Comprising more than 200,000 combatants across 100,000 square miles of ocean, the Battle of Leyte Gulf pitted the formidable naval powers of the United States and the Empire of Japan in what became known as the largest naval battle in history. Eight decades later, this multi-day, multi-domain herculean clash in the Philippines remains a voluminously chronicled chapter of naval history. Lesser known (at least among American audiences) are the testimonies of Japanese combatants who survived this campaign.
Intrigued by contemporary Japanese media reporting of its nation’s sharp-minded and surpassingly active nonagenarian and centenarian World War II veterans, I too sought to chronicle the rapidly fading testimonies of America’s former warring opponent. Achieved in large part thanks to the assistance of Japanese veterans’ family members (and Google Translate), my years-long long-distance virtual interviews comprise hundreds of in-depth testimonies spanning from arguably the last combatant of the 1939 Nomonhan Incident to the last submariner of the I-58 crew that sank the USS Indianapolis (CA-35).
Indeed, the 80th anniversary of the Battle of Leyte Gulf is a poignant occasion to amplify several elder Japanese voices of this storied campaign. Consequently, this article spotlights the trials and tribulations of four veterans of the Imperial Japanese Navy (IJN) during the opening clashes at the Palawan Passage and the Sibuyan Sea in October 1944.
Forces Converge on the Philippines
By late summer of 1944, U.S. victories throughout the Mariana Islands created an opening from which increased operations against Japanese forces (including strikes on the Japanese home islands) could be sortied more easily. Seeking to disrupt the anticipated U.S. invasion in the Philippines, IJN Vice Admiral Takeo Kurita received orders to deploy his First Diversion Strike Force from Singapore to Brunei, penetrate the Tacloban Anchorage on Leyte Island, and attack the U.S. landing ships at dawn on 25 October 1944.
U.S. aircraft carriers, however, loomed heavily on the minds of the IJN’s strategists. “If the powerful enemy carrier striking force was left intact,” Kurita’s chief of staff later would write, “other landings would be attempted, and in the long run our bloodshed would achieve only a delay in the enemy’s advance. On the other hand, a severe blow at the enemy carriers would cut off their advance toward Tokyo and might be a turning point in the war.”
On 22 October, Kurita’s warships departed Brunei and charted course toward Leyte’s Tacloban Anchorage via two routes: The largest concentration of ships (Central Force) would transit the Palawan Passage and Sibuyan Sea, while Kurita’s remaining ships (Southern Force) would transit the Sulu Sea. Three days later, both forces would converge, further bolstered by two additional IJN convoys en route to Leyte. Yet, as a U.S. Naval Institute article observed, “The Japanese plan was so complicated and their communications so poor that what coordination was achieved was almost by accident.”
Among the IJN sailors comprising Kurita’s Central Force are my four interviewees . . . some of Japan’s last known combatants from the Battle of Leyte Gulf:
Matsuyoshi Tsuchiya (age 101 at time of 16 March 2022 interview). Born in May 1920, Tsuchiya’s IJN service began in April 1942. “I applied to the navy because I had been accepted into the army,” Tsuchiya mused. He quickly became a battle-tested sailor during the Solomon Islands campaign. Prior to the Battle of Leyte Gulf, Tsuchiya joined the heavy cruiser Atago, which served as Kurita’s Central Force flagship. “My squad was responsible for managing a barrage of machine guns and antiaircraft guns.”
Toshio Yoshii (age 97 at time of 29 December 2023 and 1 July 2024 interviews). “In September 1942, at the age of 15 years and 9 months, I took the ‘Navy Special Junior Soldier’ exam with my cousin,” Yoshii explained. An IJN recruitment initiative to mold future wartime commanders, an estimated 17,000 teenagers were mobilized (with Yoshii among the first volunteers). Due to Japan’s deteriorating war situation, Yoshii’s studies were curbed. In December 1943, he boarded the heavy cruiser Myōkō. “My mission is to protect the electricity and generators. The generators were located on the front and rear third basement floor, and the diesel generators were located in the center of the ship. I was placed in the power generation room at the rear.”
