Required Legal-ease:
As usual, I don't own Kim Possible or anything about her. I'm just a simple guy who's borrowing these characters for the purpose of telling what I hope turns out to be a good story. I get nothing out of this, except for maybe a sense of satisfaction and accomplishment. It's not much, admittedly, but it's something… sort of… kind of… I guess.
Anyhooooo… On with the show!
- And The World Stood Still -
Faint beads of perspiration formed along the edge of a well-tanned hairline. They came small at first, almost imperceptible in their scale, but soon grew, merging and joining with their brethren to form ever larger drops until gravity forced the issue, causing them to run downward through the network of concentration-etched furrows that crossed the young man's brow like canals across an arid landscape. Accelerating down the slope of his face, they flowed through his bushy eyebrows like a lazy river through a bed of reeds and proceeded around the corner of his eye to the smooth plain of his cheek, their travels unhindered by any obstacles along their path.
A khaki sleeve briskly reached up to whisk the offending droplets away, its owner grunting with annoyance in the process. He was most definitely in the middle of something right now, perhaps the most important thing he had done in all of his young life, and if there was one thing he didn't need it was his body's own God-given functions distracting him from the task at hand.
Heaving a frustrated sigh, he shoved such thoughts aside for what seemed like the tenth time in as many minutes and returned his focus to his work. Closing his left eye tight against the onslaught of early-morning light, he hovered his right just above the eyepiece and peered downward at the earth far below.
For the past three years, this is what Thomas Ferebee had done. Sitting in the noses of various American airplanes, he had looked down upon the world through the lens of a Norden bombsight, seeing a multitude of enemy cities in the process, and helping lay waste to each of them in turn. Throughout it all, he had gained experience, and that experience had served him well.
It is often said that practice makes perfect, after all, and by the summer of 1945, Ferebee's extensive practice had made him a living legend of sorts. He was known as a magician with a bombsight, and his skills had led him to be considered one of the best bombardiers in the United States Army Air Corps.
And it was those same skills that had landed him where he was now, as a member of a unit known as the 509th Composite Group. Stationed on the tiny island outpost of Tinnian, the group had spent the past several months practicing a strange and indescribable maneuver in which a specially modified B-29 Superfortress would drop a single, weighted bomb known to air crews as a "pumpkin," then execute a sharp, diving turn that seemed more suited to a fighter than to a lumbering, four-engine behemoth such as the Superfortress. It was an intensive training regimen that seemed to have no purpose, and any questions regarding the nature of their assigned mission were met with a stonewall of secrecy and obfuscation.
But one fact was for certain, however: For a farm boy from Mocksville, North Carolina, he was sure a long way from home.
Peering through his sight once again, he made a few minor adjustments to the sophisticated optics that comprised the high-tech, highly classified unit. The Norden bombsight was a technological marvel for its time, after all, capable of compensating for both the relative motions of the aircraft and wind shear. Official War Department memorandum boasted that the Norden could put a bomb into a pickle barrel from 30,000 feet, although the claim left many a bombardier wondering just how big of a pickle barrel the development team had been using.
But none of that mattered at the moment. The only relevant thing was the completion of his mission, and that would require every ounce of focus that he could muster. Pushing all other thoughts aside once again, he glanced again through the bombsight, and then at his watch.
"Three minutes to bomb run, Paul!" he called out glancing back over his left shoulder to address the young colonel seated at the controls of the massive airplane.
"Affirmative and acknowledged." Colonel Paul Tibbets replied professionally, his eyes never leaving the sky in front of him. As a military pilot since before the beginning of the war, he was well aware of the reputation carried by the young major seated in front of him. It was this reputation, after all, that had led Tibbets to hand pick Ferebee as a member of his crew. Even onboard this solitary aircraft, Tibbets was among a privileged few who knew the true nature of their mission this day, and with so much a stake, he had decided long ago to surround himself with nothing and no one but the best.
"Opening the bay doors now!" Ferebee shouted, reaching over to momentarily hover his thumb above the associated switch. He swallowed hard and steeled himself for whatever monumental event was about to take place. Even now he had no idea of what their mission entailed: No clue as to what he was about to do. All he knew is that it was big, and it was his orders.
He felt the switch click into position beneath his thumb, while several yards behind him a pair of pneumatic pistons sprung to life, snapping a pair of massive aluminum doors open to the world outside.
As the tell-tale "woosh" of escaping air gave way to the noise of the bustling crowd, four figures stepped through the double doors and out onto the station platform, drinking in the sight before them. The Hiroshima Minsyu Eki station was large: Far larger than many of the train stations that served American communities. Featuring a vaulted ceiling and twelve separate tracks, it could efficiently accommodate tens of thousands of rush hour commuters in a clean and safe environment that was well protected from nature's fickle temperaments. Bright lighting and humanity abounded in this cathedral of commerce, paying testament to the importance placed on mass transit by this most forward thinking of cultures.
"Man!" Ron marveled, craning his neck upward. "The Japanese sure know how to travel in style!"
"Hai, Stoppable-san." Yori replied, her own almond eyes following Ron's. "The Japanese national transportation networks are somewhat more advanced than your own. Especially when it comes to trains."
"I'll say!" Ron enthused, turning to face the sleek machine that had just deposited them at their current location. "These bullet trains are beyond badical! I don't know if I'm looking at a train or a low-flying aircraft!"
"The Shinkansen is indeed a source of great pride for the Japanese people, Stoppable-san." Yori admitted with a faint giggle. "It is seen as a physical representation of Japan's aspirations toward a bright and prosperous future."
"Yeah, and it's really shiny!"
At this, Yori giggled and Kim rolled her eyes. Although very few people would ever suspect it, Ron's enthusiasms included much more than just junk food and airplanes. For beneath his goofy exterior, he was actually a sort of closet train buff.
