“No one really stays down in the ditches and culverts. Hundreds of men stare at the sky, seeing the bombers and searching for the Zeros which should even now be diving against the enemy planes. Here they come, racing from their greater height to break up the bomber formations. But even before they reach the slower, heavier planes the escorting enemy fighters scream upward to intercept the Zeros. No matter how determined the Zero attacks, the bombers maintain their formations. Even as the Zeros and American fighter planes scatter over the sky in swirling dogfights we can hear the rapidly increasing shriek of the falling bombs. The earth shakes and heaves; great blossoms of fire, steel, smoke, and dirt erupt from the airfield as salvos of bombs ‘walk across’ the revetments and the runway. Sharp sound cracks against the eardrums, and the concussion is painful. Our own machine gunners fire in rage at the droning bombers above, even as the explosions come faster and faster. There is the rumble of bomber engines, the rising and falling whine of the fighters, the stutter of machine guns, and the slower ‘chuk-chuk’ of aerial cannon. The sky is filled with dust and flame and smoke. Planes on the field are burning fiercely, and wreckage is scattered across the runway, which by now is cratered with great holes.
“Through the smoke we can see the hurtling fighter planes, diving and climbing in mortal combat. Our men curse or only stare silently as we watch Zeros suddenly flare up in scarlet and orange flame, and then plunge from the sky like bizarre shooting stars, leaving behind them a long trail of angry flame and black, oily smoke. Parachutes can be sighted drifting earthward, clearly silhouetted against the deep blue sky.
“Then, abruptly, the raid is over. The crashing, earth-heaving thunder of the bombs is gone. As soon as the last bomb has expended its fury, the ground crews clamber from their air-raid shelters and with shovels in their hands race for the runway. They work frantically, sweat pouring from their bodies, ignoring the ever-present mosquitoes and flies, shoveling dirt back into the craters, rushing to patch up the field so that the damaged Zero fighters can land.
“The men jump aside as the crippled fighters, metal skin torn and holed by enemy bullets, stagger toward the runway. Most of them land safely, but every so often a badly damaged fighter spins under a collapsed landing gear or flips over on its back. As soon as it has stopped rolling, each arriving plane is surrounded by the maintenance crews. They push the fighters off the runway one by one, and immediately refuel the tanks and load fresh machinegun bullets and cannon shells. The pilots, weary from another early morning encounter, assemble at the command post where the intelligence officers record their reports of the fight. As soon as the conference is ended, the pilots return to the assembly pool.
“These daily attacks are a familiar story. Even now our attack bomber group is waiting for takeoff. Finally the reconnaissance planes report the most favorable targets, and the bombers trundle down the runway and soar into the air. The Zeros will be flying close escort. The American fighters are becoming tougher every day.
“The long day passes. The gathering dusk is a welcome sight, for it means some rest and, at least, respite from heavy raids. Neither we nor the enemy has the proper equipment to permit large-scale night attacks. Once the sun has set the air crews, back from their missions, walk wearily to their respective sleeping quarters.
“Not, however, the maintenance crews. Their full day of work is no assurance of relaxation and sleep. The planes which have fought today are riddled with bullet holes, shrapnel, and gaping cannon tears in the wings and fuselage. Motors grind noisily and must be brought to smooth operation. Sheet-metal work must be done. Machine guns which have jammed must be cleared, brakes tightened or replaced, radio sets repaired, new sheets of clear plastic put in the bullet-riddled nose sections.
“The maintenance crews are exhausted, but they drag their weary bodies about the field, heaving and tugging to move the planes back into the jungle. They pray for tractors such as the Americans have in abundance, but they know their dream of such ‘luxuries’ will not be fulfilled. Three hours after the sun has gone down, the mechanics and technicians emerged red-eyed and haggard from the jungle to take their supper. It is blue-black twilight now, and the men eat, too tired to talk to one another, groping for their food in the darkness imposed by air-raid blackout orders. Hot, sweaty, dirty, and tired, they eat their food and walk to their sleeping quarters. They are too weary to read, or write letters, or even to talk very much to each other. Sleep is their only concern and they fall heavily to their mats.
