資料1ミッドウェー海戦;「赤城」の最期 Reference 1 The Battle of Midway: Final Days of the “Akagi”

資料室ーReference

「赤城」の最期 by 山野幸吉

注; 第二次世界大戦の学徒動員の一人として、筆者の父、山野幸吉は、法律を学んでいた大学を6か月繰り上げ卒業をし、海軍に召集され、海軍経理学校での訓練を経て、すぐにミッドウェー海戦に配属された。戦後、海軍経理学校の会員と家族のための同窓誌「破竹」に掲載された原稿である。生き残った会員それぞれが、日本の平和を誓い、自らの体験と近況を記述している。

もうかれこれ30年の昔の話である。私が築地の海軍経理学校で補修学生としての訓練を終え、第一航空艦隊司令部付主計士官として空母「赤城」に乗り組み、ミッドウェー近海の厚い霧に包まれたように、遠く薄くかすんで、時も日もまた経緯も、さだかに思いだせないほどである。大学を出たばかりで、短期間の訓練を経たばかりのわたしには、MI作戦の全貌はおろか、この作戦に参加する部隊や艦名すらしるよしもなかった。それらについては、われわれが柱島を出撃してから、専任の杉山續主計中尉(生徒出身)や若い士官からガンルームで聞かされたものである。しかし、かえりみて、このミッドウェー敗戦は、日本海軍にとってはもとより、若い、いささか気負いだっていたわたしにとって、まったく衝撃的な出来事であり、日本の戦局に、私のその後の人生観にもっとも大きな影響を与えた海戦であったという意味からも、霧の中の晴れ間のように記憶のさだかな箇所を中心に、当時の思い出を、私の体験記としてつづってみたいと思うのである。だから、これは資料や戦史を基礎にした戦記物語りではない。当時わたしが経験した「赤城」の敗戦記であることを断っておきたい。

「赤城」が柱島を出撃したのは確か五月二十七日であった。たまたま、「赤城」の庶務主任を拝命した沢登君と、「赤城」を探し求めて、柱島で乗艦してから一週間もたっていない。

美しい島島にとり囲まれた、絶好の泊地、柱島に、「赤城」「加賀」といった超弩級の空母や「霧島」「金剛」「榛名」「扶桑」といった戦艦群がその偉容を誇り、そして、「赤城」のすぐそばには六万数千トンといわれる新鋭の巨艦「大和」が、連合艦隊司令長官旗をはためかせていた。わたしはこの柱島でみた、そして感じた帝国海軍の圧倒的な偉容、その輝かしい開戦以来の戦果、そして、それ故に全国民からよせられた無限の期待と信頼感を忘れることはできない。

この一航艦(「赤城」「加賀」)二航艦(「飛龍」「蒼龍」)を中心とする機動部隊の出航の前であったか、後であったか、忘れたが、後甲板に総員集合がかかり、そこで艦長からミッドウェー作戦に出撃する旨の訓示があった。わたしは豊後水道を静かに太平洋に出ようとする「赤城」の舷側から、「赤城」につづく「加賀」「飛龍」「蒼龍」のかすんだ、しかし頼もしい空母群を眺めながら、胸のひきしまる興奮を覚えたものである。

どうしたものか、「赤城」が出撃してから、ミッドウェー海戦を迎えるまでの一週間ばかりの艦内生活の記憶はきわめて薄いのである。わたしが乗艦してからの期間が短く、しかも司令部付であるから「赤城」乗組員との交際がなかったためかもしれない。とくに、わたしの配置は敵信班といって、「赤城」の前下部電信室、船倉甲板とかいう一番船底に近い薄暗い部屋であった。そうでなくとも、四万二千トンの巨艦である「赤城」の内部はきわめて複雑怪奇で、初めての艦船勤務であるわたしにとって、どこに行くにも一回でたどりつくことは容易でなかった。まして、前下部電信室はマンホールを三つもくぐりぬけなければならず、戦闘配備についた後などは、マンホールをさがすことさえ並大抵ではなかった。幸いに、杉山主計中尉とわたしが同室であったので、かれの適切な指導で、この複雑な艦内の様子に比較的早く習熟することができた。

敵信班には、特務中尉の下に六、七人の電信兵がいて、敵の発信をキャッチして、敵艦の呼出符号により、あるいは敵の暗号書によって、敵艦の艦種、位置または情報を知り、これを艦橋の司令部に連絡するところである。いわば電信による司令部の頭脳といってもよいであろう。

今思い出しても楽しかったのは、短い間ではあったが、ガンルームでの生活であった。杉山主計中尉から碁のてほどきをうけたのもここであったし、飛行機乗りの、あけっぴろげなS通いの話や、命知らずの手柄話を聞かせてくれた若い士官たちも今や昔でなつかしい。

しかし、それも6月にはいって、ミッドウェーがだんだん近くなるにしたがって、日一日と緊張してゆく様子がありありとうかがわれ、話も今度の作戦の成否についての論議とか、ミッドウェー島政略の目的は何かといった話題が多くなっていった。