"All right, Casey Jones. If you're done foaming at the mouth, let's go find a place to eat." Kim commanded as she walked over to take Ron's arm, leading him away from the shimmering vehicle that held him so captivated.
"Huh? Oh yeah… Food. I'm all for that." Ron stammered, doing his best to shift mental gears at the change in topic.
"Yeah, I thought you might be." Kim smiled as she led Ron, Yori, Sensei and herself through the station's northern entrance and into the bustling streets beyond.
About an hour later, four well-fed travelers sat comfortably in the pleasant air of a small, sidewalk restaurant. It had taken a while to find an open establishment at this early hour, but the abundance of streetcars in this transit-minded city made the travel easy, and after a pleasant ride westward across town, they had located their quarry. It was well into the morning rush hour by now, and with their appetites satisfied, they were content to simply enjoy a few minutes of relaxation and let the world pass them by.
It had been a tough mission that had brought them to the land of the rising sun, and the ensuing fight had contained all of the danger and physical exertion that they had come to expect from such endeavors. But in the end, they had proven victorious once again, and with their perfect record still intact, it was time to enjoy a little rest and relaxation.
Glancing around at the streetscape that surrounded him, watching throngs of commuters rushing to work, Ron couldn't help but be amazed. Japanese cities seemed so sleek and modern compared to American urban areas, he always felt. Where many major metropolitan areas in the states featured an eclectic and somewhat cluttered mix of old and new buildings, Japanese cities seemed decidedly more progressive in their architecture, featuring clean lines, streamlined shapes, and a strong emphasis placed on the efficient use of space.
And then there were the crowds.
American cities were no doubt crowded, and European cities even more so, he had come to learn from the team's many missions across the Atlantic. It was something he had always attributed to the age of such cities, with many of them having been laid out in an era long before the existence of modern automobiles or population densities.
But Japanese cities seemed to be in a league all their own. The challenge of cramming nearly 128 million people onto a string of mountaintops jutting precariously out of the ocean had been formidable to say the least, he often surmised, and it was because of such circumstances that the Japanese people had long since become experts at living in close confines to virtually everyone and everything else.
Japanese crowds were loud, lively and packed together like sardines in a tin, he had come to accept, but today there was something different about the whole sitch. Although the quarters seemed just as close as usual, there was a decidedly different feel about the experience. Things were more quiet and subdued than expected. It seemed as though a pall of somber reflection hung above the crowd this day, enshrouding the city like a faint haze of smoke: Difficult to see, but still making its presence felt.
Ron suddenly felt an eerie chill go down his spine, and he began to have the sinking suspicion that something was going on that he was unaware of. It was the same feeling he got when the D-Hall bullies were preparing another one of their cruel pranks, and one glance at Kim told him that the sense of general unease was mutual.
"Pssst… Yori." Kim whispered, leaning toward the young ninja. "What's going on here?"
"Whatever do you mean, Possible-san?" Yori inquired, raising a narrow eyebrow at Kim's question. "Do you suspect that all is not as it should be?"
"I don't know." Kim sheepishly admitted. "It's just that, with the way everybody's walking around, it's like they all just came from a funeral or something."
"Ah. Your intuition serves you well, Kim Possible." Sensei spoke up, not breaking his thoughtful gaze from the sidewalk before him. "Indeed, they are, in a way, participating in a funeral."
"Say again." Ron broke in, clearly confused. "If they're all part of some crazy funeral procession, then who the heck died? And what's more, why haven't we heard about it? I mean, if people are all carrying on like this, then the dude must've been somebody important."
"Ron!" Kim sternly admonished. "Show a little sensitivity, please?"
"Now, now… Stoppable-san poses a fair question." Sensei reassured Kim. "The funeral of which they are all a part is not for a mere person." He softly explained. "It is for the city."
"The… city?" Kim stammered, now clearly just as confused as her boyfriend. "The entire city has a funeral?"
"Hai, Possible-san." Yori softly replied, casting her eyes solemnly downward. "Are you aware of the date today?"
"Uh, yeah…" Kim replied, glancing down at her wrist to check the "time & date" function of the Kimmunicator. "It's August six…"
Suddenly, Kim's words caught in her throat as her eyes opened wide with realization.
"Today?" she managed to gasp.
"Hai." Yori softly said, seeming to have developed a sudden fascination with the laces of her shoes.
"Hey… What's she talking about?" Ron asked, leaning over toward his girlfriend with a concerned look on his face. Kim's immediate reaction was to spin around in her seat, grabbing Ron by the shoulders and looking him straight in the eye.
"Think back to Barkin's history class, Ron!" she excitedly whispered. "We're in Hiroshima on August sixth, and it's a quarter till eight in the morning! We've only got half an hour until the bomb falls!"
It was the waiting that killed him.
Things seemed to happen so much quicker when he was flying in Europe. Bomb runs only lasted a few seconds there: Just enough time to line up your approach, drop your load, and get the hell out of Dodge.
In this case, however, the run was proving to be considerably longer. By this point it had been nearly two minutes since navigator Ted Van Kirk had called out "IP," indicating that they had reached the "Initial Point": The point at which they would begin the run. The wait was absolutely nerve wracking. Seconds seemed to drag on for minutes, each tick of the clock drawing itself out with excruciating duration, like a dull knife being drawn along soft flesh: Every second, the city looming larger in his scope… every second, the danger of retaliation mounting.
At least the skies over southern Honshu were quiet this morning, so far. The weather this day was perfect: Bright and sunny without a cloud in the sky, and the menacing puffs of flack that had greeted many an aircrew in Europe were conspicuously absent. It was a lazy summer morning worthy of any postcard, or Chamber of Commerce advertising campaign. It was a good day for a picnic in the park. It was a good day to drop bombs.
