Page 42 of Daikon
TWENTY-TWO
KEIZO KAN AND PO YAGI were perched up inside the bomb bay of the Renzan, hunched over the end of the Daikon.
They had already tested the triggering wire, using the plane’s electrical system and a light bulb.
All that remained was to attach the wire to the primer at the back of the weapon—the primer that would set off the charge of cordite that would blast the uranium projectile down the gun tube.
We’re like monkeys, Kan thought, the memory of Yagi’s hooting coming into his mind. We’re like monkeys playing with something we don’t understand.
“Wait.”
Kan snatched the wire from Yagi. He touched the end to his tongue, making doubly sure that no current was passing through it, that the Renzan’s electrical system was truly shut down.
“It’s dead,” said Yagi, annoyed, snatching it back. “How many times do you have to check?”
A loop and a twist and the job was done. The Daikon was live. All that it would take to set it off was to throw the switch in the compartment above them—the switch that Kan had doubly secured in the closed position by wrapping a piece of wire around the locking bracket.
They climbed out of the bomb bay and stood on the grass, looking at the plane parked in front of the hangar.
Its transformation into a kamikaze atomic bomb was complete.
The cowlings were back in place on its overhauled engines.
The openings in the fuselage for the waist guns, now removed, had been sealed.
And the entire aircraft, from nose to tail, from wing tip to wing tip, was painted black, merging into the lengthening shadows beneath as the sun descended toward the hills in the west.
Kan looked at his watch. Just after five o’clock. Six hours until takeoff.
The sun…
He realized with a pang that he would never see it again.
He glanced at Yagi. The navy man was anxiously chewing on the side of his thumb, for he still had not been removed from the mission.
Kan’s approach to Captain Onda the previous evening had resulted in nothing.
He had not saved Yagi. A part of him felt bad about it.
But another part, a larger part, felt relieved.
For it meant that he wouldn’t have to do it alone.
Having Yagi beside him would make the coming ordeal a little easier to bear.
A fuel cart was wheeled alongside the Renzan and the ground crew began manually pumping. The wing tanks, inboard and outboard, could hold a total of 10,780 liters of fuel, weighing 8,090 kilos. And it all had to be pumped in by hand.
“All set?”
It was Captain Onda approaching.
“Yes, Onda-tai-i,” said Kan. “Please make sure no one touches the switch.”
“Already done,” said Onda. Kan had been warning him about the switch all through the day.
He examined Kan’s face, then took his red and swollen hand and gave it a close inspection. His eyes returned to Kan’s. “How do you feel? Are you all right?”
Kan nodded. “I think so.”
“Because we just got word about that seaman at Hikari. The one who got sick.”
“Seaman Wada?” asked Yagi.
“Yes, I think that was his name. He’s dead.”
Kan’s eyes grew wide with dismay. Yagi scowled.
Onda took out his Philopon bottle.
“Here. Take one of these. It will do you good.”
Kan mechanically took a tablet and swallowed it.
Yagi did the same.
Kan could feel his mood lightening as he sat in his room in the barracks, referring to his notebook as he penned a letter to Dr. Nishina explaining the images on the exposed rolls of film.
Various angles of the bomb prior to disassembly; shots of the uranium rings removed from the nose; the bomb disassembled; the projectile intact; the projectile with copper sheeting removed; Seaman Wada’s injured hand, the skin burst open and leaking fluid—it was all there.
When he was done, he packed up the film, the camera and the letter and set them alongside the precious Geiger-Müller counter for return to the Riken.
The door flew open and Yagi stormed in. Kan knew instantly what it meant. Before he could register his feelings, the navy man had him by the throat and was roaring into his face.
“Why did you tell Onda I was Korean! Why did you tell him I should be removed from the mission!”
“I was trying to… spare you,” Kan managed to gasp.
Yagi continued to glare, his eyes murderous, his grip choking.
Finally his hand relaxed. He let go.
“I’m sorry,” said Kan, rubbing his throat. “It was the only way I could think of to spare you. I thought you’d want it. So you wouldn’t have to go.”
“But I’m still going!” said Yagi, throwing up his hands.
