Black Box: The Final Flight of Japan’s Kamikaze Pilots

“I don’t want to die! … I want to live. No, I don’t want to die … I feel lonely. Why do I feel so lonely, isolated? Am I feeling the poverty of my soul? Homesick?”

This is what Hayashi Tadao, a Japanese kamikaze pilot, wrote in his diary on November 26, 1940. His words echo the despair of a generation caught in the jaws of a hopeless war. Decades have passed since young Japanese men smashed into the prows of American ships. But not all were blank slates or death-eaters. In countless yellowed diaries and letters, a different voice emerges, hesitant, life-loving, and far from the stereotypical image of kamikaze pilots as blind zealots.

The Wounded Tiger: The Birth of Kamikaze

By October 1944, three years after Pearl Harbor, Japan faced a grim strategic reality. Conventional warfare with bombs and torpedoes proved ineffective and costly. Despite a top-tier military leadership and a nation of 100 million indoctrinated with blind loyalty to the emperor and imperial ambitions, Japan couldn’t match the United States’ industrial might, its innovation, ingenuity, and mass production were unprecedented and decisive.

After the devastating Battle of Leyte Gulf (October 23–26, 1944), where Japan’s navy was nearly obliterated, the situation hit rock bottom. On October 14, Vice Admiral Takijiro Onishi, head of the Naval Air Arsenal in Tokyo, proposed a radical idea: use Zero fighter planes armed with 500-pound bombs to crash directly into enemy aircraft carriers. Onishi believed the Japanese spirit, seen as uniquely capable of facing death without hesitation, was the only way to pull off a miracle and save the battered homeland. Two days later, the plan was approved, and Onishi was tasked with leading the First Air Fleet in the Philippines.

On October 20, 1944, the first kamikaze unit, named Yamato, was formed with 24 pilots and planes divided into four squads, each named after symbols of the Japanese spirit. The term “kamikaze” (divine wind) was inspired by two legendary typhoons that miraculously destroyed a Mongol invasion fleet in the 13th century.

"Not for the Emperor”: Mechanisms of Denial

Japan’s decision to send soldiers on suicide missions stemmed from deep desperation. Intense government propaganda pushed an aggressive nationalist agenda, portraying death for Japan and the emperor as the ultimate honor. Public school education systematically indoctrinated students to die for the emperor under the slogan Joshi Reisho: “Sacrifice your life.”

A prominent kamikaze symbol was the cherry blossom, sakura. The flower adorned Tokkotai (special attack) planes, pilots’ uniforms, and helmets, embodying sacrifice and duty to the emperor and nation. The pilots, aged 18–24, were seen as fleeting blossoms, beautiful but transient, existing only to fulfill their ultimate mission.

Today, sakura remains a global draw, luring tourists to Japan to witness fields and streets bursting with vibrant purple and white blooms. The floral wave offers weeks of fleeting beauty, a reminder of life’s ephemeral nature.

But “volunteering” was far from free choice. Soldiers were coerced through social pressure and intimidation. The fanfare around their symbols and uniforms made it clear: hesitation wasn’t an option. Vice Admiral Onishi himself noted, “On land, they’d be bombed; in the air, they’d be shot down. It’s sad. Too sad. We must let the young die beautifully.”

Hayashi Ichizo, another kamikaze pilot, wrote candidly in his diary: “To be honest, I can’t say the desire to die for the emperor is genuine, coming from my heart. Yet it’s been decided for me that I’ll die for the emperor.”

Second Lieutenant Toshio Anazawa wrote to his fiancée: “As an engaged man, as a man about to go, I want to say a few words before I leave. I wish you only happiness. Don’t dwell on the past. You don’t need to live in the past. Be brave and forget it. You must create a new future. Live moment to moment in reality. Anazawa no longer exists in reality.”

The Tokkotai training was grueling, laced with brutal physical punishments and routine torture. It lasted about 30 days in theory but sometimes stretched to two months due to American raids and fuel shortages. Flight instructors ordered pilots to ignore their personal lives, focus solely on destroying the enemy with unwavering resolve, and hone their flying skills.

The Tokkotai manual instructed pilots “never to close their eyes,” as it would reduce their chances of hitting targets. In their final moments before crashing, they were told to shout “Hissatsu” (“Certain Kill”).

The diaries and letters of kamikaze pilots reveal a complex inner world, far from the “zealot” caricature painted in the West. Many were educated and cosmopolitan, drawing on Western and Asian philosophy and literature to grapple with their fate.

Sasaki Hachiro, an anti-war advocate, wrote on April 6, 1942: “The army, a great fool!” He dreamed of a world without war: “I pray we reach a day as soon as possible where we welcome a world without killing enemies we cannot hate.”

Takushima Norimitsu wrote on July 28, 1940: “The idea that someone is patriotic and thus sacrifices themselves is a thought for the foolish masses. It’s a kind of narcissistic mania … I advocate for bonds and free exchanges between the world’s peoples. I hate the rise of nationalism.” He added, “I made a mistake being born in this century.”

