Rest in peace, Fujikura. I, too, was utterly exhausted today, both mentally and physically. I decided to excuse myself early from the wake to get some sleep, so as to be sharp during training flights tomorrow.
March 3
Tunneling work. We’re digging an air-raid shelter in the hillside on the other side of the river. There will be eight chambers in total, about a hundred meters deep, with passages connecting them. A medical ward, a barracks, and corridors, all of it underneath the earth. Someday we will live in this hole. The soil is soft here, so we can dig out as much as four meters a day, but ten workers spoil the air all too quickly. They really need to see to it that this space has sufficient ventilation if they ever mean to use it as a medical ward.
We spent half the day yesterday cremating Fujikura’s body in a stretch of pine trees along the Yakkan River. At five in the afternoon we gathered his ashes. Obviously the fire burned too hot, as the bones had crumbled into tiny pieces. We gathered them up carefully. Fujikura is treated as having died in the line of duty, so he will receive a posthumous promotion to the rank of lieutenant junior grade.
Because he majored in Japanese literature, Sakai was asked to compose a poem in tribute to the deceased. He brooded for a while and came up with what sounds like a haiku: “So-and-so / Gathering ashes / On the day of the Doll’s Festival.” He says he just can’t find the right words for the first line. In the end, we agreed we had better pick out something from the Manyoshu, and as we were browsing through it we received a telegram from Kashima. Coincidentally, he had sent in a Manyo poem, too.
We also chose a poem on Hitomaro from the elegies in the second volume, and copied it down in ink on a sheet of the lined paper that the navy uses. We laid this out for Fujikura, along with Kashima’s telegram. Some of the men offered navel oranges, eight of which were rationed to each of us today. Fujikura’s parents are supposed to arrive tomorrow.
March 15
While I’ve been neglecting this diary, the river has risen, and the cherry blossoms on the base are now one-fifth in bloom. The larks chirp constantly, wheeling up and down over the barley fields. Fujikura’s accident slides into the past. Fortunately, we are blessed with a capacity for oblivion.
From the cockpit I enjoy a little world of spring. Our flight today was longer than usual, so we carried along a urine bag. It wasn’t easy at first; I wasn’t used to it and had to work myself up into a weird posture. But in the end it felt good. Below me lay green fields of barley, and I saw the white wakes of the small fishing boats. The air is somewhat hazy. I felt a bit like looping the loop.
However, the Type-97 carrier attack bomber offers nothing to protect the pilot besides a seatbelt. We do stow a parachute under us like a cushion, with the ripcord tied to the seat. But as the instructors have indicated (“Listen, guys,” they say, “don’t expect it to open”), this arrangement rarely works as it should if you have to bail out. The windshield sits right in front of your face. If you bang to a halt, breaking the landing gear or something like that, your forehead slams into the glass, killing you for sure. Come to think of it, it’s amazing they train us in these planes, and with defective fuel to boot.
When we wrapped up for the day, we were told to expect a Sunday schedule tomorrow. This means a day of liberty. After that, operations keep us confined to base until May 1st. We returned to the barracks, quacking like ducks. There we learned that Osaka was raided last night by some ninety B-29s. The newspaper ran a picture: A rainstorm of firebombs cascaded down, flames trailing along behind them. Supposing the payload of a B-29 to be ten tons, and judging by the range from which this raid was launched, for each household in Osaka there must have been four, five, or even ten firebombs. Abeno, Tenno-ji, and Sumiyoshi Wards were completely incinerated. The damage yesterday, as well as the devastation of the March 10 raid on Tokyo, is said to match that of the Great Kanto Earthquake of 1923.
I’m getting concerned about my family. And I’m also concerned about the civilian population in general, wondering whether or not they will manage to pull through when they are hard-pressed to meet even the barest needs and begin to doubt their own prospects. I have a feeling that if we start falling apart now, there will be no stopping it, and if that’s the case, I don’t know what it is we’re dying for.
The number of B-29s our side reportedly shot down: a mere eleven.
March 22
An order to evacuate immediately came in on the 18th. We flew to Miho Air Station in Shimane Prefecture and just got back today. Reveille was at five thirty on the 18th, and with it came the call to man our stations. We formed in front of the field headquarters and stood by. Twenty of our land-based attack bombers took off shortly on a mission. A report had come in that an enemy task force of three regular aircraft carriers and two auxiliary carriers had appeared to the south of Cape Ashizuri, about two hundred nautical miles from this base.
At 0730, we returned to the barracks for breakfast, half of us at a time. At around 0930 news came in that our attack bombers had set one of the enemy carriers on fire. On the heels of this report came another, indicating that one hundred twenty Grummans were circling over the city of Oita. We were certain that it was our turn at last to make a sortie, but instead we received the order to evacuate to Miho, together with all our aircraft. They said we might encounter Grummans en route, in which case we should fall into air combat, or, as circumstances dictated, crash our planes into them. We wrote out brief farewell notes in a hurry, and at around 1210, thirty-six carrier attack bombers and thirty carrier bombers formed up and set out for Miho. landed safely, except for one bomber, which straggled behind and made an emergency landing along the way. Miho Naval Air Station is situated at a lovely spot near Lake Shinji and Nakano-umi, with a fine view of snow-capped Mt. Daisen.
It was right after we took off that Usa was hit. On our return four days after the raid the survivors told us how, at around one o’clock, they suddenly heard a strange roar. Four Grummans popped into view, already in a nosedive. They strafed the hangars and the Type-1 land attack bombers, diving to within ten meters of the ground. They came in so low they almost grazed the tails of the Type-1s before pulling out and flying away. They were very nimble indeed, we were told. From the vicinity of the field headquarters, our side fired 7.7 millimeter machine guns like all fury, but the 7.7 is nothing in the face of the enemy’s 13.7 millimeter guns. What really put up stiff resistance was an army aircraft called the Hien, which engaged the enemy in a three-cornered dogfight. It fought splendidly throughout the raid. Still, the flock of Grummans got away more or less unscathed. They circled leisurely as they gathered, and then they flew away. Following this came more attacks, at around two, and then again at half past three. The enemy planes had totally free rein as they flew in from the southwest out of a glaring sun. Their rocket artillery had the Type-1s blazing away, one after another, the hangars were in flames, the Ohka was never able to get off the ground, the switchboard failed, and we had a crop of martyrs. Those who had set out, leaving behind their farewell notes, survived, every one of them, while those who stayed were killed. By the time we came back, all the bodies had been cremated on the riverbank in fires stoked with airplane fuel. Their ashes were already laid out. The men returning from Miho tore up the notes they had left, with a wry grin.