Behind him, Colonel Tibbets sat idly by. By this point in the mission, Ferebee was actually the one controlling the plane, making slight adjustments to pitch and heading, honing in on his aiming point this day: A unique T-shaped bridge in the center of the city… Something that he himself had called "the best damn AP of the war."
"Everything still good back there, Deak?" Tibbets called out, his voice barely registering in the periphery of Ferebee's consciousness.
"Good to go, Paul." Ordnance Officer Bill Parsons replied, quickly glancing the small display panel that monitored the weapon's vital functions. Essentially the caretaker of the bomb on this mission, it was Captain Parsons who had climbed back into the bomb bay shortly after takeoff and had assembled the weapon's firing mechanism. He knew more about the inner workings of this terrifying new weapon than perhaps anyone this side of Los Alamos.
"Roger that." Tibbets responded. "Everyone, stand by for tone break… and the turn."
Meanwhile, in the city far below, bleary-eyed residents stepped out into the streets, headed for jobs, schools, and any of the other innumerable obligations that force people from the comfort of their beds each and every Monday morning. It was the start of the morning commute in this sleep-deprived city of 300,000; it's residents still weary from two false air-raid alerts the night before. Throngs of suit-clad businessmen and giggling schoolchildren boarded streetcars while housewives headed out to do the daily grocery shopping. All seemed the picture of normalcy. None suspected anything amiss.
The moment was now ripe for history as Ferebee's thumb hovered above the ordinance release switch. Tibbets and co-pilot Captain Bob Lewis sat at the ready, waiting for the precise moment when they would re-assume control of the aircraft and execute the exit turn: A turn which they all hoped would keep the mighty Superfortress from becoming caught up in the bomb's gargantuan blast. Captain Ted Van Kirk sat at the navigator's desk, his charts spread out before him, maintaining a white-knuckle grip on the stainless steel table. Every man aboard, with the exception of Tibbets and Ferebee, had by now donned polarized welding goggles: A precaution against the blinding flash of light that was expected to accompany the explosion.
Ferebee's headphones, and those of every other crewman, and every other aircrew, were now filled with the pulse of an electronic tone. It was a lone, monotonous note that filled their ears and their thoughts, synchronizing the various systems onboard the Enola Gay, and counting down the final seconds until the weapon behind them would be released, and the world would be changed forever.
A mile behind the Enola Gay, Major Charles Sweeney, sitting at the helm of a Superfortress called the "Great Artiste," heard the tone. He signaled his bombardier, and Captain Raymond "Kermit" Beahan pushed a button that jettisoned a parachute-slung bundle of blast gauges from the plane's forward weapons bay.
And two miles behind that, Major George Marquardt turned his "Necessary Evil" 90 degrees to the flight path of the Enola Gay, allowing his crew a prime position from which to photograph the event for posterity.
And in the cockpits of the reconnaissance planes that had scouted weather conditions earlier in the day, the tone was heard as well. Sitting on the tarmac at Iwo Jima in his plane, the "Top Secret," Captain Chuck McKnight turned to squadron security chief Major William "Bud" Uanna and remarked "It's about to drop."
For fifteen seconds, the tone rang in the ears of every man who heard it. For fifteen seconds, no one dared move, or even breathe. Time seemed to stand still in those interminable seconds, a whole series of eternities passing between each moment and the next.
And then, at precisely 8:15:17 AM, all fell silent.
"Bomb away!" Ferebee shouted as the Enola Gay lurched upward, suddenly free of its four-and-a-half ton cargo. Tibbets and Lewis instantly grabbed the control wheels and cranked them hard right, pushing forward and kicking rudder as they did so. Shoving the throttles to full power, four Wright-Cyclone engines revved to the red line, and Tibbets ground his teeth as the massive airframe creaked and groaned under the stress, imparting over three Gs of force across the airframe and its crew. Pushing the Silverplate Superfortress to its limit, Tibbets and Lewis held the turn, coming about nearly 155 degrees from their original course before finally relinquishing the maneuver and returning to a more level, and less heart-stopping, flight path.
Meanwhile, the weapon known simple as "Little Boy" plummeted toward its date with infamy, far below.
The effect was almost surreal when you stopped to think about it. Here they were in the heart of a major city, fighting against a crowd of morning commuters, and yet they weren't even really fighting that much. The normal sensation of being a salmon swimming upstream was gone, replaced by the feeling of an almost cooperative effort. Although their group seemed to be moving in the opposite direction of most people at this moment, there was no massive shoving match… no jostling or bumping of shoulders… no muttered oaths or shouting of obscenities. Most simply and expediently shifted to one side and made may for them, a few bowing slightly as they did so. It was an exercise in politeness and civility so foreign to those of Western sensibilities that it seemed almost spooky, provided that one didn't take the time to really think it through.
Moving ever farther away from the station, and ever closer to the center of the city, the crowds soon dissipated and the walking became much more relaxed. For Ron, there was little indication of where they were all going, but just as he had done so many times in the past, he made himself content in letting Kim take the lead. For Kim, there was little idea of where she was headed as well, but on some level she instinctively knew that they had to move toward the heart of this thriving metropolis. An indescribable yet undeniable force was pulling her that way, and she honestly felt that she had no choice but to follow.
Their two Japanese hosts remained a respectful distance behind, matching the pace being set by the two teen heroes. They knew of Kim's destination; even if she herself didn't, and they understood why she felt compelled seek it out.
Moving through streets lined with glass-fronted condominiums and department stores, the four of them took note that their surroundings had suddenly turned much quieter than what they had been just a few moments before. Silence hung over the street like a shroud, bringing with it a palpable sense that something special and dramatic was about to take place. The pushed onward still, heading toward a shimmering river, when Ron pulled up short.