“It is dark now, and the field is quiet. Maybe, if we are lucky, it will be a restful evening. Before long we know differently. Even as the siren screams, we hear the distant sound of approaching bombers. Anti-aircraft guns cough raucously at the black shapes far above, and dazzling searchlight beams stab through the sky, swinging in circles to search for the raiders. A series of tremendous explosions smashes at the eardrums. Again the earth heaves and shakes, and dust and smoke shower over the entire field. Perhaps there is only one airplane up there, circling the field, dropping a bomb every now and then, but he keeps us awake for hours, and before he leaves another nocturnal raider takes his place.
“Eventually the ear-splitting shock waves and the thunder leave. Again the field is quiet. This does little good! The mechanics and other ground crewmen curse the day, still black, as they begin another exhausting period of work.
“And this is but one day, typical of the seemingly endless succession of day and night periods, filled only with work, exhaustion, the ceaseless enemy attacks, and the ever-increasing number of pilots and air crewmen who do not return.”
When the 2nd Carrier Division, commanded by Rear Admiral Sakamaki, to which I was attached as air staff officer, arrived at Buin, we found the 26th Air Flotilla already on the field. The two headquarters groups coordinated their activities and I was assigned responsibility for night raids. All pretense at a normal workday vanished, and I would be called on to work at any hour of the day or night. Since I had to “work with the moon,” which rises at different times each night, I found regular sleep impossible. Here my long training stood me in good stead, for soon I could snatch sleep at any time, whether it was light or dark, and for any interval. I could sleep as well for twenty minutes as I could for three hours. Without this ability to relax under any conditions I would have broken down physically and, perhaps, mentally.
Usually I arose about one and a half hours before the time scheduled for departure of our planes. Without washing or breakfast, I groped through the blackout to the radio station. Here I checked the positions of enemy surface vessels, land-based air units, and the expected weather. With an hour to go before takeoff, I would then drive to the field’s command post. Unless special conditions warranted their absence, our commander, the senior staff officer, and the command staff would remain directly on the base. Each time I arrived at the command post I would hear the mechanics warming up the engines of the planes scheduled to fly. I could see the blue-white flashes of flame spitting from the exhaust pipes, the only light visible on the entire base.
Thirty minutes before takeoff Captain Sakae Yamamoto, the 582nd Air Corps commander, briefed his air crews under a dim electric bulb at the command post. Although I often advised the captain, I never gave orders directly to the pilots and crew members. That was not my job, for I remained in the background, studying carefully the facial expressions and the actions of our flying personnel. My responsibility was to ascertain their morale and physical condition.
Finally Yamamoto gave the order to take off. One by one the planes rumbled down the field and lifted into the darkness. All work was carried out through signals, a simple flash of light between the command post and the takeoff line. The runaway itself was shrouded black; at the extreme end one could barely make out two dimly glowing lights, shielded from above, marking the end of the runway to the pilots.
With the last plane gone we snatched some rest on cots at the command post, waiting on call in the event that any o
f the planes were forced to turn back. The C.P. rose like a fire watchtower to a height of sixty-seven feet, and its top matched the height of the surrounding jungle trees. Atop the tower was the lookout station; the actual command headquarters rested within the tower, about eleven feet off the ground. Our working space was little bigger than a wrestling ring. During an enemy attack the C.P. was filled with men and became a center of utter confusion. There was little room, even if everyone were to remain still, to use mosquito netting. We could protect ourselves from the vicious insects only by covering our bodies with a raincoat. In the muggy atmosphere we perspired profusely. The lower parts of our bodies were protected by long, heavy trousers and pilot’s boots, which we did not take off even when sleeping.
The hours always passed by slowly. Our lookout finally identified the returning bombers, which showed a coded light signal. The landing procedure was seldom uneventful, for often courageous American pilots would trail our bombers back to the base, flashing the light signal similar to that used by bombers. We had to be absolutely alert at all times, for the favorite American trick was to scream down upon the field in a surprise attack. Once, we brought the first bomber in for a successful landing, then signaled the second plane to make its approach. The airplane drifted toward the ground in a normal landing run; suddenly, we heard the sound of motors being pushed to full throttle and the “Japanese” bomber came into view as an enemy night intruder, machine guns spitting tracers into the command post and over the field. Fortunately, in this attack I escaped injury, but we lost several maintenance crewmen and suffered damage to some airplanes. The American pilots were the most adventurous fliers I have ever encountered; apparently they would stop at nothing.
