“If the enemy formation had been aware of us, they would have immediately turned and pressed home an attack, taking advantage of their higher altitude. But it appeared that they had not sighted our fighters approaching them from below to their rear. ‘If they are to fight,’ I thought, ‘they must spread out their present formation. No—they are narrowing the space between planes! They do not even know we are closing in—this is a chance to hit them hard!
“ ‘If I can shoot down two planes from each formation in a single attack by surprising them from their rear and below, I shall be able to take care of half of them by myself. And my boys will take care of the rest.’
“I pushed the throttle lever as far forward as it would go, building up maximum speed. It didn’t matter if the other Zeros fell behind. Speed is of paramount importance in a battle, and I could not afford to let the opportunity be lost.
“There was good reason to follow this procedure. On three separate occasions I had made surprise attacks on enemy formations, striking from a position below and to the rear of the enemy, and succeeded in shooting down at least two planes in each attack. The first time this happened was over Soerabaja, when I shot down two Dutch planes, while the second and third were over Port Moresby. On both of these last two occasions, my opponents were Bell P-39s. I would try the same attack today.
“The distance between my plane and the enemy formation narrowed steadily . . . 1,700 feet, 1,300 feet, 1,000 feet. As soon as I had approached within 1,000 feet, I made out the details of the enemy planes. I had run into a trap!
“Up to this moment I had believed the enemy planes to be fighters. But no! They were TBF torpedo bombers. No wonder they had narrowed the space between their planes before they had sighted our fighters and closed up for protection.
“I cursed myself for my own stupidity. I was only 300 feet away from the enemy planes. I could see clearly the turrets on each Grumman TBF—from each glass enclosure a single heavy 12.7-mm. machine gun—sixteen in all—were directed at my single plane!
“There was no way to escape. If I turned suddenly I would expose the underside of the Zero to the concerted fire of all sixteen heavy guns. I could only continue to attack. My plane rushed toward the enemy bombers—270 feet—200 feet—160 feet.
“I could go no closer. I jabbed down savagely on the firing button. My 20-mm. cannon and the enemy heavy machine guns fired almost simultaneously, bridging the narrow gap between our planes with smoking, streaking tracers.
“Crash! A terrible noise beyond all description. The whole world exploded, and the Zero rocked and shook like a toy. I didn’t know what had happened. Was it a head-on crash? I couldn’t tell.
“I felt as though I had been smashed on the head with a club. The sky flared up in red and I lost consciousness. I discovered later that two enemy planes and my own fighter began to fall simultaneously. Perhaps two thirds of the front windshield of the Zero had been smashed and blown off by the enemy machinegun bullets.
“My plane must have dropped like a stone. Within a few moments, the cold air streaming in through the shattered windshield restored me to consciousness. The first thing that came to my mind was the face of my beloved mother.
“ ‘What’s the matter with you? Shame on you, fainting from such a little wound!’ She seemed to be scolding me.
“From a height of 18,000 feet I had dropped to about 7,000 feet. The plane was still falling out of control when suddenly I thought of a suicide bombing.
“ ‘If I must die,’ I thought, ‘I will take an American warship with me. They are far preferable to a transport. I saw them only a few minutes ago; I can remember them well. The short and fat ships are transports, the long, slender vessels are cruisers. If I hit a cruiser, it will be all to my credit as a pilot.’
“Even as I thought about diving into an American warship I was scanning the ocean. I couldn’t see any ships! I couldn’t see anything! What was wrong? Only then did I realize that my face had been slashed and cut by numerous shell fragments, and that I was blind.
“The Zero continued its plunge toward the ocean. Because of the increased wind pressure howling through the shattered cockpit, due to the Zero picking up speed as it dove, I was hazy and was unable to judge the engine’s condition or even gain a good idea of my flight position.
“Strangely, I felt no pain.
“Unconsciously, from force of habit, I pulled back on the control stick. Apparently the plane pulled out of its uncontrolled dive and regained a horizontal position; the wind pressure through the cockpit eased somewhat.
