Samurai!

by Martin Caiden

  I pulled free a second piece of bandage. No sooner had I laid it in my lap than it was blown away. The third and fourth went as quickly. What could I do? I was almost frantic. The pain in my head had increased; it was now a deep throbbing, each succeeding wave of agony more intense than before.

  I still had the silk muffler around my neck. I untied the knot and pressed one end beneath my right thigh, so that my weight would hold it down in the wind. Then I took out a jack knife, holding it in my teeth while I opened the blade. The muffler fluttered wildly in the wind. I held the knife in my right hand and transferred the end of the muffler to my teeth then cut out a piece. The wind blew it away. Again I cut the muffler, and again the shrieking wind tore it out of the cockpit.

  I didn’t know what to do. Despair returned. I searched frantically for a solution. There was only one piece of the muffler left.

  Of course! I should have realized before. I bent forward to escape the wind, and began to squeeze the muffler below the edge of my helmet, working it up into the wound. But I had to sit up to continue. The longer I remained leaning forward, the worse the pain became.

  Finally I thrust the stick into the crook of my leg and steadied the airplane in this fashion. Then I leaned forward and moved the throttle all the way forward in its slot, holding it in position. When I pulled back with my leg the Zero rose steadily in a long climb. I didn’t care how erratically I was flying, so long as I could control the airplane.

  At 1,500 feet I eased off on the throttle and returned to level flying. Then I pulled the cushion loose from the seat so that I would be as low as possible in the cockpit to escape the wind blast. Wedging my leg tightly against the stick to hold the plane steady, I slipped out of the seat to my knees, wedging the cushion with my shoulder to act as a wind buffer. Slowly I managed to move the muffler further under my cap, pressing it against the wound. I have no idea how long it took me to do this, but it seemed forever. It was impossible to see out of the cockpit, and once the Zero jerked wildly and dropped off on one wing as I hit a violent updraft. If the airplane went out of control I was lost. I couldn’t touch the rudder bar at all.

  Finally I was through. The muffler was taut beneath my helmet, and pressed tightly against the wound. I crawled back to my seat and brought the fighter back to an even level. My head felt better at once. The bleeding stopped.

  My feeling of relief after the strain of working the muffler into position was overpowering. Soon an overwhelming desire to sleep assailed me. I fought it desperately, but could not shake it off. More than once I fell asleep, my chin resting against my chest. I shook my head, hoping the pain would keep me awake. But every thirty or forty seconds my shoulders jerked as I slipped against the straps.

  More than once I snapped awake to find the Zero in an inverted position. Once I came to, flying upside down, and was so loggy I failed to move the controls. In a few seconds the engine coughed alarmingly. It was enough to bring me awake and I jerked the controls over to right the plane.

  The drowsiness. Shaking my head. Slower and slower. The wonderful, warm, comforting embrace of sleep. Everything was so peaceful. Wake up! Wake up! I screamed to myself. Wake up!

  I came to with the Zero skidding wildly to the right, the wings straight up and down. I had to stay awake!

  How? How to overcome the frantic urge to go to sleep, not to succumb to it all, to forget everything in the wonderful peace of slumber? It felt so good, so warm, so comfortable.

  The fighter jerked suddenly. I was upside down again! Stay awake! I shouted to myself. I became angry at my failure to resist the desire to sleep. I lifted my hand from the stick and struck myself on the cheek as hard as I could. Once, twice, three times, hoping the pain would jar me to full consciousness.

  I could not continue this indefinitely. Soon I tasted salt in my mouth. Blood spilled out on my lips and trickled down my chin. My cheek puffed up still more and became seriously bloated. It felt as though a giant rubber ball were expanding within my mouth. There was no alternative; I must continue to strike myself to stay awake. Perhaps food would help overcome the drowsiness. I took my lunchbox and gulped down several mouthfuls of fishcakes. I was as sleepy as ever.

  I ate some more, chewed it carefully, then swallowed.

  In a moment I was violently ill. The plane heeled over out of control, as spasms of nausea wracked my body. Everything came up, spewing over my legs and the instrument panel. I was nearly insane with the stabbing pains from my head. Even this sudden new agony failed to keep me awake. Again and again I struck my cheek with my fist until I no longer had any sensation there. In desperation I banged my hand down on top of my head, but to no avail. I wanted to sleep. Oh, to go to sleep, to forget everything, to know that the slumber would never end! Delightful, warm sleep!

