A Kamikaze Pilot Remembers the Mission That Never Flew

Japan Forward

14-07-2025

At 97 years old, former kamikaze pilot Tatsukuma Ueno moves with remarkable energy. A former pilot with Japan's 66th Air Squadron, he addressed the Foreign Correspondents' Club of Japan (FCCJ) in Tokyo, offering a firsthand account of the final months of World War II through the eyes of a teenage aviator once prepared to die for his country.
Ueno was just 15 years old when he passed the military flight examination in Beijing, then under Japanese control. He was accepted into the Tachiarai Army Flight School in Fukuoka and trained first on the Type 95 intermediate trainer aircraft, known as the "Red Dragonfly." He later advanced to practical flight training on the Type 99 light bomber.
These early years were marked by rigorous drills and a sense of rising urgency. Japan was losing ground in the Pacific, and young men like Ueno were being rushed through training to reinforce the thinning ranks.
Ueno's unit was initially assigned to ground support, but by 1945, they had been ordered to carry out anti-ship attacks as part of the Okinawa campaign. His Type 99 bomber was outfitted with a 250-kilogram bomb, hardly enough to cripple a large United States warship, but sufficient to damage or disable smaller vessels. "It was technically a light bomber," he explained, "but we used it in the same manner as the special attack forces."
Though officially separate from the kamikaze units, the line blurred. "Our unit loaded up just like the kamikaze, flew out just like them, and attacked like them. But we had instructions to return if we survived. That was the only difference," Ueno said.
He stressed that their survival often depended on circumstance. "If the battle was going poorly or the attack didn't go as planned, we had to improvise. Some of us made it back. Others didn't." Within a span of just three months, more than 70 of his fellow airmen died. A young Tatsukuma Ueno (©JAPAN Forward)
Despite the danger, morale remained steady. "We trained hard and followed orders. We didn't talk about fear," he said. Yet the toll was undeniable. After the war, Ueno and other survivors erected a memorial at Bansei airfield in Kagoshima to honor their fallen comrades. He has returned every year to participate in the memorial service.
As Japan's position became increasingly desperate, Ueno was stationed in Kyushu at Bansei base, ready to carry out what could be his final flight. On August 14, 1945, he received his sortie order. The next morning, August 15, was to be his last.
But overnight, he fell violently ill. Feverish and shivering under a blanket, he could barely move. "It was like malaria," he recalled. "I didn't even understand what was happening that morning."
While Ueno lay in his quarters, the war came to an end. Emperor Hirohito's voice crackled through the radio, announcing Japan's unconditional surrender. "I didn't hear the broadcast. I was too far gone," he said. "Only later, when the fever had dropped, did I learn that the war had ended."
His comrades had been preparing themselves to die. Some were devastated that they had been denied the chance to complete their mission. "They were emotionally ready. And when that order was cancelled, it left them shaken," Ueno said. "There was no way to process it immediately."
For Ueno, the return home was numbing. "When I got back, I didn't know what to do. I sat in a daze for about a month. Just blank." With no parents or siblings to rely on, he was eventually advised to go back to school and restart his education. "That brought me back mentally. But the memories have stayed."
During training and deployment, Ueno worked alongside Korean pilots, something often overlooked in historical narratives. Asked about discrimination or unequal treatment, he replied with certainty. "There was none. Absolutely none. We trained together, ate together, slept in the same quarters. No one talked about who was Korean or who was Japanese. We were comrades."
His statement stood out in a discussion often framed by postwar recriminations and historical grievances. In the face of battlefield reality, divisions of ethnicity and background seemed to disappear. "We were all there for the same reason," he said.
Reflecting on how Japan has changed since the war, Ueno was restrained but thoughtful. "It depends on when and where someone was born," he said. "People today have grown used to peace. That's different from our time."
He expressed neither nostalgia nor criticism for the current era. "Japan is still here. That's something. People have done well to maintain this country."
When asked about rising geopolitical tensions, from US–China rivalry to conflict in the Middle East, Ueno was careful not to speak beyond his station. "That's for the politicians to decide. We ordinary people don't have the power to start or stop wars."
At the same time, he expressed a quiet wish. "If it can be avoided, then it should be. War takes too much. But every country has its reasons, and we cannot judge too quickly. I only hope leaders do everything they can to resolve things through diplomacy." Maps, sketches, and photographs showing training in Pyongyang during World War II, including a hand-drawn image of Japanese aircraft and a group of trainee pilots. (©JAPAN Forward)
Every year on August 15, the date of Japan's surrender, Ueno visits Yasukuni Shrine in Tokyo. For him, it is not a political act but a personal one. "I go to pray," he said. "Not just for my comrades, but for all those who gave their lives."
Even now, as Japan prepares to mark 80 years since the war's end, Ueno does not ask for recognition. Instead, he asks that the memory of his fellow pilots be preserved. "Some of them died at 16, 17 years old," he said. "They deserve to be remembered, not just as soldiers, but as people."
His voice was steady as he closed his remarks. "I lived through it. That's why I talk about it. So they are not forgotten."
Author: Daniel Manning