"Whoa, K.P! Check it out!" he exclaimed, excitedly pointing at a sizable object in the distance.
By now, the group had reached the banks of a wide river, its wave crests shimmering and glinting in the bright morning sun. Immediately in front of them, an ornate bridge crossed the tranquil flow, and on the far bank stood something that seemed decidedly out of place.
In a city comprised almost entirely of modern buildings, the structure before them stuck out like the proverbial sore thumb. Standing in stark contrast to the bare bones, post-modernist style of the steel-and-glass boxes that dominated the skyline, this building bore decorative accents and embellishments that harkened back to a bygone era in architecture. Although obviously derelict and ravaged by the forces of time and the elements, it still sported features such as decorative moldings around the windows, cornices, and a decorative outer wall encircling the perimeter of its grounds. And from the center of it all, a cylindrical tower rose from the building's heart, capped off by the remains of an elegant domed roof that had long since been reduced to little more than a skeletal framework of rusted steel. It looked sad and forlorn in its abandonment, but at the same time proud and defiant, still standing tall against the relentless forces that continually sought to bring it tumbling down to the ground.
"What do you suppose the back story is with that old timer?" Ron pondered aloud in wonderment.
"That, Stoppable-san, is the Industrial Promotion Hall." Sensei spoke up. "This was one of the most important structures in the city at one time, hosting many important professional, political and social events."
"Well it must've been one heck of a party to do that kind of damage." Ron observed, crossing his arms over his chest and regarding the ruined structure before him.
"I don't think this is from boozy partygoers, Ron." Kim observed with an exasperated sigh, placing her face in her hands. "I think its blast damage."
"Well I'd say it's obvious they had a blast, Kim. I'm just hoping there was a damage deposit on file."
"Arrrrrrrgh!"
"I believe you misunderstand, Stoppable-san." Yori politely informed, approaching Ron to put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Today, the Industrial Hall is known as the Atomic Dome. It is the only structure left in the city that pre-dates the attack. It has been left in place to serve as both a reminder of the tragedy, and a symbol of the city's rebirth from the ashes."
"Oh-ohhhhhhh… I get it." Ron quickly responded with a tone of understanding. "It's like a monument sort of thing, then. Remembering the past and pointing to the future."
"Hai, Stoppable-san. That is quite correct." Yori stated firmly, turning to walk onto the bridge, still following the lead of Kim and Sensei.
"Well, you gotta admit… That was an easy mistake to make." Ron shouted out as he began jogging to catch up with the group. "I mean, it's just like that wrecked stadium we saw in Italy, right K.P.?"
"Ron, the Roman Coliseum was damaged by centuries of erosion. Not soccer fans."
"Ex-scuse me? Have you seen the crowds at those games?" Ron replied defensively, ever so slightly increasing the pace of his run.
He found himself slightly winded by the time he finally caught up with the rest of the group. Leaning casually on a nearby railing and allowing his head to hang low as he caught his breath, he was quick to find some measure of respite. The sky was clear and the sun was bright this morning, just as it had been on that fateful day so many years before. Reflections of sunlight across the wave tops in the river below acted like a thousand flashbulbs before his eyes, forcing him to squint and direct his gaze away, looking down toward the sidewalk instead.
The sight that greeted him seemed odd at first, although he had difficulty pinpointing exactly why. The bridge was beautiful to be sure, its railings accentuated by decorative stone lanterns set at regular intervals along the length of its span. The craftsmanship and attention to detail was impressive to be certain, but it was the minute areas surrounding these details that commanded the lion's share of his attention.
The span seemed old, bearing many of the same architectural embellishments that he had seen on the bombed-out shell of the old Industrial Hall. The design of the railings and the graceful arches of the substructure seemed throwbacks to that same era before the dominance of minimalist philosophy upon the field of design. There was grace and poise in this structure… There was style and understated refinement… There was a sense of simple elegance… There were… scorch… marks.
At first he suspected that it may be nothing more than an optical illusion: A simple trick created by the complex interactions of reflected sunlight and shadows. But after blinking several times and squinting somewhat harder, he concluded that his eyes were in fact not playing tricks on him. There were patches of dark charcoal, etched directly into the stone and concrete, forming dark halos around some of the finer detail elements.
Then, he began to take in the bigger picture, and took note of the unusual design. The bridge was shaped like the letter "T," with a main span running directly across the river, and a secondary span that diverged from the main at a 90-degree angle, precisely mid-stream, and ran down to a long, narrow island that looked to be dominated by a large park of some sort.
"Hiroshima is a city of many rivers," Sensei began to explain as the rest of the group took in the sight before them, "and like any river city, it is also a city of many bridges."
The wizened old man paused for a moment, his unreadable gaze seeming to scan the horizon, looking at a long-forgotten skyline that only he could see.
"This is the Otagawa River, and the structure upon which you stand is known as the Aioi Bridge." he continued. "Its unique configuration has long since rendered it a landmark within the city."
Once again, Sensei paused, now regarding the silent structure before him with equally silent intensity.
"It also rendered it an excellent target." Sensei continued after a long moment. "This very bridge was chosen by the American air crew that day as the point at which their weapon would be aimed."
"Wow!" Ron fairly yelped, now much more interested in what he was looking at. "You mean this thing was right at the center of it all, and it survived?"
"The damage done was extensive, Stoppable-san," Sensei explained, "but yes. The overall structure is the same. The stone lanterns you see here were pushed several inches off of their pedestals, each toward the outside of the railing."
"Because the bomb went off directly overhead." Kim observed, quickly deducing what could cause such a freak occurrence.
"Correct, Possible-san." Sensei commended. "And while this occurred, the cast iron drain spouts that channel rainwater from the street to the river below were lifted out of their recessed positions and left in protruding positions, several feet above the sidewalks."
