GUNFIGHTER OF THE RISING SUN
A Zero pilot’s own story
Kaname Harada, who flew Zeros in WW II, didn’t like speaking about the War because it was a painful experience for him. He was haunted by the horrible memory of seeing his fellow navy pilots die on Guadalcanal Island in October 1942, and he wanted see their remains recovered to bring closure to their families.
From December 7, 1941, through the Battle of Midway (June 4 to 7, 1942), Kaname Harada was a Zero pilot onboard the carrier Soryu. During that time, he scored several aerial victories in the Indian Ocean operations and Midway. His carrier, however, along with the Akagi, Kaga and Hiryu, was sunk during the disastrous Midway operation. The young naval aviator spent several hours in the ocean before being rescued by a destroyer. After this terrible loss for Japan, he was one of the surviving veteran airmen who vowed to get their revenge the next time they fought in combat with U.S. military forces.
In July 1942, Harada-san was transferred to the carrier Hiyo. During this period, Japan was focusing all of its resources to reclaim Guadalcanal Island. On October 17, Harada flew what would turn out to be his last combat mission.
The target of our mission was a group of American ships off Lunga Point. Our aircraft flew in two groups. First came eight Junyo Type 97s (Kates), but there should have been nine. One Type 97 (flown by WO Tatsuyasu Otawa) returned to the carrier because of engine trouble. My group of nine Zero fighters from Hiyo was assigned to escort them and flew above the formation of Type 97 Kate; then came the second group of nine Hiyo Type 97s along with nine Junyo Type 0 carrier fighters.
I heard that the Junyo Type 97 carrier attack plane leader (Lt. Tadao Ito) was more experienced than the Hiyo leader (Lt. Yoshiaki Irikiin). Regarding the Zero fighter leaders, I also heard the Hiyo fighter leader (Lt. Tadashi Kaneko) was more experienced than the Junyo fighter leader (Lt. Yoshio Shiga). That’s why it was such a strange formation with Hiyo Zeros escorting the Junyo Type 97s and Junyo Zeros escorting the Hiyo Type 97s. So I believe the more experienced pilots were chosen to lead the attack. I was escorting the Junyo
Type 97 group, which was commanded by Lt. Ito, but they were going the wrong way. Nevertheless, the second group, commanded by Lt. Irikiin, hit the target successfully.
My group of escorting Zero fighters flew 400 to 500 meters above the formation of Type 97s. The Zeros flew in three groups of three, with the fighter in the top center being the leader and the second airplane on the left and the third one on the right. The escorting Zero fighters were faster than the bomb-laden Type 97s, so if we continued to fly normally, it would have been too fast. We couldn’t just stop, however, so we did snake movements to slow down. Sometimes, we got separated at a greater distance, and the Grumman F4F Wildcat fighters were waiting for this moment to attack our Type 97s. The enemy fighters were not trying to attack our Zero fighters; instead they went after the vulnerable Type 97s because it was wiser to attack them. It was difficult to defend our Type 97s against the Wildcat fighters.
During this mission, I saw a series of clouds that could only be found on a clear day. With this particular type of cloud, an enemy fighter pilot could hide his aircraft and still see the sky below very well. These clouds were 700 to 800 meters above and to the right of us. We never expected to see Wildcat fighters coming from behind these clouds, but I thought those clouds were an ominous sign. In reality, the enemy fighters were waiting to attack us. Our group made a directional error, and while we were changing our course, we were attacked. During this attack, we were annihilated. Right in front of my eyes, six Type 97s were on fire, and two of these crash-landed. After the Kates were attacked, our nine Zero fighters tried to chase the Wildcats while they tried to escape. One Grumman F4F Wildcat fighter, however, turned around and came back to fight us.
When I made a sudden directional change to get into position to fight him, I became light-headed because of the G-force. I then released my throttle, and because of this, my position was lower than the Wildcat fighter. When I came to my senses, I was in a disadvantageous position: the enemy was above me. I thought that if I tried to escape, I would be shot down for sure; so I decided to fight him, even in an unfavorable position.
