On April 1, 1945, we were moored to | No. 26 buoy floating in the outermost bolder of Kure Naval Port, awaiting our turn to enter dock for quick repairs and overhaul. I was the junior radar officer on board the superdreadnaught Yamato.
Suddenly the ship’s loudspeaker filled the stillness of the morning air, “Commence sailing preparations from 0815; weighing anchor at 1000!”
United States forces had landed at Okinawa!
Would we pass through Shimonoseki- Moji Channel and fuel at Sasebo or Fusan and then proceed directly south? Or would we sail straight through Bungo Channel? Where was the sea battle to be? What ships would consort with Yamato? Was this to be the decisive battle for supremacy of the South Sea area?
Once again the loudspeaker reverberated throughout the ship: “All divisions, bring inflammables topside! Stow all personal belongings. Secure all water-tight compartments! . . . Last boat to shore at 0831! . . . All division officers, check water-tight integrity!”
I was in charge of the last launch to shore and soon headed for No. 1 pier. Thin clouds curtained the sky, the sea was misty in the dreamy naval port of Kure. After arriving at the pier and finishing the business at hand, roll call was taken to assure that nobody was left behind. (If a man missed his ship’s sailing for action, he would face a firing squad.)
As we glided toward Yamato, preparations were made for hoisting our launch immediately we came alongside. Painted silvery gray, Yamato lay in the sea like a gigantic rock commanding all around her. Anchored nearby, cruiser Yahagi easily read our flashing signal lights, “Preparations for sortie completed. ...”
At 1000 hours Yamato started out to sea, the only ship leaving that day. To the last man on board our hearts were filled with gaiety and pride. Hundreds of eyes from other vessels at anchor focused upon the slowly-gliding Yamato. It was a silent send- off, profoundly touching! Stealthy but majestic was our departure.
As we sailed toward the Suo-nada Sea, the captain and his staff on the bridge discussed the operation plan. A detailed chart of the waters surrounding Okinawa was outspread on the chart table. Above the island extended an arc whose focal point was the beach where the enemy had landed; the radius of this arc was 40 kilometers, the firing range of Yamato’s big guns.
At dusk Yamato lay anchored off the shore of Mitajiri. Several destroyers had arrived before us and had entered Kyo Channel, which was impassable to our ship. Our mooring was a temporary anchorage where all the ships could assemble, having left Kure independently to preserve utmost secrecy. No shore leaves were granted, and so the only thing left to do was await the “Go” sign.
Meanwhile all personnel had been ordered to gather on the deck. Dressed in fighting khakis, 3000 of us stood at silent attention as Captain Ariga explained our mission and objective and expressed an ardent hope that we would do our best. Then Captain Nomura, the Executive Officer, shouted— “Let Yamato, the Divine Wind, live up to her name!”
Reports that a United States task force was in the area and likely to launch an air strike at any time put us all on the alert. As we got under way for maneuvers next day, an early morning report informed us that enemy planes were headed in our direction. We stood fast at battle stations all day, but only one B-29 was sighted. He blindly dropped one medium bomb which inflicted no damage, but he must have taken aerial photographs and this thought disrupted our hopes for secrecy of movement. In the afternoon, reports came pouring in that many areas of Japan were suffering heavy air raids. This news stirred our emotions, and we thought bitterly, “Wait—just wait! —until we sortie!”
By sunset we had returned to the anchorage. A launch came alongside carrying 50 proud midshipmen who quickly scrambled on board for a tour of the ship. In the meantime our radio had picked up an enemy message: “U. S. task forces will raid all areas tomorrow.” The time for striking our decisive blow was imminent.
On April 4 a morning report announced the approach of U. S. planes. Without a moment’s loss, all ships began to leave port and disperse on the open sea, until the threat of attack was gone and we could return to the anchorage.
The following day a message from Imperial General Headquarters indicated that the tempo of battle in the Okinawa area was increasing. Our hearts and souls were kindled with a yearning for immediate action.
In the gunnery room, young officers exchanged heated words on the question of battleships versus aircraft. No one seemed to have a good word for battleships—they are doomed in an encounter with aircraft!
About 1730 the loudspeaker squeaked out a succession of orders: “All midshipmen, prepare to leave ship! . . . Each division, get ready for your sake ration! . . . Open the canteen!”
