There are three young trainees who predict the future using a planchette. About once a week, we call them in and ask all kinds of questions. You have to be serious, though, if you actually expect an answer. They position a plate atop three interlocked chopsticks and summon the spirits. The chopsticks rattle, the plate flutters, and with that the prophesying begins. So far they’ve managed to find a few lost items, but today they prophesied that the greater East Asian war will end on April 23, Showa 22 (1947), with a victory for Japan. Incidentally, there is talk that a freak cow was born in Hiroshima, with a human face and the body of a beast. I saw the picture, and indeed, the creature has a very human look about it, with its high nose, like a pensive old man. The body, however, is undoubtedly a cow’s. In any case, this freak cow purportedly spoke our language, and it said, just before dying, “After losing three battles, Japan will greet the end of the war in brilliant triumph.” Sakai, by the way, repeated the words of Admiral Saneyuki Akiyama at the Battle of Tsushima in 1905, which he stumbled across in some book: “Should Japan and America go to war, I can keep us in the running even if I lose Kyushu.” For his part, Fujikura is as sour as vinegar. Obviously, the freak cow and the planchette are simply too absurd for him. I myself can’t see how the present war situation could lead to a Japanese victory in April of Showa 22. Still, I can’t quite bring myself, like Fujikura, to sweep these prophecies aside as fakes, or as mere superstition.
Anyway, I guess I shouldn’t be wasting time with matters like these. Whether Japan wins or loses, we will already have perished. Suppose a man is stopping up holes in some embankment, one by one, when the murky water starts coming through. The moment he loses his faith is the moment everything washes away.
February 8
We flew yesterday. Alcohol fuel isn’t as bad as I had feared, and I’m gaining confidence. The airflow is good, and it’s easy to pull into the approach path. I fluffed it once, though, during my second flight. The movements of hands and feet are organically linked, and, given the speed at which everything must happen during takeoffs and landings, you can blow the whole thing with one little mistake.
“Come on, now. You’ll have to fly solo soon,” said Lt.jg S., repeatedly.
It started to snow. When you’re up in the air, the flakes strike your face with tremendous speed, and that, together with the pressure of the wind, hurt my throat a little. Once the snow began to pile up, flights were canceled, and we were placed on the Saturday schedule.
Liberty today. Yesterday’s snow froze over, and there was a distinct chill in the air. My shoes kept slipping on the ice, which made it a nuisance to walk. Three submarines lay at anchor in the Sea of Beppu, together with a submarine tender. One of them was huge, its gunwale curving up at the bow, which made it look more like a destroyer when viewed head-on. On the train we happened across a crowd of submariners. Their skin was brown with grime, and they stank to high heaven. Many more were at the inn in Kamegawa, and every one of them stank. I have nothing but respect for these men who have only just returned from a long and trying operation. Still, I have to say it, they really do stink. Because the inn was thronged with crewmen from the submarines, guys from our base, and also civilians, men and women bathed together. Well, the young women are certainly bold in Kyushu. It was embarrassing for me, and I felt awkward and strange.
From the train, I saw a big snowman in a stretch of snow on the western side of the tracks, dingy from the smoke of the locomotives.
The situation at the front in the Philippines is just retreat after retreat. U.S. troops reportedly charged into Manila on the 3rd, and I fear the city may be completely in their hands by now. The newspapers keep up their constant cry, “We have caused the enemy immense distress!” But the men at the front know they keep retreating without hurting the Americans much, the newsmen know it, and Imperial Headquarters knows it, too. In short, the whole country keeps saying “We have caused the enemy immense distress!” but nobody believes a word of it. I hear they are making bamboo spears round the clock in Tokyo, so as to inspire hostility toward the enemy and boost morale. At the same time, no underground bunkers have yet been constructed, either for the evacuation of civilians, or to protect our arsenal. The menu at Senbiki-ya has dwindled down to one item: oyako-donburi with a disproportionate amount of onion.
On the train back, we had a chat with an engineering outfit lately returned from the India-Burma border. All it takes is a few cigarettes to set them blabbing out everything they know. I was disgusted, even though we started it. The train was twenty minutes late, so we ran all the way from Yanagiga-ura Station. I slipped twice on the snow. Fujikura and Sakai slipped, too. Two Manyo poems about snow came to mind.
February 14
I pulled first shift as probational assistant officer of the day. Intelligence came in that an enormous enemy task force, with forty or fifty aircraft carriers at its core, had left its anchorage in the Marianas. We prepared for battle at six in the evening. Then, at 0400 this morning, we were placed on Defense Condition 2. The situation grew tense.
Afternoon flights were canceled. In order to clear the way for fifty Gingas to advance to this base, we moved the carrier attack bombers we use for training out to the off-field hangars. I wheeled aircraft #3 out, puncturing its tire as I forced it to taxi over the rough surface.
The 701st, 501st, and 708th Air Units stationed at this base are all special attack force units, and the petty officers of the 708th, who bunk in the drill hall, are beginning to show unmistakable kinks in their personality as they face death. Last night and again tonight, they got drunk and came over to the barracks, swagger sticks in hand, and told us that, seeing as how they are going to die tomorrow, we should show them a little more consideration. They repeated the phrase “We are going to die tomorrow” like blockheads, and started a scuffle with the whole lot of us students. It is no easy task to make good use of men like this, while leading them into death.
The flag of the Ohka bomber group flies next to the windsock at the field headquarters. Also up is a banner bearing the motto: “Reason above error. Tradition above reason. Power above tradition. Providence over all.” As we were told a while ago, the Ohka is the Japanese answer to the V-1 rocket, a small craft with stubby wings. It rides in the bay of a Type-1 land-based attack bomber until it is time to launch, at which point it leaves the plane, sending the signal · · · ― ·, or “Period,” and then it’s farewell to this world. It doesn’t matter if you run into trouble, there’s no coming back for a second try. The moment an Ohka leaves the mother plane everything reaches its end. The same goes for special attack force pilots. But the Ohka men are gloomy and warped, while the Ginga crews are sunny, and the crews of the Type-1’s just hang loose.
At night, the Gingas flew in and landed, one by one. In keeping with the blackout order, only the red hazard lights burned, as if to suggest the turn of fate.
February 16
No advance by the enemy task force yesterday. The sortie was canceled. No flights at all.