Burial in the Clouds (24 page)

April 3

Last night, the Wake Squadron of the Go-oh Unit was ordered to make its first sortie. Lieutenant Fujii of the 10th Class (from the University of Tokyo) will lead the carrier attack bombers, and Lt.jg Ennamiji of the 13th Class (from Waseda University) will lead the carrier bombers. Two carrier bomber pilots from our class, Ensigns Ueno and Sugimoto, will also join the mission. Ueno is from Senshu University, and Sugimoto from Keio. Not a single name of a Naval Academy graduate appears on the list. The attack force consists entirely of reserve officers.

Alter the announcement, Lieutenant Fujii invited me to his room for a drink. He was outraged at the dirty tactics of the Academy graduates. Until very recently he had been in service overseas, and he was assigned to this station in order to get some rest. I can't blame him for being infuriated at the orders. Apparently it's pretty common practice in other units, too, for Academy graduates to stay behind on the pretext that they have to conserve their crews and aircraft. Baffling things happen in the navy.

At seven this morning, Lieutenant Fujii emerged, a new headband on his forehead and a saber in his hand, and climbed into his plane. It is painted green, and had been wiped clean. Not a word of complaint from him today. His last remark was, “Hug the earth and fall, each one of you.”

The crews had plucked sprigs from cherry trees and peach trees, and now placed them on the recon seats, or else attached them to their aviation caps. Next came the trial runs. The deafening roar seemed to overwhelm our emotions. I couldn't hear a thing. The planes eased into a glide and formed on the apron. Shortly, Lieutenant Fujii stood up on the recon seat and raised his hand high. And with that, the men took off, heading either for Kushira or Kokubu, in Kagoshima. Some looked cheerful, while others had gone pale from the tension. Then all we could see were their hands, waving briskly from the planes, which slipped out of sight one by one. I pray they successfully reach their targets; there is nothing else to pray for. I couldn't maintain my composure at all as I waved my cap to see them off.

And yet obviously I still consider it “somebody else's affair” as I watch these men fly away. Apparently, that's just how it goes. A little after half past seven this evening, during study session, Lt.jg T. dropped by the deck, his high boots making their percussive sounds. I looked up and noticed that he bore a small slip of paper in his hand. All of a sudden, my cheeks blazed. He was here to read the list of men named to the second special attack force. A hush enveloped the hall. The lieutenant read the list aloud, casually.

“Ensign Ikushima, Ensign Shirozaki, Ensign Furuichi, Ensign Sakai—”

There was a pause.

“These four men shall prepare themselves to depart at seven tomorrow morning.”

The men whose names had not been called puffed out sighs of relief I immediately looked at Sakai. Shirozaki stood next to him. Sakai was stiff in the face and upper body, as if electrified, and Shirozaki, tough sumo wrestler though he is, flushed red and went completely rigid. We needed to break the news to Furuichi, as he was out of the room. The men were granted a special overnight pass, which amounted to tacit permission to go out and whore. But even those who had been blossoming in that area didn't dare leave the base tonight. At once, we prepared to drink to them. All are from the carrier bomber divisions. Lt.jg Tsuchiya is said to be leading the squadron.

Sakai came unglued and was so beside himself that at first I couldn't look him squarely in the face. But after an hour or so, everyone, Sakai included, gradually started to loosen up. One fellow tried to compose a farewell haiku over a cup of sake, another started to write a goodbye note, still another stowed his gear.

“How do you write the characters for ‘riantly'?” asked the man writing the note. Shirozaki stood up, saying, “I'm gonna take a shit first,” and disappeared. Before long, Furuichi returned, panting for breath.

I diluted some coffee syrup with hot water to make a good strong cup of the stuff I carried it in to Sakai, who was writing a sheaf of letters to his family, to K., to Kashima, and to our professors back in Kyoto. He sipped the coffee appreciatively and said, “I wrote my farewell poem.” It went:

This same path

You shall follow

In a storm of petals.

“You're telling me not to wait much longer, aren't you?” I said.

“Well, it's not that exactly, but ... Fujikura went first. You third. I don't know what will become of Kashima, but, you know ... well, follow me. Doesn't have to be immediately.”

