“Prepare for bomb run.” Now the crew had hard work to do. Heavy cotton duck curtains were pulled over all the aircraft transparencies. Six layers of cotton duck, interleaved with layers of carbon to prevent flash penetrating the cockpit. The crew members solemnly took eyepatches out and put them over one eye. They were the last line of defense against flash penetrating the inside of the aircraft. The theory was the victims would lose only one eye and could continue on using the other.
“Arrr harrr me Hearties” It was the female voice again. Dedmon was convinced it was Martin in the tail gunner's position. Couldn't prove it though.
The next job was to get the internal lights switched on so the plane could be secured. The crew were busy getting everything loose stowed away. After 23 hours in the air, Texan Lady was littered with garbage from rations and the mechanics of flying. It all had to be secured so that the blast from the explosions would throw it into unwanted places. Back in the aft compartment maps and frequency charts were stowed, the oil drums for the engines sealed. Dedmon checked the navigation equipment.
His course was 91 degrees and the conduct of the attack would soon be in the hands of The Argus. He would fly Texan Lady along her bomb run, dropping the devices as soon as the K-5 radar system showed the correct target picture. That was another requirement the Targeteer had told them about. The drop points had to be clearly visible on the K-5 radar scope. Dedmon suddenly realized the depth of planning that must have gone into setting The Big One up. Aboard Sixth Crew Member and Barbie Doll the crews were getting their monitoring instruments and cameras ready. Their role was as much scientific as military; it was essential to get every scrap of information from every drop.
OK. Time to go. Lights off and the inside of the aircraft was pitch black. He took his hands off the controls and felt the tiny movements as The Argus lined her up on the targets. Then, there was a bang, a soft bump and another bang. That had been the snap-action bomb-bay doors opening, the first device being dropped and the door closing. He felt Texan Lady making a small sensuous movement, then, 48 seconds after the first drop there was the same bang-bump-bang. Some more slight moves, 96 seconds after the first drop, bang-bump-bang. More moves, 144 seconds after the run started bang-thump-bang. Then the engines surged and Texan Lady was running for her life.
The B-29s, originally envisaged as the atomic bomb delivery aircraft, would have had to perform some elaborate escape maneuvers to get away from the blast of their devices. The B-36 relied on speed and altitude. The Argus had put Texan Lady was in a slight dive, straining her engines to get as far away from the target as possible, 200 seconds later and 24.5 miles behind her, the first of her nuclear devices initiated. She was clear, the blast wave felt like a kidney punch to the crew, no more. Still she ran, as each successive blast wave hit her. Ten, eleven, twelve, it was all over, Berlin was 42 miles behind them and, if it had been done right, all nine aircraft would be closing slowly to regain formation.
The crew took off their eyepatches rolled up their duck curtains. The outer surfaces of the heavy white cotton were singed brown, perhaps the safety margin hadn't been that big after all. After their eyes adjusted to the light, they could see the flight plan had worked perfectly, the other two sections were closing in, far enough out for safety, close enough for support. Dedmon brought Texan Lady around in a gentle bank, allowing Raidin' Maiden and Peace on Earth to drop into position. Berlin was far away to port yet Dedmon could see the roiling, boiling cloud of smoke and debris that covered the city. Towering over the layered mass were twelve giant glowing reddish-brown mushroom clouds twisting and boiling in the light as they slowly darkened, the glow fading and the red-brown gradually turning white.
“Oh my God, what have we done?” It was Major Pico speaking quietly to himself,
Nottingham, Occupied England
As always, it had started with a message on the radio. “The Fat Man Has Sung for Kathleen.” That had taken David Newton and his cell to a message drop that contained further orders. Those had supplied the group with yet more instructions and weapons. And a target. This was an attack on a German installation.
Something almost unheard-of. The Resistance had studiously avoided attacking German installations. Halifax targets were fine, the Germans didn't really care. Kill an odd sentry or a member of the collaborationist forces well, that would be tolerated. Bui hit an installation or do something spectacular and all hell would break lose. The Irish had found that out, Back in '42 the Germans had taken Ireland over. It wasn't an invasion, they'd just walked in and taken it.
The IRA, hardened, so they thought, by years of guerilla warfare against the British had declared their campaign “to liberate Ireland from the new invaders.'' They'd attacked a German convoy at a small village called Ballykissangel. Then sat back to watch the fun.
They knew what would happen, the security forces would come, flounder around making enquiries, arrest a few people and that was it. Well, the SS and Gestapo came and locked the men in the Catholic Church. The women and children were locked in the Protestant chapel. Then the German burned both churches down. They'd destroyed every building in the village and plowed the ruins under. By the end of the day there was no sign the village had ever existed.
It was, the German commandant explained, the new rules. They were called Lidice Rules. First rule. There are no rules. Here ends the Lidice Rules. One IRA attack meant the nearest village to the scene was wiped off the face of the earth. The SS didn't care whether it was the right village or the wrong village. It was the village.
It had taken some time for the message to sink in and a lot of Ireland got depopulated in the process but even the IRA had learned. Don't attack Germans. They don't play games. They are not nice people. They only obey Lidice Rules. The British Resistance had watched and learned. Don't attack Germans. But now his group and the four that had assembled with it were ordered to attack a German installation. To be accurate, Soldatensender Nottingham, Technically this was the radio station that served German troops stationed in the UK. In reality it was the one radio station everybody listened to; they had to, it was where German directives were announced. Now it had to be taken off the air at a specific time and Newton's people had to hold it against all opposition until authorized to withdraw.
This sounded grim. It was not what resistance forces did. They hit and ran and hid. So why were they ordered to take a target and hold indefinitely? Something was going on. Sally had noted that the Germans she did business with had been acting strangely. Apparently, communications with Germany were down all day. One of her “clients” had spent most of his time with her worrying about his wife and children. Sally couldn't understand the problem, she knew they lived in a small German town well away from the big cities. A place called Duren,
Newton looked through the dusk towards the radio station. It wasn't heavily guarded at all. Lidice Rules were a better protection than guards. But the time to go wasn't yet. He and his people had to wait. For some reason, timing was very crucial in this job.
NAIADS Command Headquarters, Potsdam, Germany
A new display board had been wheeled out, partly obscuring the graveyard map of Germany. This one showed the Western approaches to Berlin. Technically, covering Berlin was the responsibility of the Berlin Local Control Center reporting to the Brandenburg Regional Control Center which relayed its reports to the National Control Center. However, in reality, all three were in the same place and used the same staff and facilities. Field Marshal Herrick reflected that if this last throw of the defensive dice failed, he would have to court-martial himself.