It was one airplane against the other. The battle was one short head-on encounter, and I must have hit his airplane numerous times as he hit mine.
In my case, I had to return to my carrier, but it was so far away that I wasn’t able to get back. My left arm was badly wounded, and I wasn’t able to control my Zero fighter. So I decided to ditch on Guadalcanal Island and crash-landed about 40 kilometers (25 miles) from Cape Esperance, a bit off the coast near a river. On normal occasions, a landing in the ocean would have been better, but as my left arm was injured, I decided to land in the jungle. The area where I crashed was between Cape Esperance and Henderson Field but probably closer to Cape Esperance; I believe that Henderson Field was about 30 kilometers (19 miles) from my crash site.
My engine was damaged, and so were the fuel tanks. During this time, gasoline had spread around the area of my seat, and I was worried about a possible fire. So I switched off the engine and decided to land as soon as possible.
From above, the area where I was going to land looked flat, but there was a palm tree about 50 meters tall. First, the left wing hit the palm tree and was severed from the fuselage; then the airplane flipped over and landed on the ground. Luckily, for me, as I had shut off the engine, there wasn’t any fire. The palm tree actually served as a cushion because if I had landed directly on the ground, the friction might have caused a fire.
I passed out when the airplane hit the palm tree, and I don’t know how long it took before I regained my consciousness. I awoke after a cool shower of gasoline poured down on me. I was in an upside-down position in the cockpit, which was like a sealed room. The gasoline became vaporized and was choking me: I had to get some air quickly! My left arm was badly injured, so I used my right hand to dig a little bit, and that gave me some air to breathe; then I dug some more. Fortunately, it was soft, leaf-decayed soil, so I was able to dig and crawl out. I dug so much that my nails were almost completely worn away. I also used my legs and pushed against the butts of the machine guns to help me crawl out. Once my face was out, it became very easy to get out, but before that, it was difficult. I was really desperate, so I dug like a crazy man, and I don’t remember exactly how long it took to get out.
During my struggle to escape, I used up every ounce of my energy; I collapsed after getting out of my plane. I was very thirsty, and the only source of water was a mosquito-egg infested puddle. In spite of that, I had to drink, and after I did, I calmed down a little. After I had slept for a while, I gained some energy and started to walk through the jungle. Suddenly, I saw an aviator with a bloody face about 500 meters away; it was WO Hisao Sato, who was one of the two aviators who survived the crash of a Type 97 carrier attack plane. Six airplanes were damaged during the mission, and Sato-san was one of the aviators I had escorted. Sato’s aircraft usually was flown by a crew of three men. The pilot of his Type 97, Lt. (j.g.) Setsuo Kuno was shot in the head and dead in the aircraft. The reconnaissance man PO1c Tadao Maruyama was still alive, but he was trapped
in the wrecked aircraft and was moaning in pain. Sato-san and I tried to save him, but my left arm was injured, so it was difficult to get him out. We were not able to rescue him because he was trapped very firmly inside the wrecked aircraft. Sadly, we had to give up, and he died. But before Maruyama-san died, he asked us to bring some of his hair and nail clippings back to Japan for his family.
Sato-san and I spent the night with the dead aviators and had a wake for them because they couldn’t have a proper burial. We made offerings of flowers and palms to them. (Unfortunately, these two aviators are still on the island because their remains were never recovered. After the War, I asked the people who worked at the hotel near the crash site to locate it so the families could recover their loved ones, but the crash spot was difficult to establish after so many years.) The next day, we started to walk from 0800 in the morning along the beach eastward towards Henderson Field. I think we walked for about 10 kilometers (six miles), and it took two days before we met an advance party of 15 or 16 engineers who came to the island to begin construction of a mini-submarine base at Kamimbo Bay (Tambea). Later, I learned that the base was never constructed.