Each announcement brought closer the moment for our sortie. The midshipmen assembled for immediate debarkation but were invited to join in a final toast. When the navigation officer raised his sake cup, it slipped from his trembling fingers and fell to the floor. As it shattered, scornful eyes converged upon his shamefully downcast head. Every man present knew that death was coming eventually—and probably soon. And when it did, each one of us must greet it determinedly, light-heartedly.
So, in each division of the ship, drinking jamborees were held in solemn gaiety. At 2300 the Executive Officer issued an order resolutely, but with a little friendly touch, “It has been good to see all of you enjoying this day. Now our time is up. To your quarters and duty stations!” Then with one destroyer on either side of Yamato, all hands went into action to carry out the unloading of non-essential goods and loading of oil. A beautiful moonlit night it was, and the tense atmosphere of departure filled every corner of the ship.
In the first hour of April 6 a B-29 was heard roaring overhead. “All hands to duty stations!” came an immediate order. The plane, however, flew so high that we did not fire our AA guns. The enemy’s pertinacity in scouting made us grind our teeth in vexation.
About 0200 the midshipmen boarded a waiting destroyer and went ashore. They were so young and enthusiastic. To have served on Yamato must have been their most cherished desire. It was touching to see them leave the ship, their dreams shattered like the glass dropped on the floor.
All men who had been ordered to other vessels took this occasion to leave. Serious hospital cases, unable to withstand combat, were removed from the ship. We junior officers implored the skipper to also excuse those men past the 40 year mark, but following a conference of the senior officers, only a few were permitted to leave the ship.
Combat preparations were rapidly being concluded. As the fueling was finished, the destroyers were cut loose. However much oil they might have held, it was not nearly enough to fill Yamato’s big tanks. All this, every move, every step taken this day, was observed by U. S. aircraft.
With the advent of morning, the loudspeakers came to life: “Sailing at 1600; general assembly at 1800 on foredeck!” Watertight compartments were inspected over and over. The length and breadth of the ship was packed with tension, finally broken by the loudspeaker, “Mails closing 1000!”
Mails closing? Closing for what? For the last letter this hand of mine will scribble? There was little heart for it, but comrades persuaded each other to write, knowing full well that this was to be a last will and testament. I wrote: “Please dispose of all my things. Take good care of yourselves and give the best in whatever you do to the last! That and that only I pray of you!” Dropping this letter into the mail box severed my last tie with home. . . . This was the beginning of the end of everything.
Gathered in our quarters, we received an offering of His Majesty’s cigarettes and other things from the canteen. Those who had the duty left first to return to their stations. These men stood at attention at the door, each one holding a white bundle containing a clean uniform. Each had a sword swinging from his side as he bowed in silence, and left the room to the mumbled greeting of his comrades. As war comrades we were now so intimately related that mere glances spoke volumes.
By afternoon sortie preparations were completed. Yamato’s battle flag fluttered in the air. All weapons and equipment were in perfect readiness.
At 1600 the last of the once grand Japanese Fleet set sail for the front. Mighty Yamato, flying the Second Fleet flag, was escorted by Yahagi, and destroyers Fuyutsuki, Suzutsuki, Yukikaze, Kasumi, Isokaze, Hamakaze, Hatsushimo, and Asashio. Cruising at 12 knots, we glided through Bungo Channel. Twang! the final arrow was shot from the bow!
On the bridge my duty was to receive lookouts’ reports, brief them, and relay them to the Captain and his aides. To my left was Vice Admiral Seiichi Ito, the force commander, and his chief of staff, Rear Admiral Nobuei Morishita, stood on my right. I felt lucky then, and very proud.
At 1800 a final assembly was ordered, but since the Captain could not leave his post, the Executive Officer read the solemn lines addressed to us by the Commander in Chief, Combined Fleet: “Render this operation the turning point of the war!”
Then Kimigayo (the national anthem) rang out, followed by martial airs, and finally three cheers for His Imperial Majesty. Knifing through the waves, Yamato pressed on as wakes from the escorts splashed to the right and left of her.
On duty, I overheard the talk of our leaders. Our strike was to be coordinated with that of Kamikaze planes against the enemy in the Okinawa area. Counterattacks of the superior U.S. fighter planes against our clumsy suicide craft, heavily overloaded with explosives, had been overpowering. It became necessary therefore to decoy the enemy planes away so that our “special attack” planes could operate more effectively. This project called for something which would attract a maximum number of enemy planes and withstand their attacks for as long as possible. Yamato was the most likely bait, and the nine escorts were intended to prolong her life. Thus with our fleet absorbing the bulk of the pressure from enemy forces, the way would be open for our suicide planes to make tremendous scores. If we survived this diversionary phase of our assignment, we were to advance straight into the midst of the enemy and effect maximum destruction. To this end Yamato was filled to capacity with ammunition for every weapon she Carried. Her tanks, however, were loaded with only enough fuel for a one-way passage to Okinawa! This was not bravery, but suicide; a suicide born of desperation.