Kazuo Nakagawa (age 101 at time of 17 November 2023 interview). “I grew up in a mountainous region on a farm, so I wondered why I was assigned to the navy,” Nakagawa noted of his call-to-arms in 1943. “I had the image of the sea as something scary. I had no choice because everyone had to go to war.” After training, Nakagawa was assigned to the heavy cruiser Takao. “My main duty was as a signalman. I was very happy when I was assigned to Takao, as it was the cruiser I had been aiming for.”
Koji Hayakawa (age 95 at time of 17 July 2023 interview; 96 at time of 6 September 2024 interview). Hayakawa joined the IJN in January 1944, one month shy of his 16th birthday. “I applied secretly,” he confided. “When my mother saw the letter that arrived at our house, she fainted in shock.” Hayakawa promptly joined the crew of the Musashi, one of the largest battleships ever built and fitted with an impressive armament of nine 18-inch main-battery guns (the largest ever mounted on a warship). “I was happy and proud of my achievements. For me, who joined at the age of 16, I thought it was very big deal.”
Assigned to the ship’s meteorological department, Hayakawa and his team analyzed and reported weather conditions, which spurred daily briefings with the Musashi’s senior commanders. “Captain [Toshihira] Inoguchi was a very authoritative figure,” Hayakawa shared. “I was one of the youngest among the crew, so he was relatively kind to me. One memorable episode was when he gave me a rare treat, Calpis, and engaged in casual conversation.”
Among the observations of these (and many other) IJN veterans were their recollections of Japan’s militaristic disposition, which manifested throughout their youth. “When I entered the school gate,” Yoshii remembered, “I was slapped by the teacher who was secretly watching over me if I didn’t bow to the statue of Emperor. The Emperor was a god.” Reflecting on his subsequent military training, Yoshii explained, “It was an education that made people crazy in order to get rid of fear. When I said that it was tough, it was so strict that I really couldn’t describe it.”
Similarly, Nakagawa detailed his own training hardships following his mobilization. “As a signal soldier, it was hard to remember . . . so if someone made a mistake, everyone was held collectively responsible and got beaten.” For his part, Hayakawa simply mused, “I hate being hit with a bat because it hurts more than being hit or kicked.”
While the intensity of the IJN’s training reflected the nation’s war fervor, any doubts of victory were not spoken. “I believed that Japan would definitely win,” Nakagawa stated. “However, there was a big difference between us and the American military in that we didn’t have military equipment or oil.”
Likewise, Hayakawa opined, “The country made all the people believe that Japan could win. At that time, I felt that there was a power difference between America and Japan. If I had to compare . . . a sumo wrestler and an elementary school student.”
Nonetheless, these four IJN sailors embarked toward Leyte Gulf with an indomitable fighting spirit that defined the protracted and bloody Pacific theater. “Strangely enough, I didn’t feel like I was afraid of losing my life,” Yoshii shared. “Maybe because I had developed a military spirit, I didn’t have any fear of war.”
The Palawan Passage: 22–23 October 1944
Perhaps the greatest threat facing Kurita’s Central Force convoy lurked beneath the waves once it began the long voyage from Brunei. “We were always on the lookout for submarines,” Tsuchiya remembered. “We were given various instructions regarding submarines, especially when we took turns on lookout.”
Bottlenecked between Palawan Island on the right and shoal-strewn waters on the left—ominously dubbed “Dangerous Ground” on nautical charts—Kurita’s convoy traversed the hazardous passageway the night of 22–23 October. Patrolling nearby waters, two U.S. Navy submarines, the USS Darter (SS-227) and Dace (SS-247), detected this northeastward Japanese movement on radar and swiftly closed the distance. By first light, the American submarines secured favorable firing positions ahead of the zigzagging IJN ships to draw first blood.