As our planes landed and were pushed into their jungle revetments, I interviewed the pilots and aircrews. With the data from every man condensed into an intelligence report, I radioed all units concerned the information obtained on the night raids. Before I realized it the darkness was fading before the first signs of dawn. Another day!
When there was no moonlight to guide our planes on night raids, we modified the attacks so that the planes would be able to strike at dawn or dusk. If we attacked at dusk, the planes could leave during daylight and attack their objectives under conditions of good visibility, but they also ran the risk of enemy fighter interception. The dawn attacks required split-second timing, for if the planes were forced by weather to postpone their takeoff, usually they could not arrive over the target until the sun was up, reducing the favorable element of surprise. Therefore we now used also the airstrip on Kolombangara Island, which lay close to Munda, where our troops were engaged in bitter fighting with the enemy. Not only did this new arrangement raise the morale of the marines at the base, isolated along the front lines, but the ground crews at Kolomban-gara now had some work to perform for the first time in many weeks.
In mid-August four Kates led by Lieutenant (J.G.) Takahashi arrived secretly at the Kolombangara airstrip, sliding into the field just at dusk. Even though the airstrip personnel knew the planes were on their way, a runway pitted with holes from repeated air attacks greeted pilots. They were apprehensive about landing, for each Kate carried a 1,760-pound bomb for the next day’s attack. After circling the field slowly and noting the location of the craters, the four Kates finally made precarious but safe landings.
The pilots and crew members could scarcely believe their eyes when they descended from their planes. The maintenance crews which greeted them stared from bloodshot eyes; they were bearded and unkempt, and their short pants were filthy. Malnutrition had pulled back the skin on their faces and bodies. They ran tender hands over the planes they had not seen for so many months, and could not help crying with joy after their long isolation.
The bomber crews bedded down for the evening which, as always, brought with it hordes of mosquitoes and other insects. The mosquito nets which the mechanics respectfully offered them were rags, utterly useless, and the pilots and crew members tossed and turned the entire night, besieged by insect swarms.
To Lieutenant Takahashi’s astonishment, the airbase personnel slept soundly through the night. Despite their lack of netting, and the consequent exposure to the mosquitoes, they awoke refreshed and eager to service the Kates. Takahashi’s group took off early in the morning and successfully bombed the enemy objectives. Returning to Buin, which we had long despaired of as probably the “worst air base” in the Pacific, Takahashi vowed never to complain again. He described to his fellow pilots in detail the terrible conditions at Kolombangara, compared to which Buin was an “engineering paradise.”
The absence of ground fighting near the Buin air base allowed us one pleasure: the luxury of bathing. This was, in fact, the only pleasant aspect of life at the jungle airstrip, and even to enjoy this we had to squeeze in our bathing time within the space of about thirty minutes after the daily battles. Eventually the Americans intensified their attacks and raided Buin at any time of the day or night. Frantic movements to extricate oneself from a tub because of flaming tracers soon made us forgo even this last moment of relaxation!
I must give credit where it is rightfully due. The American pilots who raided Buin were some of the bravest fliers I have ever seen. They flew at treetop level, racing at great speed over the field, their machine guns spraying lead and tracers into every possible target.
The loss of merely the pleasure of bathing may appear as a trivial matter to the reader. However, we lived under the most primitive conditions, without decent food, yearning for rest, beseiged day and night by American bombers and fighters, waging a battle which could have but one outcome, watching our friends leaving on missions never to return, suffering from jungle diseases, annoyed day and night by insects; with this in mind, then, perhaps this fervor at least to be clean can better be understood. Finally our dreams of pure luxury centered about an uninterrupted bath and an evening’s sound slumber beneath several layers of mosquito netting, with bright lights all about us instead of dreary blackout.