“You see, that is what you're telling me.”

Sakai had regained enough spirit to share a laugh with me.

Went to bed a little past eleven. Slept in flight suits. Those who were chosen for this mission snored themselves into a deep sleep.

Today's war results: Sank one aircraft carrier, two cruisers, two destroyers, and four more ships of types unknown. Sank or damaged fifteen ships in total.

April 5

Yesterday's sortie was canceled due to rain.

It's clear and sunny today. The cherry trees on the base are in full bloom. The men looked glamorous as they had their pictures taken under the blossoms, their cheeks rosy from a ceremonial cup of sake. Only two nights ago they looked so rigid, their faces distorted. But now, this morning, they all wore calm, beautiful expressions. This mission will involve twenty-three carrier attack bombers and eight carrier bombers. Every one of the men is radiant with youth.

We assembled, and, after a brief, conventional ceremony, were dismissed. Sakai gestured to me, as if to say, “Excuse me, please,” and ran toward his plane. In the fierce wash of the propeller, he ducked to dodge the antenna, his left hand shielding the sprig of a peach tree that his comrades had tucked into the back of his jacket, and then climbed into his seat. At seven o'clock, the lead plane left the apron, with Sakai following five minutes later. As he gazed back at the men on the ground, his face suddenly took on a tearful look. He let go of the control stick and hastily put on his goggles. His feelings resonated in my heart, clear and painful.

Departure. The men glided down the airstrip, gathering speed, and flawlessly lifted off. Soon they were mere dots against a blue sky. By seven thirty, all of the first and second groups had finished taking off

The situation on Okinawa seems to be dire. They say that two airfields are already in enemy hands. Purportedly, the U.S. has deployed fourteen hundred vessels for its operations around Okinawa. I simply don't know whether Japan has any chance at all of recovering, or to what extent the answer rests on the shoulders of Sakai and other pilots like him. But after losing two friends, Fujikura and Sakai, I believe I am ready to die, with composure, at any moment.

April 6

At around half past two, I was calibrating the compass at the airfield when word came in of a radio message from our special attack crews. They set off from Kushira at fifteen-minute intervals, four planes at a time, starting at around eleven o'clock. It looks like all the special attack aircraft that were on standby at Kushira and Kokubu, and also on Formosa, converged in an avalanche directed at enemy vessels around Okinawa. Army aircraft joined in, too. It is called Operation Kikusui, Number 1.

There is talk that battleships, including the
Yamato,
have set sail for Okinawa, carrying enough fuel only for a one-way trip.

“I've made a successful raid.”

“I'm about to make my charge.”

“A special providence watches over me. I will now crash into the enemy battleship.”

Messages like these came in, one after another. I don't know which was from Sakai, but I'm sure he carried out his mission honorably. If they made successful attacks in those coffee grinders they had to fly, then indeed, there's no other word for it other than “special providence.”

Today, early in the morning, Murase, Tahira, and Fujiwara, men from the carrier attack bomber division, joined Ito, from the carrier bomber division, to launch an attack as members of the third Go-oh Unit.

“Now, please excuse me for going first,” Ito said as he left the deck, and then added, somewhat jocularly, “The next time the cherry trees blossom, let it be in a peaceful Japan. Really.” Probably he couldn't find any other way to express his emotions.

With Shirozaki and Murase gone, the elite sumo team of the 14th class at Usa is destroyed. Five men set out so far from the carrier attack bomber division. I still remain, unchosen.

The temperature dropped low today, with chilly winds blowing. Toward evening, the crews slated to sortie tomorrow visited Usa Shrine.

April 7

Lieutenant Commander N., the chief flight officer from our Izumi days, the man we all called the “long-nosed goblin of Kurama,” has been posted here as commanding officer of the 722nd Air Unit. He appears whenever our comrades set out, to see off his fledglings.

