American History Tellers - The Manhattan Project | Devastating Success | 3

Episode Date: January 24, 2024

In Spring of 1945, the tides of World War 2 turned. Germany surrendered to the Allies, but Japan vowed to keep fighting. To prevent further casualties, America knew they would have to demonstrate their power, and force Japan to surrender quickly. At Los Alamos, J. Robert Oppenheimer and his team raced to get ready for the first physical test of an atomic bomb. But as the scientists grew closer to seeing their creation in action, new questions arose about how, and if, such a powerful weapon should be used. Unleashing their creation might deliver a critical turning point in the war, but could also open the door to a dangerous and complicated new era for humanity.Listen to American History Tellers on the Wondery App or wherever you get your podcasts. Experience all episodes ad-free and be the first to binge the newest season. Unlock exclusive early access by joining Wondery+ in the Wondery App, Apple Podcasts or Spotify. Start your free trial today by visiting https://wondery.com/links/american-history-tellers/ now. See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Wondery Plus subscribers can binge new seasons of American History Tellers early and ad-free right now. Join Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. Imagine it's July 1945 at the research laboratory in Los Alamos, New Mexico. You're one of the country's foremost experts on explosives, and you're standing in a darkened room. You and your assistant are carefully studying a row of x-rays illuminated on a wall in front of you. The images show a 100-pound black hexagon made of plastic explosives. Your assistant points to one spot on the images. Right there. God, another air bubble. And there, and there, and there. You exhale, trying to stay calm. Why does this keep happening? For almost two years, you've been

working here at Los Alamos, leading the development of the materials that will be used to trigger an atomic chain reaction in the first plutonium bomb. But lately, things have not been going well. Your assistant turns on the lights. I don't know. You really think these air bubbles are going to make that much of a difference, though? It's hard to say, but we can't afford to take any risks. The black hexagon in the x-rays is an explosive lens. 32 of these lenses will be assembled together like a puzzle to create a sphere surrounding a core plutonium the size of an orange. But casting the plastic explosives into these custom shapes has proven to be a major challenge. You turn to your assistant. Now look, the chain reaction will only be triggered if the pressure coming in on the

plutonium core is perfectly balanced. We can't have any imperfections in these lenses, not even the size of one of these air bubbles. I mean, are we sure? Think of how much time and money has been spent producing the plutonium. If we set this off and it fizzles, it's going to be months before we get another chance. Well, if there's no room for error, we should cast new lenses. There's no time for that. Well, we should tell Groves and Oppenheimer that the Trinity test has to be delayed. No, I've tried. Like it or not, July 16th is the deadline. You and your assistant stand quietly, staring at the x-rays. Suddenly, you think of an idea. Do you think we could get our hands on a dental drill? What for? Well, if we

can bore down to where those air bubbles are, we can fill the holes with liquid explosives, and that should eliminate any imbalances. We both know the explosives in these lenses aren't very stable. You sure it's a good idea to drill into them? Yeah, but a dental drill should be sharp enough that it won't generate too much friction. Your assistant stares at you, totally dumbfounded. You stare back. Look, don't worry about it. Just find me the drill. Okay, and then you can go home. You won't need help? No, I'll do this by myself. Your assistant furrows his brow as he nods and heads for the door, but suddenly he stops in the doorway and turns back. What if it goes off? Well, think about it this way. I won't know what hit me.

Your assistant pauses for a moment and then moves swiftly down the hall. You know you're taking a risk with this strategy, but the success of the atomic test depends on whether you can figure this out. Roll up your sleeves and start brewing some coffee. It's going to be a very long night. With Audible, there's more to imagine when you listen.

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Hey, this is Nick. And this is Jack. And we just launched a brand new podcast called The Best Idea Yet. You may have heard of it. It's all about the untold origin stories of the products you're obsessed with. Listen to The Best Idea Yet on the Wondery app or wherever you get your podcasts. From Wondery, I'm Lindsey Graham, and this is American History Tellers, our history, your story. Harvard professor George Kischakowski was one of the country's leading experts on explosives, and on the evening of July 2, 1945, Kischakowski put his life on the line as he single-handedly fixed the plastic explosive shell of the first plutonium bomb with a dental drill.

Kis-Kachovsky was a key member of the Manhattan Project, launched in 1942 to defeat Hitler's Germany in the race to build the first atomic bomb. But by the summer of 1945, Hitler was dead and Germany had surrendered. Still, the war in the Pacific raged on, so the Manhattan Project moved forward. And on July 17th of that year, President Harry Truman was set to launch several days of meetings in Potsdam, Germany, with British Prime Minister Winston Churchill and Soviet Premier Joseph Stalin. The Soviets were allies in the war, but Truman also saw them as rivals, and he was eager to demonstrate America's power.

