maneuver took considerable strength in the arms and legs, and it also induced a lot of torque on the airframe. I could hear my plane creak and was always afraid that it might fall to bits on me.
I had a habit of removing my gloves before any action to stop my hand from slipping off the controls. I also took off my headgear and placed it on my lap because it hindered neck movement and I couldn’t look around me. The most dangerous area was to the rear. I liked to assess if there was anything coming from behind. Rear-below was particularly treacherous as it was a blind spot from the cockpit. Even when I was in pursuit of an enemy aircraft I would check right, left, below and behind to make sure I wasn’t in somebody else’s sights. A surprise attack when engaging an enemy in front would not end well. We were told to watch the front 80 percent of the time, and the back 20 percent.
I could tell when the altitude was 4,000 or 5,000 meters without referring to the altimeter just by the feel to the plane. This is higher than the mightiest peak in Japan, Mount Fuji at 3,776 meters. We were advised to attach our oxygen masks over 4,000 meters, but few of us did. The mask had a long tube necklace which restricted head movement, so we usually held on until 6,000 meters. The air being so thin that high, it was hard to get enough oxygen without it. To compensate, I used to take two deep inhalations followed by one exhalation.
Earplugs were inserted on a rapid climb to protect the ears. I followed this protocol at first but gradually became accustomed to the pressure. High altitude also resulted in pain shooting through my mouth and teeth through sucking in the cold air. There was no heater, but we kept warm enough thanks to the heat of the engine and the exhaust fumes that infiltrated the cockpit.
Landing Woes
Each airbase had a 15 meter pole located in the midpoint of the runway with a streamer attached to the top to indicate the direction and strength of the wind. This was vital for making a clean landing. If the streamer was horizontal, we knew that the wind was blowing hard at about 12 to 13 meters per second. When we made unscheduled landings in different bases, streamers were often absent forcing us to wait until somebody ran out to the runway to attach one.
At bases with grass runways we identified suitable places to land by the flatness of the vegetation. If it was still long that meant it was dangerous to land on because it hadn’t been used for landing before. Fuel permitting, we’d do another pass over the base if we weren’t certain.
Paved runways with a headwind made for the best landing conditions. The Zero could make a three-point landing and come to a stop in about 150 to 200 meters. That distance increased with a tailwind. A side wind was a little tricky to cope with. The airframe caught the wind and tilted the aircraft so that one wheel touched the ground first meaning too much weight on one point. There were many incidents where planes were pushed to the side this way resulting in the wheels breaking up.
I mitigated this danger by slowing down as I came in to land and moving the rudder the moment of touching down. If the side wind was coming from the left, I would press down on the left pedal to guide the airframe to the front-left, essentially straightening up in the wind. This was a subtle operation requiring careful consideration of how much we could be blown off course and landing slightly upwind and to the side of the runway’s centerline. Landing was much more difficult than taking off.
There was a rule for landing called the “mid-air pass.” When we approached the runway, we flew 200 meters overhead and passed by first. Banking our wings, the officer in charge looking through his binoculars confirmed by saying “Number such-and-such passed.” Only then could we start the landing procedure. Everyone on the ground watched as we came in. Even if they didn’t know the pilot, they could assess his skill level by how well he landed. After a successful landing the engine would be revved for a few seconds before alighting the aircraft and running to the command post to report in.
Aircraft landed separately at smaller bases. Runways were typically 50 to 60 meters wide, but planes were prone to swinging to the sides, so as much leeway as possible was appreciated. At large bases four planes could land in unison. We could even do eight simultaneously at the largest. It just depended on the conditions. We relied on hand signals and non-verbal cues to coordinate our approach. The runways on carrier decks, however, were considerably narrower and always a harrowing prospect.
Cockpit Lunches
We had lunch in the cockpit on long flights. This was usually a couple of rice balls wrapped in bamboo leaves made by the mess staff. We stuffed the rice balls in the pockets of our flying suits and looked forward to scoffing them in the cockpit. We never took water bottles for some reason. I don’t know why, but I guess it was because we never really got thirsty. No matter how loudly nature called, we refrained from taking a dump or a whiz in the cockpit. Having said that, if our bladders were bursting and peeing was unavoidable, one small consolation was that it dried quickly through the engine heat.
Some pilots tucked into their lunches as soon as they levelled out after take-off. They would move to the front of the formation and let the others know, even though enemy aircraft could appear at any moment. Boys being boys, sometimes pilots would sneak up behind those enjoying their lunches and frighten the living daylights out of them.
Fighter pilots were a special breed in the Navy. Each one was, in a sense, a lone wolf. Flight hours was more significant than official rank, and pilots who had done the hours and proved themselves in battle were treated with respect, even if their rank was low. They were allowed in the cadre’s chamber called the “Gun Room” which was off limits even to commissioned officers without enough flight hours.
Under the Commander was the Assistant Commander, Flight Commander, Squadron Leaders, Section and Assistant Section Leaders. The commander was usually a Colonel or Lieutenant Colonel. Under him were 60 to 70 pilots. Promotions came rapidly. I started at the lowest rank of Flight Petty Officer 2nd Class but was promoted to Flight Petty Officer 1st Class within three months, and Superior Flight Petty Officer three months later. Then Chief Flyer to Flyer 2nd Class, and Flyer 1st Class on August 15, 1945. I can’t remember when I was made Flyer 2nd Class.
Embroidered Scarf
In those days, most big towns in Taiwan had sugar companies run by Japanese. The factories had clubhouses where wives of employees took good care of us. On the second floor of one such clubhouse, there were five or six Japanese tatami-mat rooms in which we could rest. On the ground floor was a large hall, cafeteria, and a room for listening to music and playing Japanese chess. The facilities were built for company personnel and their families, but we were permitted to come and go as we pleased. These were still relatively carefree days as we didn’t know the misery that awaited us.
When stationed at the Hsinchu base, we occasionally visited the local town to unwind after long training periods, or after completing two to three weeks of sorties. Somehow this information always got out and we were greeted by throngs of Japanese girls living in Taiwan. It was quite perplexing when they called us by name. We had no idea who they were. We were invited to their homes for dinner, and ended up going to several houses each night. It was decided who would go where first by scissors-paper-stone. The families welcomed us with delicious food cooked by the mothers. Alcohol flowed freely. We went from one home to the next after an hour, indulging in three full meals in a single night.
One girl gave me a scarf on my second or third visit. It was made of cloth from a used parachute and was embroidered with pink cherry blossoms and a navy blue anchor, the symbol of Yokaren. Brushed onto the silk was a poem composed by a pilot who died at Pearl Harbor (see photos).
For you [your imperial majesty],
if my life is short like scattering cherry blossoms,
then I have no regrets. 11
The characters were so exquisite, I figured her father must have written it. She gave me another scarf with “221st Naval Air Group Storm Corps, One shot, one kill”12 and my name stitched on it. I wore it on all my sorties. The others liked to give me a hard time about it. “Hey, fashion Queen!” they would chide. “Piss off!” I replied. I wore this religiously when I