Enola Gay

by Gordon Thomas

  Of late on his visits to Los Alamos, Beser had tended to avoid any scientist who raised a doubt about the validity of his work. In Beser’s opinion, such men were misguided. He preferred the views of Dr. Louis Slotin, a young researcher who had worked on the “crit” experiments. “Whether you die by a bullet or a bomb, you are still dead.”

  The words exactly matched his own views at a time when thousands of Americans were dying from Japanese bullets on Iwo Jima.

  Beser was at Los Alamos to learn more about the fuzing mechanism of the bomb, and how the Japanese might interfere with it electronically, causing a premature explosion.

  Tibbets had come to see Oppenheimer to finish up the details for the arrival at Wendover of a new special unit—the First Ordnance Squadron—which would have technical responsibility for the atomic bomb when the 509th was overseas.

  After settling on March 6 as the date when the squadron would come to Wendover, Tibbets and Oppenheimer were joined by Ashworth. The navy commander had recently returned to Los Alamos after a thirteen-day visit to the Marianas, where he had delivered Fleet Admiral King’s letter to Admiral Nimitz and explained to the Pacific commander the role of the 509th. Nimitz had made one comment: he wished the bomb were available now to be used on Okinawa, the last major island to be invaded before mainland Japan.

  Ashworth told Tibbets that Guam was unsuitable as a base for the 509th. Instead, he agreed the group should use North Field, Tinian; the field had four eighty-five-hundred-foot-long runways.

  “I’ll only need one,” responded Tibbets.

  24

  From the upper floor of his small private hospital, Dr. Kaoru Shima had a good view of Hiroshima. It was one which was beginning to depress him. A slash of wasteland stretched away on each side of the Aioi Bridge, marking one of the fire lanes crossing the city.

  Dozens of houses, shops, tearooms, and bars had been demolished in the vicinity of the Shima Surgical Hospital, leaving its medical director and nursing staff with the feeling they worked “on the brink of destruction.”

  The morning newscast had reinforced this feeling. For the first time, Japan Radio had given a hint that the fighting on Iwo Jima was going badly.

  Iwo’s eight square miles were just seven hundred miles from Tokyo, close enough for the Americans to covet the Japanese island as a fighter-and-bomber base.

  For days, the radio and newspapers in Japan had dwelt on the impregnability of the island’s defenses. They had pointed out that the enemy’s seventy-four days of preinvasion bombardment had done little to destroy those defenses; the Imperial Japanese Army was sheltering in caves and deep tunnels, often protected by as much as thirty-five feet of concrete. And when the Americans had landed on Iwo, they had been led into a trap. Lured ashore by light opposition, the invading forces had gained a foothold on the island, only to have that hold nearly crushed by murderous cross fire from the entrenched army. Japan Radio had talked of slaughter on an unparalleled scale. But now, in early March, the latest bulletins were speaking of a “strategic withdrawal.” Dr. Shima, an old hand at assessing the truth of such claims, knew that Iwo Jima was doomed.

  Hiroshima’s fire lanes were a constant reminder to him that, as a prelude to invasion, air raids must be expected, and that he would then have to deal with casualties. Only he knew how meager were his resources; in practical terms, he would be able to offer little more than comfort to victims of a major attack. His dispensary was in need of replenishment. He suspected that many of the city’s twenty-two other hospitals and clinics, and also its thirty-two first-aid centers, were in a similar position.

  The materials now pouring into Hiroshima contained few medical supplies, and most of those would go to the large Ujina Army Hospital, the Red Cross Hospital, and the Mitsubishi Shipyard Hospital. Dr. Shima’s private clinic was low down on the army’s list of priorities.

  The clinic survived solely because of the driving force of its owner. He was also frequently called upon to perform operations in country hospitals. The sight of the doctor pedaling his bicycle, with his bag of instruments strapped to his back, was a familiar one in the area.

  The construction of the fire lanes often added time to his journeys, as demolished buildings blocked streets and he was forced to make long detours. But Dr. Shima never complained. To those who did, he had an unfailing answer. “Be glad you are alive.”

  25

  Fleet Admiral William D. Leahy, Roosevelt’s chief of staff, was not impressed with what he had heard of the Manhattan Project. The idea of a single bomb destroying a large city—and ending the war—was farfetched to him. Speaking as “an expert on explosives,” he planned to inform the president that the project was a dud, that the bomb would never explode.

  Roosevelt had no lack of people prepared to offer him the benefit of their advice. Leo Szilard was one of those asking for an appointment. Szilard now believed it was no longer the Germans who threatened the world; “our worry [is] about what the Government of the United States might do to other countries.”

  Secretary of War Henry L. Stimson advised Roosevelt not to see the Hungarian scientist. Others were not so easy to avoid. Over a year earlier, Harry S. Truman, then a senator from Missouri, had begun asking awkward questions. Stimson had silenced him at that time, but now he had to be more tactful. Any day, Truman could be president. Stimson knew that the ailing Roosevelt was hanging on to life by sheer willpower.

