Petty Officer Saki at the close of World War II was the chief surviving Japanese air ace, whose combat initiation against American flyers was marked by such incidents as his being the first Japanese pilot to shoot down a Boeing B-17 Flying Fortress (Philippines, December 11, 1941). His story, even among the epic incidents of the air war in the Pacific, is one of the most incredible episodes ever related.
“Guadalcanal. A name, merely a name. We did not even know what Guadalcanal was; an island, a military base, a secret operation code name, perhaps. When the American forces stormed ashore at Guadalcanal, we had never even heard of the island.
“It was still a few hours before the people of the world unfolded and spread out their maps of the South Pacific to search for this tiny island. Japanese and American communiques did not as yet mention the name of Guadalcanal, and the constantly broadcast news programs failed to mention this new name which would soon flare into international prominence.
“Here at Rabaul, on the eastern end of New Britain Island, the sky was clear. Not even a breeze disturbed the prevalent heat and tranquillity. Simpson Bay lay in slumber like a sheltered lake, its surface an unrippled sheet of glass reflecting the blue of the sky. It was completely encircled by low, lush hills, except for the lone entrance which opened to the east. At the northeastern shore of the bay, threads of white smoke drifted lazily upward from the temporarily stilled throat of a volcano. The smoke gleamed and shone as it caught the rays of the scorching sun.
“The sides of the volcano dipped, and their inclines disappeared suddenly into the dense jungle foliage, except at the point at which the southern slope ended. Here the jungle had been hacked, ripped apart, and banished, replaced by a long narrow strip of land running from east to west. This was Rabaul Lower Airstrip.
“At Vunakanau, where the land stretched flat as the surface of a table high above the sea, another slender clearing stood out against the natural growth of the island. This was Rabaul Upper Airstrip.
“In sharp contrast to the tranquillity of the scene and the oppressive heat of the moment, a group of heavily clothed young men stood before a nondescript shack on the northern side of the fighter airstrip. In a land where even a summer shirt brings sticky sweat cascading freely down one’s body, the young men were incongruously bundled into heavy flying suits, boots, awkward lifejackets, and other weighty equipment. Revolvers were cradled within well-oiled leather holsters.
“These were fighter pilots of the Tainan Air Corps, recently transferred to the blanketing heat and mugginess of Rabaul from Bali Island in the Dutch East Indies. I was one of those fighter pilots, a section leader.
“Ever since our arrival at Rabaul, we had faced the American and Australian air forces based at Port Moresby on New Guinea. This morning, however, our usual mission of fighter patrol, attack against Moresby or air-to-air combat, was to be replaced with a special attack against the Rabi air base at Milne Bay, on the south end of New Guinea.
“The pilots spoke with enthusiasm to each other. ‘Maybe today we’ll have a big fight,’ one said. ‘I’d sure like to get a kill,’ another added. Our pilots were understandably eager to engage the enemy fighter planes in combat. The results obtained with our Zero fighter against enemy airplanes had been so amazing that often the enemy appeared openly to fear our arrival and, at times, had even refused to join combat.
“As we checked each other’s equipment and made the final preparations for takeoff, to escort the bombers which would attack Rabi, a messenger ran past us into the operations room with a radio message. Whatever it contained obviously created a major stir among our officers. We could see Captain Masahisa Saito, our commanding officer; Yasuna Kozono, the air officer; and Lieutenant Commander Tadashi Nakajima, who was to command today’s attack, gathered around a large map spread hastily on one of the desks.
“We listened closely to the conversation of the officers, and every now and then could catch the words Guadalcanal and Tulagi. These were strange names.
“ ‘Where is Guadalcanal, sir?’ asked Flight Petty Officer Hatori, 2nd Class, pilot of the second fighter in my section.
“ ‘I don’t know,’ I replied. Then, to the group of petty officers and pilots, ‘Does anybody know where Guadalcanal is?’
“No answer. Only a shaking of heads. Hatori spoke up again. ‘Nobody knows! Then, it cannot be an important place.’
