to be”;
tono,
a suffix sometimes applied to names as an honorific.

Usa Naval Air Station

October 13 (Continued from Yoshino's diary)

The strict, taut atmosphere of this base is having a beneficial effect on my constitution, as before, what with all my backsliding, I had been on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

We rise five minutes prior to reveille, dash off to the airfield, and, in the predawn darkness, throw open the doors to the hangars. There, Type-97 carrier-based attack bombers—the same model that saw action in the Battle of Hawaii—await us, with their noses in alignment. Morning assembly follows, then naval calisthenics, then we're back to take the planes out, running every step of the way. It's bracing to see enlisted men salute us with such insistent rigor. We haul the planes out and extend the wings, consult the flight schedules, equip our seats with parachute, cushion, and voice tube, inspect the fuel, the oil, and the surface of the plane. this accomplished, we feed our bodies on rice and hot miso soup, having worked up a pleasant hunger. Afterwards, we put on flight suits and sprint to the field.

Since arriving here, I am flush with a sense of wellbeing. I never sneeze. I think I have at last begun to internalize a spirit of enterprise, and it exhilarates me. Clearly this has a bearing on my physical health. Positive and negative aren't far apart; they are not the two extremes. And my complaints about the navy, my anxieties as to the war situation, my self-doubts—somehow I must integrate these into something forward-looking, into something redemptive.

The newspaper reports that carrier-based enemy aircraft raided Formosa from a mobile force consisting of almost the entire U.S. Pacific Fleet. If we are to recover, it will require no ordinary effort. Now is not the occasion to indulge ourselves in pointless grief over the martyrdom of O. and H. When we five thousand pilots of the 13th and 14th Student Reserves fly into the jaws of death, with some twenty thousand trainee pilots backing us up, for the first time there will be a decisive turn in the progress of this war.

I was reading a novel titled
Naval Battle
when I encountered the author's confession: along I have been searching for what might prepare me,” he says, “as if it were a solid object.” Exactly. But on the contrary, only what flows into your mind naturally, filling it up by accretion, can truly prepare you. Something in me rises like the tide, overwhelming my inner conflicts. I feel that now, and it is gratifying.

Today I made my fourth dual flight, practicing takeoffs and landings in a Type-97. Altitude: 800 meters. As I sat in the back seat, turning round on the lookout, I got a sense of our speed. Much faster than the intermediate trainers we flew at Izumi. The propellers are metal, and the sound of the engine differs. The Type-97 is a low-wing monoplane with a high rate of climb. It gains altitude in an instant, making me realize that I'm in a truly first-class aircraft, an aircraft that has performed in battle. They say that in a fast plane you are already in your turn the instant you even
think
of turning. Indeed, the plane does respond to even the slightest shift of the control stick. Consequently, it's hard to get the hang of things. I'll have to learn how to get my bearings using the Type-97's sensitive altimeter, variometer, and longitudinal inclination indicator. The pullout at seven meters is easier to make in the Type-97 than in our intermediate trainers. Two out of three of our landings were just about picture perfect, which was satisfying. The trick, it would appear, is to pull the bar all the way in at the end.

Flights ceased at 1400. Afterwards, they issued each of us a ten-day supply of flight rations: one bottle of soda, six packets of cod liver oil, two parcels of high-altitude flight food, one parcel of chocolate, and a large can of pineapple. In addition, to each outfit of twelve pilots they distributed a gallon of orange wine, two bottles of tonic, two of orange syrup, two of lemon juice, one of coffee, and one of amazake. Laid out all together, it was quite a bounty. Everyone beamed. Still more, our meals are augmented with in-flight food at breakfast every morning, milk or an egg at lunch, one
ohagi,
hardtack, a glass of orange juice at dinner, and, every other night, a plate of maki-zushi. Who eats like this in the outside world these days? Well, why shouldn't I bestir myself?

October 17

News of the results of the aerial battle over Formosa comes rolling in. Quite impressive. We sank eleven aircraft carriers and disabled three more. Two battleships went down, along with three cruisers and one destroyer. In total, we sent forty-odd ships to the bottom of the sea. The newspaper calls it the work of the gods, which I let stand without a murmur. Excellent work.

There is a story behind these remarkable results, though. No fewer than three hundred twelve of our warplanes failed to return from their sorties. Add to this those planes that were destroyed on the ground, and those that crash-landed, and you have a total of some seven or eight hundred aircraft lost. The estimate is that we also lost nearly a thousand aircrews. It would appear that our 2nd Air Fleet was essentially annihilated in exchange for our brilliant results. Most of the Gingas from the Todoroki Unit, the unit we spent some time with back at Izumi, must have been lost. Someday we will fight just as they did. My only wish is for a wise move now on the part of the operations section.

While the results of the battle were being announced this morning, two damaged carrier-based bombers emerged from the fog, buzzing the radio tower and making an emergency landing. On board were senior aviation petty officers who had taken part in the attacks of yesterday. They were flying inland from Formosa to retrieve fresh aircraft, but bad weather compelled them to land on our base.

According to these men, the enemy fleet is, at present, on the lam at five knots, and what's more, it has no fighter cover at all. If only we had the strength, they say, we could sweep the fleet away, but there are no planes left for the pursuit. Five knots is the speed of an ordinary boat. I couldn't be more exasperated. But these men didn't appear to be wired, and they mumbled when they spoke. Their eyes, however, smoldered with an uncanny menace.

October 19

In the evening, I picked up a postcard from Kashima in Kawatana. It had arrived with the afternoon mail.

“We haven't written each other in some time,” it read. “Whenever I see an airplane I think of you all. And I had been longing for some word from you, even if only about pampas grass swaying in the breeze or a sparrow singing, when a long letter came in yesterday from none other than Fujikura. He is the same old Fujikura, tough as ever. I'll write him back sometime. But he reproved me for having said, when I wrote you a while ago, “Let your
Manyoshu
pay tribute to me, in place of a sprig from the sacred tree,” and at the moment I just can't explain my aspirations. Looks like you guys have a lot of lofty metaphysical conversations. Do you really have so much downtime in the Air Corps?

“Since the beginning of autumn, the sea grows rougher by the day where I am. I live in the waves and whistling winds, doused by the spray as I glide over the water. I study late into the night, with nautical almanac, tide tables, and pilots at hand. I don't have time to compose a poem or
tanka.
I am alone here. But you three
Manyo
scholars are still together, and you get along well. Don't alienate Fujikura. What he says is mostly true. And yet, granting all that ... well, be that as it may, I just think we must set about preparing for our journey to the other world. That's the fate we shoulder.”