All about Kamikaze "divine wind"

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Kamikazes just before take-off

The Kamikaze were suicide attacks by military aviators from the Empire of Japan against Allied naval vessels in the closing stages of the Pacific campaign of World War II, designed to destroy as many warships as possible.

Kamikaze pilots would attempt to crash their aircraft into enemy ships—planes often laden with explosives, bombs, torpedoes and full fuel tanks. The aircraft's normal functions (to deliver torpedoes or bombs or shoot down other aircraft) were put aside, and the planes were converted to what were essentially manned missiles in an attempt to reap the benefits of greatly increased accuracy and payload over that of normal bombs. The goal of crippling as many Allied ships as possible, particularly aircraft carriers, was considered critical enough to warrant the combined sacrifice of pilots and aircraft.

These attacks, which began in October 1944, followed several critical military defeats for the Japanese. They had long lost aerial dominance due to outdated aircraft and the loss of experienced pilots. On a macroeconomic scale, Japan experienced a decreasing capacity to wage war, and a rapidly declining industrial capacity relative to the United States. The Japanese government expressed its reluctance to surrender. In combination, these factors led to the use of kamikaze tactics as Allied forces advanced towards the Japanese home islands.

While the term "kamikaze" usually refers to the aerial strikes, the term has sometimes been applied to various other intentional suicide attacks. The Japanese military also used or made plans for Japanese Special Attack Units, including those involving submarines, human torpedoes, speedboats and divers.
Although kamikaze was the most common and best-known form of Japanese suicide attack during World War II, they were similar to the "banzai charge" used by Japanese infantrymen (foot soldiers). The main difference between kamikaze and banzai is that death was inherent to the success of a kamikaze attack, whereas a banzai charge was only potentially fatal – that is, the infantrymen hoped to survive but did not expect to. Western sources often incorrectly consider Operation Ten-Go as a kamikaze operation, since it occurred at the Battle of Okinawa along with the mass waves of kamikaze planes; however, banzai is the more accurate term, since the aim of the mission was for battleship Yamato to beach herself and provide support to the island defenders, as opposed to ramming and detonating among enemy naval forces. The tradition of death instead of defeat, capture, and perceived shame was deeply entrenched in Japanese military culture. It was one of the primary traditions in the samurai life and the Bushido code: loyalty and honor until death.


When Japanese kamikaze pilots carried out their attacks between October 1944 and August 1945, Japanese and American people had opposite perspectives. Japanese people saw young smiling pilots as they waved goodbye. In contrast, American soldiers viewed death and destruction when the pilots' planes exploded upon crashing into their ships. These very different points of view continue to influence Japanese and American perceptions of kamikaze pilots even until today.

The first major section of this web site analyzes American and Japanese views of kamikaze pilots in two separate essays. Each essay's first part analyzes the principal images or perceptions that people currently have about kamikaze pilots.

The page on American Views argues that most Americans perceive kamikaze pilots as faceless, lacking individual personalities. Lack of knowledge about kamikaze pilots has caused many Americans to speculate about their motivations, so many believe they were fanatical, suicidal, or forced to make attacks. Many people know little or nothing about the history of Japan's kamikaze corps, but they form their images of the pilots based on the Anglicized word "kamikaze," which has come to signify anyone having reckless disregard for personal welfare. Current terrorist suicide bombings have provoked comparisons to attacks made by Japan's kamikaze.

The essay on Japanese Views shows that Japanese people today consider kamikaze pilots in a manner completely contrary to American views. Japanese believe that the brave young pilots suffered tragic deaths in defense of their homeland. The letters, poems, and diaries written by kamikaze pilots have had significant influence on Japanese people's views. The Chiran Peace Museum for Kamikaze Pilots, which opened in 1975, has contributed to Japanese people viewing the pilots as individuals who suffered tragic deaths. Also, two recent popular movies, Hotaru (Firefly) and Gekkou no Natsu (Summer of the Moonlight Sonata), have strongly influenced current Japanese perceptions about kamikaze pilots.


Kamikaze attack on US ships video

Feel free to read and comment the real life stories below:

[Deadstring67]

Censored Suicide


First Lieutenant Hajime Fujii

Japan's Ministry of Home Affairs squashed publication of the tragic story of First Lieutenant Hajime Fujii, an instructor at Kumagaya Army Aviation School. In December 1944, Fujii's wife Fukuko committed suicide along with their two children, Kazuko (age 3) and Chieko (age 1), so that her husband could freely go on a special attack (suicide) mission. Due to government censorship, the story remained unknown to the Japanese public for many years after war's end.