In the history of sea battles, how striking and unprecedented would this operation be! And how would it all turn out? The officers exchanged heated words as to the real value of this sortie.
“How is our air power? It must be near the zero mark!” . . . “Have you seen the reports on the magnitude of U.S. Forces at Okinawa? Our forces must be as nothing in comparison.” . . . “It surely is a murky situation, like groping through the inky night with a lantern.” . . . “We may fall victim to submarine attacks in Bungo Channel.” . . . “Halfway to our goal, we may fall prey to the enemy’s aerial torpedoes.” (This last prediction had many advocates among the young officers . . . and how right it proved to be!)
Meanwhile the vanguard of our advancing flotilla was passing the mid-point of Bungo Channel. This was the line of demarcation between friendly and hostile waters.
Suddenly the detector spotted what seemed to be a submarine. Quickly the equipment was focused in that direction. Still only faint registration, but torpedo attacks were certain and we had to be ready for them. Because of the night, we had to rely entirely on the underwater sound-detector.
Intercepted enemy messages gave our exact course and speed. Minute by minute they were keeping track of our position.
It was now 2345. In 15 minutes I was due on the bridge for lookout duty. Opening the curtains to the radar room, I started up the ladder to the bridge. Like a piece of paper my body was pressed by the wind against the iron rungs.
I was alone. No telling when another such opportunity might arise. From our course I estimated the direction, and faced toward my home. Grasping the iron rail tightly, I lowered my head in a brief prayer. This done, I was soon up the ladder.
On the darkened bridge not a soul was moving. The vague silhouettes of some 20 men silently engrossed in their work came into my sight. To distinguish one from the other in the dark, the highest ranking officers wore fluorescent initials on the back of their caps. The sight of these caps glowing eerily in the blackness was encouraging.
At daybreak on April 7 our fleet passed through Osumi Channel and proceeded southwesterly. One of Yamato’s reconnaissance seaplanes winged from its catapult. This plane could serve no purpose by going to the bottom of the sea with us, so it was returning to the haven of Kagoshima Naval Air Base.
Not a single escorting plane could be seen; nor was one to be seen from this time on. We were literally abandoned. But then no matter how many fighter planes we might have been able to have as air cover, it would have been but a drop in the bucket before the overwhelming number of hostile planes which could be brought to bear.
With the approach of dawn, the submarines quit trailing us, and in their stead two Martin patrol planes appeared. They circled just beyond the range of our AA guns, which still cut loose from time to time. The planes dodged the shells adroitly. Our aircraft radar was practically useless because of the weather. Clouds were hanging very low and visibility was poor. How dexterous the planes were! They darted in and out of the clouds and continued to shadow us.
On our right flank Hatsushimo began dropping back. Her flag hoist signalled “Engine trouble!” and we received a radio message that she was undergoing emergency repairs.
Despite great activity on Yamato's bridge, absolute silence prevailed. The deep lull before the storm!
The southern tip of Kyushu had already vanished. The distance between us and our homes widened steadily with every tick of the clock.
While on a course of 250°, we came across several small transports. They flashed, “Good luck! Wish you success!” as a farewell encouragement to the sanguine crew of Yamato.
Hatsushimo lagged farther and farther behind. Enemy planes were certain to attack a lone ship, so we turned back to let her rejoin, after which we returned to course.
About 0900 I went to the upper radar room. While Yamato was not on patrol duty (the ships were divided into two groups which engaged in radar patrolling duties alternately), the men sat around enjoying cigarettes from His Imperial Majesty and liquor from pocket flasks which were passed around.
In high glee, an orderly came along and exclaimed, “Ensign Yoshida, tonight’s refreshment will be shiruko!” (a red-bean soup sweetened with sugar, to which rice cakes are added). His broad smile showed his pleasure at being able to spread this news.
Lowering heavy clouds were followed by an outburst of rain which limited visibility severely and further increased the difficulties of our search duty.