  The Zero reeled and lurched. No matter what I did, I could not keep the wings level. I seemed to hold the stick in one position and never realized when my hand dropped to the left or right, sending the plane over in a wild skidding turn.

  I was ready to give up. I knew I could not continue on like this. But I swore I would not go out like a coward, merely diving the plane into the ocean for one bright flash of pain, and then nothing. If I must die, at least I could go out as a Samurai. My death would take several of the enemy with me.

  A ship. I needed an enemy ship. Out of an overwhelming despondency, I turned the Zero and headed back toward Guadalcanal. Several minutes later my head cleared. No drowsiness. No overwhelming pain. I could not understand it. Why dive to my death now, if I could reach Buka, or even Rabaul? I turned the fighter again and headed north. In a few minutes the desire to sleep engulfed me once more. I became groggy. Everything seemed to swirl around. What was I doing, flying north? An enemy ship! I remembered now; I must find an enemy ship and dive. Crash into it at full speed. Kill as many of the enemy’s men as I could.

  The world was misty. Everything dissolved into a haze. I must have turned back to Guadalcanal five times, and as many times reversed my course for Rabaul. I began to shout to myself, over and over again. I was determined to stay awake. I yelled and shrieked. Stay awake! Gradually the urge to sleep diminished. I was on the way back to Rabaul. But merely flying north was no guarantee I would ever reach my home base. I had no idea of my position. All I knew was that I was flying in the general direction of Rabaul. I was a considerable distance north of Guadalcanal, but did not know exactly how far away. I searched the sea, but found none of the islands in the chain which stretches up to Rabaul. With only my right foot working the rudder bar, it was probable that I had edged toward the eastern part of the Solomons.

  I drew the ocean chart from beneath my seat. It was smeared with blood, and it took me several minutes of spitting on the map and rubbing it against my suit to clear some of the blood away. But for the moment it was no help. I tried to orient myself by the sun’s position in the sky. Thirty minutes passed, and still no islands appeared. What was wrong? Where was I? The sky was absolutely clear, and the ocean stretched without a break to the horizon.

  Something was lifting me up from my seat. Was I in a downdraft? Everything felt so strange! I was upside down again, and did not realize the plane had rolled around until my body tugged at the seat belt. Slowly I regained normal position. Something flashed beneath the wings. What could that be? I looked down. It was just a blur, something dark, stretching endlessly just below the fighter.

  The water! I was almost in the water! In panic I leaned forward and shoved at the throttle, the next moment hauling back on the stick. The Zero responded with a rapid climb to 1,500 feet. I throttled back and went on at minimum cruising speed.

  An island! Dead ahead, an island! It was on the horizon, looming out of the water. Elated, I laughed loudly to myself, I would be all right now, I could get my position and be sure I was heading for Rabaul. I went on and on, anxious for a close look at the coastline.

  The island failed to appear. Where was it? Was I having hallucinations? What was the matter with me? T
he “island” passed to my right, a low-hanging cloud.

  Again I tried to read the compass. It was still blurred. I spit on my hand and rubbed my left eye. Still I could not read the dial. I leaned as far forward as possible, my nose almost against the glass. At last, I could see. The reading shocked me. I was holding a 330-degree heading! No wonder I had not seen any islands for nearly two hours. The Zero was moving out to the center of the Pacific Ocean.

  I took out the chart again, and estimated my position as sixty miles northeast of the Solomons. It was only a guess, but the best I could do. I made a ninety-degree turn to the left and headed for what I hoped would be New Ireland, which is just northeast of New Britain and Rabaul.

  Again and again the waves of drowsiness assailed me. I lost count of how many times the plane dropped off on a wing, or how many times I frantically brought the Zero out of inverted flight, I staggered through the sky, leaning down often to check the compass reading, and yanking the stick over until I was back on what I hoped was my heading for New Ireland.