He ordered the team at Los Alamos to test their designs for a bomb before the Potsdam Conference, and the test was scheduled for July 16th and given the codename Trinity. If successful, Trinity would mark a turning point, not only for the Manhattan Project, but for humanity as a whole. And as the test drew closer, J. Robert Oppenheimer and his team of scientists were forced to reckon with the power of their creation and whether or not that power should ever be used. This is the final episode of our three-part series on the Manhattan Project. Devastating Success

On May 31, 1945, J. Robert Oppenheimer, the leading scientist of the Manhattan Project, attended a secret meeting of military and civilian leaders in Washington, D.C. The committee aimed to establish a plan for how atomic weapons would be used and governed in the future, and Oppenheimer wanted them to consider a bold proposition to open communication with the Soviet Union about their scientific breakthroughs. Oppenheimer had been inspired by the physicist Niels Bohr, who had visited Los Alamos at the end of 1943 and urged the community of scientists working on atomic research to push for a policy of less secrecy and more coordination.

Now, Oppenheimer wanted the government committee to consider Bohr's point of view. If meaningful information could be exchanged with the Soviets before the bomb was used, Oppenheimer felt that trust between the countries could grow and a nuclear arms race would be averted. What's more, he believed that embracing a philosophy of openness could strengthen the United States' moral position in the eyes of the world. The committee in Washington, D.C., led by Secretary of War Harry Stimson, gave careful consideration to Oppenheimer's proposal. But by the end of the meeting, the committee favored a different point of view. Not only would the Manhattan Project and its discoveries remain hidden from the Soviets, the United States would accelerate its efforts to stockpile nuclear weapons.

Although he was disappointed, Oppenheimer respected the members of the committee and trusted their expertise. He refrained from pressing his argument further. And as the committee's discussions shifted to how the bomb might be used in the current war, the consensus grew even stronger. U.S. forces had achieved many decisive victories against Japan, most recently with the Battle of Iwo Jima, but still Japan refused to surrender. A ground invasion of the island nation appeared inevitable, and the death toll forecast by military experts was overwhelming. To bring a quick end to the war, the committee recommended that the atomic bomb be used as soon as it was ready, and the committee believed dropping a bomb on a Japanese city without any warning would maximize the psychological and strategic impact

of the new weapon. Once again, Oppenheimer chose not to resist the plan. But unlike Oppenheimer, the vast majority of scientists working on the Manhattan Project were in the dark about the decisions being made at the higher levels of their government. Still, they could surmise that U.S. military leaders would be motivated to use an atomic weapon against Japan, their only remaining opponent in the war. And many of the scientists were deeply troubled by this prospect. Some worried about an arms race that might erupt, while others dreaded the suffering that would befall Japanese civilians. Many wondered whether Japan might be persuaded to surrender if they witnessed a demonstration of the weapon's power before it was deployed on a military target.

One of the loudest of these voices was a scientist who had planted the earliest seeds for the Manhattan Project. Back in 1939, physicist Leo Szilard recruited Albert Einstein to co-write a letter urging then-President Roosevelt to launch the atomic research effort. Six years later, in the spring of 1945, Szilard collaborated with Einstein on another letter to Roosevelt. This time, he urged restraint and careful consideration of the future that could unfold after such devastating power was revealed to the world. But President Roosevelt passed away before reading the letter. So weeks later, Szilard made the same case to President Harry Truman's appointee for Secretary of State, James Burns. Burns, though, dismissed Szilard made the same case to President Harry Truman's appointee for Secretary of State, James Burns.

Burns, though, dismissed Szilard's concerns. Still, Szilard kept up the fight, urging the scientists working on the Manhattan Project to make their voices heard. Imagine it's the end of June 1945. You're in Los Alamos, sitting in the waiting area outside the office of your boss, J. Robert Oppenheimer. You're a theoretical physicist, and you've been working with Oppenheimer for many months now, troubleshooting the design for the first plutonium bomb. The hallways are bustling with activity as the Los Alamos team makes final preparations for the Trinity test. The door to Oppenheimer's office opens, and a group of scientists exit. You seize

this opportunity to steal a moment with your boss. Excuse me, Robert, you have a minute? Yeah, sure, come in. Oppenheimer is behind his desk, pouring through notes. You take a seat across from him. I wanted to let you know about a petition I recently received. I've been asked to distribute it amongst the team. A petition? What about? Well, it's meant for President Truman, urging the United States to exercise restraint with the bomb. And who generated this petition? Szilard? Oppenheimer rubs his eyes and exhales. What kind of restraint is it advocating? He wants the president to make public the detailed terms of surrender for Japan. And if Japan continues to refuse, he's urging our leaders to consider the moral consequences before the bombs used.