六月の三日ごろであったか、わたしは一人で「赤城」の甲板に出て夜空を仰いだことがある。あたり一面深い霧につつまれて、視界はほとんどきかなかった。太平洋の大きな波のうねりが巨艦をゆっくりとおし上げてゆくようで、腹にこたえるようであった。艦はエンジンの音をひびかせて、ステッデーに一路ミッドウェーに直進している。六月五日がミッドウェー攻略の日であることは聞いていたし、敵がもうすぐ近くにせまっているように感じた。敵にこの大攻略部隊が見つからねばよいがと祈らざるをえなかった。この霧が、あるいは、天祐であるのかもしれないとも思った。ふと見上げると空の霧がはれて、そこ、ここに星が不気味に輝いていた。わたしは何かしら、人間のちからではどうにもならない運命のようなものを感じた。そして、この、世界に誇る大航空艦隊は必ず敵を撃滅してくれると自分に言い聞かせながら、部屋に降りていった。

明くれば六月四日、いよいよ明日はミッドウェー攻撃の日である。艦は今や二十四、五ノットの速力で、まっしぐらにミッドウェーに向かっている。ガンルームでは、敵機に触接されているとか、明日の攻撃は相当てごわいとかいう話をかわす士官もいて、今までにない緊張感がただよっていた。

わたしは何となく自室に降りていって、身の回り品をかたづけることにした。そして、自分の行李の中に、神奈川県庁に二週間ばかり着て通った洋服や、中学生時代からたんねんに書きつづけた数冊の日記帳をみつけて、これらを家に送っておけばよかったのにと後悔した。いまさら、片付けてみてもはじまらない。艦が沈んだらおしまいではないか。しかし、わたしに荷物をかたづけさせようとした動機は、明日の決戦をひかえて、わたしに容易ならぬ覚悟をせまる何物かであった。前下部電信室も、いよいよあたただしくなり、電信を持ち回る水兵の顔も緊張の色がみなぎり、時折、艦橋からくる敵艦についての問い合わせも、しげくなってきた。その晩、上段のベッドに寝ていた杉山中尉から「山野中尉、明日はいよいよ大海戦ですよ。早く、ぐっすり寝ておくんですね。」

と声をかけられたが、わたしは何となく興奮気味で、なかなか寝つけなかった。

ドガーン、ズシーン!想像を絶する物凄い音であった。前下部電信室にいて、「やられた」と直感した。それはたった今、第一次攻撃隊から「ミッドウェーの攻撃を敢行し、多大の戦果を納めたるも、第二次攻撃の要ありと認む。」という電信の入った直後のことであった。

わたしは五日、今日の暁からの出来事を瞬間的に思い浮かべた。総動員を起こし後、直ちに握り飯を食べたのは昨夜のことのようでもあるし、今朝のようでもあった。しかし、朝もやの中を戦闘機や艦爆が、「赤城」の上を舞って隊列を整え、一路ミッドウェーの攻撃に発信したのは、朝もあけ方で日の出の前であった。帽を振って、きっと成功してくれよと祈ったわたしたちであった。

しばらくたってから、杉山中尉から、『山野君、敵機襲来。「赤城」の機銃が敵機をやっつけている。上がって見ておきたまえ。と電話してくれた。』私は艦橋の真下に近い舷側に駆け上がった。見れば辺り一面、硝煙がたちこめて、激しい海戦の開始を告げていた。たちまち、艦の高角砲が火を吹いた。間もなく、機銃のすさまじい音が耳をつんざいた。敵の飛行機が燃えながら海中に落ちてゆく。また一機、また一機と艦尾から舷側に沿って、ものすごい速さで飛んでいく敵機が、わが方の機銃で的確に落とされていくのを六機まで数えた。それにしてもこの無敵空母「赤城」に艦スレスレに攻撃をしかけてくる敵機!これは容易ならぬ事態であると思った。あるいは「万一のことがあるかもしれない」という不安がわたしの頭をかすめた。そうだ。「配置につかねばならない。死ぬなら自分の部署で死ぬべきだ。」とっさにそう思って、わたしは敵信班の電信室に降りたのだった。

「赤城」に、とうとう爆弾が命中したにちがいない。その直後の前下部電信室は、ばかにしずかであった。みんな、不安そうに顔を見合わせた。だが今の今まで着実な音をたてていた、エンジンの音が弱くなったように感じた。何か全速で前進していた艦が、急に速力が弱くなったようにも感じた。続いて、ドガーンという震動で、わたしははねとばされそうになった。同時に、硝煙らしい煙が部屋に流れてきた。もはや電話もきかなくなり、電信も通じなくなって、機関の空転りするような、むなしい音が聞こえ出した。「やっぱり、爆弾にやられたか。」という不安が、ようやく実感となってせまってきた。艦の動きもおかしくなってきた。やけに騒々しい音が連続的に起こった。

みんなもっとも不吉な予感が当たったときのように、沈黙のまま顔をみつめ合った。ただそれだけで、お互いがすべてを理解した。全員が戦闘配置について、任務を遂行しているときは、どんな危険があっても意識しない。たとえ隣の人が銃撃でたおれてもこわくない。しかし、一度、自分の持場を失って、戦争の中にとりのこされると、急に生身の人間が頭をもたげて、不安と焦燥にかられ、臆病になってくる。戦争と人間はそういうものなのである。