“But the officers within the operations room appeared very serious. One of the officers came out and ordered all pilots to line up immediately.
“Captain Saito came out. ‘At 0525 hours this morning,’ he said, ‘a powerful enemy invasion force under heavy cover attacked Lunga Roads, Guadalcanal Island. This is the second island from the south end of the Solomon Island group. Tulagi on Florida Island, which is northeast of Guadalcanal, was also invaded.’
“ ‘On Guadalcanal our engineers have been in the process of constructing an airstrip. At Tulagi, our air units are seriously threatened. The main force of the Yokohama Air Corps, belonging to the 25th Air Flotilla, is stationed on Tulagi. In addition, at the time of the invasion there were about ten flying boats and ten seaplane fighters on the island.’
“ ‘The situation is extremely serious. Our naval forces operating in the Rabaul area have been ordered to engage the enemy immediately, in full strength, and to drive back the American invasion forces at any cost.’
“Captain Saito stopped for a moment, then continued. ‘Our fighter plane units have been ordered to escort the land-based medium attack bombers which will attack enemy ships. Certain fighter groups will precede the bombers and their escorts into the battle area as challenging units, to draw off the American fighter planes.’
“ ‘It is about 560 nautical miles from this base to Guadalcanal Island. This will be the longest mission you have ever been called upon to fly. You will be taxing your airplanes to the utmost, and I want every pilot to take maximum precautions to conserve fuel.’
“Captain Saito was finished. As we were already prepared for immediate takeoff, the only change in our plans was to receive the exact location of the battle area, and to prepare the necessary air maps for each pilot. I began to outline the course we would follow to Guadalcanal, noting the great distance our planes would be flying.
“Guadalcanal is along a string of isles. This won’t be any trouble!
“Just before we climbed into the Zeros, we were given a special briefing by Lieutenant (J.G.) Junzo Sasai, the second squadron leader and my immediate superior. He was unusually serious.
“ ‘The American fighters over the Guadalcanal area are known to have come from aircraft carriers supporting the invasion. They are probably regular American navy fighters, not army planes brought in especially for this attack. This is the first time we will be meeting American navy fighters. Be careful, and never lose sight of my plane.’
“United States naval planes! Just to hear that we would meet them excited me. I had been anxious to meet American carrier pilots for a long time. Now my chance had come!
“I had been flying fighters for six years, and had more than three thousand hours in the air. I had participated in our attacks on the Chinese inland cities of Chungking, Chengtu, Lanchow, and others in the Sino-Japanese Incident. Since the outbreak of the Pacific War, I had fought in the Philippines and the Dutch East Indies.
“So far I had shot down fifty-six enemy planes; and was one of the leading aces of all Japanese naval fighter pilots. But I had never met any carrier planes. As aircraft carrier fighter pilots must receive elaborate training for landing and taking off from the narrow decks of carriers, there were many unusually skilled pilots among our carrier personnel. The same situation probably prevailed among the American carrier pilots.
“ ‘Well, my chance has finally come,’ I thought. ‘Let’s see how well they can fight.’
“At 0800 hours our Zero fighters left the field, one after the other, assuming three-plane formations as we climbed away from the fight
er strip. We then adopted escort positions above and behind the medium attack bombers. There were twenty-seven bombers escorted by eighteen fighters, with the former flying at about fifteen thousand feet. I was flight leader of the second section of the second fighter squadron.
“We flew southward along the line of the Solomon Islands. Shortly before noon the pilots were able to make out the waters of Lunga Roads off Guadalcanal Island.
“There were scattered clouds at about thirteen thousand feet, but above and below that level the sky was absolutely clear. We searched Lunga Roads carefully and gradually distinguished the shapes of the enemy ships in the area.
“The water seemed covered with vessels. I had never seen so large a convoy before, although I had flown on many occasions over Japanese troopship fleets during our invasion operations. I couldn’t help admiring the men below me, even though they were enemies.