Our noonday meal was simple and miserable in every respect; yet the polished white rice tasted good. It was followed by hot black tea, which we drank until our stomachs bulged. In our hearts something was smarting with every sip of tea. I went to my duty station on the bridge little dreaming that this would be my last watch in battleship Yamato.
At 1200 the fleet reached the halfway mark of the expedition. The Commander in Chief smiled broadly and said, “During the morning watches all was well, wasn’t it?”
Twenty minutes later the radar detected a formation of aircraft. From the after radar room the hoarse voice of the monitor could be heard reporting on the distance and direction of the approaching planes. This was so much like our routine drills that it was difficult to believe actual combat was at hand.
The targets were confirmed. Alerts were flashed to the other ships at the same time as our loudspeakers announced the emergency. Tension mounted and every lookout strained in the direction of the oncoming planes.
“Two Grummans, 25° to the left, altitude 8°, distance 4000 meters, advancing to the right!” shouted the gruff voice of No. 2 lookout. Now the planes could be seen with the naked eye.
“The target is now five planes—over 10— over 30!” continued the lookout with mounting excitement, as a great formation of planes roared out of the clouds and circled widely in a clockwise direction.
“Over 100 hostile planes are heading for us!” shouted the Navigator.
The Captain’s order, “Open fire!” was followed by the rattling crash of 24 AA and 150 machine guns which burst forth simultaneously from Yamato and were joined by the main batteries of her escorting destroyers.
Amid the deafening din of explosions a man nearby was struck dead by a shell fragment. I heard the dull thud of his skull striking against the wall and sniffed fresh blood in the pall of smoke rising from the shellfire.
On our left flank, Hamakaze had been hit and was beginning to sink. Her stern protruded high in the air. Within 30 seconds she plunged into the sea, leaving only a circle of swirling white foam.
Silvery streaks of torpedoes could be seen silently converging on us from all directions. Their distances and angles were estimated, and Yamato was brought parallel to them just in time to dodge their deadly blow. All-important now were the sightings, calculations, and decisions.
Grinding along at top speed of 26 knots we zigzagged desperately through the water. The rolling and vibrations were terrific! By now bombs and machine-gun bullets from the planes were showering the bridge.
Time after time we avoided torpedoes, often by hairbreadths, until 1245 when a hit was scored forward on the port side. Next we took two bomb hits aft, but the ship remained on an even keel. At this point the first wave of the enemy withdrew. These planes were F6Fs and TBFs and they had used 250-kilogram bombs.
The Chief of Staff remarked, “Judging from their skill and bravery, these must be the enemy’s finest pilots!”
“So at last a torpedo got us, eh?” said the Navigator with a complacent smile. There was, however, neither reply nor smile from the others present. His arms folded, the Admiral was silent as three corpses were carried from the bridge on stretchers. These were victims of machine-'gun bullets.
An order from the Division Officer was handed to me: “Radar room on aft deck damaged by bombs; inspect and report on damage at once!”
The after radar room damaged by bombs! Quickly before my eyes appeared the faces of Lieutenant (jg) Omori, Petty Officer Hasegawa, and the others. Naturally I would have been with them had it not been my turn for patrolling duty.
Into the haze of smoke I dashed toward the after deck. The ladder to the radar room was missing so I lowered a rope and slid down. Despite its heavy steel walls, this solid room had been split in two and its upper half blown to pieces. There was no trace of the delicate instruments, the bombs having played havoc with everything in the room. A human torso was blown against one bulkhead and other fragments were scattered here and there. But these gruesome remnants were all that was left of eight human beings! The rest must have been pulverized into thin air by the bombs.
A roaring noise pushed closer and closer and the deck vibrated uncannily beneath my feet. Looking up I saw the second wave of hostile planes approaching with horrifying rapidity. I thought, “This is not where I should die. My duty is on the bridge.” Head downward I ran desperately back toward my station.
I was about to scramble onto the ladder beneath the foremast when a blast caused me to blink for a split second. I opened my eyes to find only a pall of white smoke arising from where the machine-gun fire-control tower should have been.
Dazedly I began to climb the ladder, repeating aloud my report on the radar room, “All personnel killed in action—- equipment completely destroyed—use impossible!” Machine-gun bullets were striking in rapid succession against the steel plates beside me. I finally reached the ladder top and gave my report to the division officer.
During bombing and torpedo runs a certain amount of straight flying by the attacking planes is essential. These enemy planes, however, managed to maintain such a vulnerable position for only the briefest interval and then immediately shifted to zigzag flying. This was most disconcerting for our gunners whose peaceful firing practice against sham targets had been quite different. Here were incessant explosions, blinding flashes of light, thunderous noises, and crushing weights of blast pressure!