どのくらい時間がたったのか分からない。艦は完全に停止してしまったようである。その間、間断なく爆撃音と強い震動が続いた。お互いに何を言ったのかも記憶にないが、火薬の匂いのする煙がたちこめ、そこここに水漏れがはげしくなってきた。艦を安定させるために注水されているのではないかという疑念が私の頭をかすめた。「甲板に待避しよう。」「職場から離れちゃいかん。」「何か連絡があるはずだ。」不安な自信のない応答がつづいた。しかし、今や電信室は完全に機能しなくなっており、被爆後の艦の様子もまったく不安につつまれている。これ以上、前下部電信室にとどまる必要はないのだ。「甲板に出よう」だれかの声にはげまされて、三、四人で、電信室の上のハッチを開けて外に出た。わたしもその中の一人であった。どこをどう行って後甲板に出たのか分からない。ただ途中数回にわたって、爆発音と震動でなげとばされ、軍服は破れふしぶしは痛かった。

それよりも「赤城」の甲板一帯は、まこと地獄絵さながらの悲惨な光景を展開していた。

真先に目についたのは、上部格納庫の近辺、火災と煙に包まれたあたりに、二、三人の水兵がホースをもって懸命に消火している姿だ。次の瞬間、ドガーンという爆発音と同時に、火災のなかに吹きとばされた。ものすごい爆風がおそってきた。しばらくすると、また数名の水兵が消火している。ものの5、6分も消火するとまた吹きとばされる。熱い爆風が顔をよぎる。このような光景が4、5回くりかえされた。

あたりをみると、重傷者や死体がころがっている。元気なものはあちこちに群れをつくって、放心したかのように、次の誘爆をおそれるかのように、ジーッと成りゆきを見まもっている。しきりと大きな怒声か号令がきこえるが、聞きとれない。と、ものすごい速さで敵の小型機が頭上を通りすぎた。機銃の音が一きわ騒騒しくきこえた。海には、死体か生きている人か分からぬが、あちこちに漂っている。飛行機の残がいもある。誘爆は一定の間隔をおいて、次から次へとくりかえされ、その度に艦は大きく震動した。何しろ、800キロの魚雷が連続的に誘爆するのである。はるか向こうには「加賀」が火災につつまれていた。「蒼龍」もやられたらしい。だれかが、「敵の潜水艦だ」と叫んだ。だれも反応する者もない。そのはずである、何とも手の下しようがないのだ。わたしはふと日本海海戦の絵巻物を思い浮かべた。海は静かで空は限りなく青かった。この「赤城」の地獄絵がまるで嘘のようである。今朝、ミッドウェー攻撃隊を見送った、あの「赤城」の勇姿はもはやどこにもない。海戦の悲惨さがしみじみと感ぜられた。「自分もここで戦死だろう。まあいいさ、多くの立派な友人が残っているのだから。親父やお袋は元気だろうな。おれもだれか「いい人」をつくっておけばよかったなあ。」と海をみつめながら、こんな漠然とした思いが頭のすみに浮んだ。隣りに名も知らぬ主計中尉か少佐がいた。青ざめて、かすかに震えているように思えた。[15.8.2025 edited]

わたしどもが甲板に出てきたときには、すでにいち早く第一航空艦隊の旗艦は巡洋艦「長良」にうつっていて、司令部のものは全部「長良」に移乗していた。司令部付で「赤城」に残ったのは前下部電信室にいたわれわれのみであったようだ。

本当に長い一日であった。夕方になって、総員退艦の命令がつたえられた。みると駆逐艦「嵐」がすぐそばに来ていた。今のいままで、われわれが助けられるなどとは思ってもいなかった。火災と爆音につつまれたこの空母「赤城」と運命をともにするものと信じていた。しかも、ミッドウェー近海での大敗戦である。のがれる術はないと思うのも当然であった。

退艦はまず、負傷者、搭乗員についで一般の下士官兵、士官の順に整然と行われた。さすがだと思った。その反面、いまにも「赤城」が爆発して、沈没してしまわないかという不安もあった。カッターで「嵐」に乗り移ろうとするとき、アメリカ兵がしがみついてきた。だれかが、「このヤロー」といってオールでつきはなした。「嵐」に乗り移って、急に安堵したためか、このまま全速で日本に帰ればよいという想念が頭にこびりついて離れなかった。狭いガンルームも負傷者や士官で満員であったが、疲れのためわたしはそのまま眠りこけた。

どのくらい時間がたったのだろう。私ははしりつづける「嵐」の前甲板に出た。空は白んでたしかに夜明けである。と、どうだろう。眼の前に焼けただれたみる影もない「赤城」が前面にみえるではないか。「嵐」は一晩中「赤城」のまわりを回っていたのである。「加賀」は昨夜早く沈没したが、「赤城」はこのままでは沈没しない。何でも、軍令部から「赤城」を日本の曳航せよということで、いろいろ現地とやりとりがあったが、結局、魚雷で沈めることになったらしい。

わたしは、もはや明るくなった太平洋の真中、ミッドウェー北方二百カイリの地点で、航空母艦「赤城」の最後のとどめをさす、駆逐艦「嵐」の魚雷の航跡をみつめた。涙がとめどもなく流れた。水煙が上がった。命中である。ものすごい轟音と震動が海を伝わってきた。「赤城」は徐々に艦首から沈みはじめた。みんな泣きながら、万才を叫ぶもの、帽をふるもの、こぶしを振るものさまざまな別れを惜しんだ。痛恨といい、悲痛というけれども、まさにその時こそ、この言葉が文字どおり、わたしたちの実感であった。

