alive. Alone in kaiten. Last 6 hours. At 0245 Cpt Yokota came to cabin – announced the kaiten attack commence 15 mins. Stood in a circle and tied hachimaki of brother before us. Goto: ‘Just another training run, boys.’ Abe to Kusakabe: ‘You are a demon chess player, Ensign.’ Kusakabe: ‘Your left hook is the demon, Lieutenant.’ Toured I-333 – thanked crew for bringing us here safely. Saluted, man by man. Shook hands before entered kaitens via chutes. Slick sealed the hatches on us. His face last I saw. I-333 dived for final approach. Radioman First Class Hosokawa maintained telephone link until release, providing last-minute orientation. Abe released 0315. Heard clamps fall loose. Goto released 0320. Kusakabe floated free 0335. Next 5 minutes I thought many things, focus difficult. Hosokawa in Nagasaki dialect: ‘I’ll be thinking of you. May glory be yours.’ Final human words. Foreclasps released. Started engine. Rears released. Floated free. Thrust sharp left avoid conning tower/periscope shears. Proceeded ESE heading, holding depth 5 metres. Surfaced 0342 confirm position with visual fix. Enemy fleet clearly silhouetted harbour lights. Troop carriers, transport ships, fuel tankers, at least 3 battleships, 3 destroyers, 2 heavy cruisers. No carriers, many fat targets. Eating, asleep, shitting, smoking, drinking, talking Americans. I, their executioner. Strange sensation. At strategy meeting on I-333 agreed first kaitens should target distant vessels – guesswork required. Used kids choosing-chant: Do – re – ni – shi – ma – sho – ka? Ka – mi – sa – ma – no – iu – to – explosion. Shock waves rocked kaiten. Steadied periscope, saw fuel tanker, plum-blossom fire, smoke already obscuring stars. Secondary explosion. Orange. Beautiful, terrible, could not tear eyes away. Flares climbed, lit Passage brighter than day. Hunted, I dived. Waking dream. Being, not doing. Chose nearest large naval ship and manouevred to appropriate angle. Klaxons, engines, chaos. Another major explosion – kaiten, nearby depth-charge, no knowing. Patrol boat? Vibrations nearer, nearer, nearer – dived to 8 metres – passed over. Sizable explosion to starboard. Loneliness – afraid brothers leave me here among hostile strangers not my race. Slowed to 2 kph, surfaced for position check. Fires/smoke/after-explosions 2 locations. Chose large outline due west – light cruiser? 150 metres. Eyes dazzled by searchlight, but cloaked by chaos on-shore. Dived to 6–7 metres. Throttled to 18 kph. Flying, strange air. Cut to dead halt. Surfaced, final check. Cruiser filled the night. 80 metres. Saw figures streaming. Ants. Fireflies. Dived 5 metres. Primed warhead. One thought: ‘This is my final thought.’ Opened throttle lever to maximum velocity. Acceleration shoved me back, hard . . . 70 metres closing, 60, 50, 40, 30, 20, impact next moment, impact now
Clang like temple bell. Wild spinning – up = down, down = up, drilling, flung left right up down, loose objects flying, me too. Lungs empty. So this death, I think, then I think, Can dead think? Pain rings from head erased further thought. Lurching crunch > hung downwards > judder halt. Engines howling, rudder control dead and free in hand, scream noise from engines, heat climbing, burning oil smell – same moment I realize not dead and must cut engines, engines die. Failure. Warhead did not detonate. Kaiten glanced off hull = bamboo spear off metal helmet. Periscope sights slashed face, broke nose. Sat, listened to noises from surface. Tried to ignite TNT manually, strike casing with wrench. Tore off fingernail in attempt. Impact broke chronometer. Minutes or hours, cannot tell. Periscope blackness> blueness now. Flask of whisky. Will drink, put these pages into flask. Takara. Message in bottle in dead shark. Learn this song, Takara?
Corpses adrift and corpses swollen,
Corpses abed in the swollen sea,
Corpses adream in the mountain grasslands,
We shall die, we shall die, we shall die for the emperor, and we shall never look back.
Abed in the swollen sea. Air thinner. Or imagine air thinner. Now? Divers may discover me – typhoon shakes me loose, beaches me – remain here end of time. Kaiten was not way to glorious death. Kaiten is urn. Sea is tomb. Do not blame us who die so long before noon.
‘No hope,’ answers the woman who is not Ai. It is after midnight but she sounds more amused than angry. She has a brick-thick Osaka accent. ‘Sorry.’
‘Oh. Can I ask when, uh, Miss Imajo is expected back?’
‘Feel free to ask, but whether I answer is another Q.’
‘When is Miss Imajo due back? Please?’
‘And tonight’s top news story: Ai Imajo is summoned to the ancestral