“Action ahead! At that moment, the fighter planes of the Challenge Units, which had preceded our flight by about ten minutes, seemed to attack enemy fighter planes. Far ahead of us we could see the bright yellow flashes peculiar to burning aircraft bursting like so many sparks. Seven or eight lines of smoke streamed down toward the ground, drawing graceful, curving arcs in the sky.
“Somebody’s airplanes had been shot down, but it was impossible at this distance to tell whether they were ours or those of the enemy. The dogfight broke up quickly, and we could no longer see any aircraft—friendly or enemy—in the air.
“Seeing the sky clear of enemy fighter planes, our attack bombers suddenly began shallow dives toward the enemy ships, picking up speed as they prepared to bomb. Because of the sudden change in plan from the original schedule to attack Rabi, our bombers had not had time to replace their bombs with torpedoes; consequently, they would make high-level attacks.
“ ‘It might go well,’ I thought, even though torpedo attack was invariably more successful than level bombing against ships; the absence of enemy fighters meant an uninterrupted run for the bombers.
“Unexpectedly two enemy fighters appeared, headed for our fighter formation. I swung down to attack, and the enemy planes quickly left the area. I had to curb my desire to pursue the enemy fighters, recalling our leader’s instructions given to us just before takeoff. Biting my lips in frustration, I climbed back to the formation and resumed my position.
“Ahead of us, the bombers seemed to lurch slightly as each aircraft released its deadly load; the formation was bombing en masse. The missiles hurtled down toward the enemy ships and the bomb spread successfully covered the enemy convoy, but only a few of the bombs appeared to hit any ships. We could see about eighty large ships in the enemy fleet; countless landing barges were heading for the beach, the brilliant white wakes on the water surface having the appearance of brush strokes of a giant but invisible artist.
“Although it had been only five or six hours since the enemy invasion forces had stormed in to land on Guadalcanal, what appeared to be enemy antiaircraft fire could be seen coming from guns on the island. I was amazed at the ability of the enemy to place his antiaircraft weapons on shore so rapidly. From what we had been told about mass invasions, it took about a week to complete the landing of thirty ships. That was the time required for our army to unload thirty vessels during the landings at Soerabaja in March of this year.
“Our speed of landing was far behind that being carried out by the enemy below me now. It was hard to believe. I realized intuitively that any invasion force which could push ashore so rapidly would be a very tough foe indeed.
“The bombing runs were over quickly, and the bombers had already turned and were heading back from Lunga through Tulagi. The fighter escort swung into position to protect the bombers. I had not yet fired a single bullet or cannon shell.
“Without warning a group of enemy fighters jumped our formations from above. We could see the tracers spitting through our formations. With this first burst of fire, the fighter planes of both sides, about thirty in all, instantly broke formation. Planes scattered in all directions as our Zeros tried to break free of the attacking enemy. About half the planes in the air could be seen. As I pushed the stick hard over and rolled away, I noticed several aircraft plunging earthward, trailing streaks of black smoke.
“I managed successfully to dodge the attacking fighters, but in doing so lost sight of two of my boys.
“ ‘Damn it,’ I thought, angry at myself for losing sight of my own pilots. I twisted around and, far below, I saw three Zeros pursued by a single enemy fighter. The Zeros were trying desperately to escape from the enemy plane, but the enemy pilot hung doggedly on their tails. The Zeros looked like my boys: Hatori, Yonekawa, and another pilot. The enemy plane was a new type I had never seen before, probably a Grumman F4F Wildcat, a type we were told was in the area. The enemy pilot was very skilled in combat; he was relentless in his attacks against the three Zeros.
“My pilots needed help—and quickly. I pushed the throttle forward, drawing alongside my squadron leader; signaling Lieutenant Sasai, I pushed the stick forward and dove alone from the squadron to the battle raging below us.
“Not a second could be wasted. I opened fire on the enemy fighter plane while I was still more than three thousand feet away. It was too great a distance to cause any damage, but I accomplished my purpose. The moment the enemy pilot became aware of my airplane, he abandoned pursuit of the three Zeros at once and turned sharply to meet my attack.
