"If We Save But One": Going
to War with Jinrai Butai "The Kamikaze"
by Raymond R. Malott
Publishers Syndication, International, 2001, 95 pages
The awkward title aptly summarizes this short book that
contains the World War II memoirs of Dr. Raymond Malott, Lieutenant in the U.S.
Navy Medical Corps, and the history of the Jinrai Butai (Divine Thunderbolt
Corps) of the Japanese Navy's Kamikaze Special Attack Forces. Dr. Malott served
on a ship that functioned as a floating battalion aid station with a 75-berth
sickbay, an operating room, and an X-ray room. The title comes from the quote,
"If you save but one man, your mission will have been successful,"
which someone in the family of the ship's commander said to him when first given
command of the ship. Dr. Malott had a unique
perspective of Japan's kamikaze attacks, since his ship PCE(R)852 picked up and
treated survivors from several ships that suffered hits by suicide planes in the Philippines or
near Okinawa.
PCE(R)852, commissioned in May 1944, stands for Patrol Craft
Escort (Rescue) 852. The ship was originally to be a minesweeper, but it was
converted with facilities to provide primary treatment to survivors of damaged
ships. Although primarily a medical ship, it still had armament that made it a
true warship. After an initial assignment in Bermuda, the PCE(R)852 became part
of a task force assigned to invade Leyte Island in the Philippines in October
1944. Dr. Malott soon witnessed the first of many kamikaze attacks, as two
planes crashed into and set ablaze two nearby ships, a cargo ship and an LST
(landing ship, tank). On April 27, 1945, he experienced one of his most
memorable missions. The 852 went to treat wounded on the destroyer Ralph
Talbot, and Dr. Malott and nine corpsmen boarded the damaged ship with radar
reporting enemy planes all around them. He describes what he found (p.
52):
There seemed to be wounded everywhere, in the mess hall and an adjacent
berthing area. The first one I encountered was lying in a berth with a gaping
wound in his right thigh from which an artery was pumping a thin stream of blood
in a six foot arc. I fished a hemostat from my back pack and clamped the artery,
then went on while the corpsmen dusted in sulfanilamide powder and bandaged the
wound. The deck was slippery with blood, and as the destroyer rolled the blood
sloshed back and forth over my shoe tops. I ruefully recalled complaining in
Bermuda that I wanted to wade in blood, and now in a macabre fashion my wish was
being granted. There were six other wounded. Two of them had legs torn off at
the knees, the rest had multiple compound fractures of the legs, and of these
one also had head injuries. Most were in shock from blood loss. We did rapid
triage, staunched bleeders, gave IV plasma, bandaged and splinted the shattered
legs. While we worked, the crew of the Talbot filled us in. A Kamikaze had dived
at their starboard side. The ship's gunners had thrown a hail of fire at the
plane and scored repeated hits, exploding the plane, but the plane's parts kept
hurtling toward them. The plane's motor crashed through the deck house, and one
of the plane's wings swept across the deck like a huge scythe, inflicting the
terrible wounds we were treating.
Three men who Dr. Malott had treated died during the night of irreversible shock, but
he and the corpsmen saved four Talbot crewmen, including one double amputee.
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