Most of the planes in this second attack carried torpedoes. Three scored direct hits on our port side near the after mast. Even the invulnerable Yamato was unable to withstand such overwhelming attacks, and our tremendous firepower seemed all but useless. As soon as the planes had dropped their deadly loads they would turn in a lateral direction to avoid our fire, and then they would machine-gun the bridge. As though the very breath of the hostile planes were being puffed against us, the misty smoke of the explosions, the roar of the bursting shells, and the pillars of flashing flames, all converged against the bridge windows with terrific force.
Now and then a hostile plane was shot down and plunged flaming into the sea, but its mission of dropping torpedoes or bombs had already been accomplished. Not a single enemy plane was rash enough to carry out a crash dive attack on us. That these pilots repeated their attacks with such accuracy and coolness was a sheer display of the unfathomable, undreamt of strength of our foes! There was nothing for us to do but conserve our fighting power, wait for their exhaustion, and avoid as much damage as possible.
One after another Yamato’s machine-gun turrets were blown high into the air by direct hits. Our electrically operated turrets were another cause for concern. Loss of power made them inoperable, and blind firing meant decreased accuracy. Soon there were signs of unrest and shirking among the enlisted men.
White smoke was now trailing from Yamato’s aircraft deck. Near misses ahead and on our bows exploded into rows of great pillars of water through which we forged. Bitten by an inexpressible feeling I wiped the sea-drenched chart table dry with a piece of cloth. I was soaked to the skin as the second attack wave withdrew. In the twinkling of an eye the third wave came at us like a driving thunderstorm, scoring five direct hits on our port side, and the clinometer began to register a slight list.
There were so many casualties among damage-control personnel that it became impossible to maintain our watertight integrity. But the most serious problem confronting us was the damage to the control room which made it difficult to counterflood our starboard compartments.
“All hands to work to trim ship!” ordered the Captain over the loudspeaker. We had to correct the listing no matter what the sacrifices might be. The order was given to pump sea water into the starboard engine and boiler rooms. These were the largest and lowest ones in the ship and their flooding should produce optimum results toward correcting the list. I hastily phoned these rooms to warn the occupants of the flooding order, but it was too late. Water, both from the torpedo hits and the flood valves, rushed into these compartments and snuffed out the lives of the men at their posts, several hundred in all. Caught between cold sea water and steam and boiling water from the damaged boilers they simply melted away— a thankless end to all their days of toil in the scorching heat and deafening noise of their laborious duty.
The sacrifice of the engine room personnel scarcely affected the ship’s list. We were dependent on one screw for propulsion and were losing speed rapidly. The needle of the speedometer swung crazily.
The fourth attack wave now approached on our port bow. More than 150* planes!
Here and there torpedoes pierced new holes in the port side, while more than ten bombs hit on the mizzenmast and quarter deck. On the bridge casualties from machine-gun bullets were mounting, and shrapnel flew all over. We were completely at the mercy of the hot relentless steel.
All of a sudden, a heavy pressure fell upon me from three sides. Three men standing near me had been struck simultaneously. I managed to shake them off and they crumpled limply to the deck. Two of them had been killed instantly. The third, Ensign Hishio, rose up on his left knee trying desperately to bandage his right thigh with a blood-soaked towel. I shouted for a stretcher, but even as we placed him on it his face turned ghastly pale, he opened his lips as if to say something, smiled slightly, and fell back dead. His fleeting smile changed into a distorted grimace.
One orderly, a youth of 18, stood trembling, his lips quivering as he looked upon this scene of destruction. So transfixed was he with shock that I had to strike him on the jaw to bring him to his senses. His face flushed with a childish look.
Casualties on the bridge were becoming grievous. Already reduced by half, those remaining now had room to move around much more readily.
Entering the upper radar room I saw a pile of instruments destroyed beyond repair from continuous hits as well as the recoil from our own big guns. The radar personnel were huddled together for protection. I heard afterward that they all went down with the ship in that nestled position. This often happens to men who have no designated duties in combat.
The wireless room, noted for its watertight construction, was completely flooded. Here we lost the valuable services of the Communication Officer and his subordinates, forcing Yamato to rely entirely on flag and light signals. What could such a modern giant do deprived of modern ears and mouth?