「嵐」は「赤城」の最期を見届けると、艦首を西に向け、全速で走り出した。それからの数日の長かったこと。死んでゆく人人の水葬をしながら、ときにはドラム罐を敵の潜水艦と間違えて爆雷を落としたり、敵の飛行機が追跡していることに神経をとがらせたりして、敗走のみじめさをしみじみ味わった。『「加賀」は艦橋をやられて、艦長以下首脳部は全滅だったそうだ。』『「飛龍は最後まで闘って敵の空母をやっつけたが、被爆沈没した。二航艦司令官山口少将と艦長は艦と運命を共にした。』『巡洋艦「三隈がやられたらしい。』いろんな事がささやかれた。しかし、すべてはむなしかった。日本海軍の主力「赤城」「加賀」「飛龍」および

「蒼龍」を失い、海軍航空兵力の八割を失ったのだ。これは大変なことだということは素人にもわかりすぎるほどわかった。「日本はこのミッドウェー作戦の失敗によって、戦争の主導権を失い、このまま敗北するかもしれない。」という予感が、圧倒的な重さでわたしをしめつけた。そして、この不吉な予感は、その後、わたしの海軍生活の間中わたしからはなれることはなかった。その日、艦橋から眺めた夕焼けは、いつもなら、なんとすばらしい光景であっただろう。だが、戦にやぶれた、傷心の将兵にとっては、むごたらしい海戦の生臭さを思い出させたに違いなかった。わたしたちは数日後、戦艦「大和」に移乗したのであるが、この「大和」でさえも心なしか見すぼらしく思えて仕方がなかった。

「大和」が柱島に帰ったのは、六月も半ばに近かった。わたしも「長良」にうつって、杉山主計中尉といっしょにしばらくは、海戦の後始末に夜も日もなかった。ミッドウェー海戦のことは極秘事項とされたから、とくに、各艦生存者士官の軍服を整えるのが大変な仕事だった。

しかし、わたしは間もなく、第一航空基地隊(富高)の所属となり、ついで上海根拠地隊司令部付そして砲艦「宇治」の主計長となり、昭和19年四月P基地(大浦埼の特殊潜航艇基地)、Q基地(徳山湾大津島⑥いわゆる人間魚雷基地)の主計長、ついで、光嵐部隊(⑥基地)主計長で終戦となった。

わたしは前にもふれたように、この期間中ミッドウェー海戦のあの壮絶きわまる場面が、脳裏からはなれたことがなかった。近年、ミッドウェー海戦を思い出させる二つの出来事があった。その一つは、第二次佐藤・ジョンソン会談の結果、小笠原諸島の日本返還が決定し、昭和四十三年六月下旬、小笠原返還式典に田中竜夫当時の総務長官ともども政府代表として父島に向かったときのことである。乗艦は自衛艦「たかつき」であった。父島につく日の朝、艦上に出てみれば、あたり一面霧の海であり、一寸先も見えないほどである。静かに、ステッデーに自衛艦は父島に向かっている。何か軍艦「赤城」に乗って、ミッドウェーに向かった時の光景とそっくりに思えて仕方がなかった。今日は、父島で小笠原の返還式がある。戦争で占領された領土を平和な、しかし長い外交交渉の積み重ねで、ついにかちとることができた。わたしは返還式典を主宰しながら、アメリカ国旗が降され、君が代の国歌とともに日の丸の旗が父島の空にはためくのを見つめて、感無量であった。そして、はげしかったミッドウェー海戦の模様を思い浮かべていた。その二は、昭和四十四年十一月、第一回佐藤・ニクソン会談で両三年内に沖縄の返還を実現させるべく、一行の一足さきにワシントンに向かう飛行機の上であった。「ただいまミッドウェーの上空を通過しております。」という機内アナウンスにハッとわれにかえった。今を去る二十七年前、自分が航空母艦「赤城」で大敗線を経験したのはこの周辺である。自分は幸い武運強く生き長らえて、いま沖縄返還実現のためにワシントンにむかっているのだ。何としても、この会談を成功させねばならない。戦争に敗けて日本は領土を失った。今や日本は平和憲法の下、戦争を放棄し、平和な文化国家をめざしている。

つづく

 

Final Days of the “Akagi” Kōkichi Yamano

Note: As one of the student conscripts of World War II, the author’s father, Kokichi Yamano, graduated six months early from the university where he was studying law, was drafted into the Navy, trained at the Naval Accounting School, and was immediately assigned to the Battle of Midway. After the war, this manuscript was published in “Hachiku,” an alumni magazine for members of the Naval Accounting School and their families. Each surviving member pledges the peace of Japan and describes his or her own experiences and recent developments.

It has been nearly thirty years since then.
After completing my training as a supplemental student at the Navy Accounting School in Tsukiji, I was assigned as a paymaster officer attached to the First Air Fleet Headquarters and boarded the aircraft carrier Akagi.
Now, the passage of time, the specific dates, and even the sequence of events are all so faint, as if shrouded in the thick fog off Midway, that I can hardly recall them clearly.