“I tried to move the engine throttle lever. My left hand was totally numb; I could not even flex the fingers. When I attempted to press on the rudder pedals to correct the Zero’s awkward flight, I discovered that my left leg also was numb.
“In desperation I released the control stick and rubbed both eyes with my right hand. After rubbing as hard as possible for a few moments, I began to make out the left wing tip. I could see—though barely—with my left eye! Although I continued rubbing my right eye, it was useless. I could not regain my vision and the eye remained blind.
“I saw through a brilliant red film, as though the entire world and everything in it were blazing fiercely. I jabbed my left hand and left leg with my right hand, but felt nothing. They were both completely paralyzed. ‘What happened?’ I kept asking myself, over and over.
“Suddenly I felt in my head a terrible, agonizing pain, which left me weak and breathless. I reached up and uneasily probed about my head with my right hand; it came away sticky with blood.
“It was at this moment, when I was still gasping from the pain in my head, that I caught sight of something black racing below my left wing. With my left eye, I could barely make out what appeared to be large black objects swishing past the wing.
“I wondered what they could be when abruptly, above the roar of the engine, I heard machine guns chattering. Several bullets cut through the wings and the Zero trembled slightly from the impact. I was flying directly over the enemy troop convoy!
“I thought, ‘So now my life is finally coming to an end.’ I had given up all hope for surviving this flight. Since I had recovered, even if only slightly, my ability to remain conscious and fly the airplane, I could at any time make a suicide attack against an enemy ship. There was little use in prolonging a useless struggle. Once I had accepted the inevitability of death, I calmed down and took closer stock of the airplane’s condition. Then I thought:
“ ‘Didn’t I shoot down several enemy airplanes today? I have probably brought my total up to sixty. I have sent those many airplanes to the same doom I am about to meet. Now it is my turn. I have always expected this to happen. On this very day I made the biggest—and the last—mistake of my life, when I mistook the enemy TBF bombers for single-seat fighters. Anyway, I have finally met the American Navy planes which I have long been looking for. There is nothing I have to regret.’
“It was at this moment that I began to weigh the possibilities of life or death.
“ ‘I’ve got it,’ I thought. ‘If I can, I’ll engage an enemy plane and let it win over me. I will go out as a pilot should—in air battle. It still won’t be too late to crash into an enemy ship after that.’
“Expecting an attack by an enemy fighter, many of which should be in the air to protect the troop convoy, I flew about in wide circles.
“The minutes went by slowly. Nothing happened. ‘Will they come, after all? Will I suddenly hear the sounds of machine guns firing as enemy fighters dive against my Zero?’ I waited, flying about aimlessly, but nothing happened. It seemed I was all alone in the sky.
“I looked at the sea below, and noticed my plane was headed toward Tulagi. As my head cleared further and I could see better from my left eye, I reached across my body with my right hand and pushed the throttle forward. The engine picked up and the Zero forged ahead.
“ ‘If this keeps up,’ I said to myself, ‘I might gain altitude. And if
luck stays with me, I might even reach Shortland, or Buka, if not Rabaul itself.’
“Although I had accepted death as inevitable, I was still human and I wished to delay that death as long as possible. If the airplane could still fly, and I could stay conscious, then I had a good chance. But first the bleeding must be stopped. I took off my gloves and began to examine my wounds.
“As the wound on my head seemed to be the most serious and was still bleeding, I inserted the index and middle fingers of my right hand into my head through the gash in my flying cap. They penetrated deeply, and the wound felt sticky and rough. Obviously the wound was very deep, shattering the bones of the skull. Unbelievably, my head was clear and I was beginning to see even better than before.
“As I probed the wounds, I recalled a story about Ryuma Sakamoto, a courageous samurai, who remained alive even after an assassin had inflicted a terrible head injury. Well, if my luck held out, I’d make Shortland. I’d try to reach there if at all possible.
