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UPI
6 days ago
- Politics
- UPI
On This Day, Aug. 9: U.S. drops second atomic bomb on Japan, ending WWII
1 of 7 | On August 9, 1945, two planes of the 509th Composite Group, part of the 313th Wing of the 20th Air Force participated in a mission to drop an atomic bomb on Nagasaki. A few days later, Japan surrendered and World War II was over. UPI File Photo | License Photo Aug. 9 (UPI) -- On this date in history: In 1483, the Sistine Chapel opens in the Vatican. In 1854, Walden was published by Henry David Thoreau. In 1916, Lassen Volcanic National Park was established in California. In 1936, American track star Jesse Owens won his fourth Olympic gold medal in Berlin. In 1945, a U.S. B-29 bomber dropped an atomic bomb nicknamed "Fat Man" on the Japanese city of Nagasaki three days after the atomic bombing of Hiroshima. Three weeks later, Japan formally surrendered, ending World War II. In 1969, actress Sharon Tate and four other people were slain in Los Angeles by followers of Charles Manson in the first of two nights of murders. In 1974, U.S. President Richard Nixon's resignation became effective at noon and Vice President Gerald Ford was sworn in as the nation's 38th chief executive. UPI File Photo In 1991, Vietnamese Prime Minister Do Muoi resigned. He was succeeded by Vo Van Kiet, who vowed to transform Vietnam into a market economy. In 1993, King Albert II of Belgium was crowned 10 days after King Baudouin I, his older brother, died of heart failure. King Albert II abdicated in 2013 for health reasons. In 2001, U.S. President George W. Bush announced he would allow federal funding for limited stem cell research using human embryos. In 2004, Terry Nichols was sentenced to life in prison without possibility of parole for his role in the 1995 Oklahoma City federal building bombing that killed 168 people. In 2009, Typhoon Morakot slammed into Taiwan, with more than 80 inches of rain triggering floods and massive mudslides. The death toll was at least 500 and thousands of homes were destroyed. In 2010, former U.S. Sen. Ted Stevens, a six-term Republican from Alaska, was killed with four others in the crash of a small plane in a remote area of his home state. File Photo by Roger L. Wollenberg/UPI In 2012, Jamaican sprinter Usain Bolt became the first person to sweep the 100-meter and 200-meter dashes in back-to-back Olympics. In 2014, a white police officer shot and killed a Black youth, Michael Brown, 18, in Ferguson, Mo., touching off weeks of protests. In 2017, the North Korean military threatened a missile strike near the U.S. territory of Guam, saying a recent bomber flight based from the island "may provoke a dangerous conflict." In 2022, Serena Williams announced her plans to retire after competing at the 2022 U.S. Open. The 23-time Grand Slam singles champion made her professional debut at age 14 in 1995 and went on to become one of the best tennis players in history. In 2024, a VoePass airplane with 57 passengers and four crew members crashed near the city of Vinhedo, Brazil, killing all aboard. File Photo by Isaac Fontana/EPA-EFE
Washington Post
06-08-2025
- General
- Washington Post
‘The light filled my head': An oral history of the Hiroshima bombing
This oral history is adapted from Garrett M. Graff's book 'The Devil Reached Toward the Sky: An Oral History of the Making and Unleashing of the Atomic Bomb,' which published on Tuesday. Eighty years ago today, on Aug. 6, 1945, a B-29 bomber named the Enola Gay took off from Tinian Island, in the Northern Mariana Islands, for a mission that its flight crew knew would make history. It belonged to the 509th Composite Group, a unit that had been created and trained in secret for some nine months for the sole purpose of dropping the world's first atomic bomb. In addition to the Enola Gay, which carried the bomb itself, the mission involved several other B-29s, including the weather reconnaissance plane Straight Flush, the camera plane Necessary Evil and the Great Artiste, which carried scientific observers from Project Alberta, the forward-deployed science component of the Manhattan Project. The Enola Gay's commander and lead pilot for the mission, Col. Paul W. Tibbets, was barely 30 years old. Though Tibbets had known the secret of the Manhattan Project since its start, many of