Some 3000 meters ahead of Yamato, light cruiser Yahagi was now dead in the water, signalling destroyer Isokaze to come alongside. Noticing this, one group of planes preparing to dive at Yamato reversed course and headed for these two ships. Yahagi was honeycombed by more than ten torpedoes, and grey spumes swirled about her as she went to the bottom of the sea. Isokaze, also at a standstill, was emitting a pall of black smoke.
Fuyuzuki to port and Yukikaze to starboard signalled, “All is well with us!” as Yamato surged sluggishly ahead through the mountainous waves. These two ships were all that remained intact of our nine escorts. The other seven were at a standstill, listing awkwardly, or sunk.
With no hostile planes overhead, this was the first prolonged interval of quiet since battle had been joined. Bombs, bullets, and torpedoes had reduced Yamato to a state of complete confusion. Communications were disrupted beyond any hope of repair and the chain of command was in utter disorder.
On the quarterdeck men could be seen desperately trying to extinguish a blazing fire. The desolate decks were reduced to shambles, with nothing but cracked and twisted steel plates remaining. Shell holes pock-marked the entire upper deck. All of the big guns were inoperable because of the increasing list, and only a few machine guns were intact.
There was not time enough to report all the dead and wounded. Many bullets had found targets below the bridge, and one devastating blast in the emergency dispensary had killed all its occupants including the medical officers and corpsmen. The casualties were so numerous by this time that my mind was confused as to who lived and who was dead.
My feeling of exhaustion had passed and I was hungry. Both pockets of my raincoat were filled with biscuits which I now munched, keeping my eyes riveted on the clinometer. The biscuits tasted delicious.
Once again waves of enemy planes roared over us in rapid succession. Taking advantage of our reduced speed, their attacks were concentrated against our rudder. Unable to evade them, we could do nothing but wring our perspiring hands in desperation and wait for the inevitable stern explosion.
The voice of the Chief Quartermaster could be heard sputtering over the telephone, giving reports on the flooded condition of the next compartment and repeating the steering orders one by one. All of a sudden an excited report came over the phone, “Flooding imminent! Flooding imminent!” as a split-second detonation aft reverberated throughout the ship; and the reports were ended.
Yamato’s distress flag was hoisted, accompanied by the code signal, “Our rudder in trouble!”
This was the last flag to fly above the great Yamato. Emitting pillars of flame, her stern seemed to protrude high in the air for a moment. The sub-rudder had been turned fully to the left when the steering room became flooded. Now the main rudder was swung full right, but the big ship failed to respond. The main rudder steering room was gradually flooding and she was forced to turn in a counter-clockwise direction. Death’s paralysis had taken over her movements!
From near the funnel, black smoke was rising in great puffs. There was a sudden increase in our list, and speed fell off to only seven knots! Now we were easy prey to the planes.
As if we did not have trouble enough, destroyer Kasumi came dashing headlong for us on our starboard bow, flying the distress flag. Her rudder must have been damaged too. In our helplessness there seemed to be no way to avoid a collision. At the last instant she skimmed past us so closely that she all but scraped our paint.
Our list had now reached 35°! As though awaiting this moment the enemy came plunging through the clouds to deliver the coup de grâce. This attack against the impotent Yamato was certain of success.
It was impossible to evade the bombs; all scored direct hits. Lying flat on the deck, I braced myself to withstand the shocks.
I could hear the Captain vainly shouting, “Hold on, men! Hold on, men!” But how many could even hear his words? All electric power was wiped out; the loudspeaker was silent. Great columns of water suddenly rose high into the air on the port side amidships. We were almost swept off our feet by the cascading water as it fell.
We had suffered terrific punishment, and now the clinometer registered a rapid increase in our list. My position was not uncomfortable, for by this time the canting deck provided a good back rest. I managed to crawl along the deck.
Suddenly there was an odd emptiness in the air above us—not a single hostile plane was in the sky! Had we won survival after all? Comparative tranquility settled over the ship. But still the needle of the clinometer continued its stealthy advance.
I heard the Executive Officer report to the Captain in a heart-broken voice, “Correction of listing hopeless!” I repeated this information throughout the bridge at the top of my voice.
Men were jumbled together in disorder on the deck, but a group of staff officers squirmed out of the pile and crawled over to the Commander in Chief for a final conference, after which he struggled to his feet. His Chief of Staff then arose and saluted. A prolonged silence followed during which they regarded each other solemnly.