“ ‘Something must still be in my head,’ I thought. It felt unusually heavy and the bleeding continued unchecked. (A medical examination later disclosed two 12.7-mm. machinegun bullets lodged in my brain, with many small fragments imbedded in my skull.) Blood, hot and sticky, ran down along my neck and was halted by the muffler around my neck and the collar of my flying suit. It clogged into an uncomfortable, sticky mess.
“Parts of my face and head which were exposed to the wind seemed to have been slashed and scarred like a corrugated board. The wind blowing in through the smashed windshield had dried the blood, caking it on my face.
“I was still in serious trouble. I could not make out the details of the compass because of my blind right eye, and could see only hazily through the left.
“In order to reach Shortland, I would have to retrace the general course we flew toward Guadalcanal this morning. But I could not determine the right direction. It was impossible to make out compass details.
“Fortunately, during our flight to Guadalcanal this morning I tried to prepare for an emergency in the event my compass went out of order, and I was separated from the other fighters. I decided that the only method for determining proper direction would be to take readings of the sun’s position.
“I spit repeatedly on my right hand, rubbing my eyes again and again. But it was to no avail; I could not even find the sun! Throughout the growing hopelessness of my situation, the only consolation was the amazing fact that the airplane, somehow, managed to keep on flying, despite the great damage it had suffered. By all reasoning, the fighter should have crashed long ago.
“Unable to do anything at the moment to ascertain the proper direction to take to reach Shortland, I tried again to stop the head bleeding. I always carried triangular bandages with me in my Zero, for just such an emergency as this. I took the bandage out and tried to apply it to my wounded head in an attempt to stop the blood. The strong wind in the cockpit made the first two attempts unsuccessful. It was extremely difficult to place the bandage around my head, since I must simultaneously bandage myself and fly the airplane, and my left hand was useless.
“Before I knew it, the bandages were gone, and I was no better off than when I had started. I unwrapped the muffler from about my neck. Tucking one end under my right foot, and holding the other with my right hand, I cut the muffler into four pieces with a knife clenched tightly between my teeth. Three of these ‘muffler bandages,’ made with great effort, were snatched by the wind and I was left with only one piece.
“I forced myself to be calm. I had been too impatient, and had fumbled badly with the bandages and the muffler strips. To reduce the wind pressure as much as possible, I lowered the seat as far as it would go.
“Then I set the engine controls and the control stick in a position where the airplane would fly by itself, and started to apply the last piece of bandage to my head.
“Holding one end of the muffler strip in my teeth to prevent it from being blown away, with my right hand I pushed it inch by inch into the gap between my head and the flying cap. Holding my breath, I tightened the flying-cap strap as much as possible. The bleeding stopped.
“I felt as if my struggle with the bandages had lasted for at least half an hour. Just when I felt I could relax, I was faced with my worst enemy: overwhelming drowsiness. I felt like drifting off to sleep, into a warmth without pain or trouble. I could hardly fight off the overpowering desire to sleep.
“When, finally, I managed to keep my one good eye open and look about me, I discovered to my astonishment that the Zero was upside down. Quickly I pushed the stick over and corrected the flight attitude. I knew that if I did not remain fully alert from now on I would plunge to my death. I slammed my fist against my head; the consequent pain kept me alert for a while.
“In a few minutes the excruciating pain in my head increased to an almost unbearable intensity. I felt like screaming. My face felt as though a hot flame were being played across it. I was being burned alive. Even so, waves of exhaustion beat against me and I began drifting off to sleep again. The Zero wobbled in the air as my hand began to go limp. Even the terrible agony of my wounds could not keep me awake. I was forced to strike my head again with my right fist.
“Somehow I kept the Zero in the air, flying straight and level. I was forced repeatedly to hammer my fist against my head to stay alert. Even through my agony, the drowsiness washed in waves over me; each time I fought it off by striking my head with my fist.