All right, go on. You pull the petition from your pocket and scan through the test. He says, a nation which sets the precedent of using these newly liberated forces of nature for purposes of destruction may have to bear the responsibility of opening the door to an era of devastation on an unimaginable scale. Come here, see that? You nod and hand him the paper. Oppenheimer smirks as he glances over it. I didn't realize Szilard was a military strategist.

You're a bit taken aback by Oppenheimer's tone. Szilard is one of the most admired scientists working on the Manhattan Project. Oppenheimer appears to be mocking him. What does he even know about negotiating with the Japanese? What does he know about the way to end the war? This is a job for our leaders in Washington. These are people of great humanity and intellect. I would trust them to make the decision of whether to use the bomb before I trusted Szilard. You don't think the creators of this weapon should have any say in how it's used? I am being consulted by our leaders,

and I've shared the range of opinions that exist in our community. I do understand Leo's concerns, too, but we must also consider that this bomb could convince humanity to avoid any future wars, right? Perhaps the only way that can happen is if humanity bears witness to the horror the weapon is capable of. You're not sure what to say. What Oppenheimer is suggesting is painful to consider, but it could also be true. As Oppenheimer hands the petition back to you, you decide to send an apology back to Szilard. You're not going to engage with this petition or help share it with your colleagues at Los Alamos. In late June 1945, theoretical physicist Edward Teller received a letter from Leo Szilard urging Teller to distribute a petition amongst the scientists at Los Alamos. Teller was part of

Oppenheimer's core team of scientists, so Szilard knew that Teller's advocacy would have impact. But when Teller learned of Oppenheimer's disapproval of the petition, he decided not to circulate it to other scientists at Los Alamos. But regardless of Teller's refusal, Szilard's petition eventually garnered the signatures of 155 Manhattan Project scientists based at the University of Chicago in Oak Ridge, Tennessee. But still, Szilard and his supporters knew that without the help of Oppenheimer or someone of his stature, their petition might never reach President Truman's desk, or worse, it could arrive in Washington too late to make a difference. On July 12, 1945, the Los Alamos research team transported a metallic sphere measuring four inches in diameter and weighing 13 pounds from their base to the Trinity test site.

This sphere was made of solid plutonium and would serve as the core of the implosion bomb that would soon be tested. Months prior, General Groves, Oppenheimer, and their team settled on a testing site approximately 200 miles south of Los Alamos. It was in a desert region of New Mexico known as the Jornada del Muerto, or the Journey of Death. It was part of the U.S. military's Alamogordo bombing range. The site was appealing because it was far from any heavily populated areas, flat and desolate with excellent visibility, and usually enjoyed good weather. Oppenheimer's team selected a 432-square-mile region and began constructing

the facilities required. At the center of the site was a 100-foot-tall steel tower. The four-ton implosion bomb would be hoisted all the way to the top, where it would eventually be detonated. Positioned five and a half miles from the tower to the north, west, and south were three separate observation bunkers with a clear line of sight to ground zero. The north bunker contained instruments for measuring blast pressure, radiation, seismic waves, and other data. At the west bunker were mounted several banks of high-speed cameras ready to capture a detailed visual record of the test. And the south bunker would serve as the control center where Oppenheimer and other project leaders would observe the explosion. Five miles beyond the southern bunker was a base camp of

tents, barracks, laboratories, and other support facilities. On Friday, July 13th, the final components of the implosion bomb were transported to Alamogordo, and the following day, when it was hoisted to the top of the tower, the bomb looked far from finished. It was a five-foot-wide metallic gray sphere covered with a tangled mess of thick black detonation cables. Meanwhile, back at Los Alamos, another bomb was preparing to make a journey. On July 14th, the gun-designed uranium bomb was loaded onto a military transport vehicle headed for an Army airfield in Albuquerque. Even though the assembly was ten feet long and weighed nearly five tons, its design was more slender than the implosion bomb, and for that reason, it was given the nickname Little Boy.

