Chapter 40

Sgt. Yuji Yokota and Ens. Keizo Ikeda had reached an accommodation concerning their personal differences. After all, with only the two of them remaining at the clandestine base, it made no sense to argue, and it was now obvious to Ikeda that the mechanic sergeant was doing everything he could to ready the plane for its final glorious flight. Keizo acknowledged that it was not Yokota's fault that the other five planes at their hidden base had managed to take off as ordered and fulfill their destiny as kamikazes.

He was wrong, of course. Yokota had been stalling, hoping to delay his transfer back to the army once Ikeda had departed. Yokota had no intention of dying if he could avoid it. He did understand the ensign's motives. Ikeda's family had been destroyed by American bombers and the boy wanted revenge. Yokota disagreed with him, but he respected the young officer's sense of grief and loss. Yokota wondered how he'd react to the loss of his own family. It was an academic question as he had no family. The army had been his family and he was more than ready to disown it.

Thus, as the next day dragged on and the plane was not ready as promised, neither man lost patience with the other. To his dismay, Yokota found there were real problems with the plane that he had great trouble fixing. Finally, well after his estimated completion time, Yokota put down his tools, wiped his face with a greasy rag, stood, and bowed before Ikeda, who was genuinely surprised at the gesture.

"It will fly, sir."

Ikeda beamed in relief. At last. "Thank you, Sergeant."

"Sir, it will not, however, fly very well. Despite everything I've done, and for reasons I do not understand, the plane simply will not fly very high."

Ikeda's face clouded. This was not good. Standard tactics called for a kamikaze to dive out of the obscuring sun and plummet onto a target. This tactic also drastically increased the speed of the plane, which then reduced the likelihood of its being shot down. "What do you recommend?"

Yokota was surprised that the officer, particularly a young pup such as Ikeda, would ask his opinion. "Sir, there is no choice. You must stay well beneath a thousand feet at all times."

Ikeda thought quickly; he would stay well below the thousand-foot figure. Instead of diving from the sun, he would skim the earth. If he could not hide in the clouds, he would seek shelter in the trees and the folds of the hills of Kyushu. It would be extremely difficult flying, but he could do it.

"Will you take off at dawn?" Yokota asked, recalling Ikeda's remark that he wished to be one with the sun. This day was almost over and it would be dark in a little while.

Ikeda smiled. It was curiously beatific. "If the plane is fueled, I will fly now, Sergeant. I've seen enough sunrises."

Yokota disagreed with that as well, as he wished to see many more sunrises, but he helped Ikeda with the final preparations. A few minutes later, the old plane, laden with explosives and tins of carefully hoarded extra gasoline to aid in its immolation, lumbered down the grass runway. The engine ran roughly and it didn't look as if the plane would gain enough speed to become airborne. Yet somehow it did, and the small craft began to curl its way around the nearby hills.

As the old wood-and-cloth plane departed, Sergeant Yokota wished the young ensign a successful encounter with the U.S. Navy and a peaceful eternity. Then he stripped off his uniform and anything else that marked him as a soldier.

In the plane, Ikeda exulted. He was on his way. As he kept tight control of his erratic steed, he concluded that a low-level night attack might give him an advantage. Coming in low and slow, he might not be noticed until it was too late. Also, the plane was a dark gray. He began to like the idea even better than that of diving out of the sky.

Beneath him, the ground sped by. Even though it was night, he could still see signs of habitation, and sometimes people paused to look up at him as he came upon them so quickly that they could not run and hide. In the distance he could see the flashes and glows that were the battle for Japan's future. He was surprised. The fighting was much closer than he thought.

Then he was over the battlefield. It was marked by the continuing flicker of small-arms fire in both directions, and then he was past and over the American lines. Again, flying low was an advantage. Even though occasional tracers reached out their glowing fingers to pluck him from the sky, he was beyond them before the gunners had a chance to react to him. He thought it amazing that he could actually see American tanks and trucks, along with tents and other facilities as he swept overhead. The Americans made no effort to shelter themselves.

In the distance he saw the flat darkness of the ocean. But before he reached that, he flew over some American supply dumps and saw the immenseness of them. Then he viewed an airfield under construction, followed by yet another one, which already had a handful of planes parked along the runway. If the Americans were confident enough of their position to build airfields, even small ones, then things were truly dire for Japan. He prayed that his effort would help.

Soon he was over the dark waters of Ariake Bay and headed out toward the vastness of the ocean. A couple of American destroyers were anchored just offshore and fired at him with no effect. They could barely see him in the night and were afraid of hitting each other as he flew just over the waves between them.

Ikeda regained some altitude and scanned the area, but saw no tankers or large transports that would be worthy targets, only smaller craft that seemed to scatter beneath him. Again he exulted; they were afraid of him. "Banzai!" he shrieked to the wind.

Satisfied that there was nothing in the bay whose sinking would fulfill his sense of destiny, Ikeda pressed on toward the open sea. As before, his orders were to attack carriers or large transports and to ignore smaller ships, even warships. Only in the case of dire necessity was he to deviate from his orders.

As he flew on, the plane's unreliable engine started skipping. Perhaps the poor-quality fuel was clogging it, or maybe Yokota wasn't quite the mechanic he thought he was. Either way, it didn't matter. His time in the air was now limited, and unless he wished to crash uselessly into the sea, he had better find a target, any target.

Ikeda flew on and prayed. He could not die unfulfilled. He had to find a ship. It was difficult to stay airborne, and soon his altitude fell to under a hundred feet. He could almost feel the waves reaching out to doom his quest. Then, in the distance, he saw a slim, dark shape on the water with an even larger one behind it. American ships, but what type were they? He laughed. Whatever they were, they would have to do.

Ikeda turned his struggling plane toward the larger of the two ships. As it drew closer, the larger ship took on shape and identity as a warship. It had massive turrets and a superstructure that was now taller than the height at which he was flying. Ikeda hoped that it was a battleship. That would be a fine ending to his life.

Bullets and shells reached out toward him from both enemy warships, but it was too late and he flew through them as if protected by a magician's spell. As the American ship filled his view, he closed his eyes and thought of his family.