“Sir, with some of our scientists predicting that detonating the Gadget would have set off a chain reaction that would destroy the Earth, can you blame me for being careful? Sure, I was covering my own butt. But can you blame me?”
“Look, Dave. You know I’m a scientist by training. But the powers that be made me more of an administrator than anything else. So my job is to make sure that people like you do your job. My big worry is that your fears are hindering you from doing your job.”
“Look at it this way. Maybe by protecting myself I’m healthier than the ones who went near the blast and then the detonation site afterwards. Maybe what they were exposed to has made all of them less effective.” Including you, you big fat dummy! I bet the rays turned that pea-sized brain of yours into pea soup! Pretty soon green goop will start oozing out of your ears. Don’t say I didn’t warn you when they wheel you out of here on a gurney. He hid his thoughts with a smile so broad that it exposed his recent dental work; two fillings and a cleaning that had made his gums bleed. His boss grimaced at the still raw gums as he wondered if Dave liked meat cooked very rare and had eaten some for lunch.
“Dave, believe it or not, I’m on your side. Tin foil does not offer the protection that you think it does. Besides, it’s totally unnecessary.”
“Huxley, whose mind is greater than ours put together, said it did in his book.”
“That one about tin foil hats keeping others from reading your thoughts and from projecting their thoughts into your mind? That’s science fiction, with the emphasis on fiction. I sure hope you don’t read too many of those kind of books or those crazy science fiction magazines and comic books. Next, you’ll be telling me you believe that movie George saw about dangerous rays.”
“The Invisible Ray? It was okay. I gave it three stars out of five. Hollywood is so hit and miss these days. They did a much better job with all of their takes on Frankenstein, the Wolfman, the Mummy, and Dracula. And now that the war’s finally over with I’m hoping they will do some more science fiction. Lord only knows how much subject matter we’re handing them on a silver platter by successfully giving the world the Gadget.”
Feeling like when his car’s rear tires became anchored in mud or snow, the boss reverted to a stiff formal posture, his desk now a barricade against what he thought to be the Three Stooges, Marx Brothers, and Laurel and Hardy all combined into one of his subordinates. “That will be all.” He scribbled a concise summary and then asked his secretary to place a call to Washington, D.C. to his person of last resort.
“Hello, Tony? This is Joe down at Los Alamos in New Mexico…Just fine, thanks. Listen, I need you to send one of your boys down here…No, I already tried that. That’s why I need your help…He can? Great. Listen, the hunting is fantastic down here. Can you get away sometime in the fall…? Great. I’ll see you then. I need a break from this loony bin…I don’t mean to complain but I think mine is loonier than yours, I’m afraid.”
Chapter 9
“So what do you think of our asylum? Are the inmates running it?”
Arkhip shrugged. “I can’t complain. At least I’m sheltered and fed and surrounded by some of the world’s best minds. What more could I wish for?”
“Freedom?”
Typical German. Always wanting what he can’t have. “Yes, Comrade Franz. Freedom would be very nice.”
“Please don’t be so formal. After all these months, can I not be Wilhelm and you, Arkhip? All of that saying comrade in front of our names is a joke.”
“As you wish, Wilhelm.” He had earned at least that much; the number tattooed on his arm was his reminder for life of his days spent at Treblinka. One of the few survivors by the time Russian troops entered the camp, Wilhelm had been sent eastward once his background became known. After all, such German scientists were spoils of war. If he were allowed to return to his native Germany then the Allies would surely snatch him and send him to America. Being a Jew, maybe he would someday relate to Herr Marx and Herr Lenin, Jews who had birthed their versions of the socialist utopia that controlled Mother Russia. But he had proven a disappointment. Having refused to work on Germany’s program to develop an atomic bomb, he now provided the bare minimum of effort to the USSR’s efforts to join the nuclear club. Such an ingrate. Had not Russian troops fought and died to liberate him from the Nazi death camp? Typical hardheaded, cold-hearted kraut, Arkhip had concluded. But a good source of information, nonetheless. “Have you heard anything new?”