Because the mechanics of the gun design were simple and the supply of uranium-235 was limited, Groves and Oppenheimer decided that there was no need to test this version of the bomb. Little Boy was then flown to San Francisco, where it was loaded onto the Navy cruiser USS Indianapolis and sent on a journey across the Pacific. Ten days later, that ship would deliver the bomb to a military base on the tiny island of Tinian, 1,500 miles south of Japan. There, it would wait until the order came for it to be deployed. Meanwhile, as Little Boy departed Los

Alamos, Oppenheimer encountered bad news at Alamogordo. George Kischakovsky had raced to fix the imperfections in the plastic explosive lenses that would trigger the bomb's atomic blast, but a recent test of those lenses delivered disappointing results. Chances were high that the explosion around the plutonium core would be uneven and the bomb might be a dud. However, Kistrikovsky was adamant that his design was sound, and he made a bet with Oppenheimer. If the bomb failed, Kistrikovsky would offer up a month of his salary. If successful, the director of the Los Alamos laboratory would owe him just $10. Oppenheimer accepted the wager, but his concerns were growing.

On the afternoon of Sunday, July 15th, the day before the test was scheduled, J. Robert Oppenheimer climbed to the top of the tower at Ground Zero by himself and quietly studied the bomb he planned to detonate at 4 o'clock the following morning. Oppenheimer knew that many things could still go wrong. Los Alamos had only been in operation for 30 months, and the final preparations had been fast and frantic. But if his team could defy the odds and deliver success, the war that had embroiled the opportunity of a lifetime.

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early and ad-free right now by joining Wondery+. Check out Exhibit C in the Wondery app for all your true crime listening. Imagine it's just after 2 a.m. on July 16th, 1945. You're stepping through the mud at the base camp at the Trinity test site in New Mexico. Rain is dumping down on you in buckets. You're the chief meteorologist working on the test, and it's been two days since you last slept. Now you're on your way to a meeting you're definitely not looking forward to. You open the door to a small temporary building that you've set up as your weather center, and you're surprised to find a group of people waiting for you. J. Robert Oppenheimer is there, along with the head

of the Manhattan Project, General Leslie Groves, and three of his advisors. General Groves steps towards you and gets right in your face. So now, what in the hell's wrong with the weather? Sir, I've been warning for several days now that July 16th was a less than ideal date for the test. Less than ideal? No, this is impossible. Do you understand the risk this weather has created for us? One badly placed bolt of lightning could cause that bomb to go off prematurely. Sir, I assure you that I understand the risks. And even if that doesn't happen, the wind could carry radioactive debris into areas that will have to be evacuated. I'm going to have to warn the governor of New Mexico that he may need to declare martial law.

Yes, sir, I sincerely hope it doesn't come to that. General Groves looks like he wants to punch you. Instead, he steps away and starts pacing the room, while Oppenheimer and the others watch silently. So, clearly our plan to launch at 4 a.m. isn't going to work. Tell us, Mr. Weatherman, when do you expect this storm to pass? Well, sir, this kind of tropical air mass generally starts to dissipate when it interacts with an air mass with different characteristics. Oh, for the love of God, I'm not asking for a doctoral thesis. I'm asking you when it's going to stop raining. Yes, sir. Around dawn. That's

when I'm forecasting a break. All right, good. But tell me this. Why should I trust you? The question is infuriating, but you maintain your composure. Sir, I understand everyone's frustration, and I realize that many people have gathered here to see the bomb go off. I also realize it may take several days before we can get everything coordinated to attempt another test. If you want to postpone, that's your call, of course, but I believe the weather's going to turn by dawn. Oppenheimer steps forward and calmly places a hand on Groves' shoulder. The two men step to a corner for a private conversation.

As Oppenheimer talks quietly, you can see Groves nodding as he grits his teeth. After a few moments, Groves steps to the center of the room and turns back to you. I will proceed with postponing the test to 5.30 a.m. And you better be right, or I will hang you. In fact, you know what? Groves grabs a yellow legal pad and pen from your desk and hands them to you. Please write a brief summary of your forecast and then sign your name to it. You pause for a moment, trying to think of any time in your career when you've been scrutinized so intensely.

Then you do what Groves wants. As you're jotting down your notes, you hope and pray you're right. If you are, the world's first atomic bomb will go off in just two and a half hours. And then, maybe, we'll finally be able to get some sleep. In the early hours of July 16, 1942, a severe rainstorm descended on the Trinity site, threatening to disrupt the first test of an atomic bomb. A 29-year-old meteorologist named Jack Hubbard predicted that the weather might improve at dawn, but General Leslie Groves wanted assurances. Bad weather brought severe risks to the test.

