The Eternal Zero

by Naoki Hyakuta

That had been in the first grade. Kae had been a strong-willed girl, and one day we’d gotten into a quarrel over something trivial. She’d slapped me about the head until I cried. For a long while after, the memory of that incident made me feel humiliated. So it was very easy to recall.

  “But now you’re off shooting down American and British fighters.”

  “Yes.”

  “Thank you very much for all your hard work on behalf of the country.” Kae placed her hands on the floor and bowed deeply. Then she left the parlor and didn’t return.

  All during the banquet, my head swam with thoughts of her. Maybe the alcohol was to blame. Towards the end of the evening I turned to the village mayor and asked, “Is Kae Shimada still single?”

  “You’ve taken a liking to her, huh? A spinster, but the village beauty.”

  “Is she spoken for?”

  “Not that I know of. Why, you want her?”

  “Yes,” I blurted out.

  “All right, then,” the mayor replied. That was all that was said.

  The next day, while I was relaxing at home, the mayor and Kae’s father came for a visit. They spoke to my father and elder brother, and it was decided on the spot that Kae and I would be wed. The rest progressed quickly, and a date was set two days from then for a private ceremony. I was scheduled to return to my post in three days.

  I couldn’t ask them at that point to please wait a minute. I made up my mind to go through with it.

  Two days later, we were wed at my home. Kae and I hadn’t been able to speak privately since the night of the banquet. By the time the ceremony was over and we were alone, it was very late.

  “Please take good care of me,” Kae said, giving me a deep bow.

  “I ask the same of you,” I replied, meekly lowering my head. I was nervous. I had never been so nervous, not even in the midst of battle. But I mustered up my resolve and said, “There’s something I need to tell you, Kae-san.”

  “Yes.”

  “Imperial HQ says that Japan is winning the war, but in fact, we’re losing.”

  Kae simply nodded. Her reaction made me realize that the village folk did not, in fact, believe the official announcements. Even without suffering air raids, they had sensed the worsening military situation.

  “I return to my unit tomorrow. I don’t know where they’ll send me next. But if I’m sent back to the front, there’s a chance I won’t make it back alive.”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s wrong of me to say this after we’ve gotten married, but I’m afraid I’ve done something unforgivable to you, all because I made a careless comment to the mayor. If I die in battle, you’ll become a widow. If that happens, don’t worry about my family and find yourself a new man.”

  “Won’t you come home to me?”

  “I can’t make such a promise. So I don’t want to take your virginity. That would be better for you in case I don’t return and you have to remarry.”

  Kae listened carefully to every word. After a long while she said, “Why did you say that you wanted me?”

  “Because I like you.”

  “Do you know why I agreed to marry you, Masao-san?”

  “Why?”

  “Because I like you too.”

  When she said this, I thought I’d happily die for Kae’s sake.

  I made love to her that night.

  Now, what a bore I am to speak of this. Forgive me.

  The next day, seen off by a crowd, I left Kae and my village. Three days after that, I left Japan once again.

  * * *

  —

  The Americans’ next target was Leyte Island in the Philippines. The Combined Fleet developed a plan for striking at the American forces trying to land on Leyte. It was codenamed Shou-ichi-go: Operation Victory One.

  I was stationed at Mabalacat Base on Luzon.

  * * *

  —

  Mabalacat, what a hateful sounding name. Well, the place’s name itself shouldn’t be faulted. But even now, just uttering the name of that town casts a dark shadow over my heart.

  One evening sometime after I had arrived there, all aircrew from NCOs on down were assembled in front of the command center. The executive officer addressed us.

  “There is only one reason we’ve gathered you all here. Japan is currently facing an unprecedented crisis. I am forced to admit that the current military situation is extremely severe. For that reason, we have decided to deal the Americans a death blow using special attacks.”

  I knew immediately what he was referring to. He was going to make us hurl ourselves at the enemy.

  “However, as these attacks mean certain death, we have decided to only use volunteers for these units.”

  Tension filled the air. A heavy, stifling silence settled over the command center’s environs.

  “Volunteers, step forward!” barked an officer standing beside the XO.

  Nobody moved. It wasn’t that kind of proposal. The officer had said in effect, Those who wish to die, speak up right now! No one could possibly give an immediate reply. No matter how prepared we were to die in battle, this was an entirely different matter.

  “Will you or will you not volunteer?!” another officer bellowed.

  Several men stepped forward at that moment. Immediately, everyone else stepped forward, too, as if to keep pace. Before I’d even realized it, I, too, had conformed.

  After the war, I read a book that had an account of this moment. It stated that when the officer asked for volunteers, we advanced one and all, begging to become a kamikaze. That stuff is all lies!

  The truth was that it was an order made to sound like it wasn’t an order. They didn’t give us a chance to think about it at all. Out of habit from years of conditioning in the military, we reflexively submitted to our superior officers, more or less.

  It was only after we returned to our barracks that the gravity of it sank into us. My first thoughts were of Kae. I thought I was going to be less than true to her. Kae’s face came to me, not covered in tears, but hardened in anger. I remembered her face as she’d hit me when we were kids. I silently apologized to her over and over again.