the Enola Gay crew learned the phrase 'atomic bomb' only when they gathered for the August mission itself. This oral history is based on archives and books from three continents and more than 100 first-hand memoirs, as well as government reports, testimonies, speeches and memories from reunions of the 509th Composite Group. Times aboard the plane are given in Chamorro Standard Time, the time zone of the base in the Northern Mariana Islands, while Japan Standard Time was an hour earlier. Quotes have been edited for clarity and concision. Maj. Charles W. Sweeney, co-pilot of the Great Artiste: I lit my Cuban Romeo y Julieta and settled back for the three-hour flight to the rendezvous. There was little chitchat. The crew tried to catch some shut-eye. The atmosphere on board was relaxed. Not loose, but tension-free. Relaxed in the way that any group of professionals is when its members are carrying out a job they're supremely trained to do and confident in their abilities. Col. Paul W. Tibbets, lead pilot of the Enola Gay: We were only eight minutes off the ground when Capt. William S. 'Deak' Parsons and Lt. Morris R. Jeppson lowered themselves into the bomb bay to insert a slug of uranium and the conventional explosive charge into the core of the strange-looking weapon. I wondered why we were calling it ''Little Boy.' Little Boy was 28 inches in diameter and 12 feet long. Its weight was a little more than 9,000 pounds. With its coat of dull gunmetal paint, it was an ugly monster. Lt. Morris R. Jeppson, crew member of the Enola Gay: Parsons was second-in-command of the military in the Manhattan Project. The Little Boy weapon was Parsons's design. He was greatly concerned that B-29s loaded with conventional bombs were crashing at the ends of runways on Tinian during takeoff and that such an event could cause the U-235 projectile in the gun of Little Boy to fly down the barrel and into the U-235 target. This could have caused a low-level nuclear explosion on Tinian. Tibbets: Parsons, who knew just about all there was to know about the workings of our bomb, having participated in its development, was blunt and convincing as he spoke of the risks. 'If we crack up and the plane catches fire,' he said, 'there is danger of an atomic explosion that could wipe out half of this island.' Jeppson: On his own, Parsons decided that he would go on the Hiroshima mission and that he would load the gun after the Enola Gay was well away from Tinian. Tibbets: That way, if we crashed, we would lose only the airplane and crew, himself included. Jeppson: This was done, I believe, at about 7,000 feet altitude. Tibbets: Jeppson held the flashlight while Parsons struggled with the mechanism of the bomb, inserting the explosive charge that would send one block of uranium flying into the other to set off the instant chain reaction that would create the atomic explosion. Jeppson: After returning to the cabin, I periodically monitored the circuits in the bomb. Capt. Robert A. Lewis, co-pilot of the Enola Gay: At 45 minutes out of our base, everyone is at work. Tibbets has been hard at work with the usual tasks that belong to the pilot of a B-29. Capt. Theodore 'Dutch' Van Kirk, navigator, and Sgt. Joseph S. Stiborik, radar operator, are in continuous conversation (on the interphone), as they are shooting bearings on the northern Marianas and making radar wind runs. Tibbets: In the cockpit, I found it a good time to catch some sleep. After less than an hour of fitful but useful slumber, I was back at the controls. We ascended gradually from 4,600 to 5,500 feet. Then, at 5:34 a.m., I began our climb in earnest. Twenty minutes later, we reached our new cruising altitude of 9,300 feet. Through broken clouds ahead, the island of Iwo Jima came into view. Sweeney: It was about 5:45 when we caught sight of Iwo. Lt. Jacob Beser, radar specialist aboard the Enola Gay: It was here we would rendezvous with the other two airplanes. Tibbets: In all, seven planes would be taking part in the mission. Two would accompany me, one with scientific instruments to measure the intensity of the blast and another with photographic equipment to make a pictorial record of the event. Then there would be a standby plane, which would land at Iwo Jima for use in case the bomb-carrying plane ran into mechanical trouble. [Editor's note: The three