  The head pains increased and helped to keep me awake. Then I was suddenly shocked to full consciousness. Without any warning the engine went dead. There was a strange hissing sound and then only the shriek of the wind ripping into the cockpit. Instinctively I shoved the stick forward to gain speed. This way I’d keep from stalling out and the propeller would continue revolving. I made every move with a deftness which, when I thought about it later, was startling. The mind adapts itself to such emergencies perfectly. I knew, even without thinking about it, that the main fuel tank had been drained.

  I had one tank left, but only a short time in which to transfer the fuel feed. I must be quick and sure when I changed the fuel-supply cock. Normally I had no difficulty in manipulating the cock with my left hand. But now it was paralyzed. I had to do it with my right hand. I reached across my body. Not far; enough. I strained. Still my hand would not reach the other side of the cockpit.

  The Zero dropped slowly toward the ocean, gliding without a tremor. I jerked my arm forward with all my strength and opened the fuselage tank.

  The fuel would not suck through. The automatic pump leading to the feed lines had been sucking air for too long, and the lines were dried out. I reached for the emergency hand pump and worked it savagely. There was so little time left! The pump worked at once. With a satisfying roar the engine burst into life and the Zero surged forward. I wasted no time in going back to 1,500 feet.

  All my months of training for overwater flights now came to my help. I had once established a record in the Navy for flying with a lower fuel consumption than any pilot. If I kept going now at the minimum possible consumption I could get from the airplane, I had perhaps one hour and forty-five minutes left in the air. I adjusted the propeller pitch and throttled back to only 1,700 revolutions per minute. I adjusted the fuel air mixture to the absolute minimum to keep the engine from stalling.

  The Zero flew on slowly. I had less than two hours in which to reach a Japanese-occupied island. Less than two hours to live, if I failed.

  Another hour passed. Nothing met my eyes in the vast ocean and the blue sky. Suddenly I sighted something on the water. An atoll! No mistake this time, no cloud in front of me. It was definitely an island. Its shape became apparent as I drew closer. Green Island, the horseshoe-shaped coral reef which I had noticed on the way to Guadalcanal. I checked the island against the map. Hope leaped within me...I was only sixty miles from Rabaul!

  Sixty miles. Normally, only a brief hop. But now conditions were anything but normal. My situation could not have been worse. I had enough fuel left for only forty minutes of additional flight. The Zero had been shot up badly, and the drag of the smashed cockpit, as well as the metal skin which had been chewed up by bullets, seriously affected the airplane’s speed. I had been badly wounded, and was still partially paralyzed. My right eye was totally blind, and the left eye none too good. I was exhausted, and it took all my effort to keep the plane on an even keel.

  Another island, dead ahead. This time it was no cloud looming on the horizon. I recognized the mountains. This was New Ireland; no mistake about it. I knew that if I could cross the peaks, which reached to a height of 2,400 feet, I could make Rabaul. It seemed as if I faced an endless series of obstacles before I could reach my home base. Thick clouds gathered around the peaks, and a violent rain squall lashed the mountains and the island. It seemed impossible to get through. Exhausted physically and mentally, half blind, and in a badly damaged fighter, how could I get through a squall which was extremely dangerous even under normal conditions?

  I had no choice but to detour. It was a bitter decision, for the fuel gauge dropped lower and lower. I had only minutes left in the air. I bit my lips and turned to the south. The plane moved slowly down the George Channel between Rabaul and New Ireland. Two foaming wakes in the water slipped beneath the wings. Soon I saw two warships, heavy cruisers by their looks, steaming south under full speed. They were making more than thirty knots, headed for Guadalcanal.

  I almost wept at the sight of the Japanese warships. I felt like ditching the plane right then and there—one of the cruisers could swing around and pick me up. My hope was fast running out on me; Rabaul seemed a million miles away. I circled once over the two warships, ready to descend for a water landing.

  I could not bring myself to do it. The two cruisers were on their way to the fighting off Guadalcanal. If they stopped to pick me up—which was questionable—their firepower would be delayed where it was urgently needed. There could be no ditching.

  (I learned weeks later that the two cruisers were the Aoba and the Kinugasa, each of 9,000 tons. They had been making full steam, headed for Guadalcanal at more than thirty-three knots. Along with seven other warships, they stormed the Allied convoy at Lunga, sinking four enemy cruisers and damaging another cruiser and two destroyers.)