"Oh-kaaaaay… Little bit harder to figure that one out." Kim reluctantly admitted, instinctively glancing down at one of the objects in question.
"Many bridges were not damaged by the initial blast, Possible-san." Yori broke in. "As they were built to withstand the weight of traffic from above, such forces proved to be of little effect."
"Okay. And this explains the amazing flying storm drains how?"
"While such structures were designed to withstand stress from above, they were not designed to do so against stress from below. Therefore, when the shock wave was reflected off of the water…"
"Blamo! Instant drawbridge." Kim concluded.
"In some cases, yes." Yori nodded politely. "Many of the city's bridges did buckle in such a fashion, while others suffered more superficial damage. The Aioi actually had a portion its deck lifted off of its foundations to a height of several meters before dropping back down, but it still survived intact."
"Man! Now that is what I call freaky." Ron asserted, crouching down to inspect one of the drainage grates in question. "Can you imagine what it took to just lift one of these suckers right off of the ground like that. This thing is solid!" As part of his training, he had been introduced to the awe-inspiring power of atomic weapons, and he knew that the A-bombs of the late 1940s were little more than firecrackers when compared to modern thermonuclear devices. But still, seeing the results of such destructive forces first hand lends an entirely new perspective to the situation: A perspective that can never be obtained from a lecture, or the pages of a textbook.
"The power of the atom, Ron." Kim grimly reminded him as the group continued walking once again. "It's enough to put a pretty big dent in something."
And with that, the quartet continued their trek across the river, turning right onto the smaller bridge and heading toward the island that sat snuggly within the center of the river channel.
The only noise to be heard was that of the wind whistling around the steel casing as Little Boy plunged earthward. Suspended between heaven and earth, its final destination was now a matter to be determined solely by the laws of physics. Inertia, friction and gravity were the forces that would guide its path, and happenstance would determine the fate of nearly every soul present beneath its blunt and bulbous nose.
For 43 seconds, Little Boy fell through the clear blue sky, traversing nearly six miles of vertical space in the process. The internal firing sequence flared to life, tripping a series of three switches in precise order, starting with a timer switch, and then following that up with a barometric switch that measured the bomb's altitude by means of air pressure.
The third switch, known as the "Radar Proximity Fuse," used a primitive radar transceiver to measure the weapon's distance to the ground. At precisely 1,890 feet above the center of the city, it activated, and the most awesome weapon ever devised by man was triggered.
In the rear of Little Boy's casing, a high-explosive charge ignited, sending an oversized bullet of enriched uranium down a sort of primitive gun barrel. Exactly eight feet later, the bullet slammed headlong into a larger uranium slab, impacting with enough force to send uranium atoms careening against each other like ping pong balls in a rubber room. It was a condition that physicists referred to as "super-critical mass," and it was the moment of truth for what had been a three-year, two billion dollar project.
In the sky above the city of Hiroshima, physical matter in its very essence now began to come apart, releasing untold amounts of energy in the process. The elemental power of the universe was unleashed upon the world in this instant, and all the furry of the apocalypse followed in its wake.
The park that they were now entering was large, much to spite the narrow confines of its island location. Wedged between the Honkawa and Motoyasu rivers, the area had once been one of the city's premier shopping districts, Sensei had explained. The incomprehensible might of the bomb had changed all of that in a heartbeat, however, leaving a barren plain in its wake, and like a mythical phoenix rising from its own ashes, a new heart of the city had taken its place: A serene patch of greenery in the midst of an urban jungle, dedicated in spirit to the prospect of world peace.
Progress through the assembled crowd was slow, but Kim's determination remained strong as she pushed forward through the sea of humanity before her. The landscape had by now turned to an open, park-like setting, dominated by wide lawns and neatly trimmed trees. Concrete walkways criss-crossed the ground as the group presses onward, approaching what appeared to be a large pond or reflecting pool of sorts.
And then, after having rushed and hustled for nearly a half-mile through crowded streets and empty boulevards, Kim abruptly stopped.
The pool before her was huge, its surface as still as a glass tabletop, reflecting the deep blue heavens like a mirror. To one end, a solitary flame danced and flickered atop a ceremonial platform. To the other end a large, arch-shaped monument of rough-hewn stone was bedecked in what appeared to be literally hundreds of floral wreaths and garlands. Thousands of people crowded the surrounding area, and yet not a word was spoken. Throughout the open space and beneath the clear blue sky, silence reigned.
Although she had never seen this place in parson before, Kim somehow felt that she knew every detail intimately. She had seen photographs on line, and had read articles about the subtle nuances and symbolism of its design. Within its serene boundaries, everything had meaning. Every tree, hill and sculpture was significant, carrying some sort of cryptic message for those who chose to decipher it.
The centerpiece of the entire space was the stone arch to her left. Known as the "Cenotaph," it was the primary monument to the calamity that took place here, its graceful span shielding a stone sarcophagus, containing a scroll that bared the name of every victim claimed by the blast. Even now, the list was still growing, with the chest being opened each year on this date, so that a few more names could be added.
To the right, the gently swaying flame was known as the "Flame of Peace," and mandate dictated that it be kept burning continuously until such a time that nuclear weapons no longer existed upon the earth. In this way, it seemed likely that the flame would burn forever, but it is true that hope spring eternal, and as long as there remained even the slightest chance that such a day might yet come, there would always be someone standing patiently by with a blanket and a bucket of water.
Beyond the flame, across the Motoyasu River, and directly in line with both of the aforementioned monuments stood the gutted remnants of the A-Bomb Dome, and beyond that, the glimmering vestige of modern Hiroshima.
"What's that big place behind the Industrial-dome-thingie? A baseball stadium?" Ron asked aloud, turning his head and glancing north along the line of monuments.
"Shhhhhhhh!" Kim sternly reprimanded him.
