Kamikaze
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The Orgy of the Kamikaze
by Harold U. Kamamoto
Wildcat Adventures, December 1960, pp. 44-7

Introductory Comments

"The Orgy of the Kamikaze" is presented in Wildcat Adventures as a non-fiction story, but it is clearly absurd. Although the Japanese military's forced sexual slavery of "comfort women" from conquered Asian countries is well documented, there is no evidence that the military had an air base on a tiny South Pacific island where women from all over the world, including Europe and the U.S., were held captive and abused by airmen at the base. It is even more unbelievable that young pilots of the Kamikaze Special Attack Corps, not even formed until October 1944 in the Philippines, would carry out such actions.

Notes have been added to the story in order to provide comments on a few of the inaccuracies. Click on the note number to go to the note at the bottom of the web page, and then click on the note number to return to the same place in the story.

Nothing was too much for the death-flyers of the Emperor

Before me stood five of the most beautiful young women I have ever seen in my life. But their beauty was distorted by one common feature—fear—grim, ghastly, stark fear.

It was as if some master showman had selected the most perfect specimens of every type of feminine pulchritude in the world and carried them to this dismal camp to be degraded and victimized by their brutal captors.

One was a tall, lovely blonde, probably of Scandinavian ancestory, who tried in vain to cover her nakedness from the crude stares of her audience. Beside her stood a small Burmese girl, perfectly and voluptuously made, who thrust her exquisitely formed body at her captors, looked at us with a look that held both scorn and terror. A third may have been American or British. She had luxuriant red hair that fell over her snow-white shoulders in profusion as she twisted about in a pathetic endeavor to avoid our hungry male eyes. The others were Eurasians, with the almond eyes, slim hips and sinuous movements of that classic breed. None of them uttered a sound, except for a muted whimper.

"Come on, fellows," yelled Capt. Osaka, turning to me and the others. "Take any one you want . . . they were brought here just for us! I'm grabbing this magnificent yellow-haired girl. . . ."

Suiting the action to his words, Capt. Osaka, with a brutal grin, curling on his thinly moustached mouth, reached out and grasped the blonde roughly by the wrist. She recoiled in horror, but he gave her a yank that sent her sprawling into his arms. As she fell toward him, I saw him grab her face in his muscled hand and press his lips on hers. She shuddered, gasped, then finally gave in. A moment later he had hurled her to the ground . . .

Capt. Osaka was right. The girls had been brought to our camp—one of those tiny islands that dot the South Pacific and were used as bases by the Japanese Air Force during the war—purely and solely for our pleasure [1].

We were the elite of all the armed forces of Nippon. For us there was nothing too good.

You see, we were Kamikazes.

In return for giving our lives by hurling our bomb-laden airplanes directly on the Yankee warships, the government had decreed that we live life to the hilt before we went to our Maker [2].

Accordingly, for a week or two before we were destined to go on a mission that had no return, we were regaled with superb food and wines. And women.

Ah, such women!

They had been brought from the far reaches of the Eastern world. Wherever the Japanese hordes had gone, a stream of lovely women had flowed back to the homeland as slaves, toys to be enjoyed by the spoiled minions of the Emperor.

A variety of love-slaves, from the
four corners of the earth, were there for them.

I thought I saw a pleading look in the eyes of the auburn-haired girl as she fastened a gaze on me. It was almost as if she was saying: "Please come and take me, for you do not look as brutal and bestial as the others."

I stepped toward her.

"Come with me," I said, brusquely, and I led her off to a nearby glade in the woods. I pretended to shove her along violently.

When we were out of sight and hearing of the others, I changed my manner. Releasing my grip on her arm, I asked, in a kindly manner: "Do you speak English?"

I was not surprised to hear her answer in pure English: "I sure do. You seem to be a decent man. How did you learn to speak such good . . .?"

"To answer your question," I said, "I am a native American. I was born in Oakland, California, and brought to Japan by my parents when I was 17."

Despite my warning, she could not help giving vent to a muffled scream of joy. Fortunately, it was not heard, "I, too, am a Californian," she said. "I come from Van Nuys. My name is Sandra Elliott. But I do not understand . . . you, a born American, serving with the Japanese?"

