by Japanese;Italian Experiences of WW II Reaping the Whirlwind: Personal Accounts of the German
The diary ended on 25 October with enemy planes circling overhead.
VICTORY!
Some soldiers managed to maintain the spirit of Bushido to the very end. Among the papers of Fuzuko Obara was a diary that began with his battalion being posted from Manchuria to defend the Philippines ‘with treasured memories of five years as soldiers and friends’. Their spirits were high:
‘Victory!’ be our cry! Comrades in arms
Of the South Seas, shall we all soon meet in Yasukuni?
This was written on 3 August 1944, less than three months before General Douglas MacArthur returned in triumph to the Philippines. Just three days after leaving Manchuria, Obara was already suffering from dysentery:
My physical condition continues to worsen. By nightfall it has turned to diarrhoea. Since the freight train is completely without toilet facilities, and to make matters worse, since I never know when nor for how long the train may stop, I am very soon fasting and petitioning the gods, ‘Please, cure me quickly …’
On 21 August, they set sail from Pusan harbour in Korea.
Suddenly something is spotted in the water that looks like the wake of a torpedo, and this is turned into an impromptu lesson on anti-submarine observation.
After stopping briefly at Ariake Bay on the west coast of Kyushu and seeing the homeland once more, they headed for Formosa, then journeyed on to the Philippines.
5 September: As we reach the middle of the Bashi Strait, there is a submarine alarm. Bombs and bullets from the skies, depth charges from the escort vessels and ships of the convoy, combine to produce a series of bone-jarring blasts … Blasted by concerted attack, a stricken Anglo-American submarine plunges to the bottom.
Another submarine was spotted the next day and ‘to avoid the dangers of the Manila area, we stop at San Fernando’. They landed the following night.
The realization that we are now finally here fills my head with emotion. Among the loyal comrades who bravely marched forth from our old base camp to take part in the building of the new Philippines, there are probably some who, rather than treading this soil, lie uselessly on the bottom of the sea. When I think of them, I marvel to find that we are safely here. It is divine providence. It is by the grace of the gods, nothing else.
They noticed how cold it was at night, but as the dawn came up everyone was eager to sample coconut for the first time. Soon there were other weather problems to contend with:
12 September: We have been in a violent rainstorm since evening, a downpour as if the heavens burst. I suppose this is one of those squalls characteristic of these southern regions. It is impossible to see 10m ahead. The surf is violent. The palm trees seem about to fall under the lashing of wind and rain. We had been on night manoeuvres, and had to return to our tents in the midst of this great squall. Unable to change into dry clothes, we strip and sleep naked in our blankets, mosquito nets and gloves.
On the way to Lipa by train, they were attacked by enemy aircraft. It was a worrying portent.
‘Not one of our planes went up?’ one asks with a puzzled look. ‘And not one of theirs went down.’
The following day they were attacked again, this time by a formation of 25 or 26 planes.
And now, I say to myself, the heroic battle in the sky begins, as our planes tangle with theirs. Not at all; no such thing happens! Their planes continue to soar the skies about in formations of four or six. I think perhaps half of them are ours, but even as the thought forms I can see that all the planes are enemy.
There were enemies on the ground too. The Filipinos, whom they assumed to be their friends, killed Private First Class Awaji Shoji.
The guerrilla who killed Awaji is soon caught and laid out smeared with blood at the feet of Awaji, along with two other guerrillas also seized and thrown down. While they are being interrogated about the killing of Awaji, I try to grasp the idea that this man is the one, this young man of 22 or 23, trembling, blood-smeared and prostrate before us. But then he speaks, saying, ‘I am a captain of the American-Philippine Army guerrillas.’ Had others not been there, I wonder if I might not have instantly slashed at him.
24 October: The dawn sky is filled with the rumble of great formations of aircraft. It is our ‘Arawashi’ on their way to strike the enemy. We pray for them to achieve victory in memory of Awaji. About seven o’clock we recover his ashes and put them in a proper new Japanese box. Each man sheds his tears within himself.
But even while the funeral was still under way, US carrier-based Grummans continued to dogfight overhead.
