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from my mind, of course. I just thought that some day when I was at the front, it might be comforting toburn some incense from the tube and think of home.
    When I left Wakayama, I told my mother, “My work being what it is, it’s possible that I may be reported dead when I’m not. If you’re told I’ve been killed, don’t think too much about it, because I may well show up again after a few years.”
    The next day I went to see my younger brother, Shigeo, who was stationed at Yachimata, in Chiba Prefecture, east of Tokyo. By this time he had received his commission as a second lieutenant and was in training at an aerial reconnaissance school. He wanted to go up to the port of Choshi for dinner. He said there was a restaurant he often went to there where you could eat all the fresh fish you could hold, and that was unusual in those days of shortages. Unfortunately, I did not have time, so we ended by having a farewell meal in a restaurant in Chiba City, which was on my way back to Tokyo.
    The next morning my oldest brother saw me off at Tokyo Station.
    â€œTake care of yourself,” he said.

F ATEFUL O RDERS
    The day after I returned to Futamata, there was a strong earthquake. The group of twenty-two to which I belonged had received orders to proceed to Utsunomiya airfield, sixty miles or so north of Tokyo, and board a transport plane that evening. Normally, we would have gone on the Tokaido Railway Line as far as Tokyo. Because of the earthquake, traffic on this line was interrupted, so we had to start out by truck, hoping that the trains would be running farther to the north.
    When the truck passed the Kadoya, the inn where I had often stayed, the proprietor and his whole family were waiting outside to say good-bye. We stopped, and they handed us a bottle of sake and a tray loaded with parched chestnuts and dried squid. Without getting off the truck, we broke open the bottle and exchanged farewell toasts.
    We managed to catch a train in Kakegawa, then changed trains in Tokyo, arriving at Utsunomiya in the middle of the night. It turned out that the transport plane was undergoing repairs, and we had to kill a few days at an inn in front of Utsunomiya Station. During that interval, we received news that American forces had landed at San Jose on the island of Mindoro in the Philippines. Hearing this, we looked at each other in apprehension, and I felt my body tense.
    The twenty-two of us left Utsunomiya airfield on three airplanes, a No. 97 Converted Heavy Bomber-Transport and twoNo. 100 Heavy Bombers. This was on December 17, two days after San Jose fell. The plan was to fly in one hop to Taipei, refuel, and continue on to Clark Airbase on Luzon the same day, but we were forced down in Okinawa by bad weather and had to stay there three days. Then it developed that the transport required more repairs; with one thing and another, we did not arrive at Clark until December 22, six whole days after leaving Utsunomiya.
    When we landed, an air raid warning was in effect, but I was surprised to see the maintenance crews walking around as though nothing was happening. I asked why, and one of them said, “It’s Manila’s turn today.” The enemy was bombing Clark one day and Manila the next.
    We had been told that on arrival we were to make contact with the Special Intelligence Squadron of the Fourteenth Area Army. In fact, when we arrived, Masaru Shimoda and Kusuo Tsuchihashi had been sent from the squadron to wait for us. They left almost immediately to report our arrival to squadron headquarters in Manila, fifty miles away, assuring us that they would be back by morning at the latest.
    At noon the next day they were still not back. We were afraid something had happened to them on the way, but a few minutes later they drove up in a truck. They explained that a P-38 Lockheed Lightning had spotted them and given chase, forcing them to dodge in and out of side roads most of the way. The