I tried to explain that it was not my wish to be fighting for Hirohito, but that I had been forced into the air arm of his Imperial Majesty's Army on threat of terrible vengeance on all my relatives in Kobe [3]. It was my plan, I added, feeling that I could trust this young American completely, to desert at the first opportunity. I had to give up my life anyway if I remained a Kamikaze, and what better way could I serve my real country, the United States, than to die deserting its enemy.

Sandra listened patiently, then said: "I am very lucky to have run into you. I have given up my life for lost in any event, and it doesn't much matter any more, but at least I will have escaped for a short while from these . . . these" she groped for a word strong enough to emphasize her hatred . . . "these beasts! Like you, I would die gladly to get away."

"How did you ever find yourself in this Hell-hole?" I asked.

"I was a dancer," Sandra said, "and I was willing to take any job I could to get started on my career, so I left the States shortly before Pearl Harbor and joined a musical comedy troupe traveling through the Orient. I figured I could build up a bankroll and at the same time gain experience."

She laughed bitterly. "Fine experience I've gained!"

"What have they done to you?" I asked.

"Nothing very terrible—yet," Sandra answered.

I heard the sound of men moving in the woods nearby.

"Listen," I whispered, as I grasped her again by the arm. "I will pretend to treat you with great brutality. You may react perfectly natural, but do not be surprised at what I do. It is all an act, done to make certain that my companions think I am really like them. Then . . . if the proper chance presents itself, we may both find a way out of this Hell."

At this the approaching noises became louder, then I heard a piercing scream, followed by boisterous laughter. Two men broke through the underbrush, dragging something with them. As they grew closer, I could see it was the blonde.

"Ah, Lieutenant," said the mocking voice of Capt. Osaka, "I see you have kept your nice new toy bright and shiny clean." His eyes were fastened on my red-haired Sandra, who grew pale under his lecherous leer.

"I have not been so good a boy with my toy," he said, with elaborate sarcasm, indicating the unconscious blonde. "She seems to be rather badly broken."

Blood was gushing over the blonde's face, her eyes were battered and blackened and one might have thought her dead had he not caught sight of the ample bosom's rhythmic rising and falling.

Sandra could not restrain herself. Her beautiful face flushed with anger, she started making a forward movement to the side of her one-time companion.

"You . . . you . . . beast!" she began, but I stepped up to her.

"Shut up your lousy yapping!" I snarled. I slapped her backhand across the cheeks. Capt. Osaka, his swarthy countenance wreathed in rage, would have punched her had I not intervened.

"Captain," I said, in a confidential tone. "I have plans for this one. Later on, tonight, I am going to have my own pleasure of her a few more times then I have concocted a little trick that will satisfy even the most vengeful Kamikaze."

Osaka pricked up his ears. "you have thought of a little piece of torture?" he asked.

"I have indeed," I answered with a wink. I then took the officer aside and explained how I planned to torture the gorgeous redhead once I had satisfied my sexual desires. I told him in great detail how I would expose her to the prickings of a razor-sharp knife in the most delicate places; how I would bring her to the point of fainting from pain and fear, then revive her to continue my foul play.

The fiendish Osaka fairly drooled as I described the exquisite torture I was going to give the white beauty. "You will let me be present?" he asked, "It sounds like rare fun."

"Unfortunately, no," I said, flatly. "It is the code of the Kamikaze that on the eve of a fatal mission, he is in complete control of his own pleasures [4]. It is my pleasure to be alone with this . . . this thing."

He bowed politely. "You are right," he said, "although personally I think it is more fun to have a crowd around when one is having pleasure. To each his own."

He signalled a soldier to drag the still unconscious blonde to his quarters. "I will have a little more pleasure with her," he said, "so I wish you to take measures to revive her."

In a moment I was alone again with Sandra. "I am sorry I had to slap you," I said, "but I had to do it before that animal Osaka attacked you himself. Now that he has seen me hit you, he is satisfied that I am one of them."

"What do we do now?" Sandra asked. "I understand now why you struck me and I promise I won't be surprised if you do it again, but I am so terribly worried . . . for both of us."

