The Eternal Zero

by Naoki Hyakuta

  The First Mobile Fleet, under the command of Vice Admiral Jisaburo Ozawa, headed to Saipan from Tawi-Tawi. Day after day, we sent out numerous scouting planes. This was in response to lessons learned from our defeat at Midway.

  On the 18th, our recon planes finally discovered the American task force. It was nearly sundown by the time the discovery was made, and they were still too far off, so the attack had to wait for the following day.

  By the next morning, the distance between our fleets had shrunk to 400 nautical miles. At that point, the Americans hadn’t noticed our presence yet. This was a great chance for us. But actually, we wouldn’t have minded even if they had discovered us, because our planes had longer flight ranges than American aircraft, and we could launch attacks from a greater distance. It was like we were a boxer with a longer reach.

  This was Fleet Commander Ozawa’s famous “out-of-range” battle tactic. If we launched attacks from a distance beyond the reach of the American forces, there was zero risk.

  This sounds like an ideal strategy, but in the real world things are never so rosy. While it was true that there was no risk for our fleet, the same could not be said for the aviation units. It’s no easy task for pilots to carry out an attack after flying 400 nautical miles. Four hundred nautical miles is about 700 kilometers. It would take over two hours flying over the ocean to reach enemy airspace. It would be one thing if the target was an unmoving land base like Hawaii, but the enemy was a speedy task force that could move up to 100 kilometers by the time our planes reached them. Which meant it wasn’t a given that we would actually come upon them. Even though our most seasoned pilots led the way, if we chanced upon an ambush that broke up our formations, many of the aircraft would be incapable of reaching the enemy’s fleet.

  To make matters worse, most of the crew in the attack forces were rank novices. Sure, their morale was high. They had a far more powerful thirst for battle than their battle-weary senior counterparts. But spiritedness alone is meaningless once you’re up in the air. There, the aircraft’s performance limitations and the pilot’s skills are all that matter.

  When the attack was successfully over, crew who weren’t confident about getting back to the carrier were to proceed to the land base on Guam to resupply. The orders were to then go back and attack the Americans again.

  * * *

  —

  At any rate, the attack force launched.

  The main mast of the flagship Taiho had run up the “Z” flag the day before. This was a signal flag of special significance that Combined Fleet Commander-in-Chief Heihachiro Togo had used at the Battle of Tsushima during the Russo-Japanese War.

  The Zebra flag, which hadn’t been raised since the attack on Pearl Harbor, fluttered and flapped in the wind. “The fate of the Empire depends on this battle,” indeed. The sight of it was bracing to the crew.

  Early in the morning of June 19th, the Third Carrier Division launched the first attack wave. Next, the First Carrier Division launched a second attack wave. I sortied with the second wave, as part of the fighter escort for the Suisei bombers.

  That day, our mobile force launched six attack waves with an impressive total of 400 aircraft. There had never been such a large attack force. This was on a scale even greater than that of Pearl Harbor. And all the aircraft deployed were state-of-the-art, from the Zero Model 52 to the Suisei dive bombers and Tenzan attack bombers.

  But sadly, the pilots at the controls of those aircraft weren’t the ones who had attacked Pearl Harbor. This became evident right after takeoff. Flying in a beautiful close-knit formation was beyond them! This was no longer the IJN air corps of the old days.

  So how did it turn out? Exactly as you might imagine.

  The Americans’ advanced radar detected our incoming attack force while we were still 100 nautical miles out. What’s surprising is that they could also gauge our altitude. I only learned all this after the war, mind you. To what extent Fleet Commander Ozawa and his staff were aware of the Americans’ radar capabilities, I do not know. I’m afraid they had no idea. Meanwhile, we aircrew learned the hard way.

  The Americans had launched all of their mobile task force’s fighters to ambush our attack waves. While we thought we’d be dealing a surprise blow courtesy of our out-of-range tactic, we were the ones who suffered a nasty surprise instead.

  Our formations were attacked from a higher altitude by more than twice as many enemy fighters. I managed to just barely escape the onslaught, but in the blink of an eye my wingmen became balls of flame and fell from the sky. I tried to lock onto a Grumman, but as soon as I tailed one, another came up right on my six-o’clock and fired at me. Taking down enemy aircraft was out of the question.

  Our planes continued to drop like flies. The younger, less proficient pilots weren’t even able to take evasive maneuvers, and one after another they fell prey to the enemy fighters.

  You know what the American troops called this battle later? The Great Marianas Turkey Shoot. I don’t really know what kind of bird a turkey is, but apparently it’s so slow that even a child can shoot one. For the American fighter pilots, our aircraft were as easy to hit as turkeys that day.

  While I had managed to elude the first bunch of enemy planes, there was a second one right behind them. The Americans had deployed multiple layers of fighters. In the end, most of our attack planes were shot down. Only a handful were able to break through the lines of interceptors.

  Somehow, though, I was able to safeguard several Suisei dive bombers, and we made it to the skies above the American mobile task force. The Suiseis were fast, which likely helped them break through, but the Tenzans were slow, and I think most ended up getting shot down.

