The USSR opportunistically invaded Finland at the end of November. In the rest of Europe the strange standoff prevailed that isolationist Idaho senator William Borah would label the “phony war.” The Peierlses moved to a larger house; early in the new year they generously invited Frisch to live with them. Genia Peierls, who was Russian, took the bachelor Austrian in hand. She “ran her house,” writes Frisch, “with cheerful intelligence, a ringing Manchester voice and a Russian’s sovereign disregard of the definite article. She taught me to shave every day and to dry dishes as fast as she washed them, a skill that has come in useful many times since.”1261 Life at the Peierlses was entertaining, but Frisch walked home through ominous blackouts so dark that he sometimes stumbled over roadside benches and could distinguish fellow pedestrians only by the glow of the luminous cards they had taken to wearing in their hatbands. Thus reminded of the continuing threat of German bombing, he found himself questioning his confident Chemical Society review: “Is that really true what I have written?”1262
Sometime in February 1940 he looked again. There had always been four possible mechanisms for an explosive chain reaction in uranium:
(1) slow-neutron fission of U238;
(2) fast-neutron fission of U238;
(3) slow-neutron fission of U235; and
(4) fast-neutron fission of U235.
Bohr’s logical distinction between U238 and thorium on the one hand and U235 on the other ruled out (1): U238 was not fissioned by slow neutrons. (2) was inefficient because of scattering and the parasitic effects of the capture resonance of U238. (3) was possibly applicable to power production but too slow for a practical weapon. But what about (4)? Apparently no one in Britain, France or the United States had asked the question quite that way before.
If Frisch now glimpsed an opening into those depths he did so because he had looked carefully at isotope separation and had decided it could be accomplished even with so fugitive an isotope as U235. He was therefore prepared to consider the behavior of the pure substance unalloyed with U238, as Bohr, Fermi and even Szilard had not yet been. “I wondered—assuming that my Clusius separation tube worked well—if one could use a number of such tubes to produce enough uranium-235 to make a truly explosive chain reaction possible, not dependent on slow neutrons. How much of the isotope would be needed?”1263
He shared the problem with Peierls. Peierls had his critical-mass formula. In this case it required the cross section for fast-neutron fission of U235, a number no one knew because no one had yet separated a sufficient amount of the rare isotope to determine its cross section by experiment, the only way the number could be reliably known. Nevertheless, says Peierls, “we had read the paper of Bohr and Wheeler and had understood it, and it seemed to convince us that in those circumstances for neutrons in U235 the cross-section would be dominated by fission.” Peierls could state simply what followed: “If a neutron hit the [U235] nucleus something was bound to happen.”1264
What followed thus made the cross section intuitively obvious: it would be more or less the same as the familiar cross section that expressed the odds of hitting the uranium nucleus with a neutron at all—the geometric cross section, 10-23 square centimeters, an entire order of magnitude larger than the fission cross sections previously estimated for natural uranium that were small multiples of 10-24.
“Just sort of playfully,” Frisch writes, he plugged 10-23 cm21265 into Peierls’ formula.1266 “To my amazement” the answer “was very much smaller than I had expected; it was not a matter of tons, but something like a pound or two.”1267 A volume less than a golf ball for a substance so heavy as uranium.
But would that pound or two explode or fizzle? Peierls easily produced an estimate. The chain reaction would have to proceed faster than the vaporizing and swelling of the heating metal ball. Peierls calculated the time between neutron generations, between 1×2×4×8×16×32×64 . . . , to be about four millionths of a second, much faster than the several thousandths of a second Frisch had estimated for slow-neutron fission.1268
Then how destructive was the consequent explosion? Some eighty generations of neutrons—as many as could be expected to multiply before the swelling explosion separated the atoms of U235 enough to stop the chain reaction—still millionths of a second in total, gave temperatures as hot as the interior of the sun, pressures greater than the center of the earth where iron flows as a liquid. “I worked out the results of what such a nuclear explosion would be,” says Peierls. “Both Frisch and I were staggered by them.”1269
And finally, practically: could even a few pounds of U235 be separated from U238? Frisch writes:
I had worked out the possible efficiency of my separation system with the help of Clusius’s formula, and we came to the conclusion that with something like a hundred thousand similar separation tubes one might produce a pound of reasonably pure uranium-235 in a modest time, measured in weeks. At that point we stared at each other and realized that an atomic bomb might after all be possible.1270
“The cost of such a plant,” Frisch adds for perspective, “would be insignificant compared with the cost of the war.”1271
“Look, shouldn’t somebody know about that?” Frisch then asked Peierls.1272 They hastened their calculations to Mark Oliphant. “They convinced me,” Oliphant testifies.1273 He told them to write it all down.