Fresh out of university and only recently trained, I had no understanding of the overall MI operation, nor was I even aware of the names of the units or ships participating in the mission.
I learned about such matters only after our departure from Hashirajima, through conversations in the gunroom with the designated paymaster lieutenant, Sugiyama Tuzuki (a graduate of the Naval Academy), and other young officers.

Looking back, this defeat at Midway was not only a profound shock to the Imperial Navy, but also to me personally—a young officer still full of eager determination. It had a decisive impact both on Japan’s wartime situation and on my own subsequent worldview.
It is precisely for this reason that I wish to recount my memories, centered on those parts that remain vivid in my mind like clearings in the fog, and present them as a personal narrative of my experience.

Let me be clear: this is not a war chronicle based on official records or historical documents. It is a personal account of the defeat of the Akagi, as I experienced it.

As I recall, the Akagi set sail from Hashirajima on May 27.
It happened to be less than a week after I had searched and boarded the vessel at Hashirajima, together with Mr. Sawanobori, who had been newly appointed as the ship’s general affairs officer.

Surrounded by beautiful islands, Hashirajima was an ideal anchorage. Super-dreadnought carriers like Akagi and Kaga, along with the battleships Kirishima, Kongō, Haruna, and Fusō, all displayed their imposing grandeur. And right beside the Akagi stood the newly built 60,000-ton behemoth Yamato, flying the flag of the Commander-in-Chief of the Combined Fleet.

I can never forget the overwhelming majesty of the Imperial Navy I witnessed and felt at Hashirajima, the brilliance of its achievements since the start of the war, and the boundless expectations and trust placed in it by the entire Japanese nation.

Whether it was before or after the departure of the Task Force centered on the First Carrier Division (Akagi and Kaga) and the Second Carrier Division (Hiryū and Sōryū), I cannot clearly recall. But at some point, all hands were assembled on the afterdeck, where the captain gave us an address, announcing that we were setting out for the Midway operation.

As the Akagi quietly made her way through the Bungo Strait toward the Pacific, I stood by her side, gazing at the blurred yet reassuring forms of the Kaga, Hiryū, and Sōryū following in her wake. A tightening excitement welled up in my chest.

For some reason, my memories of life on board the Akagi from her departure to the Battle of Midway, which lasted only a week, are extremely short. Perhaps it was because my time on board was short, and being stationed to fleet headquarters, I had little direct interaction with Akagi‘s regular crew.

In particular, I was assigned to the “enemy communications unit,” located in the front lower radio room, a dimly lit space on what was called the “hold deck,” near the very bottom of the ship. Even under ordinary circumstances, the interior of the Akagi, a massive 42,000-ton vessel, was bewilderingly complex. As this was my first shipboard assignment, it was no easy matter to find my way anywhere on the first try.
Further, to reach the front lower radio room, one had to pass through three manholes, and once we had gone into battle stations, even locating the manholes themselves became a challenge. Fortunately, I shared a room with Paymaster Lieutenant Sugiyama. Thanks to his careful guidance, I was able to become relatively quickly familiar with the ship’s complex interior layout.

The enemy communications unit was commanded by a special-duty lieutenant, under whom there were six or seven radiomen. Their task was to intercept enemy transmissions and, using enemy call signs or codebooks, determine the type of enemy ship, its position, or other intelligence, and relay this to fleet headquarters on the bridge. In a sense, the unit functioned as the “brain” of the headquarters, operating via radio communication.

A pleasant memory I still hold from that time, though the period was short, was life in the gunroom. It was there that Paymaster Lieutenant Sugiyama gave me my first lessons in the game of Go. It was also where the young flight officers, openhearted and easygoing, would tell us lively stories of their nights on the town, or boast of their fearless exploits in the air, stories that now seem distant and nostalgic from another age.

But as we entered June and Midway drew steadily closer, there was a palpable increase in tension with each passing day. The conversations gradually shifted to more serious topics: debates over whether this operation would succeed, or discussions about the strategic objectives of seizing Midway Island.

It must have been around June 3rd when I stepped out alone onto Akagi’s deck and looked up at the night sky. The entire area was wrapped in deep fog, and visibility was almost nonexistent. The great waves of the Pacific lifted the giant ship with a slow heave that could be felt in my very core.
The ship rumbled forward with the steady beat of its engines, heading straight for Midway. I had heard that the attack on Midway was scheduled for June 5th, and I could feel that the enemy was drawing close.

I could not help but pray that this massive strike force would remain undetected by the enemy. I even thought to myself that perhaps this thick fog was a gift from the heavens. When I looked up again, the mist in the sky had parted, and here and there, stars gleamed with an eerie light. At that moment, I felt something beyond human control like fate was pressing down upon me.
And as I told myself that this great naval air fleet, the pride of our nation, would surely crush the enemy, I turned and made my way back to my quarters.

Then came the dawn of June 4th. Tomorrow would be the day of the attack on Midway. Now the ship was racing forward at 24 to 25 knots, headed directly for the target. In the gunroom, officers spoke in hushed tones that we might have already been spotted by enemy planes, that tomorrow’s attack would not be easy. A tension unlike anything we had felt before hung in the air.