other planes scouted the weather in Hiroshima and two backup targets.] Sweeney: Rising prominently above the island was Mount Suribachi. Technical Sgt. George R. Caron and I slipped in behind Tibbets in formation on each of his wings as he circled Suribachi. As I looked to the east, I saw the sun emerging above the horizon, a huge red ball rising up from the ocean. Tibbets: As we took leave of Iwo Jima, we were slightly more than three hours away from our target. Our target? We weren't sure at this time where we were going. It would be one of three: Hiroshima, Kokura or Nagasaki. Beser: As we neared Japan, I began to detect the familiar Japanese early warning radar. Soon it was locked on us. Then another radar picked us up. At the same time, but on different frequencies that we shared with the Navy, I detected considerable activity off the coast. The U.S. 5th Fleet was in full operation that morning, and the radio chatter of the pilots made fascinating listening. Luis Alvarez, Project Alberta physicist aboard the Great Artiste: Approaching the coast, we donned flak suits and arranged flak mattresses to sit on. I decided not to wear a parachute; if we were shot down, I didn't want to be captured. Tibbets: On this stage of the flight, I was smoking my pipe with a little more intensity than usual. Lewis: After leaving Iwo Jima, we began to pick up some low strata[clouds], and before very long we were flying on top of an undercast. At 7:10, the undercast began to break up just a little, but, outside of a high thin cirrus and the low stuff, it is a very beautiful day. We are now about two hours from 'bombs away.' Capt. Theodore 'Dutch' Van Kirk, navigator aboard the Enola Gay: I could see the weather was perfect. Sweeney: The sky was crystal clear. Capt. James F. Van Pelt, navigator aboard the Great Artiste: There were a few clouds over the water, but I can't remember any day I spent in the Pacific when it was more perfect for flying than it was on Aug. 6. Van Kirk: I could see the coastline of Japan from probably a hundred miles away at that altitude. I could pick out the city of Hiroshima from 75 miles away at least. Tibbets: The next hour was one of suspense as we droned toward the enemy homeland. Without waiting for the weather word, I climbed slowly toward what was to be our bombing altitude of 30,700 feet. Beser: The decision was made, then and there on the Enola Gay, to go to Hiroshima. Tibbets: Considering the historical importance of the event, it seemed hardly fitting to announce that the world's first atomic bomb had been dropped from an unnamed B-29 bearing the number 82. The B-17 I flew in Europe and North Africa was named the Red Gremlin. Most of the planes in the 509th had been given names such as Claude Eatherly's Straight Flush, Sweeney's Great Artiste and Frederick Bock's Bockscar. My thoughts turned at this moment to my courageous red-haired mother. Her name, Enola Gay, was pleasing to the ear. It was also unique, for I had never heard of anyone else named Enola. It would be a fine name for my plane. Several of my crew members, who had become acquainted with mother on her visit to Wendover Air Force base, gave hearty approval. Sgt. Gillon T. Niceley, tail gunner aboard Straight Flush: On our trip to and from Hiroshima, we mostly listened to Tokyo Rose, discussed the mission and, I being in the tail, watched for enemy planes or anything that didn't seem natural. Tibbets: At 7:30, Parsons made some adjustments on the console that controlled the bomb's intricate circuitry. He informed us that the bomb was armed and ready. Lewis: The bomb is now alive. It is a funny feeling knowing it is right in back of you. Knock wood. Van Kirk: We went in across the island [Shokuku] across the inland sea to just west of Hiroshima where he turned on the IP — the initial point. We were supposed to drop at 9:15, so I thought, well, I'm gonna try to get as close as possible. I extended the IP a little bit to use up a little more time. Lewis: It is 8:50. Not long now, folks. Van Pelt: The Colonel turned on course for a bomb run on Hiroshima. We were all getting very tense. The minutes seemed like hours. Tibbets: Although I was sure this was our target, there were other cities in the area and I wanted my judgment corroborated. I remembered a pharmacist of my acquaintance who always required an assistant to verify the label on every bottle before mixing a prescription. 