The fourth Go-oh Unit went out today. Six carrier attack bomber crews and thirteen carrier bombers were chosen from among us, including Ensigns Horinouchi and Kurozaki. This man Horinouchi attended high school in Taipei and holds a law degree from Tokyo University. His family still lives in Formosa, and it has been three years since he last saw his parents. Come to think of it, I remember how he always looked ill at ease and lonely each time we were allowed visitors during our seaman and student reserve days. Anyway, for him, the path to the other world, the path he is now about to follow, will be the familiar route he always used to take on visits back to Formosa. And thus he makes his first “homeward” journey in three long years. Horinouchi related these thoughts to us, softly, and with deep feeling, before setting out.

We learned today that the Koiso Cabinet has resigned en masse. That incompetent, do-nothing government collapsed in a dither without achieving anything. What's more, they had the nerve to say things like, “We resign with high hopes for the new cabinet,” or “The war hasn't gone according to our wishes.” What are they thinking? Is anything at all, given the present circumstances, going “according to our wishes”? For the men at the front, a single mistake means death. How is it acceptable for the prime minister simply to resign, alive, all the while publicly admitting that his deficient policies steered the nation into this crisis? Not that I mind being rid of him, of course. But he is far too selfish and irresponsible, both in his thinking and in his behavior. I can't begin to express my sorrow for the young men who fell victim to the incompetence of these politicians, young men whose deaths they rendered pointless.

Lieutenant Fujii cursed the Naval Academy graduates, egotistical men who always scurry to cover their own asses, but I hear that once he went into the battle, he fought honorably. He was making a run at a battleship when a Grumman intercepted him. He turned and, for an hour and a half, fought tenaciously to escape, until at last he was able again to home in on another battleship. He made three tries at it before plunging instead into an enemy carrier. Our fellow pilot Nagasawa radioed back with details as, one by one, the young trainees struck their targets, spitting fire. Finally he simply said, “Now I will go,” and flung himself straight into a battleship. Not one of these pilots was a so-called “career” military man. I can't help comparing them, as they die, to General Koiso and his lot, and the comparison fills me with indignation.

In the early evening, six men who hadn't flown since mid-March, including Togawa, Watanabe, and Shibuya, were suddenly called out. They are to be incorporated into a special attack force at another base. They set out overland a scant twenty minutes after being asked, “Are you ready?” and only five minutes after the decision itself had been finalized. They left the base quite literally “without a moment's delay.”

April 12

At around three o'clock in the morning a handful of B-29s penetrated our airspace. I assume they were coming in low, as I heard an oppressive whine. We were simply too sleepy, though. And none of us bothered to get out of bed, taking solace in the idea that, anyway, we were all in the same boat.

Carrier bombers embarked on a special attack mission at eight twenty this morning. They are to take off from Kushira at around one in the afternoon, and, together with some carrier attack bombers, dive into enemy ships. And with this, the carrier bomber ensigns serving their duty-under-instruction are all gone. As for the carrier attack bombers, there is not a single flight-worthy aircraft left at Usa Air Station. It looks like I have survived again. I don't say I am glad or happy, but still, I can't help experiencing a certain emotion.

Finally it is a nice spring day again today. The sky is hazy but cloudless. The cherry blossoms have begun to fall at last, as fresh green leaves appear to take their places. I don't know if it's a characteristic of the cherry trees in Kyushu, but they have certainly been in bloom for a long period of time. The feeling of the wind on my skin reminds me of the evenings along the canal in Kyoto in May or June. Trifoliate oranges and lily magnolias. Broad beans, rapes, daikon radishes, lotus flowers, violets. Gazing at the fields, and at the flowers that cover them, makes me feel keenly how alive I am.

After seeing off the carrier bomber squadron, we moved, the cadets to the shelter on the other side of the Yakkan River, and we to the girls' school. As we left the barracks, I noticed Fujikura's military cap where it lay on a shelf, covered with dust. Obviously we had forgotten to give it to his family. We are all excited to be bunking in the large room of a school building, as if we were at a training camp. We laid tatami mats out on the floor, put up some shelves, organized our trunks and flight jackets, and hung up a calendar. We even arranged some flowers, exercising a great deal of organizational spirit. A forty-tatami room for fifty men. What with all our gear cluttering up the space, three men will have to share two tatami mats when we sleep.