Oulton and Cook discussed the problems as they sat drinking on the patio of the mess tent with the Pacific waves lapping at their feet. The Task Force Commander was at low ebb. He confided to Cook he just wanted to get off the “infernal island” as quickly as possible. Cook was worried about the effects any delays in preparations might have on morale. He decided to make a flying visit to Aldermaston to smooth over any last minute problems. Air Commodore Denis Wilson, the RAF’s most senior medical officer, had joined the discussion. He was concerned about possible health effects on the men and decided to accompany Cook. Wilson had made a speciality of the effects of radiation on the human body and wanted to check problems of possible contamination on the island after the explosion. It was up to him to establish the safe limits for the amount of radiation a person could absorb. He had always erred on the cautious side, but he told Oulton the radiation safety limits might now have to be recalibrated upwards. Oulton said they had better sort the problems out “pretty damn quick” and placed a Canberra at their disposal instead of the usual Shackleton which was very much slower.
No sooner were Cook and Wilson under way than the Christmas Island ‘curse’ struck again. The Canberra got lost in heavy cloud over Hawaii and because of radio trouble couldn’t raise Hickam air force base. They flew blind for over an hour and as the plane circled frantically looking for a gap in the cloud cover, it was forced to shut down one of its engines to conserve fuel. With 13,000-feet high volcanic peaks looming either side, the hopelessly lost Canberra was finally forced to make a crash landing on a disused air field at Kahului on the island of Maui. As the plane bumped to a halt, so did the one remaining engine. They were out of fuel. Cook, the most important British scientist after Penney, and Wilson one of the most senior officers in the RAF, suffered the indignity of having to be rescued by a local unit of the National Guard and having to ‘thumb a lift’ from a passing US Navy aircraft which eventually took them to Honolulu International.
There were red faces all round when the hapless pair finally arrived back in London. Oulton blamed the ‘curse’ and was in a dark mood when he also made a visit to Britain to confer with defence minister Sandys. The task force commander was furious about a decision taken by Sandys to give as little warning as possible to shipping about the forthcoming test. The government was anxious, he said, to avoid the possibility of ‘suicide ships’ from nuclear protesters sailing into the danger area.
Oulton protested that innocent ships, those on the high seas with legitimate commerce, might well accidentally sail into the area and disrupt the whole operation if adequate warnings were not issued. He wanted a broadcast to go out at least two months in advance and was apoplectic with rage when Sandys, whom he disparagingly called “this unsmiling character”, said that was too long and decreed that three weeks was enough warning. Oulton pointed out that in the vastness of the Pacific, most ships took many weeks to get from one port to another and therefore might be unable to receive the warning.
But it was to no avail and Oulton grumbling furiously returned to Christmas Island. His mood wasn’t helped when he was met by reports of growing dissent on the island by troops protesting about conditions. He toured the island giving pep talks to the men, but he was worried about the ugly mood that was developing.
The new influx of scientists from Aldermaston was also unhappy. They were used to home comforts, but some of their complaints were farcical. On one occasion during vital rehearsals for the drop, Oulton was called to an urgent meeting with a group of scientists who had ‘downed tools’ bizarrely because of some badly made sandwiches. One senior technician, driven to distraction by the conditions in one of the forward areas where he had to live, apparently complained about the sandwiches were only good for feeding the land crabs that constantly invaded his tent. He didn’t like what was on the sandwich, the packaging it came in, even the way it was cut. Oulton, doubtless biting his tongue, had no choice but to call a helicopter to bring some fresh sandwiches from the cookhouse 15 miles away before the scientists would agree to continue. They were frustrating days for Oulton who now found he spent most of his days quelling an increasing number of complaints.
Somehow they got through the difficulties and in early November the components of the newly designed weapon were delivered to Christmas Island. The final assembly took place in a shielded off hangar in a corner of the airfield. This time the two-stage thermonuclear bomb had a much more powerful atomic trigger, equivalent to 45,000 tons of TNT. It was ‘layer-cake’ design with a beryllium tamper which was hoped would generate sufficient energy to bring about the massive fusion reaction.
D-day was November 8. The last minute preparations were completed and it was hoped the fully primed bomb would produce an explosion of sufficient power to impress. But it was still by no means certain it would work satisfactorily. After a frustrating delay while an errant Liberian ship was shepherded out of the danger zone, the heavily-laden Valiant rose in the air and climbed to 45,000 feet. With Christmas Island so close to the target, the precise aiming of the bomb was crucial.
All the buildings had been evacuated. Aircraft not needed in the air were tethered to the runway, and tents were vented to allow the shock wave to pass through. Ground crew and other servicemen were mustered at the northern end of the island as far as possible from ground zero. The special reinforced camp for the scientists at the forward area, 20 miles from the projected ground zero, was dismantled, with only a few personnel remaining in specially built steel and earth bunkers.
Oulton was one of several officers who chose to be in the bunker for the big bang. He hunkered down behind the heavy steel doors as the countdown commenced. The lights were dimmed with the only illumination coming from a screen behind them which glowed white from a tiny hole in the steel wall. It was a classic pin-hole camera, through which Oulton and rest could watch the explosion projected on the screen. When it came it took everyone by surprise: it was huge. Many buildings were damaged, tents collapsed wholesale, and helicopters had their windows blown out.
A large number of native huts at Port Camp were damaged. The islanders were safe: they had been evacuated to ships moored miles off shore. Their homes suffered, however, which they later complained about. A small tribunal to assess the damage was convened, and minutes duly recorded. According to official records the Christmas Islanders were compensated by the British Government to the tune of £4 sterling for the damage caused.
Oulton and the scientific staff decided to leave their bunkers about 15 seconds after the explosion so they could experience the blast wave. Given the scientists were not sure just how big the explosion was going to be, this was a brave decision. Typically Oulton brushed aside these concerns and one can imagine him standing facing the blast, jutting chin, a heroic glint in his eye as the nuclear whirlwind approached. His only comment on the experience: “It was no worse than being at the bottom of a Welsh rugby scrum.”
The scientists worked out the Grapple X test had achieved the largest yield yet at 1.8 megatons and this had been brought about partly by a thermonuclear reaction. It was a tremendous relief. At last Britain could claim with some justification to be a nation with the H-bomb, albeit a prototype. The Prime Minister sent a letter of congratulation to the scientific team.
Flushed with success the Government spin went further than was strictly true. While the explosion had certainly been impressive, the new bomb still used huge quantities of Uranium 235 which made the combat use of the weapon impractical. And it still wasn’t the ‘pure’ thermonuclear bomb the politicians craved. Penney was summoned to another high-level meeting and another test was ordered. This time there were to be no half measures, nothing left to chance. The mixture had to be right; there were to be no mistakes. This could be the last chance Britain might have to join the top table. They wanted the world to sit up.