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.”
I went to see Fujikura after dinner and asked, “What did you write to Kashima?” He didn’t answer.
Kashima’s postcard bore a red seaclass="underline" “No Visitors.” Evidently the torpedo boat crews endure a regime even stricter than ours.
October 21
We were granted liberty today in exchange for tomorrow’s Sunday liberty, as a long spell of rain has rendered the airfield unusable. But nothing went my way today, and it was a very unpleasant excursion.
First, on the train to Beppu, Sakai started to crow, with exaggerated confidentiality, about what he claims is the real cause of Petty Officer D.’s suicide back at Izumi Naval Air Station. According to Sakai, the officer had VD. In a nosedive, the rapid acceleration dizzies even a healthy person, but if you are taking sulfa drugs, such as for the treatment of VD, aerobatics training is excruciatingly painful physically. And as a nosedive can leave you giddy for quite a while, it is unbearable mentally, too. The story itself wasn’t much of a revelation. And while on the one hand I thought it could explain the incident, I wasn’t really in the mood to hear that kind of story. Besides, Sakai unfolded his tale with ostentatious confidentiality, saying that he had heard it from the chief surgeon, and that we had better watch out for ourselves. He made such a fuss out of it that I was turned off by his tone. So, saying that I preferred to roam around by myself today, I parted with Sakai at Beppu Station. I also took leave of Fujikura, after we had all arranged to meet at Kajiya Inn in the evening.