10
KAMIKAZE: THE LAST DESPERATE DEFENCE
The Japanese term kamikaze means ‘divine wind’, and it was originally used to describe the typhoon that dispersed the Mongol fleet as it threatened to invade Japan in 1281. However, in World War II the word acquired a new sense, when it was applied to the Japanese pilots who flew their planes into enemy targets, usually ships, in suicidal attacks. Though suicide attacks had begun earlier, kamikaze attacks were first employed as a deliberate tactic during the Allied landings on Leyte in the Philippines in October 1944, as Fuzuko Obara recalled:
30 October: ‘Newspapers have come!’ I hear the shouting and, starved for news, jump up to have a look. It is a one-page Manila paper, and the smell of ink strikes the nose. It is so black with large type, but the headlines that greet the eye are not about the number of enemy warships or enemy divisions invading Leyte Island, nor the appearance of enemy planes, rather the big type tells of our Special Attack Forces’ fierce onslaughts. Ah, those words, ‘Kamikaze Special Attack Force, Manila Attack Force!’ Who could have foretold the story of these men? Only Imperial Japan can boast of such headlines as these. All around, all of us reading in this pool of electric light are as one struck dumb with deep emotion, and tears stand in every eye. If only my pen were able to express in unadorned grandeur the dignity, the immortality of the Special Forces … These gods of the skies who have chosen this path to glory are generally young men, about 22 or 23 … However, the newspaper also reports: ‘So inspiring is the example of these gods of the skies that there are now many dedicated 16-year-olds graduating from primary training.’ 16 years old! 16 years old! I think of how it was when we were 16 years old, how many years ago.
It is of course a matter of pride to be Japanese and then in addition belong to the Special Attack Force. Thus it is that in the present situation in the offshore area of the nearby island of Leyte, one plane after another turns itself into an inextinguishable fireball to strike like an eagle from the skies an enemy warship dead on target! Ah! Who would not declare such to be the Eagles of Heaven.
In the 16th year of life to have attained such self-control, such enlightenment, is sure to have attained the sublime heights of the gods. This is Japan! This is Japan! Divine winds blow! Kamikaze fly! Annihilate the American forces and send them to the bottom of the sea. And should the enemy come here, we who are the surface forces, in concert with the Eagles of Heaven, will all adopt ramming tactics, one man destroying one tank, and so kill the enemy until not one remains. Thus will we leave the Land of the Gods in the tranquillity of a secure Greater East Asia. It is the sacred duty of warriors such as we, though we lack wings, to achieve this. It is our paramount responsibility not to fail to achieve this. Let them come! We shall slash with lightning attacks! We shall hurl our bodies at them!
My feelings as I am writing this in the dugout by the weak light of a coconut-oil lamp are such as to stop my breathing. This is Japan! This is Japan, that our holy warriors fly, fly, fly, while we also prepare to hurl ourselves at the enemy.
Staff Officer Lieutenant Colonel Jin explained why the tactic was adopted:
I think there were four main reasons:
1. There was no prospect of victory in the air using orthodox methods.
2. Suicide attacks were more effective because the power of the impact of the plane was added to that of the bombs, besides which the exploding gasoline caused fire – further, achievement of
the proper angle effected greater speed and accuracy than that of normal bombings.
3. Suicide attacks provided spiritual inspiration to the ground units and to the Japanese public at large.
4. Suicide attack was the only sure and reliable type of attack at the time attacks were made (as they had to be) with personnel whose training had been limited because of shortage of fuel.
However, the kamikaze did not prevent the Americans landing on the Philippines, and an attack on Luzon at Tayabas Bay was expected on Christmas Day. But on Christmas Eve Obara noticed that the twin-fuselage Grumman P-38s and the four-engine Consolidates normally flying overhead mysteriously disappeared.
Through the front of the palm grove, we see the beach, relatively well-lit by the moon, but in the shadows all is dark. A quiet surf sparkles in the brilliant moonlight as each one of us in his defensive position maintains a steady surveillance clear to the horizon. Any landing craft, no matter how small, would be detected by watchful eyes of soldiers staring at the surface of the sea … Until recently there would have been lights visible from the fishing villages around Tayabas Bay, but tonight there are none to be seen. Apart from the sound of waves lapping at the shore and an occasional cry from fowls in the dwellings nearby, it is completely quiet.