“Evidently, Russia’s spies are providing bits and pieces of data for us. I suspect it won’t be too long before we’re shipped off to build the bomb. Can’t be doing it here, so close to the Kremlin.” He pointed toward Moscow, twenty miles to the south. “Something might go wrong. Uncle Joe wouldn’t like having Moscow getting radiated. Just the blast and cloud would make him wet his pants.”
Arkhip could not stifle a laugh as she pictured the most powerful dictator on Earth with wet pants. “So true. We’ll have to test it where it won’t harm anyone, at least no Russians.”
“The Americans tested their first bomb in the desert. The rumor I’m hearing is their next test will be in the South Pacific.”
“How do you hear the rumors before anyone else?”
“First I must swear you to secrecy. Repeat after me. I, Arkhip Yankhov swear on my mother’s grave not to reveal Wilhelm’s top secret.”
She took the oath. “Okay, I swore. Now tell me. Our allotted time for walking is almost over.”
“I eavesdrop on the guards.”
“But you speak only German and English. How could you…”
“And I understand enough Russian to get by. Listening to the Russian-speaking Jews at Treblinka taught me. They used Yiddish and sign language to explain any Russian word I did not know. But speaking your native language is too hard.”
“You rat! All these months you’ve made me speak to you in German and English.”
“It’s been good for us. Our English is much improved and your German is much improved as well. My mother would like you for that even though you’re Russian.”
Arkhip shook her head. Despite their differences in religion, nationality, and background, they had become friends. And a friend while isolated in a compound was a valuable asset as they worked on what Comrade Stalin had dictated as the number one priority to keep America from bombing Moscow, Stalingrad, Leningrad, and every other sizeable Russian city just as they had Nagasaki and Hiroshima. “I think we should test the bomb in Siberia as close to the Pacific Ocean as possible.”
“Why there? So they can send us to a nearby gulag if we fail or don’t cooperate?”
“Every scientist knows the prevailing winds travel from west to east. That way the radioactive material kicked up into the atmosphere would mostly land on Japan, Korea, and in the ocean. A little bit would reach Canada and America. But even a tiny amount falling on them would please Uncle Joe.”
“I hate to disappoint you but the rumor is we’ll be setting up the test site to the south where it’s much hotter. It seems that we’re copying the Americans. But it makes sense to work in an area without severe cold and twenty feet of snow.”
Chapter 10
“Where do these rats go, sir?”
Ensign Rhinehardt scanned his chart. “Over there.” He pointed to a section of deck not yet populated by some form of four-legged mammal. Might as well call me Old MacDonald and this ship my farm. If Captain Uley had told me I’d be doing this, I would have never extended.
It took the sailors another hour to position the animals. The goats, tethered to racks, were left with bowls of water and piles of feed. Such provisions mystified one seaman. “Why bother with food and water, sir? Aren’t they all going to die anyway?”
“I don’t know. You’d have to ask the scientists back on ship and at base about that.” Scenes of the victims of radioactivity he had seen in Nagasaki ten months earlier replayed in his mind like a B-movie starring some of Hollywood’s army of lesser-known actors
. “Maybe it’s their last meal? You know, like what the condemned prisoner gets before they fry him in the electric chair.” He walked the deck of the target ship a last time and inspected the pigs, goats, rats, and guinea pigs that were going to experience America’s fourth atomic bomb explosion in a personal way. No protective glasses for these brave “volunteers” in the name of science. No safe distance from the blast either. That was reserved for those on the observation vessels that would sit far back from ground zero.
As their launch chugged back to their ship the seaman continued to question his ensign, who did not mind because he thought it to be a sign of respect rarely encountered during his time in uniform. “You think all this muss and fuss is worth it, sir? We already know what the bomb did to Nagasaki and Hiroshima.”