They did, succinctly, in two parts, one part three typewritten pages, the other even briefer. Talking about it made them nervous, Peierls recalls (by then it was March and the exceptional cold had given way to warmer weather):
I remember we were writing our memorandum . . . together in my room in the Physics Lab on the ground floor; it was a fine day and the window was open . . . and while we were discussing the wording a face suddenly appeared in the open window. And we were a little worried! It turned out that just underneath the window (which was facing south) people were growing some tomato plants, and somebody had been there bending down inspecting what these plants were doing.1274
The first of the two parts they titled “On the construction of a ‘superbomb’; based on a nuclear chain reaction in uranium.”1275 It was intended, they wrote, “to point out and discuss a possibility which seems to have been overlooked in . . . earlier discussions.”1276 They proceeded to cover the same ground they had previously covered together in private, noting that “the energy liberated by a 5 kg bomb would be equivalent to that of several thousand tons of dynamite.” They described a simple mechanism for arming the weapon: making the uranium sphere in two parts “which are brought together first when the explosion is wanted. Once assembled, the bomb would explode within a second or less.”1277 Springs, they thought, might pull the two small hemispheres together. Assembly would have to be rapid or the chain reaction would begin prematurely, destroying the bomb but not much else. A byproduct of the explosion—about 20 percent of its energy, they thought—would be radiation, the equivalent of “a hundred tons of radium” that would be “fatal to living beings even a long time after the explosion.” Effective protection from the weapon would be “hardly possible.”
The second report, “Memorandum on the properties of a radioactive ‘super-bomb,’ ” a less technical document, was apparently intended as an alternative presentation for nonscientists.1278 This study explored beyond the technical questions of design and production to the strategic issues of possession and use; it managed at the same time both seemly innocence and extraordinary prescience:
1. As a weapon, the super-bomb would be practically irresistible. There is no material or structure that could be expected to resist the force of the explosion. . . .
2. Owing to the spreading of radioactive substances with the wind, the bomb could probably not be used without killing large numbers of civilians, and this may make it unsuitable as a weapon for use by this country. . . .
3. . . . It is quite conceivable that Germany is, in fact, developing this weapon. . . .
4. If one works on the assumption that Germany is, or wi
ll be, in the possession of this weapon, it must be realised that no shelters are available that would be effective and could be used on a large scale. The most effective reply would be a counter-threat with a similar weapon.
Thus in the first months of 1940 it was already clear to two intelligent observers that nuclear weapons would be weapons of mass destruction against which the only apparent defense would be the deterrent effect of mutual possession.
Frisch and Peierls finished their two reports and took them to Oliphant. He quizzed the men thoroughly, added a cover letter to their memoranda (“I have considered these suggestions in some detail and have had considerable discussion with the authors, with the result that I am convinced that the whole thing must be taken rather seriously, if only to make sure that the other side are not occupied in the production of such a bomb at the present time”) and sent letter and documents off to Henry Thomas Tizard, an Oxford man, a chemist by training, the driving force behind British radar development, the civilian chairman of the Committee on the Scientific Survey of Air Defense—better known as the Tizard Committee—which was the most important British committee at the time concerned with the application of science to war.1279
“I have often been asked,” Otto Frisch wrote many years afterward of the moment when he understood that a bomb might be possible after all, before he and Peierls carried the news to Mark Oliphant, “why I didn’t abandon the project there and then, saying nothing to anybody. Why start on a project which, if it was successful, would end with the production of a weapon of unparalleled violence, a weapon of mass destruction such as the world had never seen? The answer was very simple. We were at war, and the idea was reasonably obvious; very probably some German scientists had had the same idea and were working on it.”1280
Whatever scientists of one warring nation could conceive, the scientists of another warring nation might also conceive—and keep secret. That early in 1939 and early 1940, the nuclear arms race began. Responsible men who properly and understandably feared a dangerous enemy saw their own ideas reflected back to them malevolently distorted. Ideas that appeared defensive in friendly hands seen the other way around appeared aggressive. But they were the same ideas.