While the lookouts strained to hear the sound of approaching landing craft, Sergeant Major Sado was shot by a guerrilla during a local round-up and died of his wounds.
He had been given a blood transfusion and everything possible had been done for him, but because the colon had been severed, all was in vain. He was a man fond of kendo, rather taciturn, yet … Some time ago, Nagasawa Sempei of HQ was similarly shot and killed by guerrillas while on a terrain reconnaissance mission. In his case nothing remained that could be done for him except to recover the body. These wretched Filipinos! Forgetting all gratitude for the gift of independence, they yearn only for the soft pleasures of American-style hedonism.
There were also the Americans to worry about. Having secured Leyte they were now preparing to invade Luzon.
Soon after welcoming the New Year, we were urgently pulled out of the Tiaong area of Tayabas State on the 15th and sent to the mountains near Montalban, northeast of Manila … It will be our mission, following the example of classic ancient stratagem of Lord Kusunoki, to prepare in these forested mountains fortified positions more inaccessible than this Chihaya Castle on Mount Kongo. Our transfer from Tiaong to Montalban was accomplished by motor vehicle entirely by night because the impossibility of suppressing enemy air attacks caused us to be concerned that travelling by daylight would result in excessive casualties … As when a bee’s nest has been disturbed, all these mountains are swarming with activity. Not only Army units are assembling here, the Cyorotai, Navy units and all the other forces here are engaged in the work of carrying supplies deeper and deeper into the interior … Here and there along the road we had come upon the sad spectacle of overturned vehicles with fresh bullet holes, the victims of air attacks … In the villages around Marikina, we see mingled with the inhabitants refugees from Manila who have been savagely burned out of their homes and have fled there. On both sides of the road lay extensive farmlands, and the fragrance that arises from the verdant fields of daikon [Japanese radish] and bananas remind me of home, fragrance that since coming to the Philippines I have known only in dreams … After that is a thick forest and cliffs that have never known motor vehicles … a place of terrifying cliffs and dams where haunted crags are lapped by sparkling clear water … I wonder if it is true that there are monitor lizards up to two and a half metres long living here? I am told that some of the soldiers have seen them.
As they crossed this difficult terrain, the Japanese were bombed and strafed. In the heat, they sweated ‘like a downpour of rain’.
Soldiers of the Divine Land! That is a good name for them. In truth they seem godlike, supernatural figures … Their faces seem illuminated by an inner glow. I am struck with the thought that they resemble the Imperial Guard of Sakimori in ancient times who dedicated themselves to the protection of the grandson of the Sun Goddess. When the enemy swoops and wheels overhead, we take cover in the shelter of the trees … the drops of sweat little by little begin to dry, and as they evaporate, leaving the salts, our bodies appear white … Our food ration is 400 grams of uncooked native rice, some salt, and leaves of the wild sweet potato.
Eventually they camped in a grove beside a river.
Immediately we are enveloped in humidity as in a cloud of steam … The hot moist air in the grove is seething with mosquitoes. You only have to clap your hands to crush five or ten of the insects. They come at you from all directions. Each day’s work lays out one or two with malaria.
But they were not downhearted.
The bond of affection among comrades-at-arms is a noble feeling. I wish the people at home could witness this, and I wish especially they could see the contrast with the selfishness of American individualism. This nobility of character, this highest love! Amid steaming heat and clouds of humidity, and the invisible poison of the striped insect.
Under constant strafing, they had to deal with scorpions and poisonous snakes, and ‘no matter how frequently you handle a thing, shortly afterwards a green mould has appeared on it’. But there was a worse problem.
Everyone has contracted athlete’s foot on both feet. It makes us really miserable … the infection is so bad for some that walking becomes difficult … every step hurts like fire.
They were also suffering from ringworm and dengue fever, but for Obara the athlete’s foot was worse.
Certainly when the day comes to order ‘Attack!’ and I myself cannot move because of this fungus, I could never forgive myself.
And always there was the humidity.
