Burial in the Clouds

by Hiroyuki Agawa

  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 ofB-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.

  I went out to the airfield for a walk. Few Tenzans escaped the bullets. I made my way to the end of the runways. Ripe horsetails covered the fields, which gave off the fresh scent of spring grass. What appeared to be a local farmer’s wife and her daughter were heading home, carrying a coarsely woven basket full of horsetails.

  “It’s all right. Can I help you?” I asked, concerned that they might think I’d come to shoo them away. “Thank you,” they said, “but we’ve already called it a day. It looks like rain.” Indeed, it soon began to mist. I stood alone on the empty airfield, gazing from a distance at the land-based attack bombers, with their wings crumpled by rocket fire, and at the burnt-out engines that lay scattered around, abandoned. A feeling of desolation overcame me, as if I were on an ancient battlefield.

  The banner of the Ohka’s Nonaka Unit is gone. “Glory to the Sutra of the Lotus of the Supreme Law,” it had said, borrowing a phrase from the Nichiren Buddhists. I was told that the unit had advanced to Kanoya, from which place they are today supposed to mount an attack on two enemy task forces, three hundred sixty nautical miles south of the base. The Ohka men always had an air of gloom about them. On the other hand, the crews of the land-based attack bombers that carry them possess the hearts of lions. Their valor is unparalleled. Sometimes I think I could never match them in a million years of effort. About a dozen Type-1s will set out in the morning, each hugging an Ohka. The wear-and-tear on the mother planes is extreme. On any given raid, half of them are shot down, and the remainder hobbles back after releasing their Ohkas, perforated by bullets. The men eat lunch and set out again, hugging another Ohka. A few hours later a few of them return, with still more bullet holes. The men never crow about their exploits or demand any special consideration. They simply rest for a spell and take to the skies again, toward evening. Until all of them are lost.

  It’s hard to say which is the more trying, to be the Ohka attacker who sorties never to come back, or to be the attack bomber pilot who carries him. But surely it is no ordinary thing, or so it seems to me, to keep setting out and coming back, like a pilot on some commuter run, until you die.

  Our comrades on Iwo-jima have finally perished, in the last ditch effort. It happened at midnight on March 17, I hear. Reports say they killed or wounded seventy-three percent of the enemy’s landing force, thirty three thousand men in total, and that they earned us a precious month to prepare for the defense of mainland Japan. The question is whether or not this is the whole story. What did we do to assist the desperate fight that the officers and men made on that island? Could it be that all we really managed to give them was a pep talk, sent in by radio? Isn’t the bottom line that we left them in the lurch, without being able to do anything about their situation? At times I think that their fate will be ours also.

  March 24

  Reveille at 0530. The enemy has attacked Okinawa. An order was given to seven carrier attack bombers to stand ready. The time for us to make our special attack mission finally nears.

  The Ohka attacks of the Jinrai Unit failed, with more than 500 Grummans intercepting them. Not one of our fighter planes, sent along for cover, returned. The leader of the raid, Lieutenant Commander Goro Nonaka, died in action. I hear the enemy has given the Ohka the code name BAKA, or fool. I really wish we could somehow show them what the determined soul of a fool is like. I simply don’t know what to say.

  At four o’clock, the commander addressed us in the lecture hall. But enough already about the “national crisis” and the “sacred cause,” we will do what we are supposed to do, without all the talk. Who granted the recon students those excessive flights? Who gave them fuel, granted them a homecoming leave after graduation, and got us in this mess? If only our commanders had allowed us even one hundred hours in the air, we would be much less anxious, ready to embark without a moment’s notice. We are resigned to do our duty, green though we may be, but not out of loyalty to the military clique in the Imperial Navy. I take to heart what somebody declared after our sumo match.

  March 26

  American troops have begun landing on the Kerama Islands. Five battleships and twenty destroyers are blasting away at Okinawa, and their main task force seems to be positioned in the eastern waters. The surviving crewmen from our Type-1 group have all set out. Word is that a standby order was also given to the Ginga and Tenzan Units.

  The newspaper carried an article about the Shincho Special Attack Force that assaulted the U.S. fleet at its anchorage in Ulithi. The article doesn’t come right out and say so, but it looks like these attacks involved “human torpedoes” fired from s
ubmarines. More than half of the crewmen on those torpedoes had once been student reserves. Do the officers from the Naval Academy still regard us as monkeys?

  At lunchtime, I received a letter from my father. Learned that our house was safe. A great relief.

  This afternoon, we went out to Yokkaichi on air defense operations. If you walk around to the back of the operations area and climb over a rise, you see a dreamscape, a beautiful fold of hills. Overlapping mountains melt into the spring mist in the distance, and the knolls roll off into orchards. Houses with red plum blossoms, hemp fields, pine woods. Tall pampas grass glows in the sun. Bush warblers twitter as they toss freely about, not in the least bit wary of human beings. Along the branch of a buttonwood tree, a bunting basks in the mild sun. The oleasters already bear fruit, though it is not yet ripe. The Yabakei Gorge is probably a ways back in this direction. The water quivers as loach swim in the rice fields. At the base, too, schools of crucian carp and roach teem in the ditches by the field headquarters. For some reason, the contrast between the natural tranquility of these scenes and the fierce desperation of battle seems so unreal.

  April 3

  Last night, the Wake Squadron of the Go-oh Unit was ordered to make its first sortie. Lieutenant Fujii of the 10th Class (from the University of Tokyo) will lead the carrier attack bombers, and Lt.jg Ennamiji of the 13th Class (from Waseda University) will lead the carrier bombers. Two carrier bomber pilots from our class, Ensigns Ueno and Sugimoto, will also join the mission. Ueno is from Senshu University, and Sugimoto from Keio. Not a single name of a Naval Academy graduate appears on the list. The attack force consists entirely of reserve officers.

  Alter the announcement, Lieutenant Fujii invited me to his room for a drink. He was outraged at the dirty tactics of the Academy graduates. Until very recently he had been in service overseas, and he was assigned to this station in order to get some rest. I can’t blame him for being infuriated at the orders. Apparently it’s pretty common practice in other units, too, for Academy graduates to stay behind on the pretext that they have to conserve their crews and aircraft. Baffling things happen in the navy.

  At seven this morning, Lieutenant Fujii emerged, a new headband on his forehead and a saber in his hand, and climbed into his plane. It is painted green, and had been wiped clean. Not a word of complaint from him today. His last remark was, “Hug the earth and fall, each one of you.”

  The crews had plucked sprigs from cherry trees and peach trees, and now placed them on the recon seats, or else attached them to their aviation caps. Next came the trial runs. The deafening roar seemed to overwhelm our emotions. I couldn’t hear a thing. The planes eased into a glide and formed on the apron. Shortly, Lieutenant Fujii stood up on the recon seat and raised his hand high. And with that, the men took off, heading either for Kushira or Kokubu, in Kagoshima. Some looked cheerful, while others had gone pale from the tension. Then all we could see were their hands, waving briskly from the planes, which slipped out of sight one by one. I pray they successfully reach their targets; there is nothing else to pray for. I couldn’t maintain my composure at all as I waved my cap to see them off.

  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:

  This same path

  You shall follow

  In a storm of petals.

  “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 fif
teen-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.