On board the Japanese ships, the unsuspecting sailors went about their morning routine after the completion of their early training. “Around 0600, I was resting in front of the Atago shrine on the middle deck with a comrade,” Tsuchiya remarked. “At dawn, the Atago was running ahead of the Takao at a distance of 600 meters,” motioned Nakagawa, “but in the pitch blackness, a big red flame rose up, and I could clearly see that the Atago had been hit.”
The Darter scored four or five torpedo hits against the Atago’s hull, much to the shock of Kurita’s flagship crew. “No one could say a word,” Tsuchiya described of his shipmates. “Young soldiers running around, jumping into the sea. On top of the main gun tower, the special lieutenant shouted, ‘Stand and wait!’ After a while, commander Kurita came down the gangway ladder. The order to abandon ship was given.”
Against the backdrop of the rising sun, the IJN’s Central Force soon disintegrated in search of the underwater menace. Kurita’s sinking flagship compelled the nearby Takao to her rescue, which crew member Nakagawa recounted: “The sea there was like a mirror. . . . We anchored it in its shadow 50 meters away and moved to transfer Vice Admiral Kurita from Atago to Takao.” About ten minutes elapsed between the Darter’s attack on the Atago and the submarine’s next salvo directed against the adjacent Takao.
“I was able to spot the torpedoes,” Nakagawa shared. “Before I knew it, the first one hit the center of the Takao. . . . I thought this was the end.” With the engines stopped to rescue Kurita, “it was not possible to turn the rudder to avoid the torpedoes,” added Nakagawa. “A torpedo hit the rear of the ship, leaving a large hole.”
With the Takao damaged, Kurita and his flagship crew jumped from the sinking Atago and swam for their lives. Of its 889-man crew, 360 perished. “I was rescued by [the destroyer] Kishinami,” Tsuchiya recounted of his ordeal at sea. “I’m not sure how long I was out there, but it was about four or five hours.”
With two successive U.S. strikes, Kurita’s scattered fleet veered right toward the submerged Dace. Just before 0600, four of her torpedoes struck another IJN heavy cruiser. “Maya was hit by a torpedo in front and sank in an instant,” Nakagawa described. “We watched while it sank.” Meanwhile, the damage assessment on board the Takao found the ship still seaworthy. “The front generator was spared and one of the three engines was still functioning, allowing the screw to move,” Nakagawa continued. “Although the rudder could not be turned, the ship was able to move forward.”
Despite its losses, IJN’s Central Force pressed onward toward Leyte, sans the injured Takao. “After more than 30 minutes, the order came from headquarters to turn back,” Nakagawa reported. “After more than three hours of work, the electricity was restored and the propellers turned, but the ship was only able to move forward . . . there was no telling when an attack might come.”
Accompanied by two IJN destroyers, the Takao limped back to Brunei while stalked by the Darter and Dace. However, the U.S. submariners’ luck ran out after the Darter ran aground at Bombay Shoal as she traversed Palawan’s “Dangerous Ground.” Her entire crew subsequently joined the Dace and repeatedly attempted to scuttle the wreckage, with little avail. Despite this loss, the ingenious placement of the two U.S. submarines the night of 22–23 October—at the direction of the Darter’s skipper—yielded two sunken Japanese heavy cruisers and another crippled, diverted two destroyers from Central Force’s formation, and assuredly slashed Kurita’s gambit for a surprise attack.
As it continued toward Leyte, IJN’s Central Force still made for a formidable armada. Later in the afternoon of 23 October, Kurita and the surviving crew of the sunken Atago were transferred from the destroyer Kishinami to the battleship Yamato, Central Force’s new flagship. “I was in charge of ammunition for the machine gun right next to the Yamato’s front main gun,” Tsuchiya recalled.