  When we arrived above their fleet, I shivered. There was a whole herd of large-sized aircraft carriers, close to ten of them. The IJN had deployed only three fleet carriers, and here the Americans had three times as many. A difference in reach was totally meaningless. It was like a flyweight boxer trying to take on a heavyweight.

  The American fleet was protected by a thick screen of innumerable aircraft. I gave up. I figured that my luck was about to run out. If I was going to die anyway, I hoped to help at least one of our bombers score a hit even if it meant sacrificing my own aircraft.

  I took on the enemy fighters, very nearly hurling myself at them as they tried to attack the Suisei bombers. Perhaps it was my sheer fighting spirit that kept their machine-gun fire from touching the Suiseis. I clung fast by the bombers, driving away enemy fighters. I was totally prepared to put myself in the line of fire.

  I saw the bombers nose down into the dive. The fleet sent up a furious volley of anti-aircraft fire. I had never before seen such an intense barrage. The sky turned black. The Suiseis dove down bravely through it all. Hang in there, I prayed. Even if you’re no more than a preying mantis against them, deal the enemy at least one slash! Even if it won’t do a thing, land just one blow!

  But in the next instant, I witnessed something unbelievable. One after another, the Suisei bombers began spouting flames and falling from the sky. It was as though the Americans’ anti-aircraft artillery were sniping at the Suiseis with scoped rifles. I stared in blank amazement at the falling bombers.

  In the end, they’d done hardly anything to the enemy. I didn’t know what to think anymore. A Hellcat approached me while I was in that state. I escaped by pure instinct. I was totally incapable of striking back, and it was all I could do to protect my own hide. They were like cats toying with mice, pouncing on me again and again. I would dodge one only to encounter another. I was fully occupied just evading enemy fire.

  At long last, I escaped the airspace above the American ships, and no Hellcats gave chase. They had probably been tasked to defend the ships, first and foremost. Had they doggedly pursued me, I very likely would have been killed.

  I decided to return to my home carrier. There wasn’t a single friendly aircraft
in sight. I considered heading to the base on Guam, but finally resolved to go back to the Zuikaku. This decision saved my life. The third attack wave that sortied after me failed to discover the enemy fleet, and instead of returning to their carriers flew to Guam, where they were ambushed by American fighters that shot down almost all of them.

  Upon returning, I saw only one of our aircraft carriers. Both the Taiho and the Shokaku were nowhere to be seen, even though the enemy’s attack force shouldn’t have reached them yet.

  I landed on the Zuikaku and headed to the flight captain to give my report. I stated that due to the Americans’ interception most of the attack force was lost, and that as far as I could tell, the enemy had suffered almost no damage.

  “Is that so,” the flight captain said, then fell silent.

  I asked a sailor as to the status of the Taiho and the Shokaku. He told me that American submarines had torpedoed and sunk both carriers. I felt all the strength drain from my whole body all at once. While we had devoted all our air power to a battle to no avail, two of our carriers had gone down…

  A crushing defeat, I thought.

  After a while, a lone Zero returned. It was Miyabe. He came back alone, without his wingmen. That was a given; no flight could have come back intact from that battle. His aircraft had suffered damage, sporting several bullet holes. A thoroughly exhausted Miyabe climbed out of the cockpit.

  After he turned in his report, he saw me, which seemed to surprise him. His eyes seemed to say, “Good for you to have survived.”

  We went into the crew lounge. It was empty. Most of those who had sortied that day hadn’t returned.

  “We lost a hell of a lot of men,” I said.

  “Radar, probably. Seems like their radar technology has improved by leaps and bounds.”

  “Did you make it to their location?”

  Miyabe nodded.

  “Then you saw it?”

  He paused and then said, “I did.”

  “Did you include it in your debriefing?”

  “I did, but the flight captain and the staff didn’t seem all that interested.”

  “Same with me. I tried to explain at length, but they just refused to pay it any particular attention.”

  “You have to see it to believe it.”

  “What on earth was that?”

  Miyabe shook his head. “I don’t know, but I do know that it’s absolutely formidable. It might mean that we can’t sink their carriers anymore.”

  We were discussing the Americans’ anti-aircraft artillery, which had demonstrated an astoundingly high hit ratio against the bombers. It almost defied belief. I wondered if they hadn’t developed some outrageous new weapon.

  Our speculations later proved to be correct.

  The Americans’ secret new weapon was something called a “proximity fuze.” Nicknamed “magic fuzes” or “VT fuzes,” these were small radars in the nose of a shell. When an aircraft passed within a couple dozen meters of the shell, the fuze got tripped and detonated. It was a fearsome weapon.

  This, too, I only learned years after the war had ended. Apparently, the U.S. military spent as much money developing these VT fuzes as they did on the Manhattan Project. The Manhattan Project produced the atomic bomb.

  When I learned this, I realized that the basic thought processes of the American and Japanese militaries were completely different. VT fuzes were essentially defensive armaments, designed to protect their own side from enemy attacks. Such an approach would never have occurred to our military planners, who had focused purely on developing weapons that could be used in attacks on the enemy. The prime example of this way of thinking was our fighter planes: extremely long flight ranges, excellent air combat capabilities, and powerful 20-mm cannons, but totally deficient in armor…

  The ideologies were fundamentally different. From the beginning, a complete contempt for human life permeated the Japanese military’s thinking. That definitely had an impact on the kamikaze squadrons that were used in the twilight of the war.