Not only would it wreak havoc with the ability to launch and measure the test, it would compromise safety by extending the range that radioactive fallout might be carried. The leaders of the Manhattan Project made the decision to delay the test to 5.30 a.m., 20 minutes before sunrise. Oppenheimer hoped the scheduling would bring better weather while maintaining the darkness needed to properly observe and record the dynamics of the blast. Dozens of the project's scientists and military leaders made the trip out to Alamogordo to witness the test. Viewing locations were set up in a variety of places across the desert. Many of the most important scientific contributors to the project

parked at a viewing location in the hills, 20 miles north of Ground Zero, and there they waited. General Leslie Groves stationed himself at base camp, along with many others, 10 miles south of the ignition site. Members of the control team, including J. Robert Oppenheimer and George Kischakovsky, were at a bunker just five and a half miles south of the bomb tower. As the hours ticked away through the night, the scientists argued playfully about the bedding pool that had been set up at Los Alamos, wagering how powerful the explosion would be. Enrico Fermi, the physicist who led

the first atomic chain reaction in Chicago, jokingly took bets against whether the blast might ignite the Earth's atmosphere, obliterating all life on the planet. Years before, Edward Teller had theorized that such a catastrophic result was possible. Further work by Manhattan Project scientists calculated that it would be nearly impossible for the bomb to have such an impact, but it had never been ruled out completely. Then, at 4 a.m., the weather began to improve. Forty minutes later, Oppenheimer received a new weather forecast from Hubbard. The weather at ground zero would still not be ideal at 5.30, but a test was possible. Oppenheimer, Groves, and their team made their decision.

The Trinity test would proceed. At 5.25 a.m., a green rocket flare shot into the air at ground zero, and a siren wailed briefly at base camp. At viewing locations across the desert, scientists and military leaders knew these were signals that the test was drawing near. And as the countdown approached, people prepared themselves for the near. And as the countdown approached, people prepared themselves for the blast. To reduce the risk of injury from the potential heat and light, observers were instructed to lay flat on the ground, facing away from the tower. Then, after the initial moments of detonation, they could turn to look, but only through dark glass similar to the kind found in a welder's mask. The excitement of

the moment, though, would cause many to ignore these instructions. And even though he was twenty miles away from the bomb, Edward Teller slathered suntan lotion on his face to protect it from the light of the blast. Then at 5.29 a.m., Oppenheimer was inside the south bunker, eyes locked on a control panel. He gripped a post to keep himself upright. The anticipation of the moment was almost too much for him to bear as the clock ticked closer and closer to 5.30 a.m. on July 16, 1945, when in a fraction of a second, night turned to day. In total silence, a blanket of bright white light engulfed the desert. To the people viewing from miles away, it instantly felt warm, as if the door to an oven had been opened.

And then, after just two seconds, it dissipated. In its place was a massive ball of fire that grew and grew, swirling with hues of red, yellow, and green. A column of dark smoke appeared beneath the fireball and slowly pushed it upward into the sky. As it ascended, the flames billowed outward on top of the column, and at its peak, the massive mushroom-shaped cloud rose seven and a half miles into the sky. At the south bunker, J. Robert Oppenheimer and George Kistikovsky watched in awe at the

silent spectacle unfolding before them. And then the silence ended. A full 40 seconds after the initial flash of light, a deafening boom erupted around the bunker. A shockwave of dust and debris blasted through the area, knocking Kischakovsky off his feet. The roar of the explosion echoed all around the Jornada del Muerto for several seconds until it finally faded into silence. Then cheers erupted around the south bunker as the team moved in to surround their leader, J. Robert Oppenheimer. Kis-Chukovsky moved in to collect the $10 Oppenheimer owed him,

but Oppenheimer offered an IOU since his wallet was empty. Less than an hour later, Oppenheimer arrived at base camp to a hero's welcome. General Groves congratulated Oppenheimer and then embraced him. The bomb had exploded with a force of 20,000 tons of TNT, four times more powerful than the average calculations from the Los Alamos team. The explosion generated a heat as intense as the center of the sun, instantly vaporizing the 100-foot steel tower and killing every living thing within a one-mile radius. The Manhattan Project team was jubilant.