“The ones who fight wars from some office in the Pentagon want to know just how an A-bomb would affect ships at sea. So first the Army brass and Navy brass fight over the details of the test for months and months. Then it’s all downhill from there. It’s like PFC Dalrumple, God rest his soul, used to tell me: ‘To be a plumber you need to know two things, crap floats downhill and coffee break’s at ten. To be a grunt you have to know two things, crap floats downhill and coffee break is after we hurry up and wait.’ It’s like that for the Navy, too. The head bone’s connected to the neck bone. The neck bone’s connected to the back bone…” He continued his song until he had reached the toe bones. “And that’s you and me, seaman. We’re just the toe bones putting test animals on a fleet of our ships and some Jap ships to see what the next A-bomb will do to them.”
The seaman winced. “Actually, sir, I think you’re a foot bone because you’re an officer. Us enlisted are the toe bones. Maybe that’s why so many of us get broken I guess.”
The ensign smiled. “You got a pretty good head on your shoulders, sailor. You ever think of moving on up into the officers’ ranks? That is, if you’re still going to put in your twenty years of service so you can pull down a pension like you said before.”
“I don’t know, sir. I’d probably be a fish out of water as an officer. I’m all right with obeying orders. Giving them is just not too appealing to me. Besides, after my assignment in the Marshalls is up I’m going to transfer over to the Seabees. I love working with machines and tools.”
“At least you’ll be happy then.” Happiness? How to measure it? Sally was anything but when Fred had extended “because I have to sort some things out.”
“Things, what things are you talking about?” She had written back.
“I have to understand these new atomic bombs. Life will never be the same again for any of us.” He had replied.
“Just as long as you don’t hook up with some Hawaiian honey in a grass skirt, Japanese Jane, or Polynesian Pam,” she had warned in the letter in which she finally relented.
Happiness? Just an illusion, that mythical pot of gold at the end of the rainbow just over the next hill because the grass is always greener in another place at another time under better circumstances, he finally had concluded.
A B-29 Super fortress dropped the bomb the next day. It exploded about 600 feet above the waters and in the middle of the ships anchored in Bikini Atoll. Because it was larger than the first one tested a year earlier in the deserts of New Mexico the observation ships pulled back ten miles from the blast’s epicenter. Other bombers outfitted with cameras instead of guns filmed the blast. Drone bombers flew through the mushroom cloud to take readings. Based on data garnered from the aftermath of the bombings on Japan, scientists had determined the radioactivity levels would be lethal for any human flying aboard the drones.
Within hours, crews approached the ships that had not sunk or capsized. The ensign and seaman returned to retrieve the animals they had anchored to the deck of a ship that still floated upright.
“Okay, the scientists especially want the survivors, men,” Rhinehardt said. “So be careful with them.”
“So they can give them medals and then a burial at sea?”
That wise crack produced enough humor to deaden senses. The initial sights and odors of radiation burns and sounds of animals dying agonizing deaths had sent a couple sailors to the side where they vomited breakfast into the waves below. Especially pathetic was the billy goat that had butted some of the sailors during his stay on their ship and transport to his final berth. They had adopted him as a mascot and started a betting pool in his honor as to how many weeks he would live after the blast. Now he lay on the deck, still bound to the rack he had been tied to in the name of science. Gone was the spark of fire in his eyes, his feisty attitude that said, “I was drafted into whatever craziness you humans are up to but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.” His glassy eyes no longer radiated life or received images to transmit to his brain because he had been looking the wrong direction as the initial flash of the bomb lit up the sky.
“Looks like Horace isn’t going to make it another day, boys,” the sailor who had named him said. “Who was it that bet that he’d only live just one week?”
The keeper of the betting pool chart pulled it from his pocket. “That would be Fernandez. Hey Fernandez, how did you know to pick a week?”
The winner to be shrugged. “Lucky guess, I guess. Besides, I saw too many Japs die while I was there at Yokohama. You know, survivors from Hiroshima. I figured poor old Horace wouldn’t do much better than they did.”
“Well, you figured right.” The sailor next to Horace gently shook the goat. “Horace just stopped breathing. That makes you $16 richer, you lucky dog.”
After the surviving animals had been delivered to the team of scientists, Ensign Rhinehardt ate dinner with one of them. “I don’t mean to be nosy, but can I ask you some questions? Or is what you guys are doing all classified?”