This article draws information from several Japanese books to put together the history of Hajime Fujii and his family [2]. The sources contain some conflicting details, which are explained in the article's Notes section. The primary sources are Sange no kokoro to chinkon no makoto (Spirits of heroic dead and devotion to repose of souls) (1995, 123-5) edited by Yasukuni Jinja and Tokkou no machi: Chiran (Special attack corps town: Chiran) (2003, 171-84) by Sanae Sato.

Hajime Fujii, born on August 30, 1915, grew up in Ibaraki Prefecture as the eldest son of a farming family with seven children [3]. His parents wanted him to take over the family farm, but he volunteered for the Army. He joined as an infantryman in a machine gun squadron and displayed exceptional ability. He was sent to the front in China, where Japan had been at war since 1931. While in China, a mortar shell wounded him in the left hand. During his recovery there, he first met Fukuko.

Fukuko grew up in a merchant's family in Takasaki City in Gunma Prefecture. The family had three girls, and she enjoyed playing the piano and singing. She was working as a field nurse in China when she met Fujii, and they soon decided to get married. They had a love marriage rather than an arranged marriage typical at that time in Japan.

Due to Fujii's exceptional skills, he was selected to enter the Army Air Corps Academy. Sources do not indicate his area of specialization, but one source states he did not volunteer as a pilot since he could not tightly grip a plane's control stick due to the mortar shell wound to his left hand suffered in China [5]. After graduation in the spring of 1943, he went to Kumagaya Army Aviation School as a company commander in charge of students' character building and mental instruction. He told his students, "If needed, crash your aircraft into an enemy camp or into an enemy ship." As Fujii explained to his students the concepts of loyalty and patriotism, he repeatedly said, "I will not let only you die. I as your company commander also will surely go."


Fukuko with oldest
daughter Kazuko


Fujii, with a motto that "words and deeds should be consistent," was strict with himself and volunteered for the special attack force (tokkotai in Japanese). Perhaps as an educator he had a guilty conscience since he had his students go on kamikaze attacks but he stayed safely behind. He volunteered even though it was not expected for someone in his position to be selected for the special attack force since he had a wife and two young children. Army leaders rejected Fujii's two written petitions [6] to join the special attack force, probably because he held an important post as commander at Kumagaya Aviation School and he had a family.

Fukuko initially opposed her husband's joining the special attack force, but in time she came to understand her husband's firm determination to join his students to attack the enemy. On December 14, 1944, she left the house with her two young daughters, went to Arakawa River near Kumagaya Aviation School, and jumped into the frigid water with her daughters.

The next morning on December 15, the three dead bodies were discovered. The two young girls wore their finest kimonos, with one-year-old Chieko carried on her 24-year-old mother's back and three-year-old [7] Kazuko's hand tied with a rope to her mother's hand.

Fujii was contacted at Kumagaya Aviation School [8]. He hurried to the spot in a police car with Warrant Officer Shimada, who could find no words of consolation since the tragedy was so great. Fujii said with a moaning voice, "Perhaps today I will shed tears. Please forgive me for only today. Please understand." In order to hide his tears, he crouched down before the three lifeless bodies and gently brushed sand off their white skin. "I am always telling my students to commit themselves totally to be ready to die, but I myself cannot devote myself this far."

Fujii later found Fukuko's final letter [9], which included the following words: "Since you probably would be worried about us and not be able to freely carry out your duties because we are here, we go ahead before you and will wait for you. Please fight without reserve."

During the evening after the funeral of Fujii's wife and two daughters, he wrote the following letter to Kazuko, his oldest daughter:

A cold, blustery December day

Your life disappeared as dew on Arakawa River's bank. It is painfully sad that together with your mother you sacrificed yourself ahead of your father because of his fervent desire to lay down his life for his country. However, I hope that you, who as a young girl vanished together with your mother, will be gladly smiling.

Father also will soon be able to follow after you. At that time I'll gladly hold you close to me as you sleep. If Chieko cries, please take good care of her. Well, goodbye for a short time.

Daddy will perform a great feat on the battlefield and bring it as a present for you. Both you and Chieko, please wait for me until then.

He wrote on the cover of the letter, "December 15, 1944, 1 a.m., Kazuko Fujii, item left behind." The time of 1 a.m. apparently refers to the estimated time of her death. Fujii's younger sister preserved this letter, which is shown below.