Matsunaga Shigeo, a pilot, wrote in 1938: “Cheap sentimentality, momentary heroism, and blind patriotism, these are taboo for student soldiers.”

Nakao Takenori, a law student at Tokyo University, pondered his death’s meaning: “Must I, who have known the depth of life and lived it, sacrifice my life for our country, as my life was meant to be given for the nation? … I struggle in pain, chasing the truth.” He described his profound loneliness: “I feel as lonely as the sound of a clock in the dark of night.”

The first kamikaze attack occurred on October 25, 1944, in Leyte Gulf, striking the USS St. Lo. The impact was immediate, dramatically boosting the Japanese air force’s effectiveness. In November 1944, kamikaze planes crashed into seven aircraft carriers, two battleships, two cruisers, two transport ships, and seven destroyers (one sank). These attacks forced a temporary U.S. Navy retreat.

On May 12, 1945, the battleship USS New Mexico was heavily damaged by a kamikaze crash, sparking 200-foot flames. Fifty-eight crew members died, three went missing, and 119 were injured. Kamikaze attacks continued until the war’s final days. In total, about 4,000 Tokkotai pilots, 3,000 young “boy pilots” and 1,000 “student soldiers,” died in these missions. Roughly 400 army suicide pilots perished off the Philippines, and over 950 off Okinawa.

Mitsubishi, a major Japanese industrial giant known today for vehicles, also produced aircraft for the Imperial Army during the war, including the iconic Mitsubishi Zero, synonymous with kamikaze pilots. This intertwines the brand’s modern image with a fraught military legacy that left a deep mark on Japanese history.

Matome Ugaki: The Last Kamikaze

The final known kamikaze attack occurred on August 15, 1945. Vice Admiral Matome Ugaki, a commander in the Imperial Japanese Navy, is remembered for his detailed, revealing diary and his role in the Leyte Gulf battle. Hours after Japan’s surrender was announced, he led one last kamikaze mission.

On August 15, Emperor Hirohito delivered a radio address admitting defeat and calling for the military to lay down arms. Ugaki, who hadn’t received an official ceasefire order, wrote in his diary that he bore the blame for failing to stop the American advance. To embody the bushido spirit, Japan’s samurai code of honor, he would undertake a final mission himself.

“I’ve never been filled with such anxiety,” Ugaki wrote. “As an officer trusted by the crown, I’ve met this sad day. I’ve never been so ashamed of myself. Alas!” Refusing to accept surrender, he added: “We haven’t received the ceasefire order, so I have no room to reconsider. I will follow the many loyal officers and men who devoted themselves to the nation, living in the noble spirit of the special attack.”

He expressed hope that “the Japanese people overcome all future difficulties, show our nation’s traditional spirit more than ever, strive to rebuild the country, and ultimately avenge this defeat.” He vowed to serve Japan even after death.

Ugaki drank a toast with his staff and, at 4:00 p.m., stood on the flight line where 11 torpedo planes awaited. Twenty-two pilots and crew, wearing headbands with the rising sun emblem, prepared for the mission. Despite his subordinates’ protests, Ugaki climbed into the rear seat of a Yokosuka D4Y4 dive bomber from the 701st Unit, piloted by Lieutenant Tatsuo Nakatsuro, with Ensign Akiyoshi Endo joining, making three aboard instead of the usual two.

Before boarding, Ugaki was photographed removing his rank insignia, carrying only a ceremonial sword gifted by Admiral Yamamoto. His final radio message declared: “Despite the brave fighting of every unit under my command over the past six months, we failed to destroy the arrogant enemy to protect our divine empire, a failure due to my inadequacy. But believing our empire will endure forever and the spirit of the Tenth Air Force’s special attack will never die, I will proceed to Okinawa, where our men fell like cherry blossoms, to crash into the arrogant American ships, showing the true spirit of a Japanese warrior.” The planes took off into the horizon.

His flight likely followed a path over the Ryukyu Islands, southwest of Japan, toward smaller islands north of Okinawa, where American forces remained on alert. That quiet evening, radar detected approaching planes. Night fighters intercepted them, and one by one, the planes plunged into the sea. None hit Allied ships. Ugaki’s final flight, like many kamikaze missions, ended in a glorious failure.

U.S. Navy records show no hits that day, and all but three planes, which returned due to engine issues, were shot down by anti-aircraft fire or crashed into the sea.

The next morning, the crew of the USS LST-926 found smoldering cockpit wreckage on Iheyajima Island’s beach, containing three bodies. One, in green uniform with a short sword, was identified as Ugaki. They were buried in the sand. Posthumously, Ugaki received the Order of the Rising Sun with Neck Ribbon.

This feature reflects on a haunting chapter of history, where duty clashed with humanity, and young lives were spent in a desperate bid for victory. The kamikaze pilots’ diaries remind us that even in war’s darkest moments, the human spirit wrestles with fear, love, and the search for meaning.