A few days later in Potsdam, Germany, President Truman was delighted to learn that the Manhattan Project had successfully tested an atomic bomb. He was also informed that the weapon could be ready to deploy in Japan within a few weeks. Truman's Potsdam Conference with Winston Churchill and Joseph Stalin was intended to negotiate the peace agreement following the war in Europe. Truman didn't want to divulge any specifics about the weapon to Stalin, but Truman did want his rival to know that the U.S. had substantially strengthened its arsenal. Part of his reasoning was that as an ally in the European war, the Soviets deserved to be notified, even if that notification was vague. But under that friendly pretext, Truman also wanted to demonstrate strength. He wanted to deliver a simple message that would shock and intimidate Stalin. On top of these objectives,

Truman knew that the Soviet Union was preparing to make its own declaration of war against Japan, possibly within the next month. This was something Truman was hoping to prevent. If the Soviets declared war, they would have to be involved in the peace settlement once Japan surrendered, and Truman and his advisors knew that settlement would reshape the future of Asia. They wanted to craft it with minimal influence from the Soviets. So as they left a meeting, rendered, and Truman and his advisors knew that settlement would reshape the future of Asia. They wanted to craft it with minimal influence from the Soviets. So as they left a meeting, Truman asked the Soviet premier to step aside for a private conversation. Working with an interpreter, Truman informed Stalin that the United States had developed a powerful new weapon capable of delivering unusual destructive force. Stalin simply nodded politely, telling

Truman he hoped the U.S. could make good use of it against Japan, and then the Soviet premier walked away. Truman was stunned. Stalin hadn't asked a single question, nor had he demonstrated any curiosity about the weapon. Truman wondered if maybe something was lost in translation. But Stalin understood the message perfectly. Thanks to informants inside Los Alamos, people like the physicist Klaus Fuchs, the Soviets already had extensive information about the plutonium bomb that was detonated in the New Mexico desert.

None of it was a surprise. Meanwhile in Los Alamos, the celebratory afterglow that followed the Trinity test had disappeared. Instead, there was now an air of foreboding amongst many of the scientists who had borne witness to the power of the weapon they'd created. Oppenheimer's mood began to shift as well. The power of the atomic bomb was no longer theoretical. It was very real, and Oppenheimer and his team had seen it firsthand. Oppenheimer knew that the wheels were in motion to set his team's creation loose on the people of Japan. Now there was nothing he could do to stop it.

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You can listen to Scamfluencers and more Exhibit C true crime shows like Morbid and Kill List early and ad-free right now by joining Wondery Plus. Check out Exhibit C in the Wondery app for all your true crime listening. On July 26, 1945, President Harry Truman issued a public statement in collaboration with Winston Churchill and the Chairman of China, Chiang Kai-shek. In it, they called for the complete, unconditional surrender of Japan. If Japan failed to comply, Truman and his allies promised to answer with prompt and utter destruction. By this time, Japan's navy and air force were heavily depleted. Naval blockades and relentless bombing by the Allies had wreaked havoc on the Japanese economy, too.

Still at a press conference on July 28, two days after Truman's ultimatum, Japan's Prime Minister, Kantaro Suzuki, vowed that Japan would continue to fight for victory. Truman decided it was time to finally discharge the power he believed could bring the war to an end. At midnight on the evening of August 5, 1945, at an airbase on Tinian Island, U.S. Air Force Colonel Paul Tibbetts called a meeting of his five-man crew.

Since December, his crew had been training for a secret mission. But only Tibbetts knew the detail of what that mission was. Tibbets told his crew that they would take off that evening and fly six hours north to Japan. If weather permitted, the following morning, they would be dropping a single bomb on a Japanese city. This bomb would release an explosion unlike any they had previously known. The crew was silent as they left to make final preparations.

Two hours later, the crew boarded a B-29 super bomber called Enola Gay, which Tibbets had named after his mother. Sitting in the plane's bomb bay was Little Boy, the gun-designed uranium bomb that was delivered by the USS Indianapolis eleven days prior. The plane took off and flew through the night in the direction of Hiroshima, Japan. This city was strategically important, nestled on a river delta on the southern shore of Japan's largest island. The bombing target would be a key military site in the center of the city, but U.S. officials knew that the bomb's devastation would reach far beyond that location and claim the lives of many civilians. Then, at 8.15 a.m. on August 6th, the bomb bays of

the Enola Gay opened and Little Boy fell toward the city. Forty-three seconds later, when the bomb was 1,900 feet over the city, it exploded. By that time, the Enola Gay was nine miles from the explosion, but it still felt the shockwave. Tibbetts circled the plane to view the effects of the blast. One of the crew members later said that the city resembled a pot of boiling black oil. Observing the destruction below them, a mix of emotion swept over Tibbets and his crew. Some felt relief that the war could soon end. Others were overcome with shock and horror. As the Enola Gay turned towards Tinian Island, the co-pilot picked up his logbook and wrote just six words, my god, what have we done?