I somehow wandered down to my cabin and began tidying up my belongings. Inside my trunk, I found the Western-style clothes I had worn for about two weeks when commuting to the Kanagawa Prefectural Office, along with several diaries I had carefully kept since my middle school days. I regretted not having sent them home earlier.

Now, there was no point in sorting things out.

If the ship went down, that would be the end of it.

Yet, the urge to put my things in order was driven by something deeper—something that demanded a grave resolve from me, as the decisive battle loomed the next day.

The lower forward radio room grew increasingly busy. The faces of the sailors carrying telegrams around were tense with urgency. Questions from the bridge about enemy vessels became more frequent. That evening, Lieutenant Sugiyama, who slept in the upper bunk, called out to me:

“Lieutenant Yamano, tomorrow’s the big naval battle. You’d better get a good night’s sleep.”

But I was somehow too agitated and couldn’t fall asleep.

Boom! Crash!
An unimaginable, thunderous roar. I was in the lower forward radio room and instantly sensed—we were hit.
It happened right after we had received a telegram from the first wave of attackers:
“We have carried out the attack on Midway and achieved great results, but a second wave is deemed necessary.”

In that instant, memories of today, June 5th, flashed back through my mind. The full mobilization, and the rice balls we quickly ate afterward—it all felt like it had just happened last night, or maybe this very morning.
But it had been at dawn, before sunrise, that our fighters and dive bombers had danced above the Akagi, forming up into squadrons and setting off toward Midway.
We had waved our caps and prayed with all our hearts for their success.

After a while, Lieutenant Sugiyama called me on the phone, “Yamano, enemy planes are attacking. Akagi’s machine guns are shooting them down. Go up and take a look.”
I dashed up to the port side, near the base of the bridge. Looking out, I saw that the entire area was filled with gun smoke, signaling fierce beginning of a naval battle. Immediately, the ship’s anti-aircraft guns opened fire. Soon, the deafening roar of machine guns pierced my ears. Enemy planes, engulfed in flames, plunged into the sea. One after another, another, and another, enemy planes flew at tremendous speed along the ship’s side from the stern, and I counted six of them brought down by our machine guns.

Yet, the fact that enemy aircraft dared to attack so closely to our invincible carrier Akagi I realized at that moment that this was no ordinary situation. A fleeting fear crossed my mind, “Something might go wrong. That’s right. I must return to my station. If I am to die, I should die at my post.”
On that impulse, I rushed down to the radio room of the communications unit.

A bomb must have hit Akagi at last. Right after that, the forward lower signals room fell strangely silent. Everyone exchanged uneasy glances. I felt that the hum of the engines, which until then had been so steady and reassuring, had weakened. It seemed as if the ship, which had been moving at full speed, was suddenly losing momentum. Then, with a thunderous boom, I was nearly thrown off my feet by the shock. At the same time, smoke—probably from gunpowder—began to flow into the room. The telephones fell silent, and telegraph communications stopped working. All I could hear was the hollow sound of the engines spinning idly.
A growing sense of dread, “We really have been hit by bombs…”, finally pressed in on me. The ship’s movement became increasingly abnormal. Harsh, chaotic noises erupted one after another.

Everyone looked at each other in silence, as if realizing the worst premonition had come true. That alone was enough to understand everything without words.
When everyone is at their battle stations, carrying out their duties, no one is conscious of the danger, no matter how great it is. Even if the person next to you falls to enemy fire, you feel no fear. However, once you lose your post and find yourself left behind in the middle of war, your raw humanity suddenly reemerges and then anxiety, impatience, and cowardice kick in. War and humans are like that.

I had no idea how much time passed. It seemed the ship had come to a complete stop. During that time, the sound of bombing and violent tremors continued without pause. I do not remember what we said to each other, but I remember the room filled with smoke smelling of gunpowder, and water leaks sprang up here and there. A suspicion crossed my mind, “Are they flooding compartments to stabilize the ship?”
“Let’s evacuate to the deck.”
“We mustn’t abandon our posts.”
“There must be some orders coming soon.”
We gave each other these uncertain, anxious replies. But by now the radio room was completely inoperable, and the situation on the ship after being hit was shrouded in fear and confusion. There was no longer any reason to stay in the forward lower signals room.
“Let’s get out to the deck.”
Encouraged by someone’s voice, three or four of us opened the hatch above the signals room and stepped outside. I was one of them. I have no idea how I made my way to the aft deck. I only remember that several times along the way, I was thrown to the ground by explosions and tremors, my uniform torn, and my body was aching all over.

More than that, however, the scene that spread out across Akagi’s deck was nothing less than a vision of hell itself.

The first thing that caught my eye was the sight of two or three sailors near the upper hangar, engulfed in fire and smoke, desperately fighting the flames with hoses. In the next instant, with a loud boom, they were blown away amid the fire. A tremendous blast wave struck me. Before long, more sailors appeared, again trying to extinguish the fire. After just five or six minutes of their efforts, another blast blew them away. A hot blast of air swept across my face. This scene repeated itself four or five times.