“Ask away. I don’t know any top secrets. I’m too low level.”
“I just don’t understand why you need to put animals out there to get blasted by the bomb like you did.”
“We need to nail down adequate data on the effects of radioactivity on living organisms. It’s the best way to do it.”
“But couldn’t you do all that by studying the survivors in Japan?”
“We need some long term data. Because our test animals have much shorter life spans than humans we can extrapolate the data quicker, especially what kind of effects radiation might have on offspring. Our test animals produce babies much quicker and a lot more of them than the A-bomb survivors in Japan ever will.”
“What?” He dropped his forkful of chipped beef on toast as he tried to keep his shaking tray from sliding off of his lap. “Are you telling me that radiation might affect the kids who are born to the survivors of radiation exposure?”
“Maybe. Nailing that down is the million-dollar question for us right now. Let’s say a woman who survived Hiroshima has a defective kid somewhere down the line. What caused it? Did that same kind of condition that her baby has run in her family back for who knows how many generations? Or was her kid born all messed up because mama-san almost starved to death during the war? Or is because some of her eggs got toasted with a little bit too much radiation? The worst of it is that females come equipped with all their eggs at birth, thousands of them. That means even young girls that got radiated might give birth to a deformed kid years later. Or maybe it was papa-san’s gonads getting radiated that makes him produce some defective sperm?” He shoved a spoonful of rice pudding into his mouth. “There are so many variables to filter through that it will take years before we know much of anything. Add in the language barrier. We use a translator to question mama-san and papa-san about their family histories. How much gets lost in the translation? A little? A lot? Or just enough to screw up our research? Like it or not, lab animals are a whole lot easier to work with. All the ones I’ve ended up dissecting just sort of seem to accept their fate. That’s something I’ve only seen in about one out of a thousand human beings. We just plain bitch and complain and cry a whole lot more than any animal ever
does.”
The next day the ensign and seaman went aboard a ship that had tested at a dangerous level of radioactivity as part of a crew to try and scrub away the residue. Halfway through the task, the seaman decided to entertain his shipmates during a break. He began by clicking out a tap dance in front of his captive audience. As his toes and heels counted off a sixteen/sixteenths beat he improvised his song:
I’m Popeye the sailor man!
I sail on an old tin can.
I scrub the decks clean
Because I’m a U.S. Navy machine.
I’m Popeye the sailor man!
His impromptu entertainment brought forth cheers and jeers from the lower ranks and a smile to an ensign who was now counting the days until he returned home to Madisin and Sally.
Chapter 11
Jason first spotted the top layer of the mushroom cloud while he checked the pits for any fish left stranded in them after the last high tide. “Look over there at that, Kong! That’s no thunderhead blowing our way. It’s rising way too fast. Let’s see just where that is on the map.” He ran to the lean-to and retrieved the chart he had salvaged from the PT boat the previous summer. On it a seaman had penciled in the PT boat’s location when it was attacked and disabled. Jason compared that mark with the largest group of islands that lay in the direction of the strange expanding cloud. “Looks like it’s coming from near where the Bikini Atoll is at, Kong.” Jason dropped the chart onto the beach.
Kong picked it up and carried it back to the lean-to. Lately, his human was careless, as if he expected to be leaving Kong Island any day now. It all had something to do with those strange marks that he daily carved into the tree. After safely storing the chart, Kong returned to his human’s side. Jason still studied the cloud that had reached its apex.
“I don’t like this one bit, Kong. That cloud looks funny.” He sat down next to the monkey. “I don’t ever remember any smoke that high up after we pounded all those islands with bombers and shells from the cruisers and battleships. You don’t think…I sure hope not.”
Scenarios that the Professor had offered began to play out in his weary mind: “The one wild card in ending the war is Russia,” he had said. “They still haven’t even declared war on Japan. I guess they decided to let us and the Brits take care of it. Besides, they’re too busy taking over all those European countries. It’s a long shot but what if Stalin decides to switch sides on us? What if he joins forces with the Japs? If he does we’ll be back down here fighting in the islands again instead of invading Japan.”
Day of the Bomb Page 6