Imagine it's the morning of August 6th, 1945. You're running as fast as you can up a tree-lined hill on the eastern edge of Hiroshima. The muscles in your legs burn. Running beside you is a woman you've never met before, but it's clear she wants the same thing you do, to know what on earth just happened. You're a history professor at a nearby university, and less than an hour ago you were walking to work when there was a warm flash of light followed by a thunderous blast. You fell to the ground and covered yourself. You could hear windows shattering all around you. You assumed a bomb had been dropped nearby in the neighborhood. But when you rose to your feet,

you could see some of the buildings nearby were damaged, but there were no flames. Instead, a massive cloud billowing up into the sky several miles to the west. It didn't make sense. You and the woman stop for a moment to catch your breath, and the woman turns to you as the sky above grows dark. Could you hear any airplanes? No, could you? Maybe one? Not enough for this kind of damage. We should get a good view at the top of Hijyama. It was all so fast. And then it stopped. I just don't understand. All you can do is nod as you try to catch your breath.

You've gone through plenty of bombings in Hiroshima during the war, but nothing like this. Finally, you arrive at the top of the hill and gaze west toward the city. The woman falls to her knees next to you, and you know why. It's gone. Hiroshima, a city that is centuries old and home to 350,000 people, has been erased. Several miles in the distance, you recognize some buildings in a western suburb of the city, but in between, where your hometown used to stand is a wide, flat desert of debris and smoke. A woman pulls herself back to her feet. Where's the castle?

Hiroshima Castle was one of the oldest structures in the city, and as a professor of history, you loved how it served as a window into the community's past. Memories flash through your mind of all the visits you paid to it ever since you were a child. But now, destroyed. It's all destroyed. But how? How could it all disappear so fast? I don't know. What do we do now? I don't know. As you and the woman stand frozen on the hill, you feel as though you're staring down into hell.

Your body is growing numb, and then a realization hits you like a jolt of electricity. My family. I have to make sure they're okay. Of course. And I need to find my brother. You stare down one more time into the chaos that's been unleashed on your home. You have no choice. You have to enter that chaos. So you turn and sprint back down the hill as the woman follows close behind.

The loss you feel is overwhelming. There are no words to capture it. You're walking into a living nightmare. On August 6, 1945, a local history professor in Hiroshima witnessed from a distance the terrifying power of the first uranium bomb. But as he moved closer to the center of the devastation, searching for his wife and children, he came face to face with unimaginable violence. The uranium bomb that detonated over Hiroshima exploded with a force of 15,000 tons of TNT. Ground zero reached temperatures of 5,400 degrees Fahrenheit. In a fraction of a second, people within a half mile of the blast were reduced to ash. Over two-thirds of the city's 90,000 buildings were destroyed or

severely damaged. And in the hours that followed the explosion, the survivors in Hiroshima bore witness to unspeakable horrors. Dead bodies were strewn all over the city, and many of the living wandered like silent ghosts, skin charred, searching for help that would never come. Later that same day, President Truman released a statement. If Japan refused to surrender, Truman promised a rain of ruin from the air, the like of which has never been seen on this earth. But Japan was unmoved.

On August 9th, three days after the catastrophic attack on Hiroshima, the United States dropped another bomb, this time on Nagasaki, a city on the far western tip of the main islands of Japan. This bomb had been given the name Fat Man, and it was identical to the plutonium device tested in the New Mexico desert just a few weeks before. And like the Hiroshima bomb, it exacted overwhelming devastation on the city of Nagasaki and its people. It was estimated that over 200,000 lives were lost in the immediate aftermath of the bombings of both cities.

And as time passed, many more people would suffer and die as a result of poisoning from lingering radiation. Then, six days after the attack on Nagasaki, the Emperor of Japan announced his country's surrender and the war was finally over. In his statement on August 6, 1945, President Truman called the Manhattan Project the greatest achievement of organized science in history. Oppenheimer, Groves, and the members of their teams were celebrated as heroes. But as time passed, differing opinions surfaced around whether the weapon should have

been used against Japan. On one side were those who believed that without utilizing atomic weapons, the war would have been prolonged and an Allied invasion of Japan would have cost hundreds of thousands of American and Japanese lives. But others argued that despite the Japanese Prime Minister's public stance, a surrender could have been negotiated without dropping the bombs. And in their view, the horrifying example of U.S. power did not dissuade countries from waging future wars, but only served to pour fuel onto the fire of a global nuclear arms race. That race would rear its head just four years after the end of the war,

