I never saw her again. If letters were not censored the way they were, I might have kept in contact. I will always remember her name though. My wife kept the scarf in a drawer after the war. The color of the stitching was vivid pink, but it faded over the years. I told my wife that I received it from a young girl in Taiwan whose family I became friendly with. She understood its immense value and treated it with the utmost respect.
The Japanese girls in Taiwan must have been happy to have all these dashing young men from the mainland over there to protect them. We received love letters from girls who we didn’t know. The content was mostly the same. “Dear So-and-so, thank you for devoting your life in service to the nation. Stay well and good luck.” Some of the letters contained beautiful pressed flowers which really lightened our mood. Our superiors told us never to get too close. We all knew that “happily ever after” was an unlikely outcome. We weren’t destined to live for long, but we appreciated their kindness all the same.
Formosa Air Battle
On October 12, 1944, news came in that 12 enemy carriers had appeared east of Taiwan. It was time to scramble. Bombers and torpedo planes took off first to keep the American fleet at bay. We were determined to keep the air battle offshore and away from the island itself. Before long, hundreds of Japanese planes not stationed in Taiwan started arriving at our bases to refuel. Losses started to mount.
Fifty Zeros departed from Hsinchu in pursuit of the bombers. I was among them. We headed east and could see small dots like speckles of sand contrasted against the clouds to the north. There were too many to count. The dots soon grew to the size of beans and we realized that they were the enemy judging by their direction and formation.
We climbed to 4,000 meters, the optimum altitude for combat in the Zero, but the enemy climbed higher. We gave chase but then the enemy started to dive. We were now disadvantaged as their planes had considerably more grunt than ours. They had spotted us and were heading in our direction. I could tell they were F6Fs because I studied pictures of enemy aircraft every day. Thumb on trigger, I was resolved not to show the underside of my aircraft. We pushed our Zeros into full throttle and charged forward into the fray. We were all of one mind.
The wings of an F6F came into my sights. I knew that he was hunting me too. I was flying at about 350km/h and he at around 400km/h. The Zero had two pairs of machine-guns on each wing. We were approaching each other at approximately 200 meters each second, so I was focused solely on getting the timing right for my burst. I would need to press the button at 500 to 600 meters out, and then veer away at the last second to avoid collision. I was ready spray him the instant he showed his belly.
I held my shot. “Not yet, not yet.…” I fired and so did he. Passing each other by in a flash, it was too fast to get a look at his face. We got so close that I thought his propellers might cut into my neck. We were told never to hesitate at that moment, and just aim to carve the enemy with our own propellers. Of course, death was a certainty if this happened but at least we would take the enemy with us. I turned to pursue but he was gone.
The enemy was going too fast to give chase, so we returned to base. Only eight could keep in formation. Of the 50 Zeros in Storm Corps out on this first sortie, 17 did not return. I didn’t see any of my comrades being shot down. All I could see was the enemy in front of me. I had no idea how many successes we had. The tactics drilled into us so thoroughly were hopeless against the overwhelming clout of American planes.
This was my first real taste of combat. Those of us who came back sat in a circle drinking in our half-burned barracks. There were 17 empty coffins covered with white cloths in there with us. The sharp metallic sound of the F6F still rang in my ears. I knew we couldn’t compete, and I’m sure my comrades thought so too.
My team sortied again the next day, but we didn’t encounter the enemy. Our base had been heavily bombed in our absence, and all the barracks were burned to the ground. American bombers destroyed our beautiful airfields while we were out on sortie. If one U.S. carrier transported 80 planes, 11 meant that they had 880! How on earth could we defend our bases against these numbers? Why didn’t we have more warning?
We knew in our bones that we had been soundly defeated in the Formosa air battle. However, radio news broadcasts from the Imperial General Headquarters reported that we had won a “marvelous victory.” We could not reconcile the fact that Japanese scout planes and submarines missed such a large enemy fleet until it was too late. If we had known what we were up against, at least we could have been better prepared. It seemed to me that we were already defeated before the fight began.13
My personal effects, uniforms and pictures were all gone. My favorite photograph of a Zero taken high above the Sakurajima volcano also perished in the fire. The photos I have of this time now are few that I had sent home. The gate of the airfield was the only thing left standing. A young American airman was tied captive to a post with rope. His plane must have been shot down and he bailed out with his parachute. He looked to be around the same age as me and was clearly afraid for his life. I said to him, “It could be me tied up instead of you. We share a similar destiny.” Of course, he had no idea what I was saying and stared at me with a searching eye. It did think that such treatment of POWs must be in contravention of international treaties, but I kept my mouth shut.
CHAPTER FOUR
Battle of the Philippines
Shortly after the air battles of Formosa ended, the 2nd Naval Air Fleet’s Storm Corps received orders to head to Clark Field in Luzon.14 “Tomorrow, embark for the Philippines” came the directive. Other Air Groups were given the same ultimatum, but we went separately in several waves. Taking off on October 18 or 19, my squadron was in the second or third wave.
The Philippines.
The air bases in Taiwan had been hit badly in American attacks, and few Zeros were left in an operational state. It took some time to repair the damaged planes because there were no parts. We cannibalized hopelessly wrecked planes for duralumin plate and used it to patch bullet holes in the fuselage. The color was different making the mended Zeros look battle worn and tired.
Once repaired, we were immediately sent to the Philippines in teams of three or five. Who went when depended entirely on the state of repairs. The Model 32 Zero which I had flown since Kasanohara was in good shape, so my departure came early on. My destination was the central airbase in Clark Field. The Americans were already pounding bases in the Philippines and we had to be careful about our time of arrival. It was preferable to land at nightfall to avoid daytime raids.
We flew over the Bashi Channel between Taiwan and the Philippines and headed south to the northern edge of Luzon. A long road running southwards from Lingayen Gulf was visible from the air. I figured that this must be the “Manila Highway.” Several lines which looked like landing strips came into view in the distance ahead. I counted nine in total as I approached but couldn’t tell if they were runways or just crofts. I soon realized that it was indeed the colossal Clark Field, albeit much shabbier than the fine bases in Taiwan. From appearances alone, my first impression was that it wasn’t worthy of its repute as a great stronghold. It was truly massive, though.
On the west side of the Manila Highway was a grass runway interspersed with white pavement. That was Clark’s central airbase, the one we were bound for. I chose a line that looked to be in good condition for landing. Although Zeros had spring suspension, the landing felt heavy. The runway was originally made of concrete, but the surface was potholed and uneven because of shelling. The holes were filled with dirt which soon became overgrown with weeds. I knew that I would have to be careful when landing from now on to avoid damaging my plane.
I imagined before arriving that there would be underground shelters given it was referred to as a “fortress.” The setup fell well short of my expectations with just a series of grassy landing strips. All of us were left somewhat disappointed. Aircraft parked on the grassy