The Commander in Chief looked around, shook hands deliberately with his staff officers, and then went resolutely into his cabin. This was the last that was seen of the Second Fleet Commander, Vice Admiral Seiichi Ito.
Of the bridge personnel there were fewer than ten surviving at this time. The deadly silence was broken at last by new destructive explosions. On the deck below a group of men hastily tried to abandon ship and were lost. I heard the Captain say, “What has become of His Imperial Majesty’s portrait?” The officer in charge of the portrait reported that he was guarding it with his life.
We saw the Navigator and his assistant tying themselves to the binnacle to prevent the disgrace of surviving when the ship went down. We started to do the same.
“Hey! What are you doing? Into the water and swim—all you young men!” thundered the Chief of Staff with an angry voice. Plunging among us, he swung a good sound blow at each man to move us to immediate action. Slowly we dropped our ropes to comply with his order.
Several points had been settled in that final conference. Fighting was to be stopped immediately, all personnel were to be rescued, and the ship was to be abandoned without a moment’s loss. We had not received this information, but the escorting ships had been notified by signal. Emergency signals atop our mainmast were desperately flashing to the destroyers, “Approach nearer, approach nearer!” They dared not come alongside Yamato lest the explosions and the downward pressure of the whirlpool prove fatal to them.
The horizon seemed to take on a mad new angle. Dark waves splattered and reached for us as the stricken ship heeled to the incredible list of 80 degrees!
The Captain’s orderly carried a further command to all sections of the superstructure, “All hands to the upper deck!” It was obviously too late to save the men below, but the Captain was resolved to rescue as many as possible.
Somewhere from above two code books dropped beside me. I stowed them in the chart table from force of habit. I was at a loss whether to abandon my post or remain with the ship as the senior officers were doing. There was no assignment left for me, so moving warily I reached for the lookout port in an effort to pull myself through and escape. I tumbled to the deck with a cry of pain when the man ahead stepped abruptly on my hands. I quickly scrambled upright again and crawled out through the port.
Stubbornly refusing all help, the Navigator and his assistant had lashed themselves tightly together. As the ship rolled over they merely stared at the onrushing waves. On the protruding starboard bilge keel, now well out of water, a row of survivors gave three cheers for His Imperial Majesty.
The deck was nearly vertical and Yamato’s battle flag was almost touching the billowing waves. Below the flag a young sailor clung unwaveringly. Willingly he had volunteered to stand guard in this honorable duty. What a proud thing it was to die such a death!
The waves began to dash against the deck. Instead of being swallowed up, men on board were flipped and flung far out into the water. But suddenly a cone 50 meters deep opened into the sea. Some men disappeared into this whirlpool; others were just tossed about. A kaleidoscopic pattern of human beings was imprinted in this resplendent watery cone.
Yamato now lay flat on her beam ends— a list of 90 degrees. Shells of the big guns skidded and bumped across the deck of the ammunition room, crashing against the bulkhead and kindling the first of a series of explosions. It was unthinkable that anyone could survive.
Then the ship slid under completely. Down we went with some 2000 rounds of armor-piercing and anti-aircraft shells. With the sinking came the blast, rumble, and shock of compartments bursting from air pressure and exploding magazines already submerged.
Bursting for air I was heaved up, down, tossed about, and pounded flat. Strangling, I kicked and fought toward the only light I could see—a gray, greenish glow in a weird and watery world. And then I was amazingly spewed out into daylight.
As the capsized ship submerged, huge fingers of flame went flashing and skyrocketing into the dark clouds above. (According to a destroyer officer these flames leaped 6000 meters into the sky. They were clearly visible from Kagoshima in Kyushu.)
The twirling water pulled me down once more beneath the surface. A few seconds later an explosion blasted me up' again. Many men were engulfed by the dreadful suction of the ship’s funnel. Had I been ten feet nearer I would have been another victim. Oil from the ruptured fuel tanks made my eyes smart as I floated on the surface. I wiped my face and gasped for air. Around me were clusters of swimmers, floating bodies, and occasional patches of splintered and charred debris. This was all that remained of the world’s mightiest battleship after just two hours of antiaircraft battle.
A misty rain fell as one battle ended and another began—this time against bleeding wounds, smarting oil, coldness, and sharks. Some men cheered themselves with songs; others went mad and sank to the bottom. Still others with deep wounds were groaning in pain, although the black oil served to retard bleeding. The enemy carrier planes were devoting their full attention to the remaining destroyers, so at least we had relief from the relentless rain of hot steel.