“I was fighting desperately to keep alert. I knew I could not keep flying like this much longer. I thought suddenly of my lunch; there was still some left in the cockpit. About thirty minutes before the bomber and fighter formations had arrived at Guadalcanal, I had eaten half of the makizushi, rolled cakes of rice which I carried on long missions. Half of the food was still there, and it might be enough to keep me awake.
“With my bloody hands, I crammed the rice cakes into my mouth, forcing myself to eat. I managed to chew and swallow three pieces, but when I began to eat the fourth, I suddenly became sick and threw up everything I had swallowed. My stomach would not accept any food.
“Again, I drifted off toward sleep, and had to pound at my head to remain conscious.
“If I kept succumbing to the successive attacks of drowsiness, I knew that sooner or later I would fall asleep, and that would be the end. I would never reach Shortland or Buka. I decided it would be better to return to Guadalcanal and to dive into an enemy ship, rather than drift about the ocean until either I fainted completely or my fuel was exhausted.
“When I banked and turned the Zero back toward the battle area, my head miraculously cleared. My senses were sharp, and I was wide awake. Again my thoughts turned to my chances of returning to a Japanese airfield. I swung the plane about again and headed it in a direction I thought would take me home. In a short while I was sleepy again.
“By now I was moving almost from habit. For the third time I turned the plane about and headed for the battle area at Guadalcanal, determined once more to carry out my suicide attack. It was a succession of moments of clearheadedness and overwhelming drowsiness. I repeated the turns toward Guadalcanal, away from the battle area, and back again, and once more directed my plane toward my home base.
“I was caught in a dilemma between the overpowering instinct of self-preservation and the strong desire to finish this maddening flight with a glorious and honorable death. Somehow, each emotion would win out over the other every few minutes and I would subconsciously turn the Zero about.
“I went totally blind again. A shadow of islands which I had in sight disappeared abruptly from my view, and then the instrument panel faded before my left eye. I was in the worst possible situation. I could not determine where I was nor in which direction. Guadalcanal or my home base lay. I tried to rub my eyes with spit in the attempt to see again, but when I spat on my hands nothing came out from my mouth. It had become so dry not even a trace of saliva was left.
“E
verything was going wrong at once. I was lost and totally blind, half-paralyzed, and with a shot-up airplane. Then the Zero began to buck and pitch, shuddering as it lost stability. I hung desperately to the control stick, trying to keep the plane level by feel alone.
Suddenly I could see again! Lines of white streaked at tremendous speed before me. The Zero was almost into the water! The white lines were the crests of waves whipping by just below the plane’s wings.
“In another minute I made out an island ahead of the plane. ‘God saved me!’ I cried. But when I neared the ‘island’ it turned out to be a black squall cloud, hanging low over the water. I was fooled in this manner several times. I flew aimlessly about for nearly two hours.
“Finally, with my head clearing steadily, I was able to read the needle and large letters of the compass with my left eye. My chances of returning to a Japanese air base were better than at any time since i had been hit.
“Allowing for a wandering flight on my part, I judged my position to be roughly north-northeast of the Solomon Islands.
“With the sleeve of my flying suit, I did the best to wipe my blood from the smeared map, and spread it out on my knees. I marked an ‘X’ on the map where I estimated my position to be. Then I turned ninety degrees to the west, hoping to cross the Solomon Islands, which stretched almost due north and south.
“Forty minutes later I sighted a horseshoe-shaped reef. It was one of the Green Islands, which, because of its peculiar shape, had drawn my attention on the flight this morning.
“If I kept going like this, I would be all right soon. I had been in a hopeless situation for some time, but it appeared I was now well on my way to making it to a Japanese air base. Nothing is more discouraging to a pilot than to become lost, notably when fuel is running short.
“The danger of direction was thus met, but almost immediately I was beset with another almost fatal incident. I had barely turned the Zero on its new course when the engine died, and the fighter began to drop toward the ocean. The fuel in the main tanks had run out, with only some forty gallons left in the reserve tank.
Zero Page 18