'Do you all agree that's Hiroshima?' I asked the other crewmen. They promptly concurred. Van Pelt: Finally, the Colonel opened his bomb-bay doors. We could see Hiroshima ahead and below us. It is located on the waterfront of Honshu Island with seven rivers and an old castle in the center very near our target. Tibbets: The T-shaped bridge was easy to spot. Even though there were many other bridges in this sprawling city, there was no other bridge that even slightly resembled it. Van Pelt: A bombardier could not ask for a more perfect day. Van Kirk: It's one of the easiest missions that ever flew in my life — much easier than flying over Germany, 'cause the Japanese weren't shooting at us. Tibbets: At 17 seconds after 9:14, just 60 seconds before the scheduled bomb release, he flicked a toggle switch that activated a high-pitched radio tone. This tone, ominous under the circumstances, sounded in the headphones of the men aboard our plane and the two airplanes that were with us; it was also heard by the men in the three weather planes, which were already more than 200 miles away on their return flight to Tinian. Exactly one minute after it began, the radio tone ceased, and at the same instant there was the sound of the pneumatic bomb-bay doors opening automatically. Lawrence H. Johnston, Project Alberta physicist aboard the Great Artiste: We heard the wind rushing as the bomb-bay doors on our plane opened. Beser: At precisely 08:15:15 Hiroshima time, the tone signal stopped. Tibbets: Out tumbled Little Boy, a misnamed package of explosive force infinitely more devastating than any bomb — or cluster of bombs — ever dropped before. Beser: The bomb was on its way. Tibbets: With the release of the bomb, the plane was instantly 9,000 pounds lighter. As a result, its nose leaped up sharply, and I had to act quickly to execute the most important task of the flight: putting as much distance as possible between our plane and the point at which the bomb would explode. The 155-degree diving turn to the right, with its 160-degree bank, put a great strain on the airplane and its occupants. I was flying this biggest of all bombers as if it were a fighter plane. Van Kirk: We made the turn that we had practiced many, many times in how to get away from the bomb — 155-degree turn and put the nose down, pushed the throttles forward, just run like the devil. Alvarez: The bomb took 43 seconds to drop 30,000 feet to its detonation point, our three parachute gauges drifting down above. For half that time, we were diving away in a two-G turn. Before we leveled off and flew directly away, we saw the calibration pulses that indicated our equipment was working well. Jeppson: We had been cautioned not to look back at the bomb explosion and to wear welders' goggles. The plane jerked up as usual when the heavy Little Boy was released. I counted the seconds to myself. I believe I had calculated it would take about 43 seconds to reach either the ground or the planned detonation elevation above the ground. For a second I thought, 'It didn't work; it must be a dud.' I had been told by [Project Alberta team leader] Ed Doll before the flight, 'This bomb cost $2 billion; don't lose it.' Alvarez: Suddenly, a bright flash lit the compartment. The pressure pulse registered its N-shape wave on our screens. Sweeney: The sky was bleached a bright white, brighter than the sun. I instinctively squeezed my eyes shut, but the light filled my head. Johnston: A white flash coming up through our small window made a bright disk on the ceiling of the plane that faded to orange. Tibbets: Caron, the only man aboard the plane with an immediate view of the awesome havoc we had created, tried to describe it to us. Suddenly, he saw the shock wave approaching at the speed of sound — almost 1,100 feet a second. Condensing moisture from the heated air at the leading edge of the shock wave made it quite visible, just as one sees shimmering air rising from the ground on a hot, humid day. Johnston: We felt a double jolt as the shock wave hit our plane. Tibbets: There was a startling sensation that I remember quite vividly to this day. My teeth told me, more emphatically than my eyes, of the Hiroshima explosion. At the moment of the blast, there was a tingling sensation in my mouth and the very definite taste of lead upon my tongue. This, I was told later by scientists, was the result of electrolysis — an interaction between the fillings in my teeth and the radioactive forces that were loosed by the bomb. Sweeney: My tail gunner, Pappy Dehart, began uttering gibberish over the intercom. In combat, a gunner has to report what he sees precisely, distinctly and once, and then wait for the pilot's acknowledgment. Pappy, an experienced gunner, was now running over his own words, his alarm garbling what he was saying. I tried to break in. 