Fujii's letter to his daughter Kazuko


Although the Army and government banned any publication of details concerning the deaths of Fujii's wife and her two children, the officers and students at Kumagaya Aviation School heard rumors and pieced together much of what had happened. After the death of Fujii's wife and daughters, he wrote a petition in his own blood asking for the third time to join the special attack force so that his wife's death would not be useless [11]. This time the Army leaders considered the unique circumstances and appointed him as a special attack force member. When he left Kumagaya Aviation School, the students and staff officers held a farewell party and gave him a sword purchased with money from their savings. Fujii was very glad. He pulled out the sword and raised it high over his head shouting, "With this I'll chop those guys down until not one of them remains!"



First Lieutenant
Hajime Fujii [12]

On February 8, 1945, the 45th Shinbu Squadron was formed to carry out kamikaze attacks, and Fujii was appointed as its commander. The squadron of twelve men included nine Ki-45 Type 2 Toryu Fighters (Allied code name of "Nicks"), with three aircraft manned by both a pilot and a radio operator/gunner. The squadron was named Kaishin, which means "cheerful spirit" in Japanese.

The squadron trained together at several air bases, including Hokota Air Base in Ibaraki Prefecture and Matsudo Air Base in Chiba Prefecture. Fujii wrote the following letter to the mother of a family who cared for him while at Matsudo Air Base:

May 21, 1945

Dear Aiko Hirano,

I want to thank you very much for the delicious meal you served the other day. Thank you also for the long trip you took to see me off when I left.

Please say hello to everyone in your family. The flowers given to me by your daughters now decorate my room in faraway OOO [14].

Well, I surely will do my duty with all my heart.

On May 27, 1945, the 45th Shinbu Squadron flew to Chiran Air Base in Kagoshima Prefecture for the scheduled sortie to Okinawa the next morning. Before his sortie, Fujii wrote to Fukuko's father, "I look forward to being able to see Fukuko, Kazuko, and Chieko."

The squadron's nine aircraft, commanded by Fujii as the radio operator/gunner in the lead aircraft, sortied from Chiran at about 5 a.m. on May 28, 1945 . On the way to Okinawa, one aircraft crashed into the sea, and inhabitants of a small island rescued the pilot. The squadron's remaining eight aircraft reached Picket Station 15, about 45 miles northwest of Nago Bay on the western side of Okinawa. Two destroyers, Drexler and Lowry, and American Combat Air Patrol (CAP) fighters shot down most of the squadron's aircraft. However, two aircraft crashed into Drexler, causing the destroyer to sink in less than a minute after the second plane hit. Nearby landing craft support vessels rescued 199 survivors, but 158 of Drexler's officers and crew died in the attack by Fujii's squadron.

The family grave of Fujii, Fukuko, and their two daughters stands on top of a small hill in Mitsukaido City, Fujii's hometown in Ibaraki Prefecture. Each year a group of Fujii's former students at Kumagaya Aviation School visit the family grave to pay their respects. Fujii was very popular with the students. His instruction was strict, but since he was kind-hearted, everyone admired, respected, and trusted him. When former students visit his grave, each year they sing the song "Showa Momotaro (Peach Boy) [16]," whose lyrics were composed by Fujii in 1944. The first verse goes as follows:

Propeller glittering on his chest
Showa Momotaro taking off to the sky

An eaglet with splendid wings
Doing barrel rolls, reverse turns, loop-the-loops

Showing talents of Japan's young men
We youth pilots

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For Five Seconds, A Gunner



In combat and emergencies demanding physical action, seconds stretch. A minute seems an hour. Movement in slow motion becomes real. And the event is seared into memory, with detailed recall more than half a century later. For me at least fear, if felt at all, comes after the fact. And so it was, this cloudless spring day on a semi-tropical sea.

Bloody fighting raged on Okinawa in mid April, about three weeks after the initial landings, and we were under air attack. LCT 746 was nested with our sister ship, LCT 1184, anchored about a hundred yards from a sandy beach at the south edge of Ie Shima, a small island off Okinawa’s west coast. On that beach the Navy and Marines had set up a field hospital, now crowded with medical personnel and wounded. In the anchorage to the south were a hundred or more ships of every description . . . freighters, landing ships, destroyers, aircraft carriers and two battleships. Nearest to us, perhaps a hundred yards away, a freighter flying the Dutch flag busily unloaded supplies into small boats that would ferry items ashore.