"You will go to my quarters with me tonight," I said. "Tomorrow morning, promptly at 5 o'clock, we are to take off on a mission from which there is little guarantee any of us will ever return. We are to attack a fleet of American warships that has just been sighted in the Straits of Fujiwara [5]. If their anti-aircraft guns do not bring us down, we are duty bound to land on their decks. You know what that means?"

"Certain death," Sandra answered, calmly. "I wish I were as lucky as that. For you, at least, death will come quickly and painlessly. There will be no torture, no obscenity, no ravishment and degradation. I wish I could go with you."

"That is precisely what I am thinking of," I said, "and I may have found a way. Are you willing to do . . . anything?"

"Anything at all," Sandra said, "that will bring either quick death or freedom."

"Then come along," I snapped, assuming my former gruff manner.

Once outside my little room, Sandra grasped me passionately and pressed her luscious lips to mine.

At 4 a.m. I was awakened by a messenger. Our plans had been changed. Instead of flying solo out to attack the Yankee warships, I was to fly with another pilot. The other pilot would call me at 5 and we would go straight to the airstrip at once.

At 4:45 I handed Sandra a small dagger that had been sharpened to a razorlike edge. "I want you to use this on the next person to enter this room," I said. "It is our only chance."

On the stroke of 5 o'clock, there was a rap on the door. Although it was still dark, I quickly recognized the swarthy face and soldierly bearing of Capt. Osaka.

"A very great pleasure indeed," I assured him. I had no idea I was to have the pleasure of so great a pilot on this venture against the Yankee pigs. Come in, won't you?"

"The woman . . . she is still here?" he asked.

"There . . . in the corner . . . in the bed," I said. "I have had exquisite fun with her. Look at her, will you? See if she is alive—or if she feigns death."

Capt. Osaka walked over to the bed. He bent down to examine the beauty he thought either dead or sleeping. I saw her hand reach out to clutch him. It held the tiny dagger.

"Ah, still alive," the officer murmured. "And ready for more sex." He leaned forward. As he did, I saw her hand curl around his neck, the knife poised and drawn back. Then . . . she plunged it noiselessly into his back, straight between the shoulder blades.

He uttered a sharp groan and fell forward. I grabbed my rifle and smacked him squarely on the head three times—to make sure he was dead.

"Now," I said to Sandra, "we must work quickly. Take off his coat. Never mind the slit where the dagger pierced; there is no blood on the spot yet. Put on his uniform."

Working swiftly, she transferred his clothes to herself, hiding her wealth of copper-colored hair under a huge helmet.

"You are now Capt. Osaka, my co-pilot," I said. "To the airstrip at once."

Ten minutes later we were in the air, bound for the Straits of Fujiwara, flying in formation with a dozen other planes. Twenty minutes later, over the radio, came instructions to pounce down from the clouds upon the unsuspecting American ships.

"This is where we part company," I shouted over the roar of the engines to Sandra.

The other airplanes dipped, veered and shot downward for their prey. I saw them enter a hail of anti-aircraft fire. I headed my plane up and toward the West.

I flew far over the fleet and kept going until my gas tanks were all but empty. Then, sighting a huge aircraft carrier, I began a descent. As I suspected, clouds of bursting shells soon enveloped me, but none hit until I was only a few hundred feet above the sea.

We were lucky enough to land within a few hundred feet of the carrier. A small boat was sent out to us and we were taken aboard as prisoners of war. I explained the whole situation to the commanding officer. As a result I spent the rest of the war in an American internment camp.

Sandra Elliott? I never saw her again after we were taken prisoner. I am certain, however that she is alive and well after her harrowing experiences in Japan.

As for me, once more I am an American citizen, proud to belong to the greatest nation in the world.

Notes

1. The Japanese Navy and Army had special (suicide) attack units at air bases on mainland Japan, in the Philippines and Taiwan, and on several small islands from mainland Japan to Taiwan. However, they did not have any kamikaze base on a tiny island in the South Pacific.

2. The Japanese government issued no such decree for kamikaze pilots. Instead, they typically trained very hard for their suicide attack, although sometimes they were granted a short period of extra leave prior to the final mission.

3. The Japanese military did not threaten vengeance on relatives unless a person joined the military. The government had the power of compulsory draft, so there would not be a need to resort to such tactics.

4. No such code of the Kamikaze existed.

5. The Straits of Fujiwara do not exist.