when the Soviet Union detonated its own atomic bomb. The Soviets had been aided in information supplied by multiple sources inside the Manhattan Project, including theoretical physicist Klaus Fuchs, who had lived and worked behind the gates of Los Alamos. The arms race erupted immediately between the U.S. and the Soviet Union. At the peak of the Cold War in 1985, there were estimated to be over 60,000 nuclear warheads in the world ready to be deployed, with the ability to destroy the world many times over. Since then, multiple treaties have been reached, and the global stockpile has been reduced significantly. Still, the threat of nuclear devastation has endured. But the Manhattan Project had other impacts. The discoveries of the Manhattan Project opened the door to advances in nuclear power,

computation, medical imaging, and more. Many of the project's scientists and leaders went on to distinguish careers, but others faced unexpected challenges. In 1947, General Leslie Groves became chief of the Armed Forces Special Weapons Project. But in this new role, the harsh and confrontational leadership style that served him well during the Manhattan Project did not endear him to his leaders. In 1948, Groves endured a brutal reprimand from the Army's chief of staff, General Dwight D. Eisenhower. Weeks after that meeting, Groves left the Army, realizing he would never again receive an assignment as important as the Manhattan Project.

J. Robert Oppenheimer was haunted by the legacy of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, but he remained committed to lending his expertise to the advancement and regulation of atomic power. In 1947, Oppenheimer became chair of the U.S. Atomic Energy Commission, which guided nuclear research and weapons development for the country. But when his colleague Edward Teller proposed developing an even more powerful hydrogen bomb, Oppenheimer spoke publicly about the potential dangers. Advocates for the hydrogen bomb fought to silence Oppenheimer, and an investigation was launched against him, bringing to light his past associations with the Communist Party.

As a result, his security clearance was removed, and Oppenheimer not only lost professional opportunities, he was forbidden from contributing to government scientific projects. He could no longer play any meaningful role in guiding the future of the power he had helped bring into the world. But in the wake of the Manhattan Project, he left the modern world with a warning. If atomic bombs are to be added as new weapons to the arsenal of a warring world, then the time will come when mankind will curse the names of Los Alamos and Hiroshima. The people of this world must unite, or they will perish.

From Wondery, this is Episode 3 of our three-part series, The Manhattan Project, for American History Tellers. On the next episode, I speak with Kai Bird about the life and work of J. Robert Oppenheimer. Bird co-authored the Pulitzer Prize-winning biography, American Prometheus, the Triumph and Tragedy of J. Robert Oppenheimer. The book was the basis for Christopher Nolan's film, Oppenheimer. If you like American History Tellers, you can binge all episodes early and ad-free right now by joining Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. Prime members can listen ad-free on Amazon Music. And before you go, tell us about yourself by filling out a short survey at wondery.com slash survey.

If you'd like to learn more about the Manhattan Project, we recommend American Prometheus by Kai Bird and Martin J. Sherwood and Hiroshima by John Hersey. American History Tellers is hosted, edited, and produced by me, Lindsey Graham for Airship. Audio editing by Christian Paraga. Sound design by Molly Bach. Music by Lindsey Graham. This episode is written by Matt Almos.

Edited by Dorian Marina. Produced by Alita Rozanski. Our production coordinator is Desi Blaylock. Managing producer, Matt Gant. Senior managing producer, Ryan Lohr. Senior producer, Andy Herman. Executive producers, Jenny Lauer-Beckman and Marsha Louis for Wondery. I'm Tristan Redman, and as a journalist, I've never believed in ghosts.

But when I discovered that my wife's great-grandmother was murdered in the house next door to where I grew up, I started wondering about the inexplicable things that happened in my childhood bedroom. When I tried to find out more, I discovered that someone who slept in my room after me, someone I'd never met, was visited by the ghost of a faceless woman. So I started digging into the murder in my wife's family, and I unearthed family secrets nobody could have imagined. Ghost Story won Best Documentary Podcast at the 2024 Ambies and is a Best True Crime nominee at the British Podcast Awards 2024. Ghost Story is now the first ever Apple Podcasts series essential. Each month, Apple Podcasts editors spotlight one series that has captivated listeners with masterful storytelling, creative excellence, and a unique creative voice and vision. To recognize Ghost Story being chosen

as the first series essential, Wondery has made it ad-free for a limited time, only on Apple Podcasts. If you haven't listened yet, head over to Apple Podcasts to hear for yourself.