A twin engine Japanese attack bomber had dropped its explosive cargo out of our field of vision and to what effect I cannot say. We watched as it flew north, high overhead, attempting to escape three US Marine Corsairs. The Japanese plane was fast . . . very fast. The Corsairs, among our fastest fighters, were having difficulty catching the unwelcome intruder. I estimate that he was flying at 3500 to 4000 feet and obviously hoping to return home. But our Marine flyers were closing in, one directly behind and one to either side of the enemy. The Japanese pilot realized that evasive action would not prevail and, to our alarm, decided to go out in a blaze of glory.

With a tight 180-degree turn, he came back over the island, directly toward us, and nosed down. Two LCTs tied side to side probably looked large from the sky and suddenly we appeared to be his selected target. As anti-aircraft fire from the ships in our anchorage blossomed the Marine pilots wisely broke off their pursuit. Shipboard gunners tended to not take time to identify friend or foe in the sky. If a plane were closing, it was assumed not friendly. My gunners, standing ready at general quarters, opened fire while the enemy was more than a mile away, far out of effective range.

Our LCT had three machine guns, two 20-millimeter and one 50-caliber. I was standing next to the 50-caliber gun that had been scavenged from an airplane. Not well suited for shipboard use, it was effective if fired in bursts but would quickly overheat and jam if fired steadily. Not only that, but with barrel elevated at 60 degrees as it was, its explosive projectiles seemed likely to fall into the canvas-covered hospital on the beach.

“Hold fire until he’s within range,” I shouted. Joe, a young seaman ignored my repeated cries and fired steadily, the tracers obviously falling ineffective, far under the path of the oncoming airplane. I literally pulled Joe from the gun and took over.

During the last month I had watched thousands, probably millions of tracers fall harmless behind and below attacking Japanese planes. Often when off to one side of the action we’d see an enemy plane boring in followed by a curtain of hot steel, most of it trailing the aircraft by a hundred yards or more. Our young Navy gunners, even on the big battleships, simply seemed never to allow for the speed of aircraft and the effect of gravity on projectiles.

This plane came head on so speed was not a factor. I elevated the gun to allow for the effect of gravity and waited, watching the plane grow larger. When the enemy is closing at 700 feet per second it’s amazing how long one second lasts. At a range of about 1500 feet, I squeezed the trigger for a 2-second burst. Time to do or die.

But time was up. I sent not one projectile towards that plane. The overheated gun had jammed and, helpless, I watched the attacking plane grow large. Our two 20-millimeter guns, manned by our qualified gunners, were firing but to no avail. The kamikaze was within 100 feet, a split second away, and seemed to take up the entire sky before we knew our LCTs were not the final target.

The pilot had reconsidered. The plane abruptly leveled off, clearing our mast by what seemed inches, and crashed into the much larger Dutch freighter, sliding across the main deck in a ball of flame, then falling out of view and into the sea on the far side, carrying with it men, rigging and one manned gun tub. Flames from ruptured fuel tanks enveloped the deck amidships. A dozen or so men died instantly, many more were seriously burned or injured.

Only once in a lifetime have I aimed at an enemy and pulled the trigger. That one time was an exercise in futility. But fortune smiled, and I live.

August 2001

[Deadstring67]

Forever Grateful


Fred W. Mitchell
Seaman First Class

On May 28, 1945, two Japanese kamikaze planes hit the destroyer Drexler within about five minutes of each other. The ship sank 49 seconds after the second plane hit, with 158 men killed and 51 men wounded.

I was in the mess hall, and it was about 0700. I had just finished breakfast of pancakes when G.Q. (General Quarters) sounded. We all rushed to our battle stations.

My G.Q. station was "lookout" on Mount #43 (quad 40 mm) on the starboard side. After arriving at my post and with all the excitement, I forgot to put on my life jacket, after putting on the phones, steel helmet, and binoculars. It was lying at my feet on the deck. I looked through my binoculars and saw a twin engine Frances heading straight for us. I yelled into my phones to the gun captain and gave the approximate bearing, elevation angle, and range of the incoming plane.

Our gun crew was already signed in on the plane and was firing straight at it. I watched as our barrage of shells and tracers went right into him. We expected the plane to explode at any moment before reaching the ship. The plane, even though riddled with our gunfire, kept coming towards us. Suddenly the plane was upon us. The wing was about 80 ft. wide. I could even see the windshield. Everything happened so fast. I knew it was going to crash into our gun.