Just then, a solitary bell cast its mournful tone across the assembled crowd, and thousands bowed their heads in silent prayer. Kim looked down and checked her watch once more…
It was 8:15.
Author's Notes:
Well this is yet another story that I never expected to write. I suppose the inspiration behind this first hit me back on August 7th of this year when I read an online article about the ceremony that had taken place in Hiroshima the day before. As an avid fan of Second World War history, the story of the atomic bombings has always been an area of special interest for me, so in and of itself this is nothing unusual.
What was unusual this year is that at the time, I was writing a fanfic where our intrepid heroes once again found themselves in Japan, taking on an urgent mission with the assistance of everybody's favorite shadow-warrior school, the Yamanuchi Academy.
And as fate would have it, my timeline for that story was quickly approaching early August, and I suppose that my subconscious mind simply put two and two together. Whatever the circumstances of its inspiration, however, the idea for this story quickly imbedded itself deeply into my brain and refused to budge. As a result, I of course had no choice but to sit down and write it out. Oh, the curse of having a creative mindset!
In any case, here's a little background info for those of you who aren't certified experts of obscure historical data…
Hiroshima, Japan: Unless you've been living in a cave all of your life, then you're certainly aware of the significance this city holds in modern history. (If you are living in a cave, then you can stop reading right now, as historical context is the least of your worries.) Needless to say, on Monday, August 6th, 1945, at exactly 8:16:08 AM, the world's first combat-deployed atomic weapon was detonated above the city. No one knows the exact number of lives that were lost that day, but most estimates seem to hover around 140,000. Even today the effects of the bomb are still being felt, as radiation sickness and its after effects continue to claim dozens of lives each year.
Hiroshima Minsyu Eki Station: Located along the northwestern outskirts of the greater downtown area, Minsyu Eki is the primary transportation hub for the city. First built in the early 1930s, the concrete structure featured arched windows and a vaulted ceiling: A combination so visually impressive that it became the architectural model for stations in several other major Japanese cities.
At a range of nearly one-and-a-quarter miles from ground zero, the force of the bomb that morning blew out the building's windows and caved in the roof. The contents of the interior were then quickly consumed by the growing firestorm, claiming the lives of the entire station staff and several dozen passengers, and leaving the structure as a burned-out shell. The current station stands on the same location as its predecessor.
Tom Ferebee: Born on November 9, 1918, Thomas Wilson Ferebee was only two days old when the First World War ended in Europe. Growing up on his parents' farm in Mocksville, North Carolina, he was the second of 12 children and dreamed of a career in professional baseball.
After a training stint with the Boston Red Sox failed to yield a spot on the team, Ferebee turned his attentions to other matters, and he joined the United States Army Air Corps. Serving in Europe he found fast success, and by the age of 26 he was a Major with 63 missions under his belt.
Then, he was transferred to the Pacific Theater.
He would later claim that even while en route to Hiroshima, he had no clue about the nature of the weapon his plane was carrying. All he knew was that he pushed the button, and forty-three seconds later he was fairly blinded by the flash. It wasn't until the Enola Gay had landed back on Tinnian that he first heard the term "Atomic Bomb" used to describe the device he had just dropped.
Following the war, Ferebee remained with the Army Air Corps, transferring to the newly formed United States Air Force when the former Air Corps was split off from the Army in 1947. He would go on to fly B-47 Stratojets and B-52 Stratofortresses through the Vietnam War.
Following his long military career, Ferebee retired to indulge himself in his two favorite hobbies: Gardening and bass fishing. He died peacefully at his home on Thursday, March 16, 2000. He was 81 years old.
Paul Tibbets: Paul Warfield Tibbets Junior was born on February 23, 1915 in the small town of Quincy, Illinois. The son of Paul Tibbets Senior and the former Enola Gay Haggard, he was raised in Cedar Rapids, Iowa where his father worked as a confections wholesaler.
By 1930, the Tibbets family had moved to Des Moines, and followed that with a move to Miami, Florida soon after. By 1934, Paul Junior was attending classes at the University of Florida at Gainesville.
Enamored by aviation since his days as a young boy, Tibbets enlisted as a flying cadet in the Army Air Corps at Fort Thomas, Kentucky, just two days after his 22nd birthday. By March of 1942, he was flying B-17 Flying Fortresses in Europe, and was serving as the commanding officer of the 340th Bomb Squadron, 97th Heavy Bombardment Group, stationed at RAF Polebrook. He would go on to lead the first mission of the newly-formed Eighth Air Force on August 17, 1942, and would later serve as the personal pilot for General Dwight D. Eisenhower.
In September of 1944, Tibbets was selected to head a special project team based at Wendover Army Air Field in Utah. It was this "special project team" that would later evolve to become the legendary 509th Composite Group.
On August 5, 1945, the day before he was slated to fly the A-bomb mission, Tibbets selected a B-29 with the serial number 44-86292 as his strike plane, and dubbed the gleaming aircraft "Enola Gay," naming it after his mother, who had encouraged her son's childhood aspirations to become a pilot.
Following the war, Tibbets remained with the Air Force, eventually rising to the rank of Brigadier General. He retired from the United States Air Force on August 31, 1966, and passed away on November 1, 2007. His grandson, Paul W. Tibbets IV, currently flies the Northrop B-2 Spirit, (a.k.a. the "Stealth Bomber"), for the Air Force's 509th Bomb Wing: The modern-day organizational descendant of his grandfather's 509th Composite Group.
The Enola Gay itself was acquired by the Smithsonian Institution following the war. Painstakingly restored, it now sits on public display at the National Air and Space Museum Annex at Dulles International Airport, just outside of Washington D.C.