  I wrote my very first will then. I’d never bothered before. I don’t remember what I wrote, except for the salutation: “To my beloved Kae-sama.”

  To be totally honest, I wasn’t afraid of dying. No, I’m not putting on a front. Ever since Pearl Harbor, I’d thought of myself as a dead man walking. Many pilots far better than I had died already. I had participated in over a hundred air battles by that point, and the fuselage of my fighter had been scarred by enemy fire countless times. None of the shots had proven fatal, but in several cases, a couple dozen centimeters the wrong way would have sent me plunging down. Luck alone was the reason I was still alive. I had always thought that sooner or later I would follow my fallen comrades to the other side…

  But being prepared to die on a mission and sortieing with death as the foregone conclusion are two very different things. Until then, even if the odds were very slim, I had gone into battle with a thin ray of hope that I’d live to tell the tale. Meanwhile, a special attack meant that not even luck could save you. Any effort to try and survive would prove useless. Taking off equaled death.

  Yet, I had volunteered, so I had to keep my word and die like a man. The only thing that troubled me was thoughts of Kae. I bitterly regretted marrying her. At the same time, I didn’t mind dying if it was to protect her.

  * * *

  —

  In my recollection, it was after we’d volunteered that the First Air Fleet Commander Takijiro Onishi arrived at Mabalacat.

  According to the history books, Fleet Commander Onishi came up with the idea of special attacks after arriving in Mabalacat, naming Lieutenant Yukio Seki captain of the first unit. But that can’t be right. NCOs and airmen had been force
d to volunteer beforehand. The decision to employ special attacks must have been made prior to the fleet commander’s arrival on scene.

  Soon thereafter, the names of the aircrew assigned to the special attack force were announced. Twenty-four men, with Lieutenant Seki their captain.

  Frankly, I was very relieved to learn that my name wasn’t on it. Of course, I was well aware that since I had volunteered, sooner or later I would become a kamikaze, but I was relieved all the same. And I hated myself for it.

  I found myself at a loss for what to say to those who had been selected. I couldn’t see them as pitiful or unfortunate, understand?

  Not one of them grew pale. They were true samurai. I asked myself if I would be able to conduct myself so admirably if I were in their shoes. I’m sure many of us who weren’t chosen wondered the same thing.

  Fleet Commander Onishi delivered a speech to the members of the special attack force:

  “Japan is in grave danger. Neither cabinet ministers, nor generals, nor the Chief of the General Staff can save her from this danger. Of course, neither can fleet commanders like myself. Only pure-hearted young men brimming with vitality such as you are able to undertake this task. I am making this request of you on behalf of one hundred million Japanese. I pray for your success. As you are all already gods who have given up your lives, you must be unburdened by desire. Your only regret must be that you can never know what gains you achieved by throwing yourself bodily at the enemy. I assure you that I will confirm them and that your accomplishments will be reported to the Emperor himself.”

  Onishi ended his comments, stepped down from the platform, and shook hands with each of the members.

  The special attack force was named the “Shinpu Special Attack Force.” The characters meaning “divine wind” were officially pronounced that way instead of kamikaze, though we came to use the latter reading. The units were named Shikishima (an old poetic name for Japan), Yamato (from “Yamato spirit” or the Japanese spirit), Asahi (morning sun), and Yamazakura (wild cherry blossoms).

  These came from a tanka poem by the Edo-period classical scholar Norinaga Motoori:

  Asked about the soul of Japan,

  I would have to say that it is

  Like wild cherry blossoms

  Fragrant in the morning sun.

  Around the same time, the Combined Fleet announced Operation Victory One, an all-out attempt to stop the Americans from invading the Philippines.

  Japan’s back was to the wall.

  After capturing Saipan, the Americans’ next target was the Philippines. If they managed to occupy the Philippines, our link to the southern territories would be completely severed. Petroleum and other resources would become unavailable. Hence the Imperial Army and Navy were prepared to defend the Philippines to the last.

  The Combined Fleet deployed to strike at the American landing forces, with orders to wipe out the enemy’s convoy of transports. To this end, the Combined Fleet hatched a daring plan: they would use the Mobile Fleet as a decoy to lure away the American carrier task force; a surface fleet headed by the battleships Yamato and Musashi would then charge into the Gulf of Leyte and send the American transport convoy to oblivion in one fell swoop. It was a desperate plan as in the proverb, “Let him slice your flesh while you sever his bone.”

  At the time, however, we base crew knew nothing about the overall situation and merely fought each battle as commanded.

  The special attack was to provide support to the surface fleet as they stormed into Leyte Gulf. If the kamikazes managed to demolish the flight decks of American carriers, the enemy wouldn’t be able to launch their ship-based aircraft. This would reduce the number of aerial attacks our fleet might face and facilitate its entry into the gulf.

  If we’d had sufficient numbers of planes, land-based air corps could support the surface fleet or make a direct strike on the American task force. By then, however, our diminished strength in the air precluded any large-scale attacks.

  It was under such circumstances that the kamikaze attack force was born.

  * * *

  —

  The Shikishima Unit led by Lieutenant Yukio Seki first sortied on October 21st. But failing to discover the enemy, it returned to base. The unit sortied again the next day, yet returned once again after failing to make contact with the enemy.