In an instant, I remembered what one of the Marines we transported from Pearl Harbor to Guadalcanal told me. He said that when you know that an explosion is going to occur, "hit the deck and lay flat on your stomach." I did this and it saved my life.

Just as I hit the deck, the plane crashed into our gun. There was a tremendous explosion, and debris was falling all around me. After a few moments, I looked up and got up on my feet. It was a horrible sight. The gun mount and the crew were gone. Everything was on fire. It appeared that I was the only survivor until I learned at a [Drexler] Reunion that Duke Payne also survived when he was blown into the water.

I was dazed and felt numb. I felt my arms and legs to make sure they were still there. I wiped my face and felt blood. A mate rushed by, and I asked him if my face was gone. He said it was cut but nothing serious. Then he hurried away.

I knew the ammo from our gun and the port 40 mm would explode. I found my life jacket and binoculars on the deck and picked them up. I went down the ladder to the starboard deck. The P.A. system was dead. I started to run towards the midship passageway. I ran into an officer going in the opposite direction. I don't remember who he was. He yelled at me and asked me where my battle station was, and I told him. He ordered me to go back to my battle station. I told him that it was blown up and on fire, but he still ordered me to go back.

I started climbing back up the ladder, and the gun captain from Mount #3 was trying to climb down. He looked at me in disbelief and asked me where I was going. I told him that I was ordered back to Mount #43 by an officer. He said the mount was no longer there and the ammo was going to blow up any minute. He told me to get back down the ladder, which I did. I again found my way to the midship passageway without incident. The officer I saw previously was not there, and I never saw him again.

Shortly thereafter, there was another tremendous explosion, as the second plane hit. Suddenly the deck started to tilt, and the ship began to roll over. I knew that I wouldn't have time to put on my life jacket, which I was still holding. I dropped it on the deck and grabbed the lifelines. I started sliding down the side of the ship. The bottom of the ship was lifting out of the water as it was rolling over. I ended up in the water, and I still had my foul weather jacket on, but I knew that I had to get away from the ship so I started to swim. I swam until I was nearly exhausted. I stopped to look back, and I saw the bow pointed toward the sky, and then it disappeared.

My jacket was waterlogged and heavy, and I could not get it off. The weight of it was starting to make it very difficult to stay afloat. All of a sudden, a mate appeared and asked me if he could help me. I told him that I could not get out of my jacket. Fortunately, he had a knife and cut the jacket loose. He asked me if I was okay, and since I was no longer weighted down with the jacket I thought that I could stay afloat. He then took off. I think he saved my life, and I don't know his name.

I swam, floated, and treaded water for what seemed like an eternity. My strength and energy were once again leaving me, and I could hardly keep my head above water. I saw an officer with a life jacket on, and he saw me. He helped me stay afloat and together, with his help, we got to a raft. There must have been 30 to 35 men hanging on to it. There was no more room to hang on. One of the mates told me to hang on to his belt. His name was Stephen Marinari, SoM3/c (Soundman Third Class). I will never forget him either.

The next crisis I encountered was the burning oil. As it came close to the raft, everyone started to yell and panic. The officer, who had helped me previously, told us to stop and to paddle with our hands to get away from the fire. It worked, and we managed to get clear of the burning oil.

We saw the LCS (Landing Craft, Support) in the distance and paddled towards it. When we got close to it, we thought they would throw a line, but they did not. We started to drift away. One of the men on our raft swam toward the LCS and yelled at them to throw him a line, which they did. He swam back and tied it to the raft, and they pulled us alongside. We finally climbed aboard. Thank God for the solid deck under my feet. I am forever grateful to all those shipmates who helped me that day.

[Deadstring67]

Kamikaze Pilots Visit Ritsu Tsurumaru's Home


Nobutaka Inoue (at left) as navigator
in Type 99 Carrier Dive Bomber

Ritsu Tsurumaru lived near Kokubu No. 2 Naval Air Base, from where many kamikaze pilots took off on suicide missions just before and during the Battle of Okinawa. She received two visits from Flight Petty Officer 2nd Class Nobutaka Inoue and his friends during the evenings of April 25 and 27, 1945. Inoue sortied from Kokubu No. 2 Air Base on April 28 on his mission as part of the Kamikaze Special Attack Corps 3rd Kusanagi Squadron. He flew as navigator in a Type 99 Carrier Dive Bomber (Allied code name of Val).