Looking around, I saw severely wounded men and corpses lying everywhere. The able-bodied ones clustered here and there, staring blankly, as if dazed, watching the situation unfold in fear of the next explosion. I could hear loud angry shouts or commands, but I couldn’t make out the words. Then, at terrifying speed, a small enemy aircraft passed overhead. The rattle of machine-gun fire grew even more intense. On the sea, bodies—whether dead or alive, I could not tell—were drifting here and there. Wreckage of planes floated too. The chain explosions continued at regular intervals, and each time the carrier shuddered violently. After all, 800-kilogram torpedoes were detonating one after another. Far in the distance, the Kaga was also engulfed in flames. It seemed the Soryu had been hit too. Someone shouted, “An enemy submarine!” But no one responded. There was nothing we could do. I suddenly pictured the illustrated scrolls of the Battle of the Sea of Japan. The sea was calm, and the sky was an endless blue. The hellscape aboard the Akagi felt like a terrible lie. The gallant figure of the Akagi this morning was nowhere to be found now. The true misery of naval warfare sank deep into my heart. I’ll probably die here in battle. Well, that’s fine. I still have many good friends left behind. I wonder if Father and Mother are doing well. I wish I’d found someone special, too. Such vague thoughts floated through the corner of my mind as I gazed at the sea. Beside me stood a paymaster lieutenant or maybe a commander—I didn’t know his name. His face was pale; he seemed to be trembling faintly. [15.8.2025 edited]

By the time we came out on deck, the flagship of the First Air Fleet had already transferred to the cruiser Nagara, and all the staff officers had moved over as well. It seemed that those of us remaining in the lower forward wireless room were the only ones left from the staff on board the Akagi.

It truly was a long day. By evening, the order came for all hands to abandon ship. Looking around, I saw the destroyer Arashi had come right alongside. Until that very moment, I had never imagined we might be rescued. I had believed we would share the fate of this burning, thunderous carrier Akagi. And yet, here we were—facing total defeat off Midway. It was only natural to think there was no way out.

I have no idea how much time had passed. It seemed that the ship had come to a complete stop. During that time, the sound of explosions and violent tremors continued without pause. I can’t recall what we said to each other. The air was filled with smoke that smelled of gunpowder, and water was leaking heavily in several places. A thought flashed through my mind—perhaps the flooding was intentional, to stabilize the ship.

“Let’s evacuate to the deck.”
“No, we mustn’t leave our post.”
“There must be some orders coming.”

Our uncertain and anxious replies continued. But by now, the radio room was completely out of function, and the state of the ship after the bombings was shrouded in confusion. There was no longer any need to remain in the lower forward radio room. Encouraged by someone’s voice saying, “Let’s get out to the deck,” three or four of us opened the hatch above the room and climbed out. I was one of them. I don’t remember how we made our way to the aft deck. All I recall is being thrown off my feet several times by blasts and tremors along the way. My uniform was torn, and my joints ached.

More than that, the deck of the Akagi was a scene of utter devastation, resembling a picture of hell.

The first thing that caught my eye was a few sailors desperately trying to extinguish the flames with hoses near the upper hangar, which was engulfed in fire and smoke. In the next moment, with a thunderous bang, they were blown away into the inferno. A massive shockwave struck. After a while, another group of sailors appeared and resumed the firefighting efforts—only to be blown away again after five or six minutes. Hot gusts of air swept past my face. This scene repeated itself four or five times.

Looking around, I saw the bodies of the wounded and the dead scattered across the deck. Those who were uninjured gathered in small groups here and there, staring in silence, as if in shock, or perhaps in fear of the next explosion. I could hear loud shouts and orders being yelled, but they were indistinct. Then suddenly, an enemy scout plane roared past overhead at incredible speed. The sound of machine-gun grew even louder. In the sea, bodies, some perhaps still alive, were floating everywhere. Pieces of broken aircraft littered the water. Secondary explosions occurred at regular intervals, shaking the ship violently each time. After all, the continuous chain reactions of torpedoes weighing 800 kilograms each were exploding one after another. Far in the distance, the carrier Kaga was also wrapped in flames. Soryu had apparently been hit too. Someone shouted, “Enemy submarine!” but no one responded. Of course not—there was nothing anyone could do.

I suddenly thought of a picture scroll depicting the Battle of the Sea of Japan. The sea had been calm, the sky a deep, endless blue. The hellscape before me aboard the Akagi seemed utterly unreal. The proud figure of Akagi that had launched the Midway strike force this morning was nowhere to be seen. The horror of naval warfare struck me deeply.

“I will probably die here. Well, that’s all right. Many good friends remain.”
“I wonder how my father and mother are doing.”
“I wish I had found someone special before now.”

As I gazed out over the sea, such vague thoughts drifted through my mind. Next to me stood a supply officer or perhaps a commander whose name I did not know. His face was pale, and he seemed to be trembling slightly.

By the time we had reached the deck, the flagship of the First Carrier Division had already transferred to the cruiser Nagara, and the entire command staff had relocated to her. It seemed that we, who had remained in the forward lower radio room, were the only ones from the command staff still aboard Akagi.

It was truly the longest day of my life. As evening fell, the order came to abandon ship. Looking up, we saw the destroyer Arashi right beside us. Until that very moment, we had not imagined being rescued. We had fully expected to go down with Akagi, surrounded by fire and explosions. And this, in the midst of a devastating defeat at Midway. It was only natural to think there was no way out.