  I turned again toward Rabaul. The fuel gauge showed barely twenty minutes of flight time remaining. If I failed to reach Rabaul, however, I would be able to crash land on the beach. Then the familiar volcano showed over the horizon. I had done it! Rabaul was in sight!

  I still had to land. It seemed an impossible undertaking with my left side so completely paralyzed. I circled over the airfield, undecided, not knowing what to do. I didn’t know that I had been given up for lost, that all the other planes except for one shot down over Guadalcanal had landed almost two hours ago. Lieutenant Sasai told me later he could not believe his eyes when he identified my Zero through his binoculars. He screamed my name, and the pilots came running from all over the field. I couldn’t see them from the air through my still-damaged left eye. All I saw was the narrow runway.

  I decided to ditch in the water just off the beach. The Zero went down slowly. Eight hundred—seven—four—one—then I was only fifty feet above the water. I changed my mind again. The vision of the airplane crashing into the sea, and my wounded head slamming forward, was too much. I felt I would never live through the impact.

  I pulled up again and turned for the runway. If I concentrated, I felt, I could make it.

  The fuel gauge was nearly at the bottom. I adjusted the propeller to its highest pitch, gunned the engine, and climbed back to 1,500 feet. It was now or never. The Zero dropped down when I pushed the stick forward. I lowered the wheels, then the flaps. The airplane’s speed dropped sharply. I watched the long lines of fighters parked on each side of the runway rushing up to me. I had to miss hitting the planes! Bring her back! I was too far to the left, and yanked back on the stick to go around again.

  After the fourth circle of the field, I went in for another landing attempt. Once I was in a glide, I lifted my right foot and switched the ignition off with the top of my boot. With even a drop of fuel in the tanks the Zero would explode if I crashed.

  The coconut trees on the edge of the field loomed before my eyes. I slipped over them, trying to judge my height by the treetops. Now...I was over the runway. There was a sharp jolt as the Zero struck the gr
ound. I pulled back on the stick and held it against the seat with all my strength to keep the plane from swerving. The Zero rolled to a halt near the Command Post. I tried to grin, and a wave of blackness swept over me.

  I felt I was falling, tumbling end over end into a bottomless pit. Everything seemed to be spinning wildly. From a great distance I heard voices calling my name. They shouted “Sakai! Sakai!” I cursed to myself. Why didn’t they keep quiet? I wanted to sleep.

  The blackness lifted. I opened my eyes and saw faces all around me. Was I dreaming, or was I really back at Rabaul?

  I didn’t know. Everything was so unreal. It was all a dream, I was sure. It couldn’t be true. Everything dissolved into waves of blackness and shouting voices.

  I tried to stand up. I gripped the edge of the cockpit and rose to my feet. It was Rabaul. It was no dream, after all! Then I collapsed, helpless.

  Strong arms reached in and lifted me from the airplane. I gave in. I didn’t care any longer.

  CHAPTER 23

  I REGAINED consciousness staring up at the sky. Something jerked and shook my body. I turned and recognized Sasai and Nakajima. The two officers had climbed onto the Zero’s wing and carried me down from the plane.

  Nishizawa’s voice burst through the murmuring of the crowd which had gathered. “Call a car—quick!” he shouted. He raged at the orderlies. “Quick! To the operating room. Go phone the chief surgeon! Quickly, you slow son of a bitch!” I couldn’t go to the hospital. Not yet. I must report to Captain Saito before anything else. We always reported to the Command Post. The need to turn in my report for the day clamored urgently in my mind.

  I raised my right arm, protesting to Sasai and Nakajima to put me down. “I have to report,” I choked. “Let me go to the Command Post.”

  “Damn your duty!” Nakajima thundered back at me. “That can wait. We’re taking you to the hospital.”

  I insisted and yelled that I had to turn in my report. The next moment Nishizawa stepped forward and grabbed me under the arm. Ota slipped along my left side, and the two pilots carried me into the Command Post. Nishizawa kept muttering, “Stupid bastard. Doesn’t even know what he looks like. Crazy, that’s what he is!”