Naoki Hyakuta - The Eternal Zero

“They were true soldiers.”

Miyabe nodded. “I think it was mere minutes between their initial ascent and their turn back towards the harbor. They probably spent that time assessing the damage to the plane and gave up on making it back to the carrier. Either they saw that they’d run out of fuel or their engine was hit. In any case, in those brief moments they chose to blow themselves up.”

Carrier-based attack bombers had three crewmembers: the pilot, the bombardier, and the radio operator. In the Imperial Navy, crewmembers of the same aircraft were called pairs, as in the foreign word. Flight teams had to become one in body and soul. They said that if the crew’s breathing was not in sync, their torpedo attack would be imperfect. The bond shared by them was far stronger than your usual friendship. People sometimes speak of “sworn friends,” and the crew on attack planes and bombers were literally that.

Most likely the pilot had decided to destroy the plane, communicating his resolve to the other two. They’d probably concurred straightaway.

“Their smiles were so vibrant. They didn’t look like the expressions of men who were about to die,” Miyabe added.

“Maybe that’s because they were able to partake in a successful operation.”

Miyabe mulled over my words a bit and then replied, “I suppose so.”

“When I die, like them I want it to be after I’ve dealt a lot of damage to the other side.”

Miyabe was silent for a while, but he sighed and said, “I don’t want to die.”

I was shocked by his statement. I had never expected to hear such words from anyone in the Imperial Navy. Of course, military men, too, feel that they don’t want to die. Such is human nature. But a soldier cannot just leave it at that. Just as people in general must control all sorts of instincts and desires in order to exist in society, I believe it’s important for military personnel to figure out how to relinquish that desire to survive. Isn’t that right? If the troops prioritized survival, no war effort would be sustainable.

Our military had won an overwhelming victory. Yet, we had lost 29 planes and 55 lives. Looking back now, I understand something that I didn’t back then. For the families of the pilots who died that day, the grief over the loss of their loved ones was far greater than the joy of victory. Whether it was a battle where thousands fought to the last man or just one soldier was killed in action, a bereaved family was robbed of an irreplaceable member. Thousands dying in action simply meant a greater number of tragedies; every one of those individual tragedies was the same.

But I didn’t get it back then. And my reaction to Miyabe saying “I don’t want to die” was intense contempt. Those were words that a sailor of the Imperial Navy, let alone a fighter pilot, should never utter. We should all have been prepared to die with our boots on the moment we became pilots.

“Why do you not want to die?”

Miyabe’s reply was soft-spoken. “I have a wife. It’s for her sake that I don’t want to die. So I value my life more than anything else.”

I was left momentarily speechless. And I was thoroughly disgusted. I felt like I’d caught a thief and asked him “Why did you steal it?” only to have him answer “Because I wanted it.”

“Everyone values their lives. And everyone has a family. Although I’m not married, I have a father and a mother…” but damn if I ever said I don’t want to die, I almost added, just barely holding my tongue.

“I’m a disgrace to the Imperial Navy, aren’t I?” Miyabe gave a bitter smile.

“That, you are,” I replied.

Miyabe went silent and hung his head.

Ito suddenly fell quiet.

He folded his arms, closed his eyes, and didn’t speak. After several long moments had passed, he said in a voice barely louder than a whisper, “Miyabe was an odd man.”

He continued, “Back then we pilots were living in a strange world, a place divorced from reason. We lived in a world where death was always right by your side, or rather where life and death always intermingled. You couldn’t live in such a world if you feared death. Yet Miyabe feared it. He lived in the everyday world while fighting in a war. How could he manage to hold on to that feeling?”

Ito seemed to phrase it like a question for me, but it wasn’t one that I could answer. Or perhaps he was asking himself.

“After the war and demobilization, I got married and started a family. It was only then that I was able to comprehend Miyabe’s desire to keep on living for his wife’s sake. But,” Ito then said forcefully, “I cannot agree with Miyabe’s words that he ‘valued his life more than anything else.’ Wars are not fought alone. Sometimes you have to fight on, even if it means sacrificing yourself.”

“I couldn’t say, sir.”

“Here’s another thing that happened. In February of 1942, during an air raid on Port Darwin, Miyabe returned from the mission early after his machine guns failed. Even if an escort fighter can’t fire its guns, it can still chase off enemy aircraft. And just having a Zero by their side is heartening to the bomber crews. But Miyabe pulled out and left in a hurry.”

“Oh…”

“It might sound like I am bragging, but had I been in his place I would have stayed, even if it meant getting shot down.”

I simply nodded.

“Please don’t misunderstand me. I’m not criticizing his principles. I just can’t say they were praiseworthy. I feel bad saying this to his grandson, forgive me.”

Ito bowed deeply. I could sense the old man’s sincerity.

There was a knock at the door. A genteel old lady appeared.

“This is my wife.”

She placed a plate of fruits on the table. “Please make yourself at home,” she said and left.

“I married her after the war,” Ito explained with a shy smile. “It was an arranged marriage, though.” He glanced at a side table. On it sat a photo of the couple standing side-by-side on vacation somewhere.

“She seems very kindhearted.”

“It’s her only asset. Yes, she’s been very devoted to me,” he said quite earnestly.

“Where is that picture from?”

“Hawaii. We went there three years ago for our golden wedding anniversary.”

I was a little surprised when he said Hawaii.

“It was my first time,” he added, apparently sensing my reaction.

I looked back at the photo. Ito was standing at attention before a bright blue ocean, his wife’s hand firmly clasped in his right hand.

“My granddaughter used to tell people, ‘Grandpa went to Hawaii a long time ago.’ But as I said, I actually never made it to the skies over Hawaii. It’s been over sixty years, but I still regret it.”

“Really?”

“On second thought, if I had flown over Hawaii back then, I might never have met my wife, let alone have a granddaughter,” Ito said and laughed.

I recalled that 55 pilots had died in the attack on Pearl Harbor. Ito seemed to remember it too, and lowered his gaze.

After a brief silence he said, “There was one very unfortunate thing about Pearl Harbor.”

“What was that?”

“It ended up being a sneak attack made with no proper declaration of war.”

“The declaration was delayed somewhere on the way, wasn’t it?”

“That’s right. We were told that we would be attacking at the same time the declaration was made. But that isn’t how it panned out. They say the reason for the delay was that the Japanese embassy in Washington took too long decoding and delivering the declaration of war. But the delay was really due to the fact that the embassy staff were out drinking at a farewell party or something that went well into the night. They were late getting to work that day.”