Tsurumaru wrote the following letter to Nobutaka Inoue's parents as their son was flying toward Okinawa to make a suicide attack:

To Kotaro Inoue and Wife

This is the first time to write. Just now I said my goodbyes at the takeoff of your son Nobutaka's noble plane. I waved a rising-sun flag tied to the end of a long bamboo stick as my tears overflowed and fell to the ground.

Last night I told him, "Even if we women cannot see you in your plane from our yards, we will wave rising-sun flags with all our might." He promised, "We will fly low over the place where you are standing."

Since his takeoff was scheduled after lunch, when noon passed, my family, the next-door neighbors, and the ones next to them earnestly waited for the roar from the hilltop airfield to the west. When 3 o'clock rang, soon Nobutaka's plane and another one bravely flew low directly over my house with a loud roar toward the southern skies.

I rinsed out my mouth and washed my body. Then I prayed for their success before the household altar. I wanted his parents to hear what happened, so I picked up a pen to write this poorly written letter to you. Please listen.

The first time I met Nobutaka was 4 in the evening on the 25th. He visited the home of my husband's older sister, who lives right next to me. When I saw the three young men, my heart beat fast since this was the first time for me to see uniforms of tokkotai (special attack forces). My sister-in-law was unfortunately away from home, so they came to my house. That evening they told stories and sang songs about carrier bombers and taiatari (literally "body crashing" or suicide attacks). I could not imagine at all that these were men with only a few more hours of life remaining. Pleasant Nobutaka was calm and sweet to the end.

However, when the three of them sang together the following song about taiatari, I couldn't keep back my tears.

This finally is the end
Father and mother, stay healthy
When a white wooden box [1] arrives
Please praise me without crying

I asked them to please stop by again if they could leave the base before their grand sortie. Last night we went to sleep early since we could not even put on the lights due to continuous air raids in our area. After 11, I jumped to my feet when I heard someone calling my name. There were more young men than even the other day, as five persons were standing in the yard in the moonlight. They all went to the trouble of slipping away secretly from over the hill far, far away about four kilometers distance in order to come to say their final goodbye. Seeing their graciousness without making a big deal of their generosity, for a while no words came out from me. Please imagine it.

I recognized them in the bright light of the moon near the horizon. Nobutaka said, "I really miss my mother." Then everyone joined in, "Yes, I surely miss my dear mother." As they gazed at the moon on the horizon of the faraway skies, their thoughts went back to their hometowns. Seeing them, I understood what feelings they had as they looked. Nobutaka, still only a tender 18-year-old youth, was to carry out a great magnificent work and calmly sacrifice his life for his country even though not yet an adult. "Since you have precious bodies, please sleep a short time," I told them as I laid out futons on the floor. "Ah, those futons look nice," they said happily. "Please wake us up at 4." As they lied down for a while, they talked and sang, but before I knew it they were sleeping peacefully. They slept more than an hour. I could not help but cry again at their sleeping faces and their breathing while sleeping.

By the light of the moon, I cooked some azuki (red beans) and made some sekihan (rice steamed with red beans) and soup. It was a plain but heartfelt meal. It didn't seem like the hands on the clock were moving as fast as usual. They slept well until 4, and there truly was a pain inside my breast as I woke them. Since I did not even have alcohol, I served them hot tea and warmly celebrated their departure. I said that I wanted to go with them until they reached the airfield on the hill, since I wanted to give them a small sendoff. They said the following kind words, "It's OK since it is cold." Their figures finally disappeared at the edge of town.

I had been wanting for some time to meet the young men of the Special Attack Corps. I was truly delighted to take care of them with my whole heart even though there were only two or three for a short time. It was a happy and much appreciated occasion.

In the evening when I first met them, I felt that I had seen the faces of everyone somewhere once before. When I told them it seemed like it was not the first time I had the honor of seeing them, Nobutaka jokingly said, "It was in a previous life. We met in a prior existence." As I replied, "yes, for sure," I thought that even a chance acquaintance is decreed by destiny.

Today was a fitting day for your son's sortie with truly beautiful green and bright fine weather.

My 17-year-old oldest son made a large red rising sun on our roof that could be seen from the sky. Nobutaka recognized the rising sun flags that we were waving. Even if he did not recognize them, I pledged within my heart that he please go with calmness in spirit since we at all costs will persevere to surely win this war without fail.

It is already past 4. As I wonder over what seas he may be flying now, my tears are dropping. Please read my scribbling.

Finally, I express to you my deep respect and appreciation from the bottom of my heart as the parents who brought up such a fine person as Nobutaka.