  I thought this was terribly cruel.

  Lieutenant Seki was a newlywed. How heart-wrenching it must have been for him to leave her behind. Before his first sortie he’d told someone who was close to him, “I’m not dying for my country. I’m dying for my dear wife.” I understand how he must have felt. I’m sure that all the other members, looking death in the eye, also considered what death meant to them, and departed on their mission having found peace only after a profound internal struggle.

  Imagine how they must have felt returning to base. Having failed to spot their target, they were granted a short stay of execution—how that must have merely tormented them. How painful it must have been to live another night, when they’d sworn never to see a new day. Yet none of them, from Lieutenant Seki on down, betrayed even a hint of their anguish. Such men they were.

  Then finally on their fourth sortie, they didn’t return.

  That day, the Shikishima Unit was escorted by four Zeros led by Flight Chief Petty Officer Nishizawa, who had been called up from Clark Air Base the day before. Yes, that Nishizawa, the famous ace of Rabaul. In addition to protecting the kamikaze unit, he was probably called up to assist in finding the enemy.

  Lieutenant Seki’s unit of five aircraft all succeeded in striking their targets, severely damaging three American escort carriers. We learned of the results of their mission by telegraph from the base on Cebu. The first kamikaze attack in history was a resounding success. CPO Nishizawa was the one to make the report, and it was very accurate. After the war, the U.S. stated that one ship was sunk and two others suffered heavy damage.

  CPO Nishizawa hadn’t just defended Shikishima Unit from hostile fighters and seen it dive through raging anti-aircraft fire. He’d also gunned down two Grumman F6Fs that were hot on his heels before making his way back to Cebu.

  I heard this afterwards from aircrew stationed on Cebu, but when CPO Nishizawa stepped out of the cockpit of his Zero, he had such an inordinately murderous aura about him that no one dared speak to him.

  By the way, while the kamikaze attacks continued up to the end of the war, this first mission was the most successful. The element of surprise was probably the main reason, but I’m sure that having the greatest fighter pilot in the Navy providing support was immensely helpful as well. Ironically, it was the success of this mission that convinced the General Staff that kamikazes were its trump card.

  Apparently, that night, Nishizawa muttered to a friend, “I will soon be following them to the other side.”

  He had lost his wingman to anti-aircraft fire during the mission—the very first time he’d lost anyone from his flight, we’re told. He had sortied on hundreds of combat missions and gunned down more than a hundred enemy aircraft, and yet, never having lost anyone under his command was his greatest badge of honor. Only Saburo Sakai shared the distinction. Actually, since Nishizawa had served for over a year in that hellish place, Rabaul, without losing a single wingman, you could say he was even greater than Sakai.

  Nishizawa’s comment that he was soon to follow was probably in reference to Lieutenant Seki’s Shikishima Unit, but perhaps he also had his fallen wingman in mind. And his premonition would come true.

  The next day, as CPO Nishizawa made to return to Mabalacat, the base commander at Cebu told him to leave his Zero behind. Nishizawa and the two other pilots boarded an old Douglas transport plane bound for Mabalacat. It was shot down by an enemy fighter. It was an all-too-anticlimactic end for the man the American pilots feared as “the Devil of Rabaul.”

  How Nishi
zawa must have gnashed his teeth. The last flight of a man who’d never have been shot down flying a Zero was aboard a sluggish, unarmed transport plane.

  And thus the greatest flying ace that the Imperial Navy produced died the day after the first kamikaze attack. He was just twenty-four years old.

  Lieutenant Seki was heralded throughout Japan as a war hero. He had been the only child of a single mother. His bereaved mother was lionized as the woman who’d given birth to a god of war. But after the war, public opinion shifted and she was ostracized as the mother of a war criminal. She was forced into poverty, scraping by as a peddler, eventually finding employment as a cleaning woman at a grade school. She passed away one day in 1953, alone, in the janitor’s room. They say her last words were, “At least allow Yukio a grave.” That was the mood of postwar democracy: kamikazes who had perished for the country were like war criminals, and even erecting a stone for them was unforgivable. I’ve heard that the lieutenant’s wife remarried after the war.

  * * *

  —

  I should tell you about Operation Victory One, too. I’ll preface this by saying that I didn’t witness all of these events directly.

  Around the same time that Shikishima Unit was repeatedly sortieing, the Central Force led by Admiral Kurita, on its way to Leyte, came under heavy fire from carrier-based enemy aircraft in the Sibuyan Sea. The Americans attacked in waves that resulted in damage to many ships, but they mostly focused on the battleship Musashi. The Musashi, sister ship to the famous Yamato, was the world’s largest battleship and widely considered to be unsinkable. But after repeated attacks from hundreds of American aircraft, even the great Musashi was ready to rest in peace.

  Meanwhile, the Northern Force comprised of aircraft carriers led by Vice Admiral Jisaburo Ozawa headed south towards Leyte in order to redirect the American mobile task force’s attacks away from Kurita Fleet. Our carriers sent out a deluge of wireless messages to draw the enemy’s attention and launched many recon planes.