  At the time, the Imperial forces were totally unaware of the VT fuzes. Yet the Suisei bomber crew that survived the battle had instinctively figured out the mechanism.

  “They explode right before your eyes. It seems like the shells are somehow made to blow up right when they get close to us,” one of the Suisei bomber pilots who made it back told me. He’d served as a carrier-based bomber pilot since Pearl Harbor, which lent weight to his opinion.

  But no matter what the pilots on the front lines said, the staff officers refused to believe in the existence of these mysterious new weapons and simply assumed that the enemy had stepped up their AA fire. However, even if they had acknowledged the existence of the VT fuzes, I don’t think they’d have been able to work out effective countermeasures.

  * * *

  —

  On the very first day of the Battle of the Philippine Sea, into which the Imperial Navy had poured its entire might, we lost over 300 aircraft and two treasured aircraft carriers. In mere hours, our Navy’s fighting power had been nearly obliterated, while the Americans suffered negligible casualties.

  On the second day, it was the American task force’s turn to attack us as we tried to flee. An astonishing number of carrier-based aircraft descended upon our retreating fleet. I sortied as part of the intercepting force, but we were totally outnumbered and it was pointless. It took everything I had just to avoid getting shot down by the enemy escort. A dozen or so fighters could never hope to fend off hundreds of enemy bombers.

  The Zuikaku was struck by a bomb and received minor damage. That was the first time that particular carrier was hit since the beginning of the war. Yet we somehow managed to escape after losing just the converted carrier Hiyo and two refueling ships.

  I was forced to ditch my plane in the ocean and was rescued by a destroyer. I assumed Miyabe was rescued in a similar fashion.

  Thus, in a battle where we’d staked everything, the Combined Fleet lost most of its military might, leaving it incapable of striking back at the troops that had landed on Saipan.

  After that, most of the Imperial Army stationed on Saipan was annihilated, and many civilians died as well. Hundreds of Japanese threw themselves off of Banzai Cliff and plunged to their deaths. After the war, when I saw film footage taken by American troops showing all these Japanese jumping one after another from the cliff’s edge, I wept uncontrollably. Please forgive me, I apologized over and over.

  * * *

  —

  After returning to the interior from the Mariana Islands, the Zuikaku was docked for repairs. We aviators were temporarily transferred to various military bases for the time being. They granted us a short leave of absence. I don’t remember which unit Miyabe was reassigned to after that, but I do remember the last conversation we had before our parting.

  “I’ll be seeing my family for the first time in a while,” he said. “What are your plans, Tanigawa?”

  “I’ve only got three days’ leave, so if I go all the way home to Okayama that’ll eat up all my time. I’ll go back there when I get a longer break.”

  Miyabe thought quietly for a moment then said, “Is there no one you yearn to see?”

  “You mean a woman?”

  He nodded.

  “Nah. The only women I can meet are comfort women.”

  “No one in your hometown?”

  “Nope,” I laughed. But then the face of a young girl unexpectedly sprang to mind. “Actually, there was one. A childhood friend. It was just an innocent thing, when we were kids. I’m sure she’s long since married.”

  I felt a touch of melancholy. I was twenty-five at the time and had spent the last ten years in the Navy. I didn’t know anything outside the world of the military. I had known no other adolescence.

  That was all there was to my conversation with Miyabe, but it was the convers
ation that would change my life.

  * * *

  —

  I was an instructor for a while at Kisarazu Base near Tokyo, but come autumn I was sent back to the front. It was to the Philippines.

  When I received the orders, I was also granted a week-long leave thanks to the transport ship’s schedule. I went back home for the first time in a long while. The townspeople gave me a warm welcome. They had considered me a local hero ever since I had participated in the attack on Pearl Harbor two years prior.

  They asked me many questions about the status of the war, which put me in a bad spot. The official announcements made by IGHQ were utter baloney. But the townsfolk believed it, and tried to get me to tell them sensational stories. In the interior there was a surprising lack of urgency. While there were shortages of a fair number of mundane commodities, there hadn’t yet been any attacks on the mainland, so the civilians on the home front weren’t feeling the terror of war.

  I couldn’t spill my guts to these people about what had really happened at the Mariana Islands. Besides, I’d been ordered not to speak a word concerning our sea war situation during my leave.

  Among the women who came to help out was a beautiful lady. It was Kae Shimada, whom I had known in primary school, the very woman I had told Miyabe about.

  “Masao-san, you’ve become such a fine man,” she said.

  “You’re too kind,” I barely mustered a reply. I was still a virgin then. I had been invited many times to go to the military brothels, but the truth was that I’d never gone.

  “Hard to believe you’ve become a hero of the nation, Masao-san,” she said with a giggle.

  “I can’t believe it myself,” I agreed solemnly, which made her laugh all the harder.

  “There was that time when I made you cry.”

  “I remember.”