Let us all strive together.

I hope you are doing well. Goodbye.

Ritsu Tsurumaru
Evening of April 28

[Deadstring67]

Kamikaze, the Ultimate Sacrifice
by Daniel A. Kitchen, Lt. USNR (Retired)


Nine pilots from
50th Shinbu Squadron
(at Hofu Air Base)


Understandable, brave, even perversely admirable were desperate Japanese kamikaze attacks in the year 1945, made in time of war in final defense of homeland against an armed enemy. Not comprehensible is the blind and vicious hatred behind the September 11 attacks in the year 2001 made in a peaceful country against innocent men, women and children. There is no parallel.

I first saw his airplane a mile or so away as it wove through anti-aircraft fire over the Ie Shima airstrip, then watched as his flight ended in an explosive ball of flame, less than 200 yards from where LCT 746 lay at anchor. I never saw the pilot's face but half a century later he lingers in my mind.

I imagine him as young, a student dressed in immaculate white, a sash and oriental shirt with flowing sleeves, his face smooth and serene, the tan of his skin contrasting with the white of his clothing. I try to comprehend his thoughts and actions. A final goodbye to a few friends and perhaps a damp-eyed instructor and mentor, reluctantly parting from one of his prized students. No family present, they will be told of his heroic death later. And finally, before the final takeoff in his small and fragile plane, brief but solemn ceremonies as he pledges his mortal being to emperor and homeland.

He probably started from Kyushu, southernmost of Japan's home islands. The last face he sees is that of his mechanic, somber as he pulls the propeller to manually start the small engine. Then he taxies to the end of the runway, revs the engine. It sounds strong and eager, ready to take to the sky. He pushes the throttle ahead for takeoff, gathers speed . . . and feels the little airplane free itself from the soil of his homeland for the last time.

He is now a kamikaze. He will strike one final blow, giving his life in defense of home and country.

The flight is smooth in perfect weather. He flies low over the water to remain nearly invisible to the radar and eyes of enemy picket ships between him and his target. Because the flight will nearly exhaust precious fuel, he throttles back to 70 knots, the most efficient cruising speed. His airplane has been stripped of any items of value, even the radio. He'll be in the air for about four hours, lonely hours filled with thoughts of home, family, and friends; the girl he'll never marry and children he'll never have.

No need for fancy navigation equipment. He has studied the charts. His target lies among hundreds of enemy ships, massed at anchor just past the small island of Ie Shima off of the west coast of Okinawa. He simply keeps the string of the sparsely populated but beautiful semi-tropical islands off to his left. These stretch south of Japan, all the way to Okinawa, and will guide him to that target and triumphant final sacrifice. He spots a few small boats, fishermen probably, and once, on the horizon, the ominous bulk of a destroyer, one of the picket ships guarding the enemy anchorage. But his small plane goes undetected until, to his left, he sees the larger land mass of Okinawa and, directly ahead, Ie Shima.

He pulls up to the 500 foot elevation of the Ie Shima airstrip, skimming a scant 50 feet above the ground. A glance at the fuel gauge shows a few gallons left. Good! Enough to start a hot and destructive fire. And luck is with him. So far he has either gone unnoticed or been mistaken for one of the many small aircraft used by the U.S. Army for artillery spotting and medical evacuation. But once over the airstrip, he begins to draw gunfire. He opens the throttle for more speed, weaving to present a difficult target, giving gunners little time to aim. Untouched, he reaches the southern end of the airstrip and sees before him the enemy armada, a plenitude of targets waiting at anchor.

But there's no more time. Now dozens of gunners on those ships have him in sight. The sky is suddenly full of streaking steel and glowing tracers. Shell bursts buffet his fragile plane. Anti-aircraft fire will soon find him. He reacts quickly, inverting his airplane in a smooth half-roll. And there, almost directly below, he sees the 340-foot-long hull of an enemy landing ship, less than a hundred yards off the beach. He pulls the stick back, sending his plane in a precise vertical dive, crashing dead center into the ship below. The engine of his plane becomes a projectile, cutting through three steel decks and into the ship's engine room. Ruptured tanks spray fuel, sending sheets of flame across decks and down passageways, incinerating all in their path. A perfectly flown kamikaze strike.

I watched as the pilot died . . . instantly and in vain. I hope that he was distracted by gunfire and concentrating on precision flying . . . and never noticed the deserted decks, unmanned guns and empty bridge of his target. It was LST 808, wrecked and abandoned, gutted by a torpedo attack a couple of days earlier, but with decks and superstructure intact, still resting upright on the coral sand in the shallows of our anchorage.