Ted Van Kirk: Theodore J. "Dutch" Van Kirk was born February 27, 1921 in Northumberland Pennsylvania. After briefly attending Susquehanna University, he joined the Army Air Corps in October of 1941, just two months prior to the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor.
Trained as a navigator, he was assigned in April of 1942 to the 97th Bomb Group: The first operational B-17 Flying Fortress unit in England. He was quickly given a position on the crew of a B-17 known as the "Red Gremlin," aboard which Paul Tibbets and Tom Ferebee were also crewmembers. Van Kirk flew 11 missions with the group between August and October of that year, often serving as lead plane in the formation. Then, in October, the crew was selected to fly General Mark Clark to Gibraltar for a clandestine rendezvous with Free French forces, prior to the Allies' "Operation Torch" campaign in North Africa. A month later, they would make the flight again, this time ferrying General Eisenhower to take command of the invasion forces.
Then, on November 16th, the team led a strategically vital surprise raid that devastated the Luftwaffe's Sidi Ahmed airfield at Bizerte, Tunisia.
After completing 58 missions, Van Kirk returned stateside in June of 1943, serving as a navigation instructor before reuniting with Tibbets and Ferebee in the 509th Composite Group at Wendover. Between November of 1944 and June of 1945, the group trained almost continuously for their assigned mission.
Following the war, Van Kirk remained with the Air Corps for a time, participating in the first nuclear tests at Bikini Atoll during "Operation Crossroads." After retiring in August of 1946 at the rank of Major, he earned a Bachelor of Science degree in chemical engineering from Bucknell University, and spent the next 35 years in a series of technical and managerial positions with the Dow Chemical Company.
For his years of distinguished military service, Theodore Van Kirk was awarded the Silver Star, the Distinguished Flying Cross, and 15 air medals. Today, he is retired and living peacefully, somewhere in the mid-west.
William Sterling "Deak" Parsons: Born on November 26, 1901 in Chicago, he was appointed to the United States Naval Academy at Annapolis, Maryland in 1918, and commissioned as an Ensign upon his graduation in 1922.
His first assignment was aboard the battleship U.S.S. Idaho, which was then followed by post-graduate studies in the field of ordinance engineering. He then served briefly aboard the battleship U.S.S. Texas before being transferred to Washington D.C. to serve as liaison officer between Bureau of Ordinance and the Naval Research Laboratory, where he aided in the development of early radar technology. In 1939 he was assigned as the Experimental Officer at the Navy Proving Grounds in Dahlgren, Virginia, where he helped developed a reliable Radio-Proximity Fuse to be used in naval anti-aircraft shells.
On June 15, 1943 he reported to the Los Alamos Laboratory of the highly classified Manhattan Project. Exactly one month and one day later, he was an eyewitness to the "Trinity Test": The pre-dawn detonation of the world's first nuclear explosion. Following the test, Captain Parsons was assigned as Officer-in-charge of the project's Overseas Technical Group. He would accompany the bomb's vital components during their journey to Tinnian Island aboard the cruiser U.S.S. Indianapolis, then in the air, all the way to their targets. Essentially, Captain Parsons was the keeper of the bombs.
Following the success of the A-bomb missions, Parsons was promoted to the rank of Commodore, and served first as Assistant Chief of Naval Operations for Special Weapons, then as Deputy Commander for Technical Direction of Naval Task Group 11. It was under his direction that Operation Crossroads was conducted at Bikini Atoll in the Marshall Islands.
After being promoted to the rank of Rear Admiral on July 1, 1948, Parsons served as Deputy and Assistant Chief of the Bureau of Ordinance, Navy Department. It was while serving in this capacity that he died suddenly of a heart attack on the fifth of December, 1953. He was 52 years old.
Admiral Parsons was buried with full military honors at Arlington National Cemetery in Arlington, Virginia. His long list of decorations includes the Distinguished Service Medal, the Silver Star, and the Legion of Merit. The Sherman-class destroyer U.S.S. Parsons was named in his honor.
Charles W. Sweeney: Born in Lowell Massachusetts on December 27, 1919, Sweeney first began flying while still attending classes at the nearby North Quincy High School. Following his graduation in 1937, he attended classes at Boston and Purdue Universities before joining the U.S. Army Air Corps on April 28, 1941. After receiving hit pilot's wings and a commission as a second lieutenant, he spent two years training at the Jefferson Proving Grounds in Indiana.
Sweeney served in the role of operations officer and test pilot at Eglin Airfield in Florida before being promoted to the rank of Major and reassigned as a B-29 pilot instructor at Grand Island Airfield in Nebraska.
Soon after, Sweeney was once again reassigned, this time as a training officer for "Project Alberta": The top-secret program intended to train aircrews for the first A-bomb missions. He traveled to Wendover Airfield where he served under the command of Captain Parsons. Then, as pilot training began to wind down at the base, he was assigned to fly transport missions, ferrying the equipment of the 509th Composite Group from the Utah desert to the tiny island outpost of Tinnian.
On May 4, 1945, Sweeney was appointed commanding officer of the 393rd Heavy Bombardment Squadron, an operational element of the 509th Composite Group. Now in charge of 15 aircraft and 535 men, his unit was transferred to Tinnian Island in July of 1945.
Three days after the destruction of Hiroshima, Sweeney piloted a B-29 known as the "Bockscar" over the island of Kyushu, and dropped the world's second atomic bomb, destroying the city of Nagasaki.
Sweeney left active duty with the rank of lieutenant colonel on July 28, 1946, but remained active with the Massachusetts Air National Guard. On February 21, 1956, he was named commander of the 102nd Air Defense Wing, and was promoted to Brigadier General on April 6th of that year. He retired as a Major General in 1976.
Major General Charles William Sweeney died of heart disease at Massachusetts General Hospital in Boston on July 16, 2004: The 59th anniversary of the Trinity test in New Mexico. He was 84 years old.