The Sibuyan Sea: 24 October 1944
By the morning of 24 October, six different naval forces (four IJN, two U.S.) were in, around, or headed for Leyte Gulf. Incredibly, Kurita’s warships moved without air cover. While the Japanese pooled hundreds of aircraft in the Philippines to support the Central and Southern Force movements, IJN’s air commanders opted instead to commit those aircraft toward concentrated attacks on the U.S. aircraft carriers purportedly in the vicinity. Just as 23 October had launched hell from below on Kurita’s fleet, 24 October would rain hell from above.
Anticipating U.S. air attacks, Kurita rearranged his force during the early morning hours of 24 October to better concentrate its antiaircraft fire with two defensive circles. As outlined in the 2012 monograph Intrepid Aviators, “[Kurita] placed seven capital ships—the big-gunned battleships and heavy cruisers—at the center of each defensive circle and stationed six destroyers around the permitter. He compressed the distance between the ships in each circle to between fifteen hundred and two thousand yards.”
At Leyte, the U.S. commanders were still uncertain of the precise location of the inbound Japanese warships. The Darter’s reporting of Kurita’s fleet, however, encouraged Admiral William F. Halsey Jr. to order three of his carrier strike groups conduct aerial reconnaissance of all navigable eastward approaches into Leyte Gulf.
Shortly after 0800, aircraft launched from the USS Intrepid (CV-11) made visual contact with Kurita’s warships as they transited the Sibuyan Sea. Now having verified the Darter’s reporting, Halsey took to his radio at 0837: “Strike! Repeat, Strike! Good Luck!”
Kurita’s radar operators soon detected the circling formation of U.S. aircraft, which shadowed the IJN ships from an altitude of 9,000 feet until their egress shortly after 0900. Meanwhile, U.S. carriers launched waves of dive bombers, torpedo bombers, and fighters against Kurita’s fleet some 250 nautical miles away.
Around 1000, Kurita’s radar operators detected a large formation of inbound aircraft. As aptly contextualized in the 2015 monograph US Navy Carrier Aircraft vs IJN Yamato Class Battleships, “Most of the [US] naval aviators involved in this mission had never attacked a Japanese warship before, and now they were headed for the largest single surface formation that the IJN had yet employed during the war.”
By 1030, the first bursts of IJN antiaircraft fire exploded in the sunny eastern sky. Against the idyllic backdrop of mottled emerald-blue waters and distant tropical islands, the Battle of the Sibuyan Sea had begun.
The gargantuan battleships Musashi and Yamato quickly became the principal targets for the American aircraft. With no Japanese aircraft to overcome, U.S. fighters strafed IJN ships as dive and torpedo bombers commended their attacks. “Since I was on the upper deck,” Tsuchiya described of his battle station on board the Yamato, “I was able to witness first-hand the overhead battle and the attack of enemy aircraft. . . . The machine guns kept firing.” Meanwhile, deep in the rear generator room on the heavy cruiser Myōkō, Yoshii felt his ship’s thundering turret guns at battle. “When Myōkō fired the cannon, it made a great noise.”
During the first wave of attacks, a U.S. torpedo bomber scored a hit against the Myōkō’s starboard aft, damaging her propulsion. “It hit the rear right machine room and I was in the rear generator room,” Yoshii noted, as he then illustrated the swift counterflooding measures. “All the hatches were closed, so I stuck pipes in three places (top, middle, bottom) of the machine room door so that the rubber frame would close tightly [then] fill the port troop compartment with water and keep it parallel.”
Despite these efforts, water breached the Myōkō’s hull. “The ship tilted at an angle. Within minutes, the flooding began, but I didn’t feel scared. I heard a voice say, ‘Run away!’” Yoshii remembered. “I climbed the ladder and tried to open the upper door . . . unlike the training, the thick door felt even heavier and thicker than usual. Because of teenage youth, my body was able to escape lightly like a flying monkey.”