'Pappy, say again.' I soon realized that Pappy was trying to describe a sight no human being had ever seen. Harold Agnew, Project Alberta physicist aboard the Great Artiste: I wrote in my notebook, 'It really went off, it really did.' Sgt. Raymond Gallagher, assistant flight engineer on the Great Artiste: What all of us saw was something that I don't think we will ever see, and hope to never see, the rest of our life. Technical Sgt. George R. Caron, tail gunner on the Enola Gay: Everything was burning. I saw fires springing up in different places, like flames shooting up on a bed of coals. I was asked to count them. I said, 'Count them?' Hell, I gave up! Sweeney: Hiroshima now lay to the west, on the right side of my airplane. I looked down and saw a roiling, dirty brown cloud spreading out horizontally over the city. Out of it was emerging a vertical cloud that looked like it contained every color of the rainbow, and more. The colors were vivid — hard to describe — some I had never seen before. Tibbets: The giant purple mushroom had already risen to a height of 45,000 feet, 3 miles above our own altitude, and was still boiling upward like something terribly alive. It was a frightening sight, and even though we were several miles away, it gave the appearance of something that was about to engulf us. Sweeney: As it gained altitude, a huge white mushroom shape formed at the top. Tibbets: Even more fearsome was the sight on the ground below. At the base of the cloud, fires were springing up everywhere amid a turbulent mass of smoke that had the appearance of bubbling hot tar. Lewis: My God, what have we done? Van Kirk: All we could see at the city of Hiroshima was black smoke, dust, looked like a pot of boiling oil covering a city. We flew around in the southeast quadrant of the city to see what we could observe. Couldn't see anything because of the smoke dust. So we turned around and went home. Lewis: Even when the plane was going in the opposite direction, the flames were still terrific. The area of the town looked as though it was torn apart. I have never seen anything like it — never seen anything like it. When we turned our ship so we could observe results, there in front of our eyes was without a doubt the greatest explosion man had ever seen. We were struck dumb at the sight. It far exceeded all our expectations. Tibbets: If Dante had been with us in the plane, he would have been terrified! A feeling of shock and horror swept over all of us. Capt. William S. 'Deak' Parsons, Manhattan Project ordnance director aboard the Enola Gay: It was a terrific spectacle. The huge dust cloud covered everything. The base of the lower part of the mushroom, a mass of purplish-gray dust about three miles in diameter, was all boiling — the entire area was boiling. The purple clouds and flames were whirling around. It seemed as though the whole town got pulverized. Alvarez: After we secured our equipment, we left our cramped quarters and looked out the window for the first time over Japan. By then Sweeney was heading back toward Hiroshima, and the top of the mushroom cloud had reached our altitude. I looked in vain for the city that had been our target. The cloud seemed to be rising out of a wooded area devoid of population. I thought the bombardier had missed the city by miles — had dumped Ernest's precious bomb out in the empty countryside — and I wondered how we would ever explain such a failure to him. Sweeney shortly dispelled my doubts. The aiming had been excellent. 2nd Lt. Russell E. Gackenbach, navigator aboard Necessary Evil: There was almost complete silence on the flight deck. It was evident the city of Hiroshima was destroyed.
Spectator
03-08-2025
- General
- Spectator
How did the Enola Gay's crew live with bombing Hiroshima?