Out of the original 18 Japanese Type 97 attack planes, only eight returned to their carriers, including the aircraft flown by WO
Otawa, which aborted the mission. Seven Type 97s (six Junyo, one Hiyo) were shot down, and three others (two Junyo, one Hiyo) crash-landed. Harada-san and his comrades were intercepted at 0732 by
Maj. Davis’s eight VMF-121 Wildcats. After the battle, American pilots made claims for eight “dive-bombers” and two Zeros. Second Lt. “Big Bill” Freeman put in the claims for the two Zeros, so it is possible that he wounded Harada, as he was the only VMF-121 pilot to claim any Zeros for that mission. The only other known living Japanese veteran who survived this mission is Ens. Taisuke Maruyama (not related to the late Tadao Maruyama), who died during the October 17, 1942 mission. Maruyama-san flew as an observer on one of the Hiyo Type 97s. He recalled seeing thick antiaircraft fire from the ships and the American air attack of their group: “Each of stricken Type 97s went spinning downward, emitting a bright light that could be seen when the aircraft was burning up; they looked like leaves that were fluttering down.” At last, the Hiyo Type 97 carrier attack plane group attacked the U.S. Navy destroyers, Aaron Ward and Lardner, which were shelling the supply dumps near Kokumbona, but scored no hits.¹
The End of the War
After meeting up with the Japanese engineers (who were working on the
submarine base), Harada-san and WO Hisao Sato were sent to a navy hospital on Truk Island. Once the men were treated, they returned to Japan. When Haradasan recovered from his battle wounds, he became a flight instructor at Kasumigaura. While serving as a flight instructor, he met up with Sato-san again. Sadly, according to Harada-san, Sato-san died soon after, on a suicide mission off the coast of Taiwan. In late March 1945, Lt. (j.g.) Kaname Harada was sent to Chitose in Hokkaido to train pilots because there were too many enemy planes in the vicinity of Kasumigaura, the usual training location. He stayed at Chitose until the end of the War.
On the day that the War ended, I was told that there would be an important announcement by the Emperor on the radio, but the signal was not clear. Owing to the poor radio reception, I wasn’t able to hear the message well, but I still understood that Japan had lost. I felt relieved because the War ended, but I was worried about how Japanese people would be treated because we had lost.
When Harada-san was discharged from the Navy, his final rank was lieutenant (j.g.), and by his own estimation, he flew about 5,000 hours during the War. He is officially credited with shooting down nine enemy planes.
Postwar
After the War, the American occupation forces were generous enough to let veterans work, like everyone else; but we were not allowed to have public service jobs. So in this case, we were not treated fairly. Many people around here knew that I was a veteran but didn’t know what I did. I also was worried about being “black-listed” because of killing so many people. I feel that all of the aviators were black-listed. For example, I was told to write my résumé in English and Japanese for the occupation forces. I also was told that if I were to leave for more than two days from my house, I would have to report what I was going to do. I was banned from working for public service, but it was permissible to work for private companies. But most of the private companies didn’t want veterans to work for them. Nobody hired me, so I became a farmer. In 1965, I was told to become a community leader when new apartment complexes were built in this area because I had lived here for a long time. I also was asked to take care of the children in this area, so I decided to build a small facility for them. At first it was a day-care center, but it later became a kindergarten, which we still run today.
I PASSED OUT WHEN THE AIRPLANE HIT THE PALM TREE ... I AWOKE AFTER A COOL SHOWER OF GASOLINE POURED DOWN ON ME. I WAS IN AN UPSIDE-DOWN POSITION IN THE COCKPIT. THE GASOLINE BECAME VAPORIZED AND WAS CHOKING ME: I HAD TO GET SOME AIR QUICKLY!
Editors’ note: this article is an excerpt from Ron Werneth’s book “Beyond Pearl Harbor: The Untold Stories of Japan’s Naval Airmen,” which was published in 2008 by Schiffer Publishing Ltd. . The book is the first comprehensive oral history of the last surviving WW II Japanese Navy airmen, told in their words and pictures.
The background information of this
¹ paragraph was gathered from: The First Team and the Guadalcanal Campaign, 318319, by John B. Lundstrom.