Along with striking the Myōkō, U.S. naval aircraft scored hits on the battleships Musashi, Yamato, and Nagato. “In the areas close to where the attacks occurred, the electricity flickered and sometimes went out completely,” observed Hayakawa from his vantage on board the Musashi. “The sound and impact were very strong and reverberated throughout the ship.” Despite taking on water, the Musashi’s counterflooding alleviated any concerns of sinking. However, her speed dropped, which compelled Kurita to order all Central Force ships to reduce speed to reestablish formation.
Subsequent waves of U.S. aircraft attacked Kurita’s fleet, largely targeting the Musashi. In response, the behemoth battleship fired incendiary antiaircraft salvos from her 18-inch main battery. “The sound was incredibly loud, and the shockwave was so powerful that it would blow you away, which is why there was a ship-wide announcement ordering everyone to move inside,” Hayakawa recounted. “The main gun firing caused a forward and backward recoil.” A U.S. dive-bomber pilot described this impressive sight from overhead. “When those guns fired, the ship literally disappeared in a cloud of smoke illuminated by an internal blossom of flame. It was more frightening than dangerous to the torpedo bombers.”
Once again, U.S. aircraft pounded the 863-foot battleship with dive-bomb and torpedo hits that surely would have sunk any other ship. “When it came to Musashi’s brave fight, I was able to see it with my own eyes and it still stays in my mind,” recalled Tsuchiya, who witnessed the events from the deck of the Yamato. “There were many shell explosions near Musashi due to smoke from antiaircraft shells.”
While counterflooding kept the Musashi afloat, her increasingly waterlogged interior progressively slowed her speed. As she fell behind formation, Kurita ordered the beleaguered battleship to withdraw westward, joined by two destroyers.
Shortly thereafter, another wave of U.S. aircraft—the largest of the day—barreled down on Kurita’s fleet. By then, roughly a quarter of the Musashi’s antiaircraft guns remained operational and her bow became submerged, compromising maneuverability. The near-defenseless giant continued to absorb blow after blow. “It was an unimaginable noise,” said Hayakawa, describing an explosion that expelled shrapnel toward his meteorological team. “I was injured when fragments flew through the darkness after the final attack hit the bridge. . . . Two crew members died instantly. My friend and I both injured our arms and collapsed from bleeding.”
Since 1030, aircraft from six U.S. carriers had relentlessly hammered Kurita’s Central Force for more than five hours, with 259 total sorties. The Musashi, the core target of successive attacks, was hit by an estimated 17 bombs and 19 torpedoes. Once the pride of the IJN, the now-crippled citadel awaited its inevitable fate as water poured into her riddled, oil-bleeding hull. Hayakawa recalled, “I observed that Musashi was slowly listing to the left” as he received emergency medical treatment on the battleship’s upper deck.
“‘Musashi is sinking! Come on!’” Yoshii heard belowdecks on board the Myōkō after the U.S. aircraft had departed. “Musashi was a big ship, so it didn’t sink right away. I went up to the deck once to see it and then went down to the third basement floor again to see it several times.” Taking turns with his shipmates, Yoshii continued to operate the Myōkō’s generator while periodically venturing to catch a glimpse of the slowly sinking battleship.
By 1915, the Musashi’s list had reached 12 degrees, prompting the evacuation of her crew. “Those who heard the announcement from the vice-captain on the loudspeaker gathered at the third turret on the rear upper deck,” Hayakawa explained. “After that, we received verbal instructions from the vice-captain to slide down the starboard side and escape into the sea.” By 1935, the Musashi’s list had reached 30 degrees, and she capsized shortly thereafter. Of her 2,399-man crew, 1,023 perished.
“I was able to slide down from the right rear of the ship with my feet down,” Hayakawa motioned, as he tried to protect his injured right arm. “While floating, my body was caught up in the vortex and my left hand hit something hard and broke.” With both arms injured, Hayakawa propped himself up on some debris to tread water. “I was careful not to put Musashi’s heavy oil in my mouth,” he added.