The air is so saturated with humidity that water falls in a steady precipitation, drip, drip, dripping onto the bamboo leaves …
The word ‘dew’ evokes the language of poetry, but this dripping is not the dew of poetic tradition … Our biggest problem is cooking. If we allow the least wisp of smoke to rise, immediately planes are overhead, not attacking targets but dropping bombs at random … Swarms of lizards eight or nine inches long make rustling sounds as they skitter over dead bamboo leaves … At intervals when the sun happens to emerge, it is not much good for drying anything since it cannot effectively penetrate the foliage. Soon everything is soggy again. The whole camp smells mouldy.
EVERY GRAIN OF RICE
But their major concern was food. The men were now living on less than half the wartime ration.
We should learn from the battles of Saipan and Guadalcanal that the enemy must be crushed and exterminated. It is for this that we need every grain of rice. Each grain therefore has its part in the purposes of Divine Will. And what of the needs of the women and children at home? Think of children with empty bellies! It is a piteous thought. One wishes, though it were for only a day, that they might once be able to eat all they wanted. But no, for the purpose of all this is to assure victory … we must swallow our tears and sharpen our anger … each grain plays a part in the final destruction of the enemy … Our seasoning is limited to a little rock salt … Our broth is made of potato leaves, and comes out a clear, thick, greenish-black, flavoured with brine … Fare such as this 365 days a year and not a word of complaint. Even so, there are times when one remembers the aroma of miso with longing.
And now the enemy was on its way.
4 February 1945: Manila is on fire. The tempo of gunfire is increasing. The shelling is averaging about one report a second. There may be some naval bombardment from enemy ships that may have slipped into Manila Bay. Enemy planes have intensified their disruptive raids. Now with my own eyes I see enemy ground forces, armoured units. I see for the first time enemy vehicles on land. I look at them and think: ‘Those are the enemy’s. Those tanks are enemy tanks. There is the long-awaited enemy.’ Suddenly one of our automatic cannons on a neighbouring hill is seen to belch an intense burst of fire. An
enemy Douglas light bomber emits a fierce spurt of flame and appears to be falling. As I am thinking, ‘We got him’, the falling plane, manoeuvring desperately, is seen to be making progress towards his own armoured units until, just before it appears about to crash, a parachute suddenly is seen to unfold and comes drifting down. ‘The bum made it,’ someone says, and I hear the disappointment in his voice.
Now came their baptism of fire. Obara recorded feeling ‘exaltation’ when his unit was ordered to make an infiltration raid on the enemy’s armoured units. But first a libation was made.
We receive with gratitude the Imperial gift of o-saké [rice wine] … When it becomes quite dark, we begin a stealthy advance towards our objective … The stars are shining and the sky glows with the fires still burning in Manila, but in the tall grass and gullies it is so dark that we can see scarcely an inch ahead. It becomes difficult to keep a sense of direction. We are among the enemy now, so it is essential to avoid making the least sound … Completely baffled as to the best way to proceed, we seem to have fallen into a queer world of illusion … The ravines are choked with thickets, principally bamboo. Our progress is as little as a single metre in five minutes … As dawn approaches, we are able finally with great difficulty to infiltrate to a position at one corner of our objective area. I send out a patrol. They discover a Filipino guerrilla … I put my field glasses to my eyes, and there they are. I count ten American soldiers in khaki, accompanied by five or six guerrillas in white shirts, guarding a mobile 45mm cannon. To see enemy soldiers with my own eyes affects me deeply. These are enemies of the Divine Land and they must pay dearly … Perhaps tonight we will launch and attack to destroy this enemy we now see … With the coming of daylight, an observation plane hovering in the skies seems almost to tease by threatening to fly over us. All this time I am nervously wondering, ‘Now will we be seen?’ … At 1430 hours on 9 February, orders come authorizing us to attack the enemy position at 2400 hours. The reaction of my men is simply this: they begin to check and recheck their arms and equipment. Scanning their faces, I find them calm and unruffled, scarcely changed except for a look of anticipation … The captured guerrilla has been killed. Sunset is near. Without conscious will or interest, I find scenes of the distant past flashing through my mind like so many lantern slides. ‘Still attached to worldly desires,’ I scold myself, but the more I try to shake off these memories, the more they crowd in on me, memories of childhood, of my mother, of my wife … ‘What is this,’ I say to myself. ‘I am a living, breathing man, who should be directing his thoughts towards a clear view of present realities.’ …