At this time the only serious land battles being fought in the Pacific area raged in our area and along the east coast of New Guinea. Large-scale air battles were fought mainly between the American planes from Guadalcanal and our Buin-based forces. We were the one force which held back the mounting enemy pressure and, were we to fail, the Americans would burst northward from Guadalcanal. As the director of the air battles in the area, I prepared the communiques for release by the Imperial General Staff (Daihonei) in Japan. One such communique, as an example, read:
“NEWS FLASH ON AIR BATTLES BY THE BUIN AREA AIR FORCE
“BUIN: AN AIR GROUP OF TWELVE TYPE 99 CARRIER-BASED DIVE BOMBERS AND FORTY-EIGHT ZERO FIGHTERS, LED BY LIEUTENANT JG TACHIBANA, LEFT THIS BASE AT 0600 HOURS TODAY TO SEARCH FOR A LARGE ENEMY CONVOY. ONE OF OUR RECONNAISSANCE PLANES ON THE NIGHT OF THE FOURTEENTH SIGHTED THE ENEMY FLEET MOVING NORTH IN THE SEA SOUTH OF RENDOVA ISLAND. OUR AERIAL FORMATIONS SIGHTED AN ENEMY LANDING FORCE OFF THE EAST COAST OF VELLA LAVELLA, BELIEVED TO BE THE ENEMY CONVOY PREVIOUSLY SIGHTED AT SEA. LIEUTENANT TACHIBANA LED THE DIVE BOMBERS AND THE FIGHTERS IN AN ATTACK AGAINST THE ENEMY FORCE, DESPITE INTERCEPTION WITH APPROXIMATELY FIFTY ENEMY PLANES.
“OUR BOMBERS SANK TWO LARGE AND ONE SMALL TRANSPORT SHIPS, DAMAGED TWO LARGE AND TWO SMALL TRANSPORT SHIPS. WE SHOT DOWN SEVEN ENEMY PLANES AND DAMAGED FIVE. OUR LOSSES INCLUDED FIVE TYPE 99 DIVE BOMBERS AND THREE ZERO FIGHTERS. LIEUTENANT TACHIBANA GAVE HIS LIFE IN THE ATTACK.
“OUR FORCE WILL RETURN TO VELLA LAVELLA AGAIN TODAY TO PRESS BOMBING ATTACKS AGAINST THE ENEMY LANDING SHIPS.”
The government released this news flash to the public immediately after the enemy established a beachhead on August 15 at Vella Lavella. We mounted three attacks against the invasion force, placing over the target area a total of 141 Zero fighters, 36 Val bombers, 23 Betty twinengined bombers, and 20 seaplanes.
On the evening of the day when I sent the news report to Imperial General Headquarters, we listened to
the radio broadcast to our people. The program opened with a recording of the “Navy March,” after which the announcer repeated my news flash verbatim. When I heard that more than half the program time was allotted to my report I first realized to what extent I could control the feelings of our people at home.
On September 1 the Navy ordered the Commander of 26th Air Flotilla to return with his staff to Japan, and directed Admiral Sakamaki and his staff to assume the combat responsibilities of the departing flotilla. As the division air staff officer, I assumed the air-operations duties which had been conducted by the flotilla’s air officer. We now were the only remaining high echelon headquarters unit in close proximity to the enemy, for which I comprised the entire air staff! What the situation actually indicated was that our planes were the only force left to face the main body of American air strength in the area. Our conduct would reflect accurately the national air strength of my country.
From this moment on I no longer recognized night or day. Often I worked right through stretches of forty-eight hours or more, laboring to dispatch my airplanes where they could most effectively attack the enemy and, equally time-consuming, trying to be elsewhere when the American raiders assaulted Buin. My position was anything but unique, for Rear Admiral Sakamaki, Captain Yamamoto, and their immediate staffs were suffering the same tribulations.
On September 14 enemy planes bombed Buin three times, placing over the air base at least two hundred and twenty planes. The rain crashing bombs turned the field temporarily into complete chaos. Every available Zero fighter took to the skies to intercept, and many of these planes and their pilots failed to return. The September 14 attacks were the largest fought since my arrival. So severe was the damage to the field, and so great was the number of planes either damaged or wrecked by the enemy bombs, that every single officer and enlisted man worked more than twelve hours without rest or food. We knew only too well that unless we quickly became operational again we would be at the full mercy of the enemy bombers. By nightfall we had cleared away most of the debris, and the base was returning to “normal” operations.
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