Yoshii described how, as he gazed out from the Myōkō, “oil was floating all over the sea. Even if we wanted to help, the oil was so great that Myōkō couldn’t get close, and we could only watch from a distance.” Afloat for roughly four hours, Hayakawa and his surviving shipmates were rescued by an IJN destroyer.
Despite the loss of the Musashi and the crippling of the Myōkō in the Sibuyan Sea, Kurita’s Central Force remained battleworthy and continued its eastward advance (much to Halsey’s surprise) through the San Bernardino Strait the night of 24–25 October. The decisive Battle off Samar on 25 October ultimately thwarted Kurita’s plans and compelled his controversial retreat from the Philippines. By 26 October, the Battle of Leyte Gulf had ended.
This decisive (but costly) U.S. victory effectively diminished the combat viability of Imperial Japan’s remaining surface fleet. As the U.S. military’s hard-fought gains inched closer to Tokyo, the warship-depleted IJN desperately turned to suicide missions—using aircraft, speed boats, mini-submarines, and mine-fitted divers—to inflict damage on U.S. naval operations. This next phase of the war resulted in attacks on more than 400 U.S. and Allied ships (with several dozen sunk) and the deaths of 5,000–7,000 U.S. sailors (with many more injured).
Epilogue
Matsuyoshi Tsuchiya remained on board the Yamato and fought in the Battle off Samar, where he observed the attacks on the USS Johnston (DD-557) and Gambier Bay (CVE-73). Following the Battle of Leyte Gulf, Tsuchiya returned to Japan and subsequently served ashore with a naval intelligence team in Tokyo that monitored inbound American aircraft. Citing the 1905 Battle of Tsushima during the Russo-Japanese War, Tsuchiya simply opined, “I thought that the navy was a battle of fleets, like the Japanese Sea. I was a little disappointed that most of the battles were fighting with enemy planes. I feel like we were the ones taken by surprise.”
Toshio Yoshii and his Myōkō shipmates were spared from Kurita’s subsequent advance through the San Bernardino Strait and turned back for repairs. “Wounded soldiers were laid on deck on canvases,” Yoshii recalled. “Those who died were wrapped in flags and buried in the sea.”
The Myōkō slowly returned to IJN’s Singapore base with only one functioning engine. “When we arrived at the port, we drained the flooded area and found our comrades dead . . . about 30 people died in the machine room.”
Yoshii remained in Singapore on board the moored Myōkō (adjacent to the Takao) until the war’s conclusion. There, he was later met by Royal Navy sailors who boarded the damaged IJN heavy cruiser. “We were given cheese, chocolate, coffee, and other things that we had never eaten before. . . . I still remember the taste of it. It was a luxury item and delicious.”
Kazuo Nakagawa and his Takao shipmates were spared from the Battle of the Sibuyan Sea following the Darter’s torpedo attack. Instead, its crew journeyed to IJN’s Singapore base for repairs, which never manifested due to an American B-29 attack. “The dock was no longer functioning and it was no longer possible to return the Takao to service,” Nakagawa described. Moored off Singapore’s bombed-out repair docks, the Takao was retrofitted as a floating antiaircraft battery, where Nakagawa remained for the rest of the war.
He spoke fondly of his first face-to-face encounter with his former high-seas nemesis. “After the war, an American soldier who came aboard the fleet suddenly took the moldy cigarette I had and threw it on the floor, then took a new one from his pocket and handed it to me. He told me not to smoke too much because it was bad for my health, and acted as if he was scolding me. I didn’t feel any hostility from him, and I felt he was being kind.”
Koji Hayakawa returned to Japan with three shrapnel wounds incurred on board the Musashi. “The fragments from that time are still in my right arm,” he noted. “By seeing hell, I learned the value of life and the foolishness of war.”
Following his hospitalization and recovery, he spent the remainder of the war at a kamikaze base in Chiba Prefecture, where he served as a meteorologist. Following the discovery of the Musashi’s wreckage in 2015, Hayakawa returned to the Sibuyan Sea to pay his respects to his fallen shipmates.