Afterword
by Bill Gordon

LST 808's damage report states: "During an air raid on 20 May 1945, while the ship was resting on the reef at Ie Shima, a Japanese plane dove into the forward part of the superstructure at 1837 and penetrated through the boat deck, main deck, and into the wreckage on the tank deck" [2]. Japanese records of kamikaze pilot deaths indicate that only one special attack squadron, the 50th Shinbu Squadron, sortied from Kyushu on May 20, 1945 [3]. Ten Army Hayabusa Type 1 Fighters (Allied code name of Oscar) took off from Chiran Air Base at 1605 to 1613 [4]. A Hayabusa Fighter normally took just a little more than two hours to go from Chiran to Ie Shima [5], so the plane that hit LST 808 at 1837 almost certainly was a Hayabusa fighter from the 50th Shinbu Squadron.

The 50th Shinbu Squadron, previously one of 14 squadrons of the Akeno Air Base Training Flight Division in Mie Prefecture, was formed as a special attack squadron at the end of February 1945. After plane maintenance and training at Hofu Air Base in Yamaguchi Prefecture, the squadron proceeded to Chiran Air Base in Kagoshima Prefecture to wait for mission orders. All 12 pilots of the 50th Shinbu Squadron died in attacks off Okinawa. Nine pilots sortied from Chiran on May 20, 1945, the date of the attack on LST 808. Two pilots sortied on May 25, and the final pilot of the 50th Shinbu Squadron sortied on May 28. [6]

The LST 808 war diary, recorded by Captain Stevens, and the official damage report describe what happened to the ship on May 18, 1945 [7]. At 2206, a large Japanese twin-engine plane passed over the stern just above the mast, and a torpedo hit the ship with a terrific explosion about 30 seconds later. Small fires were quickly extinguished, but the explosion killed five men and wounded five others of the LST 808 crew. Another five men aboard from the boat pool died in the explosion, and one wounded man from the boat pool died the next day. With LST 808's main and auxiliary engine rooms wrecked and flooded, two tugs towed the ship to shallow water where she rested on a reef. Most of the crew went ashore at 0300 on May 19. LST 808 had a security watch of only five men on board when the kamikaze plane hit the ship on May 20.

[SPRINGFIELD_XD_40]

Modern day SUICIDE BOMBERS ....

I was in the USS ANCHORAGE LSD36 ( part of the 2000 - 2001 Western Pacific deployment ) docked in the Port of Aden in Yemen in support of the No Fly Zone policy .

It only mattered for 10 to 12 hours , thanks to our Commanding Officer who is a liberty hound himself . We ended up in Seychelles for a quick rest and relaxation . On the 11th hour , PAPA flag was hoisted and we just dont know why . Found out in less than 10 minutes being radioed that USS COLE was bombed , had casualties and we have to assist them for damage control duties . USS ANCHORAGE LSD 36 was in the spot of USS COLE DDG 67 . If we didnt left for some fun , who knows walay Springy diri karon .

Same scenario , modern day SUICIDE BOMBERS , rest and relaxation in Bali , Indonesia ( Wespac deployment 2002 with USS GEORGE PHILIP FFG 12 ) . Got wasted in the exact same bar where most of the casulaties were Australian citizens . Crazy night indeed .... was there 3 to 4 months earlier when it happened . Could have been another 1 less Springy of the forums , that would make lots of forumers happy eh ?

Back on topic .... well close to hehehe ....

LT. LANDIS DONER is my grandfather , the father of my mother .

[Deadstring67]

^^ nice... hero man d i imo lolo bro... naa ka mga pics nya?

[SPRINGFIELD_XD_40]

OT :

Naay daghan .

He retired in Lanao del Norte where he met my lola who was also a HAWAIIAN - JAPANESE nurse working for the Americans in WW2 .

He became also a SUPERENTENDENT of Cebu State College . I also have his dog tags hehehe . AIM HIGH USAFFE !!

Indeed the FIGHTING TWO SQUADRON helped minimized the KAMIKAZE / JAPANESE SPECIAL ATTACK FORCE . Imagine if wala nila na shotdown 200 plus Jap planes , imagine if kani tanan kamikaze , dako2 jud ug damage ilabi sa Pacific .

[moy1moy1]

Nice! any posts regarding kamikaze attacks/accounts on Philippine Battles?