* * *
Werner Heisenberg sent his considered conclusions to the German War Office on December 6, 1939, while Fermi and Szilard waited for the $6,000 the Briggs Uranium Committee had allocated to them for graphite studies and Frisch prepared his pessimistic Chemical Society review. Heisenberg thought fission could lead to energy production even with ordinary uranium if a suitable moderator could be found. Water would not do, but “heavy water [or] very pure graphite would, on the other hand, suffice on present evidence.” The surest method for building a reactor, Heisenberg wrote, “will be to enrich the uranium-235 isotope. The greater the degree of enrichment, the smaller the reactor can be made.” Enrichment—increasing the proportion of U235 to U238—was also “the only method of producing explosives several orders of magnitude more powerful than the strongest explosives yet known.”1281 (The phrase indicates Heisenberg understood the possibility of fast-neutron fission even before Frisch and Peierls did.)
During the same period Paul Harteck in Hamburg was building a Clusius separation tube; in December he tested it by successfully separating isotopes of the heavy gas xenon. He traveled to Munich at Christmastime to discuss design improvements with Clusius, who was professor of physical chemistry at the university there. Auer, the thorium specialists, purveyors of gas mantles and radioactive toothpaste, delivered the first ton of pure uranium oxide processed from Joachimsthal ores to the War Office in January 1940. German uranium research was thriving.
Acquiring a suitable moderator looked more difficult. The German scientists favored heavy water, but Germany had no extraction plant of its own. Harteck calculated at the beginning of the year that a coal-fired installation would require 100,000 tons of coal for each ton of heavy water produced, an impossibility in wartime. The only source of heavy water in quantity in the world was an electrochemical plant built into a sheer 1,500-foot granite bluff beside a powerful waterfall at Vemork, near Rjukan, ninety miles west of Oslo in southern Norway. Norsk Hydro-Elektrisk K vaelstofaktieselskab produced the rare liquid as a byproduct of hydrogen electrolysis for synthetic ammonia production.1282
I.G. Farben, the German chemical cartel assembled by Bayer’s Carl Duisberg in the 1920s, owned stock in Norsk Hydro; learning of the War Office’s need it approached the Norwegians with an offer to buy all the heavy water on hand, about fifty gallons worth some $120,000, and to order more at the rate of at least thirty gallons a month. Norsk Hydro was then producing less than three gallons a month, enough in the prewar years to glut the small physics-laboratory market. It wanted to know why Germany needed so vast a quantity. I.G. Farben chose not to say. In February the Norwegian firm refused either to sell its existing stock or to increase production.
Heavy water also impressed the French team, a fact Joliot pased on to the French Minister of Armament, Raoul Dautry. When Dautry heard about the German bid for Norsk Hydro’s supply he decided to win the water for France. A French bank, the Banque de Paris et des Pays Bas, controlled a majority interest in the Norwegian company and a former bank officer, Jacques Allier, was now a lieutenant in Dautry’s ministry.1283 Dautry briefed the balding, bespectacled Allier with Joliot on hand on February 20: the minister wanted the lieutenant to lead a team of French secret-service agents to Norway to acquire the heavy water.