“This pilot was good. As we fought, twisting and turning, I realized also that the Grumman’s fighting performance far exceeded that of any other American, Dutch, or Chinese fighter planes I had encountered.
“But my long experience in air combat finally gave me the margin over this enemy, too. As I had always done in the past, I took out my Leica camera and snapped a picture of the new plane as I closed in on the enemy fighter from behind. Thus far, I had taken in this manner a total of twenty rolls of film, or about seven hundred photographs of airfields and enemy planes both in the air and on the ground.
“After snapping a shot for proof of the new enemy aircraft, I resumed attack. When I closed in from the best firing angle, approaching from the rear left of the Grumman, the pilot appeared to realize that he could no longer win. He fled at full speed toward Lunga.
“I had full confidence in my ability to destroy the Grumman, and decided to finish off the enemy fighter with only my 7.7-mm. machine guns. I turned the 20-mm. cannon switch to the ‘off’ position, and closed in.
“For some strange reason, even after I had poured about five or six hundred rounds of ammunition directly into the Grumman, the airplane did not fall, but kept on flying. I thought this very odd—it had never happened before—and closed the distance between the two airplanes until I could almost reach out and touch the Grumman. To my surprise, the Grumman’s rudder and tail were ripped to shreds, looking like an old torn piece of rag.
“With his plane in such condition, no wonder the enemy pilot was unable to continue fighting! Even as I studied the condition of the Grumman’s tail, my Zero pulled ahead of the enemy fighter. I slid open the canopy and turned to look back at the enemy pilot. He was a big man, with an oval face and a fair complexion. We stared at each other for countless seconds; I would never forget the strange feeling when our eyes met.
“Keeping alert for any sudden moves by the Grumman, I waved my right hand in a gesture of ‘come on if you dare!’ The enemy was behind me now, and in position to attack my plane. He had an excellent opportunity to shoot me down. Perhaps, however, the pilot was seriously wounded. Changing his hand holding the control stick from the right to his left hand, he acted as though he were praying, ‘Save me!’ with his right.
“After closely observing the strange movements of the enemy pilot, I cut my throttle and fell to the rear of the Grumman. The time had come to destroy the enemy fighter. Switching the cannon position to ‘on,’ I closed in again and pushed the cannon trigger.
“I cou
ld see the shells exploding all over the Grumman, which went to pieces in the air. The enemy fighter plunged earthward. Far below I saw a parachute open, but lost sight of the pilot as he drifted over Lunga toward land.
“Later, as I recalled the details of the dogfight, I thought I had done a pitiless thing by destroying the Grumman. But at the time, seeing the enemy pilot administering a severe beating to my own boys, I was so excited that all I could think of was to deliver the fatal blow to the enemy. If the pilot is dead, I wish I could tell his family how well he fought. . . .
“As soon as the fight had ended, I realized my altitude was much too low for safety. As quickly as possible, I rounded up the pilots in my section. As we closed in toward each other, I took the muffler from my face to identify myself. They appeared overjoyed to discover I was unharmed.
“No sooner had we climbed in formation above the cloud layer at 15,000 feet than tracer bullets sprayed about us. The bullets were coming from our rear left. One of the enemy slugs smashed into the cockpit and bored a hole the size of my fist through the window just behind my head. That was close!
“Apparently a two-seat Douglas SBD dive bomber had followed us as we were climbing. Hiding in the clouds, he swung up to attack as soon as we had broken above the cloud layer. We climbed rapidly and swung around to attack the SBD from the rear and high above. After the first burst the dive bomber began to fall out of control.
“We reorganized our formation and continued on toward the main battle area. About six miles ahead of us, over what appeared to be Tulagi, I sighted a formation of eight enemy planes. My exceedingly good eyesight had always proven of great help before, enabling me to spot and make out details of enemy aircraft long before they could identify us.
“ ‘Enemy planes!’ I warned my pilots. I could tell they were enemy aircraft by the formation they held: two formations of four planes each, maintaining an altitude of about eighteen thousand feet.
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