Kan’s face fell. “Onda didn’t remove you?”
“No! He just gave me a lecture about what a great honor it was for me and ‘my people.’ ‘We were enemies once, but now we go into combat as brothers.’ That’s what he said!”
Yagi gave the wall a backhanded blow with his fist, shaking the boards and sending a cheap print of Mount Fuji crashing to the floor.
A muffled voice in the hall outside. Then a knock at the door. It was one of the guards who always seemed to be lurking.
“Is everything all right in here?” he asked, looking in.
“We’re fine,” said Kan. “Everything is all right.”
The final banquet for the crew was held in a private room above the officers’ mess.
The three remaining members had arrived now and were present: Captain Yoshino, copilot; First Lieutenant Kamibeppu, navigator; and First Lieutenant Otani, flight engineer.
Introductions were made and the six men started eating.
It was an excellent meal specially laid on by the cooks: pure white rice unadulterated by millet or barley; miso stew with seaweed, tofu, and clams; a variety of pickles and other side dishes; and as the centerpiece, a huge sea bream sprinkled with coarse salt and grilled to perfection.
Captain Onda ate with gusto. PO Yagi began mechanically, then showed mounting enjoyment as the Philopon tablet did its work.
Kan found himself enjoying the meal too.
He was feeling a remarkable sense of renewal, his dread beaten down, the mission ahead more a source of manageable fear than stark terror.
He finished eating and stretched, his spine pleasantly cracking, then gave his scalp a reviving massage.
When he lowered his left hand, he was disconcerted to see a tangle of hair caught between his fingers.
He brushed it away under the table before any of the others could notice.
So now you’re losing your hair.
Only a modicum of sake was served—it was three hours to takeoff and heads had to be clear—so the meal did not become boisterous.
Two songs were sung to wind up the celebration, “Companion Cherry Blossoms” and “Until the Enemy Raises the White Flag,” Onda displaying a fine voice, Kan and Yagi subdued.
The dishes were then cleared away, a map was spread on the table, and the crew gathered round as Onda conducted a briefing.
The navigator, Kamibeppu, poring over the chart, draped a comradely arm across PO Yagi’s shoulder.
The finalized plan would take them well out into the Pacific to stay clear of the American presence around Iwo Jima.
They would then turn south at latitude 24 degrees and proceed to a point 100 kilometers to the east of Tinian Island.
Here they would turn east in a direct line to Tinian, descending from their cruising altitude of 10,000 meters to below 100 meters to stay beneath the Americans’ radar.
In the last few minutes, on the final approach, the dawning sun behind them, they would ascend to 700 meters to maximize the destructive effect of the bomb.
Making allowances for possible headwinds, Onda estimated that the 2,350-kilometer journey would take seven and a half hours.
Briefing finished, the crew retired to their assigned quarters to make final arrangements and write their last letters.
For Kan, all that remained was to pen a will declaring that he had no outstanding debts or loans and was leaving all his earthly possessions, such as they were, to his wife.
He then steeled himself to write Noriko his farewell, assuming that it would somehow reach her.
His request to make another telephone call to the Riken had been flatly refused.
“You will be surprised to learn,” he wrote, “that I have died in a military manner in battle. I am surprised myself, writing these words. I have volunteered for a no-return mission that it is hoped will change the course of the war, a unique mission that involves my area of specialization. I am not at liberty to reveal more here. A full account no doubt will be provided to you when you receive this letter. I pray that I will do my duty and acquit myself honorably at the decisive moment.”
He paused. The next part would be hard.
“Dearest beloved Noriko,” he continued, “thank you for being a good companion and a kind wife to me. And thank you for our precious child you bore us. I will soon be with Aiko in the next world and together we will—”
The image of Noriko distraught as she read this came clearly into Kan’s mind. Emotion welled up inside him, overwhelming the composure and lightness of spirit the Philopon tablet had granted. He turned away to hide his tears from Yagi, who was seated across the table.
Yagi didn’t notice. He was struggling with his own feelings. He had been all set when Captain Onda finally called him aside for a word, no doubt to remove him from the mission.
It was you who pressed me to join, you cloven-foot fucker!