“Behind every kamikaze pilot taking off for certain death was an ordinary human being, often with a wife or sweetheart back home.”
By George Yagi Jr.
NEARLY 4,000 JAPANESE pilots volunteered for suicide missions in the final year of the Second World War. Although only one-in-five managed to dive their explosive-laden planes into Allied warships, the kamikaze claimed more than 7,000 British and American lives.
Named for the legendary “divine wind” that had saved Japan twice during the Mongol invasions of the 13th century, the establishment of the kamikaze was a desperate attempt to halt the attackers, and possibly stem the tide of defeat.
The West reacted to the appearance of Japan’s “Special Attack Units” with a mix of shock and horror, condemning the kamikaze as mindless fanatics dying foolishly for a lost cause. Even now, many equate them with the modern-day suicide bombers of al Qaeda or ISIS. Yet, the kamikaze are a far cry from 21st century terrorists. While today’s extremists make no distinction between combatants and civilians, the kamikaze only attacked military targets. To save the homeland and their loved ones, pilots particularly sought out enemy aircraft carriers, for every American flattop sent to the bottom would mean fewer planes to attack innocent civilians, including their own loved ones back home.
Behind every kamikaze pilot taking off for certain death was an ordinary human being, often with a wife or sweetheart back home. In fact, the stories they left behind painted portraits of loving, devoted men who had much reason to live.
Prior to launching a doomed attack against the American fleet off Okinawa in April 1945, Second Lieutenant Masashi Ohira wrote to his wife:
“Fukuko, for a long time you did your very best as a person who wanted to care for me… To me you were a wife who was superior. You were a wife who was too good for me. At the end, I am thankful. I did not know a woman except for you. I feel like you alone who I sheltered for a long time were the [only] woman for me in the entire world.”
Similarly, Second Lieutenant Toshio Kuramoto penned before his final flight:
“Kimiko, please forgive me for the time of departure. Only because I loved you, my heart was filled with the desire to not cause you sadness for a while. I absolutely was not lying. Please be cheerful and fight off all of the pain and sadness. I earnestly desire that you live with a strong heart.”
Having grown up beside his wife Shigeko, Second Lieutenant Haruo Araki left as his final words:
“I feel as if my heart will break when I think of your long life ahead. Please somehow be strong in spirit and be happy.”
Finally, although denied a wedding due to his departure for the battlefield, Ensign Nobuaki Fujita wrote to his bride to be:
“My dear beloved wife Mutsue! Both in the coming world and the next world, and also in the world after that, please be my wife… More than anyone I love you with your gentleness. Mutsue, farewell.”
A common theme running through these final letters is the strong love felt by the pilots for their wives, and the wish that their loved ones might live. They were also not unaware of the pain that their decision to join the special attackers might cause. Some went so far as to hide the news of their suicide missions until the very end.
Kuramoto, for example, tried to conceal the truth from Kimiko for as long as possible, often telling her not to worry as they were merely embarking on, “another training flight.” However, when he finally departed on his mission, Kimiko dutifully helped her husband dress as he prepared for a journey that he would take for her sake.
The love and devotion was returned to the young men who gave their lives for their spouses. Shigeko attempted to carry on after Araki’s death, and gave birth to a son, Ikuhisa, on December 25, 1945. Sadly for the couple, the child died the following year.
Reflecting on her marriage she later remarked, “I thought if he became a lieutenant we’d be together, even if we did fight… If he’d married someone else, I’d have been furious.”
Kimiko too attempted to raise a family after Kuramoto’s passing. Prior to his final mission, she was able to spend some time with him at various bases. During this period it rained continuously, and to her each day was a blessing. She recorded in her diary:
“Let’s not think about tomorrow. Live today to the full. What happy days I am having! I have such a kind husband. He loves me deeply. Even if we were to be parted for good, he will always live in my heart.”
On Jan. 27, 1946, she gave birth to a daughter and gave the infant the name her husband had chosen, Ryoko. As for Mutsue, she honored Fujita’s request. Determined to marry him at all costs, the couple was married in a ceremony with a photograph representing the groom. Sadly, when the long awaited event finally took place, her husband was already dead. However, she would never remarry, and remained devoted to him until her passing in 1993.
True love is a difficult and precious gift to find. For the sake of their wives, these pilots ventured into the skies to crash dive their planes into the enemy in the hope that their loved ones might live. Despite the separation caused by death, some still managed to have families, while others endured further hardship. However, there can be no doubt in their motivation for making the ultimate sacrifice. As for the fate of all these couples, it is probably best summarized in the words of Homer’s Iliad, describing the tragedy of another conflict:
If in the melancholy shades below,
The flames of friends and lovers cease to glow
Yet mine shall sacred last; mine undecay’d
Burn on through death, and animate my shade.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Dr. George Yagi Jr. is an award winning author and historian at the University of the Pacific. Follow him on Twitter @gyagi_jr