I heard the Assistant Gunnery Officer shouting, “All officers, gather men together around you!” and the need for prompt action brought me out of my daze. I began to gather the men closest to me, giving words of encouragement and cautioning them to conserve their strength.
Rafts were needed for the seriously wounded who still floated. Here and there were a few charred sticks but we could find no wood suitable for building rafts. How could there be any sizable timbers anyway! I turned away to search for other drifting articles and saw that the cold water was rapidly taking toll of the men.
Suddenly a destroyer was headed toward us at top speed. At the last moment it swung its stern wide to the left, narrowly missing my group who, fortunately, were merely buffeted about by the wake. But the miserable men nearer to the rushing craft were drawn into the powerful screws.
On board the destroyer somebody was waving signal flags at us reading, “Wait awhile!” Its AA guns were still hammering vainly at the swooping enemy planes. I silenced the shouting men and urged them to wait patiently for the next move.
Still desperately countering the attacking planes, the destroyer came to a standstill some 200 meters away. All those men who were excited and eager to be first were encouraged to take it easy and swim forward with the aid of floating pieces of debris. It was clear that haste would sap the men’s strength and prevent their reaching the ship. In the long struggle to our destination the black oil felt as thick as melted caramels.
As we neared the destroyer, a clamor of voices could be heard on all sides. Suddenly with the lifeline from the deck dangling before us, the bitter truth of man’s selfishness burst upon us, The first two men to reach the rope grasped eagerly, but no sooner had they clenched it then both slipped back into the water never to appear again. Another man was being pulled up by the rope when a frantic shipmate in the water sought to hang onto his shoes, with the result that both of them slid into the oily sea forever. As one man was being lifted up, I saw a long arm reach out to grab him, and I knocked the arm aside quickly. All of us in the water were desperate, and I was trying to rescue as many men as possible. It was, therefore, a great shock for me to suddenly find myself alone in the water. Where were they? How many had been rescued? Only four? The majority of them had vanished helplessly beneath the waves.
From the deck above voices shouted, “Hurry up!” as the ship began to move. I saw a rope ladder hanging down crazily from the ship’s side, but it was near the stern where the screws were churning the water to a froth. This, however, was my only chance. I lunged forward and hooked my hands onto the ladder which went taut with the weight of my body. It felt like I was being torn apart by the drag of the waves. My hands started to slip. Desperately and stubbornly I braced myself and hung on.
Smeared with blood and oil, I dangled precariously from the ladder which was gradually raised until two men on board could grasp my hands. On the deck I lay prostrate, too exhausted even to lift my head. Men removed my uniform and thrust fingers down my throat forcing me to vomit the oil I had swallowed. They asked if my clothes contained any valuables. How in the world could I have thought of valuables? Then they wrapped me in a blanket and said, “Your head is wounded, Sir. Hurry to the dispensary.” I had been unaware of any wounds, and though they mentioned a wide gash in my scalp, I felt no pain whatsoever.
Stumbling now and then I weaved my way into the corpse-filled dispensary of destroyer Fuyulsuki.
Two medical officers, their white head- bands smeared with blood, were attending the wounded. Several stitches were taken in my scalp and the oil was washed out of my eyes. The ship was filled with dreadful smell of death; a rankling, intolerable odor.
Yamato’s vain sortie was over. We were on our way home.
According to Yamato's chief lookout, Captain Kosaku Ariga had gone down gallantly with his ship. I also learned that the Executive Officer, Captain Jiro Nomura, had been rescued by destroyer Yukikaze. It is a wonder that he was saved, for he had been stationed below decks. No sooner had the after guns of Yamato been silenced than he made his way to the main deck where he distributed candies, biscuits, and His Majesty’s brand cigarettes to the men. He seemed, however, to have forgotten something. He suddenly remembered that it was “the call of nature,” and ordered the men to stand in a row and urinate at will. Afterwards, when the ship went down, he had been blown clear and was saved.
When I awakened in the morning of April 8, sleep had restored my strength. On the deck of the ship I washed my face and the spring sun poured into my eyes, which still smarted, seemingly as a reminder that I was one of the few who survived. Soon the contour of the mountains came into sight. Their beauty took away my breath and I sighed with joy in spite of myself.
To be alive is wonderful after all!
* Ensign Yoshida reports the number of attacking planes as they appeared to him at the time, and it is understandable that his estimates are inexact.