  Stimson had told Truman almost nothing. There had been no mention of an atomic bomb. The secretary of war knew that Truman was not satisfied, but he was buying time for the project.

  Recently, Roosevelt had asked him to conduct a review of the current situation.

  Late in the afternoon of March 2, the two men met in Roosevelt’s office. Stimson saw that the president, only days back from the taxing Yalta Conference, looked more gaunt than ever. He was one of the few men who knew about the small box of green tablets Roosevelt kept in a desk drawer for treatment of his hypertension and failing cardiovascular system.

  Anxious not to tire Roosevelt with a detailed summary, Stimson put the situation simply. Production of the weapon was on schedule. The bomb would be ready by August, as Groves had promised. The weapon could save the million American lives Stimson believed would be lost before Japan would surrender.

  Roosevelt seemed pleased. But Stimson wondered whether the president would live to see those million soldiers return home safely.

  The Deficiency Subcommittee of the House Committee on Appropriations—congressional watchdog on how public money is spent—was not placated by the prepared statement Under Secretary of War Robert Patterson had given them.

  In secret hearings, the subcommittee had tried to obtain further details of how almost two billion dollars had been spent on a project they could discover nothing about. Patterson had doggedly refused to say. He pleaded security considerations.

  Committee chairman Clarence Cannon of Missouri warned that “as soon as the war is over Congress will conduct a most thorough inquiry into the project.”

  Patterson was himself unaware of most of the Manhattan Project’s ramifications. But his political instincts sensed trouble. He knew that an essential rule for survival in Washington was to write a memo. He returned to his office and dictated one to an aide, General W. D. Styer. It was remarkable for its political expediency:

  At the beginning of the project I told General Groves that the greatest care should be taken in keeping thorough records, with detailed entries of decisions made, of conferences with persons concerned in the project, of all progress made and of all financial transactions and expenditures. From time to time I have repeated these instructions and have been assured by General Groves that he and his assistants were keeping complete records. I have told him that the most exacting accounting would be demanded by Congress at some time in the future.

  The size of the project, its secrecy, and the large sums of money being expended make it necessary that the utmost pains be taken in keeping r
ecords, to the end that a complete and detailed history of the project will at all times be available. This should cover fiscal, scientific and industrial phases of the work.

  While I have no reason to doubt that General Groves is giving thorough attention to this matter, the importance of keeping full, accurate and intelligible records is so great that I want you personally to examine into the matter and let me have your conclusions. I want you to take any corrective measures, to make sure that a complete current history of the project is being set down on paper by competent personnel.

  Patterson had covered himself.

  Increasingly, Groves saw himself as a strategist, and because the use of the atomic bomb raised important political questions, also as a statesman. Recently, he had taken steps to work against his government’s policy of collaborating with the British on all matters to do with atomic research. Churchill had raised the subject privately with Roosevelt at Yalta, and the president had agreed that Britain should be kept more fully informed on the project. That did not please Groves; he didn’t trust the British to keep the atomic secrets away from the Russians. He had decided that America’s Allies should get as little information as possible.

  He knew more about the weapon than almost anyone else. His performance had been herculean. Factories he controlled were among the largest in the United States. He had authorized the patenting of many thousands of new inventions which accrued from the atomic research. Yet the entire project was being threatened by some of the very scientists whose pioneering work had been invaluable. Groves could not understand them.

  Now, another voice had joined the dissidents. On his desk as he talked on the scrambler phone with General George C. Marshall in early March was a memo written the day before to Roosevelt by James F. Byrnes, director of the Office of War Mobilization. Byrnes had an office in the White House and virtually ran the nation’s economic affairs while Roosevelt and Stimson concentrated on foreign and military policy. Byrnes was known as “the assistant president.”

  A copy of Byrnes’s memo had been sent over from the White House to Groves for comment. That alone should have reassured him of the strength of his position. The memo was a sensible reminder to the president that there would be a momentous political row if the project failed.

  For a man used totally to having his own way, the memorandum’s words were chilling.

  … expenditures approaching two billion dollars with no definite assurance yet of production … if the project proves to be a failure, it will then be subjected to relentless investigation and criticism … even eminent scientists may continue a project rather than concede its failure. Also it may be feasible to continue the experiment on a reduced scale. In any event, no harm could come from an impartial investigation and review by a small group of scientists not already identified with the project. Such a review might hurt the feelings of those now engaged in the project. Still, two billion dollars is enough money to risk such hurt.

  In Groves’s mind, the suggestion of an outside review placed Byrnes firmly in the opposition camp. Groves did not believe there was anybody competent enough to carry out such an investigation. It looked like another attempt to stop the project.

  Groves finished briefing Marshall without mentioning the Byrnes memo. He was about to hang up when the army chief of staff asked if he had given any thought to how the bomb could be used to best advantage.

  Groves had, but he kept his ideas to himself. He told Marshall he thought it was time for the planners to prepare preliminary studies of suitable targets.

  There was a moment’s silence. Then Marshall spoke. “I don’t like to bring too many people into this matter. Is there any reason why you can’t take over this and do it yourself?”