George Marquardt: Born July 14, 1919, in Princeton, Kentucky, Marquardt grew up in the small town of Golconda, Illinois, along the banks of the Ohio River. He was studying at Illinois Wesleyan University in Bloomington in March of 1941, when he enlisted in the Army Air Forces. Eventually, he received his wings at Kelly Field in Texas, and in 1943 was assigned to the 393rd Bombardment Squadron, which became part of the 509th Composite Group at Wendover Field in Utah.
On May 31st, 1945, he married his longtime sweetheart, Bernice. Exactly one week later, he left for Tinnian, unable to tell his new bride where he was going or what he would be doing there.
"He was leery about getting married. He wasn't sure if he'd even be coming back." Bernice later recalled. "When I read about the bombs being dropped in the paper, I said to my mother, 'Now I know what George was doing and where he is.'"
After returning home, Marquardt spent 45 years as a salesman and vice president for the Allen Steel Company in Salt Lake City, Utah. He died in a Murray, Utah nursing home on August 15, 2003 at the age of 84.
General Paul Tibbets would later admit that if a third bomb had been necessary, it was likely he would have picked Marquardt to drop it.
"He was very good." Tibbets said during a 2003 interview. "I watched George closely, and I can say he was most trustworthy, and he was good at his business. He ran a good crew and flew a good airplane. His men liked him and wanted to fly with him. They knew how much he appreciated him. That made them a gung-ho crew."
Ted Van Kirk echoed Tibbets's sentiments.
"We had fifteen aircraft commanders, and George was certainly one of the better ones." He said. "He was a sound individual, had good judgment, and could handle the airplane and crew real well."
Silverplate B-29: A variant of the production Superfortress, Silverplate B-29s were specially modified to serve with the 509th Composite Group. Sixty-five such aircraft were produced by the Glenn L. Martin Aircraft Company of Omaha, Nebraska between February of 1944 and December of 1947, with 15 of these airframes serving with the 509th prior to the war's end.
One of the drawbacks to the design of early atomic weapons was their incredible weight, and in order to accommodate this weight, designers were forced to reduce the overall weight of the airframe itself. As a result, Silverplate B-29s were stripped of their protective armor plating, and were forced to give up most of their defensive armaments as well, retaining only two .50 caliber machine guns and a single 20 millimeter cannon in their tails. Auxiliary fuel tanks were installed in the aft bomb bays to increase the aircrafts' overall range.
Today, the two strike planes that carried the bombs are the only Silverplate Superfortresses to survive. The "Enola Gay" sits on display at the National Air and Space Museum in Washington, while the "Bockscar" is displayed at the United States Air Force Museum at Wright-Patterson Air Force Base in Dayton, Ohio.
Industrial Promotion Hall: Originally completed in April of 1915, this ornate building officially opened to the public in August of that year, and was one of the most modern and extravagant buildings in the city at the time. Originally known as the "Hiroshima Prefectural Commercial Exhibition Hall," the name was changed in 1921 to the "Hiroshima Prefectural Products Exhibition Hall," and again in 1933 to the "Hiroshima Prefectural Industrial Promotion Hall." How's that for a mouthful?
During the war, as Japan's economic situation worsened, the hall was requisitioned by several governmental and quasi-governmental agencies such as the Chugoku-Shikoku Public Works Office, the Hiroshima District Lumber Control Corporation, and the local rationing control board.
Standing a mere 160 meters northwest of ground zero, the building's outer walls were left standing by the nearly vertical blast wave. The roof and intermediate floors, however, were driven into the basement by the bomb's gargantuan force, and the buildings contents were instantly set ablaze. All occupants of the building at the time of detonation perished within its walls.
Today, known around the world simply as the "A-Bomb Dome," the gutted remnants are one of the most easily recognizable landmarks within the city. Maintained in a state of arrested decay, being allowed to neither be restored nor deteriorate further, it stands as a stark reminder of the devastation wrought upon the city, and as a tribute to those who perished in the atomic fire.
In 1996, the A-Bomb dome, (or "Genbaku Dome," as it is known to the Japanese), was officially listed as a World Heritage Site by the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization. (UNESCO)
Bridge Damage: Call me a drama queen if you want, but I fudged a little bit on the descriptions here. The strange sight of stone lanterns pushed toward the outside railings was photographically documented on the nearby Motoyasu Bridge, rather than the Aioi Bridge. While it is true that the Aioi incorporated similar lanterns as part of its design, many of these were damaged beyond recognition when the blast tore the entire north railing free from the bridge deck and sent it hurling into the river. This is the same area where sections of sidewalk were lifted 30 feet in the air, then dropped back down onto their foundations. While the surviving lanterns on the Aioi did show sighs of being shifted, the damage wasn't as graphically depicted as it was on the Motoyasu.
Drainpipes sticking up out of the sidewalks, however is a documented feature of the damage sustained by the Aioi Bridge.
As a brief side note, I'd like to point out that while I'm currently pegging this story's rating at "T," that might very well go up in subsequent chapters. Once the bomb actually detonates, the descriptions you read here will get pretty graphic, and in a damned hurry, to boot! It's not going to be something for anyone who leans toward the squeamish side of things, or has issues with a weak stomach. You know who you are, and you're now officially on notice: You've been warned!
And yes, I am well aware of the irony involved with posting a story inspired by a chapter that itself is not yet posted, so don't even bother pointing it out. (Smart-alecks!)
Finally, I'd like to thank CaptainKodak1 for assisting in the role of beta reader for this project. As the site's resident military historian, his insights were invaluable. Thanks, Cap'n!
Well that just about wraps it up for Chapter One. Tune in next time when the world awakes to the dawn of the atomic age, and a city ceases to exist.
Sayonara!
Nutzkie…