The evacuation was carried out in proper order—first the wounded, then the flight personnel, followed by the non-commissioned officers and finally the officers. I was impressed by the discipline. At the same time, I was constantly anxious that Akagi might explode and sink at any moment.

As I was transferring to Arashi by cutter, an American soldier clung to us. Someone shouted, “You bastard!” and pushed him away with an oar.

Once aboard Arashi, a wave of relief washed over me. The thought that we could now just return to Japan at full speed clung to my mind and wouldn’t let go. The cramped wardroom was packed with wounded men and officers, but I was so exhausted that I fell asleep where I lay.

I don’t know how long I slept. Eventually, I stepped onto the forward deck of Arashi, which was still running at full speed. The sky was lightening—it was clearly dawn. And then, what did I see before me? The charred, unrecognizable remains of Akagi. She was right there in front of us.

Arashi had been circling around Akagi all night. Kaga had sunk early the previous evening, but Akagi had not yet gone down. It seems there had been discussions between the front-line forces and Naval General Staff about towing her back to Japan. But in the end, the decision was made to sink her with torpedoes.

There, in the brightening Pacific dawn, 200 nautical miles north of Midway, I watched the final torpedo launched by Arashi to deliver the coup de grâce to the aircraft carrier Akagi. Tears streamed down my face. A plume of water rose—it was a direct hit. A thunderous roar and tremor spread across the sea. Akagi began to sink, bow first, ever so slowly.

Everyone wept—some shouting “Banzai,” some waving their caps, others raising their fists in farewell. The words regret and grief can hardly capture what we felt. At that very moment, they were not mere expressions but the true, raw reality of our hearts.

Once the Arashi had seen the Akagi to her grave, she turned her bow west and sped away at full speed. The days that followed were long indeed. We committed our dead to the sea in burials at sea; at times we mistook floating oil drums for enemy submarines and dropped depth charges; at other times we were on edge, fearing pursuit by enemy aircraft. We felt in our bones the wretchedness of retreat.

Rumors circulated: “The Kaga’s bridge was hit—her captain and all senior officers were wiped out.” “The Hiryū fought to the last and managed to hit an enemy carrier, but was bombed and sunk. Vice Admiral Yamaguchi, commander of the Second Carrier Division, and her captain went down with the ship.” “The cruiser Mikuma has been sunk.” Yet all of it was in vain. The Imperial Japanese Navy had lost its main force—the Akagi, Kaga, Hiryū, and Sōryū—and with them, 80 percent of its naval air power. Even a layman could see how disastrous this was. I felt, with crushing certainty, that “Japan has lost the initiative in this war through the failure of the Midway operation, and may well be defeated.” That ominous premonition never left me for the rest of my naval service.

That evening, the sunset from the bridge—on any other day, a scene of unsurpassed beauty—must have only reminded our wounded hearts of the stench and horror of the battle just fought. A few days later, we were transferred to the battleship Yamato. Yet even the mighty Yamato seemed, to my eyes, somehow diminished.

The Yamato returned to Hashirajima in mid-June. I myself transferred to the Nagara, and together with Paymaster Lieutenant Sugiyama, spent many sleepless nights handling the aftermath of the battle. Because the Midway operation was treated as top secret, outfitting surviving officers from each ship with proper uniforms was a particularly demanding task.

Before long, I was assigned to the First Air Base Unit (Tomitaka), then to the Shanghai Naval Station staff, and finally became paymaster of the gunboat Uji. In April of 1944, I served as paymaster at P Base (Ōurasaki Special Midget Submarine Base) and Q Base (Ōtsushima in Tokuyama Bay—so-called human torpedo base), and later as paymaster for the Kōran Unit (also Q Base), until the war’s end.

As I have mentioned before, throughout this entire period the fierce and desperate scenes of the Battle of Midway never left my mind. In later years, two events vividly brought them back to me.

The first was in late June 1968, when, following the second Satō–Johnson meeting, the return of the Ogasawara Islands to Japan was decided, and I accompanied Chief Cabinet Secretary Tatsuo Tanaka to Chichijima as government representatives for the return ceremony. We traveled aboard the JMSDF destroyer Takatsuki. On the morning we arrived, the sea was blanketed in fog so thick you could not see an inch ahead. Quietly and steadily, the ship steamed toward Chichijima. I could not help feeling that it was exactly like the scene when I had sailed aboard the Akagi toward Midway. But today, the purpose was the return ceremony for Ogasawara—a territory once seized in war, now regained through peaceful, painstaking diplomacy. Presiding over the ceremony, I watched as the American flag was lowered and the Hinomaru rose into the sky over Chichijima to the strains of Kimigayo. My heart was full, and I found myself recalling the fierce battle of Midway.

The second was in November 1969, on my way to Washington ahead of the first Satō–Nixon meeting, which was to set in motion the return of Okinawa within two or three years. In mid-flight, the cabin announcement came: “We are now passing over Midway.” Startled, I came back to myself. Twenty-seven years earlier, I had fought and suffered a crushing defeat aboard the Akagi in these very waters. By fortune and fate, I had survived, and now I was heading to Washington to help bring about the return of Okinawa. I felt an unshakable resolve that we must make this meeting a success. Japan had lost territory through war; now, under the Peace Constitution, having renounced war, she sought to become a peaceful, cultured nation.

continued

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