I could hear the soldiers singing in the other room.
It was a song called “Cherry Blossoms of the Same Spring”—one that I’d heard many times since I’d arrived in this time period, and one whose lyrics annoyed the hell out of me. It essentially compared these soldiers’ lives to cherry blossoms, only blooming most beautifully right before they scattered on the wind and died for the sake of their country. In my view, it was a blatant propaganda song used by the government to brainwash them. It even mentioned the Yasukuni shrine at one point—which I knew from my time as a very controversial place where soldiers who died in the war were enshrined. It was often accused of being a place that glorified war criminals, glossing over the horrors many had committed in the name of their country. Whenever the prime minister or government officials paid a visit there, you could bet it would be covered on the national news as though it were a massive scandal, with diplomats from overseas weighing in to condemn them for it.
And here in 1945 was a song about two soldiers who believed that after they died as kamikaze pilots, they’d meet again, reincarnated as cherry blossoms at that very shrine.
It was the stupidest thing I’d ever heard.
Once you died, that was that—there would be no reunion for these men.
Next, they sang a song called “Torpedoes from the Sky.” This one was about how they’d fly their planes so perfectly, so true that they’d sink the enemy ships in an instant. The lyrics even implied that only those who managed to sink an entire aircraft carrier could be heralded as true Japanese men. How utterly ridiculous was that? Did these people really think their names would be forgotten by history if they didn’t blow themselves up? That they’d be lambasted as cowards if they didn’t comply with this insane plan that the military’s top brass cooked up as a last-ditch effort to save face?
It was utterly infuriating to think of all the lies the country’s propaganda had shoved down their throats. More than that, I felt pathetic and worthless for being completely unable to say anything to these poor men that might save them from their gruesome fates.
I didn’t want to hear another second of these horrible, depressing songs; I wanted to cover my ears and block out every word. Unfortunately, just then, Tsuru handed me a large plate of boiled yams to deliver to the men. Begrudgingly, I carried the food out to them.
Akira was laughing—a bit louder than usual, even though that was probably an effect of the alcohol. Still, I had to wonder: How could he be in such high spirits, knowing full well he was going to die tomorrow? He was no fool; I refused to believe he had bought into military propaganda without recognizing it as such. So what was his deal, then?
Trying to avoid making eye contact, I set the plate in the center of his table.
“Thanks, Yuri-chan,” said one of the other men.
“Boy, Tsuru-san’s cooking tastes even better when it’s Yuri-chan who’s dishin’ it up!” quipped another.
I forced a smile, but I wasn’t in the mood for comedy.
Just then, another soldier by the name of Noguchi rose from his seat.
“I’m gonna go get some fresh air,” he told the man next to him, before staggering his way out of the mess hall, legs unsteady.
He didn’t return for a while, so I got worried that his drinks might not be sitting too well. I headed outside to bring him a cup of water. I found him sitting on the ground a little ways away, clutching his knees to his chest. When I got closer, I gasped.
The man was crying.
“…Are you okay, Noguchi-san?” I asked. “Are you not feeling well…?”
I sat down beside him, and he slowly lifted his head, his cheeks wet with tears.
My immediate thought was that he was getting cold feet and didn’t want to sortie. Perhaps he was afraid of dying—understandably so. It was only human. If anything, I was relieved to see that not everyone here was ready and willing to die.
But his answer floored me.
“No… I’m happy…” he said, his voice trembling. “I’m thrilled, Yuri-chan… So happy, I can’t take it… It’s so exhilarating, thinking about finally getting to sortie with everyone… When we were singing songs together just now, I got so emotional… I couldn’t even sing, I was too choked up…”
I just listened to him, mouth agape.
“You see…I had a bit of a false start,” he continued. “I was actually ordered to sortie south about a month ago with all my closest comrades… But then for whatever reason, my plane suffered some unexpected engine trouble. I had to fly all the way back to Japan in tears. When I returned to the barracks all alone, I was so distressed and furious with myself, I couldn’t sleep for days…”
…Distressed? Furious with yourself? For what? Your plane saving your life?
I wanted to grab him by the shoulders. To tell him how ridiculous that was.
Obviously, fighter planes in this day and age were not nearly as stable as aircraft in my own era, so it apparently wasn’t unusual at all for them to suffer engine trouble immediately after takeoff or to start somersaulting out of control or something. I’d heard that sometimes, kamikaze planes could even accidentally drop their explosive payloads along the way and be forced to return to base.
“I remember telling my squad mates over the radio when I realized I’d have to turn back, and our squad leader just told me—in the cheeriest voice you could ever imagine—that he and the others would go on ahead of me, and that they’d be waiting for me to join them in the next life. That was the last I heard from them. All I could do was watch as their planes vanished beyond the horizon without me… When I think back on it now, I can’t begin to tell you how deeply it still upsets me. It’s so shameful, being the only one who got to turn around and return home alive… I pleaded with my superior officer over and over to let me sortie again, even handwrote appeals to the military’s top brass—and now finally, after a month of waiting, they’ve given me my orders again. I’m so happy, Yuri-chan…”
He wiped his tears away with his clenched fists.
I had to excuse myself, stumbling to my feet in a daze, as I left him crying there on the ground and walked back into the mess hall—where I found Kato standing tall in the center of the dining area, giving a rousing speech to his comrades.
“It’s almost our time at last, my friends,” he said. “By this time tomorrow, we’ll all have become gods of flame and fury, raining Japan’s wrath upon those accursed enemy ships as we drag them down to the bottom of the sea in smithereens with us… The situation is dire—we all know this. If not for our noble sacrifice, Japan would surely lose this war. We must now prove our devotion to the Empire by giving our lives to protect our homeland in this, its time of greatest crisis. How does one even describe the joy of being granted such an honorable death—of being selected from among the Imperial Army’s most elite soldiers, the likes of which the world shall never see again?! My brothers, let us now scatter like cherry blossom petals in the wind, all the more beautiful in their transience! And let us meet again at Yasukuni, for we will not die this day! We will live on in everlasting glory for our contribution to His Majesty’s eternal cause! Long live the Emperor!”
The other men gave Kato an enthusiastic round of applause.
“Yeah!” said one of them. “Let’s do this, brothers!”
“For everlasting glory!” shouted another.
That one in particular was a phrase these military types liked to use an awful lot, I’d learned. It was their way of saying they could live on forever by dying on the battlefield for a noble cause. I still didn’t see what was so glorious about dying, personally.
To me, the whole thing was completely bonkers. These people were all insane—both the soldiers for being so eager to die in battle, and the public for feeding into the narrative that they would find honor in doing so. How did none of them realize that they were the victims of propaganda?
I couldn’t even stand to look these men in the face anymore—so I ran into the kitchen. Tsuru gave me a great big hug and told me I could stay back there if I wanted to, before carrying out the next tray of food herself.
The men let out a cheer when she emerged from the kitchen.
“You’re the best, Tsuru-san!”
“We’ll beat those American savages back into submission, just you wait!”
“We’re gonna annihilate them, no matter what it takes!”
“If you hear anything on the news about an enemy aircraft carrier being destroyed, know that was us!”
“We won’t let you down! We’ll sink those bastards at all costs!”
Tsuru just smiled, then bowed her head deeply to the men.
“I know you will,” she said. “May the winds of fortune be at your back.”