  Groves eagerly accepted the offer. In his most optimistic moment he had never expected he would have the opportunity to choose atomic objectives.

  He could consult, he could heed advice, but in the end he would have the responsibility for recommending which Japanese city would serve as the first target for the atomic bomb.

  Secretary Stimson’s advice to Groves was clear; Groves should advise Roosevelt to reject Byrnes’s proposal for an independent inquiry. Maintaining secrecy was all-important. Congress and the Senate should be given the minimum information needed to secure appropriations. In the past two days, members of both houses had begun asking further questions about the Manhattan Project, following leakages about Under Secretary of War Patterson’s appearance before the Deficiency Subcommittee.

  Groves was delighted with Stimson’s support; it enabled him to dismiss, almost defiantly, Byrnes’s mild suggestion of a review.

  Next, Groves dealt with Congress and the Senate. He set about the task in cavalier fashion. He was prepared, he wrote Stimson, to allow two senators and two representatives to take a peep at the project.

  I would propose to show them those things outside the secret processing areas which have been under constant observation by the construction contractors and their personnel. They would see the size and scope of the installations and have an opportunity to assure themselves of the reasonableness of the various living accommodations which have been provided. I would also like to show them some portions of the processing areas to demonstrate the scope and complexities of the project.

  To qualify even for this strictly limited inspection—in reality, a reluctant bit of public relations to raise more money—Groves laid down conditions more appropriate for an inspection of the bomb itself than a mere glimpse of dormitories and kitchens.

  There was no possibility of anybody’s being allowed near Los Alamos. The visits would be to some of the less-secret atomic sites whose usefulness to the project was already diminishing. And even then:

  No notes should be taken by any of the visitors. Joint conversations regarding their visits should be held only while on the project and then in secure rooms. Information ascertained would not be usable for future formal or informal conversations or addresses, until the rules of security are changed by the Secretary of War. Some questions the members might ask would necessarily have to be unanswered and the refusal to answer must be unquestioned.

  26

  Tibbets remained impassive as Major William Uanna spoke without interruption for many minutes, reading from one file after another. His summary was brutal and to the point. “Colonel, you’ve got one convicted murderer, three men who are convicted manslaughter cases, and several felons. They are all on the lam from the pen. Now, what are you going to do?”

  Tibbets restated the question. “I know what I want to do. The question is, what are you going to recommend I do?”

  Uanna was prepared. “I’ll do whatever you want.”

  “Even break the law?”

  “Even that.”

  Tibbets began to explore other areas. “How did these guys get into such a secret outfit as the First Ordnance?”

  Uanna suggested that sheer chance had brought the criminals into the ordnance squadron that had just joined the 509th at Wendover. After escaping from various prisons, the convicts had presumably decided the safest place for them to remain undetected was the army. They would have had little difficulty enlisting under false names.

  “This is wartime, Colonel. The army doesn’t ask too many questions. It’s just glad for the manpower.”

  Uanna’s inquiries showed that the special technical talents of the men had been spotted by “scouts” for the Manhattan Project. The seven technicians—mainly tool- and diemakers—had been transferred to the First Ordnance Squadron.

  The squadron would “baby-sit” for the atomic bomb when the group went to Tinian. Each of its members was a specialist. Together, they were capable of carrying out, under scientific supervision, any last-minute modifications to the bomb that might be required. It had taken months to find the right personnel. The majority were skilled in metallurgy and allied disciplines. Twenty-seven of them held science degrees. They had been warned that from the moment they joined the squadron they might n
ot see their family or friends until the war was over. Each was allowed to write a daily letter; the mail was sent through a special post-office box in San Francisco.

  The squadron had arrived at Wendover on a heavily guarded train. Its men were directed to a special fenced-off compound on the field, watched over by a detachment of Uanna’s agents.

  Uanna explained to Tibbets how he had spotted the criminals in the squadron. “They were happy about all this security. Only years in prison makes men like that. We started digging.”

  Tibbets looked thoughtful. “We have them locked up here just as securely as if they were back in the pen?”

  Uanna agreed that was the case.

  “I want to see them.”

  Uanna raised no objection.

  The escaped murderer was sent for. Tibbets studied him. “Do you know why you are here?”

  “No, Colonel, I don’t.”

  Tibbets picked up a file. “Listen, fella. I know your real name, your federal penitentiary number, the number of years you were serving, the day you broke out.”

  Tibbets tapped the file. “It’s all here. Who you murdered, the police statements, your trial, your sentence, how you came to us. Everything.”

  The convict was too stunned to speak.

  Tibbets thrust the file toward him. “Here. See for yourself.”

  Tibbets saw the man tremble. He withdrew the file and closed it, then looked carefully at the technician. “This is the only record which exists of your past. The major and I are the only people who know that you are an escaped murderer. Now, it seems to me that you are real good at your present job. And we need good men. So look here. We’re going to give you a chance. Go back to your job. Do your work exactly as you have been doing it. If we have no trouble with you, you will have no trouble from us. When the war is over, we will give you this dossier and a match to burn it.”