Naoki Hyakuta - The Eternal Zero

This is something I learned after the war, but the famous Sadaaki Akamatsu took on a formation of seventy-five P-51s all by himself, shooting down one before heading back to base. He was one hell of a bullshitter, but on that occasion there had been a large number of witnesses. And his aerial combat skills were truly impressive. Some of those guys who went back to the Sino-Japanese War were seriously not to be trifled with.

I never thought that I wasn’t a match for a P-51. I felt that I wouldn’t lose a one-on-one fight, and even outnumbered, I was sure I could at least escape unscathed. Since they tended to use hit-and-run tactics, so long as I dodged their first strike they really weren’t so scary a foe. It was just that shooting one down was no easy task. But I’m sure it was difficult for young pilots to dodge that first strike.

Beginning in the spring of ’45, B-29s carpet-bombed major Japanese cities including Tokyo, Osaka, Nagoya, and Fukuoka, reducing them to burnt-out ruins. Reports of these attacks reached us at Kanoya. It was as plain as day that, no matter how hard we struggled, we would never win the war. Most of our munitions plants had been demolished, making it impossible even to continue fighting, it seemed.

Germany surrendered that May. Japan was the only country left against the rest of the world, and we were heading towards the same fate. By that point, our bases in southern Kyushu came under devastating air raids from American planes flying from Okinawa, and most of our remaining aircraft had been transferred to bases in northern Kyushu. I was transferred to Omura as well.

In July, the entire Naval Air Corps was converted into kamikaze formations. All younger pilots were ordered to conduct special attacks. Veteran pilots were ordered to join ground attack units. It amounted to a proclamation that fighter planes no longer had any role to play.

In August, reports came in that a new type of bomb had been dropped on Hiroshima. Rumor had it that the city had vanished in an instant. Soon after, the new type of bomb was dropped on Nagasaki, too. As Omura was very close to Nagasaki, news of the dire situation reached us quickly. But even upon hearing these things I wasn’t agitated. I was only concerned with my own battles. Even if I was the last man standing, I would go out to engage American aircraft.

I was given an order to transfer from Omura to Kanoya right before the end of the war, to escort the kamikazes that launched from there.

It was there that I was reunited with the man who haunted me even in my dreams. Yes, Miyabe. It had been about a year and a half since our parting.

But when I saw his face, at first I didn’t even recognize him. His demeanor had completely changed. His cheeks were sunken, his jaw was covered in stubble, and only his eyes shone with a strange light. The Miyabe I’d known before had always been very tidy and clean-shaven. His insignia indicated that he was now an ensign.

Shall I tell you how I honestly felt when I saw him again? I was happy. Don’t ask me why, though.

Perhaps it was because over the course of the previous year or so I’d witnessed too much death. Many veteran pilots had died in the course of their duties as fighter escorts for the kamikazes. In part I must have been glad that he’d made it.

“Ensign Miyabe,” I called out to him.

He merely glared at me and didn’t utter a word in response.

“I’ve improved a whole lot since back then. I won’t lose to you so easily this time, sir.”

He gave me a suspicious look and nodded vaguely. Still silent, he turned on his heels and walked away.

He doesn’t remember me? The rage and humiliation I’d felt a year ago came roaring back.

It was again my heart’s deepest desire to witness his death. I remembered that what had kept me alive until that day was my wish to see him perish before my eyes.

The next day, before daybreak, all aircrew were assembled before the command post. An assortment of planes culled from all over Kyushu stood in rows along the runway. All the engines were running.

In the gloom, amidst the growling drone of the engines, I looked at the blackboard and the lists of the pilots selected for either special attack or escort duty. My name, just like the previous day, was listed among the guard contingent.

After the commander gave his salutation, he traded the customary farewell cups of water with the pilots, who then walked off towards the waiting aircraft. I casually glanced over at them and instantly froze. Miyabe was among the group of special attack pilots.

I immediately broke into a run. Catching up to him, I said, “Ensign Miyabe.”

He gave a small jolt and turned around.

“Are you really conducting a special attack?” I asked.

I was left speechless when he nodded.

“It puts me at ease to know you’ll be backing me up, Kageura.”

With this, he gave me a bright smile, slapped me on the shoulder, and headed towards his bomb-hugging Zero.

This was a situation I’d never considered. To think Miyabe of all people would become a kamikaze… I could only look on in a blank daze as he walked away.

A few minutes later, all the aircraft took off.

My eyes were locked onto Miyabe’s plane. To my surprise, his Zero was not a newer Model 52, but the old Model 21 that had been used at Pearl Harbor. Where had they found such an old Zero? A 250-kilo bomb was strapped to its belly.

There was only one thought in my mind: I absolutely need to protect Miyabe. That and nothing else.

I would defend his plane, no matter what. I wouldn’t let a single bullet touch him. I would shoot down every last hostile that attacked him. If I ran out of bullets, I’d hurl myself at them if that’s what it took.

But suddenly the fuselage of my plane began shuddering violently, and smoke started pouring out of my engine.

“You damn piece of shit! Get it together!” I yelled, but the engine failed to recover. I soon fell behind and watched on helplessly as Miyabe and the formation disappeared into the distance.

I screamed at the top of my lungs. I screamed, beside myself, Lose, Japan! Perish, Imperial Navy! The military can go to hell! I hope all professional soldiers die!

After screaming my head off, I whispered hoarsely, “Miyabe-san, please forgive me.”

When I realized what I’d muttered to myself, tears streamed down my face, endlessly.

A few days later, the war was over.

When I heard the Emperor’s broadcast, I fell to the ground and wept, loudly. There were others who cried as well, but none wailed at the top of their lungs like I did. But I wasn’t weeping over Japan’s defeat. I didn’t care about Japan. I had known for a while that we were going to lose.

I cried for none other than Miyabe. Had he lived just one week longer, he would have been saved. He could have gone back to that wife of his whom he loved so dearly.

After the war I became a yakuza. I wanted to take revenge against this insane world. I hated being in a world where the ones in power threw their weight around.

I murdered, too. I killed so many people it’s a wonder that I’m still alive today.

But I forgot about Miyabe. I didn’t think about him again until today.

“That ends my story,” Kageura said brusquely.

He had put on dark sunglasses partway through, so I wasn’t able to read his expression. The young man standing behind him had kept his lips tightly sealed.

“That time, though,” Kageura suddenly muttered, “Miyabe’s eyes weren’t those of a man who’d decided to die.”

He looked up at the ceiling.

I couldn’t think of a reply. Maybe Kageura wanted to say that my grandfather had held on to hope to the very end.