Allier slipped into Oslo under an assumed name and met with the general manager of Norsk Hydro at the beginning of March. The French officer was prepared to pay up to 1.5 million kroner for the water and even to leave half for the Germans, but once the Norwegian heard what military purpose the substance might serve he volunteered his entire stock and refused payment. The water, divided among twenty-six cans, left Vemork by car soon afterward on a dark midnight. From Oslo Allier’s team flew it to Edinburgh in two loads—German fighters forced down for inspection a decoy plane Allier had pretended to board at the time of the first loading—and then transported it by rail and Channel ferry to Paris, where Joliot prepared through the winter and spring of the phony war to use it in both homogeneous and heterogeneous uranium-oxide experiments.
Nuclear research in the Soviet Union during this period was limited to skillful laboratory work. Two associates of Soviet physicist Igor Kurchatov reported to the Physical Review in June 1940 that they had observed rare spontaneous fissioning in uranium. “The complete lack of any American response to the publication of the discovery,” writes the American physicist Herbert F. York, “was one of the factors which convinced the Russians that there must be a big secret project under way in the United States.”1284 It was not yet big, but by then it had begun to be secret.
Japanese studies toward an atomic bomb began first within the military.1285 The director of the Aviation Technology Research Institute of the Imperial Japanese Army, Takeo Yasuda, a lieutenant general and an alert electrical engineer, conscientiously followed the international scientific literature that related to his field; in the course of his reading in 1938 and 1939 he noticed and tracked the discovery of nuclear fission.1286 In April 1940, foreseeing fission’s possible consequences, he ordered an aide who was scientifically trained, Lieutenant Colonel Tatsusaburo Suzuki, to prepare a full report. Suzuki went to work with a will.
* * *
Niels Bohr had returned from Princeton to Copenhagen at the beginning of May 1939, preoccupied with the gathering European apocalypse. His friends had urged him to send for his family and remain in the United States. He had not been tempted. Refugees still escaping from Germany and now fleeing Central Europe as well needed him; his institute needed him; Denmark needed him. Hitler proposed on May 31 to compromise the neutrality of the Scandinavian countries with nonagression pacts. The pragmatic Danes alone accepted, fully aware the pact was worthless and even demeaning but unwilling to invite invasion for a paper victory. By autumn, when th
e John Wheelers offered to shelter one of Bohr’s sons in Princeton for the duration of the conflict, Bohr reserved the offer against future need. “We are aware that a catastrophe might come any day,” he wrote in the midst of Poland’s agony.1287
Catastrophe for Denmark waited until April 1940 and came then with brutal efficiency. Bohr was lecturing in Norway. The British had announced their intention to mine Norwegian coastal waters against shipment of Norwegian iron ore to Nazi Germany. On the final evening of his lecture tour, April 8, Bohr dined with the King of Norway, Haakon VII, and found King and government lost in gloom at the prospect of a German attack. After dinner he boarded the night train for Copenhagen. A train ferry carried the cars across the Óresund at night to Helsingør while the passengers slept. Danish police pounding on compartment doors woke them to the news: the Germans had invaded not only Norway but Denmark as well. Two thousand German troops hidden in coal freighters moored near Langelinie, the Copenhagen pier of Hans Christian Andersen’s Little Mermaid, had stormed ashore in the early morning, so unexpected a sight that night-shift workers bicycling home thought a motion picture was being filmed. A major German force had marched north through Schleswig-Holstein onto the Danish peninsula as well, crossing the border before dawn. German aircraft marked with black crosses dominated the air. German warships commanded the Kattegat and Skagerrak passages that open Denmark and southern Norway to the North Sea.
The Norwegians fought back, determined that their King, court and parliament must escape to exile. The Danes, in their flat country where Panzers might roll, did not. Rifle fire crackled in the streets of Copenhagen in the early morning, but King Christian X ordered an immediate ceasefire, which took effect at 6:25 A.M. By the time Bohr’s train arrived in the capital city what Churchill would call “this ruthless coup” was complete, the streets littered with green surrender leaflets, the King preparing to receive the German chief of staff.1288 Danish resistance would be dedicated and effective, but it would take less suicidal forms than open battle with the Wehrmacht.
Making of the Atomic Bomb Page 45
