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:
“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.