Eighty years on, the atomic bombing of Hiroshima continues to provoke fierce debate, reflection, and deep moral inquiry. How did the thirteen men aboard the Enola Gay – the US aircraft that delivered the bomb that killed at least 150,000 people – live with the knowledge of what they had done? The morning of 6 August 1945 began like any other on the Pacific island of Tinian. That was until the Boeing B-29 Superfortress lifted into the sky. Its destination: Japan. Its payload: 'Little Boy', the first atomic bomb ever used in warfare. Piloted by Colonel Paul W. Tibbets Jnr. and manned by a crew of twelve, the mission forever altered the course of history. The explosion over Hiroshima ushered in the atomic age, marked the beginning of the end of the Second World War, and created a moral legacy that haunted and defined the lives of those aboard. The men of the Enola Gay were highly trained and mission-focused, yet none could fully comprehend the historic and human weight of the operation they had executed. After the war, these men returned to civilian life or continued military careers, each navigating the public scrutiny and personal reckoning that came with their roles in the atomic bombing. Some defended their actions unapologetically; others expressed private doubts or lingering sorrow. But all of them lived in the long shadow of that moment. Colonel Tibbets Jnr., the aircraft's commander and pilot, remained the most visible and vocal member of the crew throughout his life. As the man who had selected the Enola Gay, named it after his mother, and led the 509th Composite Group, Tibbets carried the weight of command. Unapologetic to the end, you can only admire his message discipline, consistently defending the mission as necessary. In a 2002 interview, he reflected: I viewed my mission as one to save lives. I didn't bomb Pearl Harbor. I didn't start the war. But I was going to finish it. Tibbets served in the US Air Force until his retirement as a brigadier general in 1966. He never expressed remorse and, anticipating potential protests, requested no headstone after his death in 2007. His ashes were scattered over the English Channel by his French-born widow, Andrea. Major Thomas Ferebee, the bombardier who released the bomb, shared Tibbets' view. A seasoned airman who had seen combat in Europe, Ferebee also showed little inclination toward public reflection or regret. He returned to service after the war and retired as a colonel, keeping a low profile for much of his life. Like Tibbets, he believed the bombing had ultimately saved more lives than it had taken. Navigator Captain Theodore 'Dutch' Van Kirk was responsible for guiding the aircraft to its target. His recollections offered a blend of historical realism and quiet resignation. In a 2005 interview, Van Kirk said: War is war. And in war, you do what you have to do to win. It was a different time and a different place. After leaving the military, Van Kirk worked in private industry, remaining relatively quiet until his later years, when he began to speak more openly about the mission. He maintained that the bombing, tragic though it was, had likely prevented an even greater catastrophe. He passed away in 2014, the last surviving member of the Enola Gay crew. Co-pilot Captain Robert Lewis, in contrast, expressed deep emotional conflict shortly after the mission. In his logbook, written during the return flight, he famously recorded: My God, what have we done? This single line became one of the most quoted responses from the mission, often contrasted with the stoic tone of Tibbets and others. But his crew members have called into question the veracity of that account. According to Van Kirk, who was sitting behind the co-pilot, as they gazed at the giant mushroom cloud enveloping the heart of Hiroshima, Lewis exclaimed: 'Look at that son of a bitch go!'. Lewis, a civilian airline pilot before and after the war, wrestled with the event privately. Though he never publicly condemned the mission, his writings and interviews reflected a more complicated emotional legacy. He died in 1983. Sergeant George 'Bob' Caron, the tail gunner, was the only crew member to witness the blast directly through a rear-facing window. He captured the famous photographs of the mushroom cloud that have since become emblematic of the bombing. In his 1995 memoir Fire of a Thousand Suns, Caron defended the mission as a necessary military action and expressed pride in his crew's professionalism. After the war, he lived a relatively quiet life and worked in sales. Lieutenant Jacob Beser, the radar specialist, played a role not only in Hiroshima but also in the second bombing mission over Nagasaki. A physicist by training, Beser was deeply involved in the technical side of the weapon's delivery. In later interviews, he was frank about his participation, stating that he had no regrets, though he did express concern over the uncontrolled spread of nuclear weapons in the postwar world. Beser passed away in 1992. Several crew members chose to step away from public life entirely. Staff Sergeant Wyatt Duzenbury, Sergeant Robert Shumard, and Technical Sergeant Joseph Stiborik all returned to civilian life without engaging in public commentary. These men had played crucial roles in maintaining the aircraft and monitoring its systems, yet their postwar narratives were largely defined by silence. Their private reflections, if any, were not widely recorded. Captain William 'Deak' Parsons, the mission's weaponeer, had the grave responsibility of arming the bomb during flight. A naval officer and ordnance expert, Parsons ensured that the weapon was live before it reached the drop zone. He continued to work in nuclear weapons development and held high-level roles in the Navy and at Los Alamos. Parsons died in 1953, before the larger public reckoning with the bomb's legacy fully unfolded. Ensign Morris Jeppson, Parsons' assistant, was the man who removed the bomb's safety plugs mid-flight, allowing it to arm. After the war, Jeppson became an electrical engineer and worked in private industry. In later life, he occasionally gave interviews in which he offered a calm, pragmatic defence of the mission. He expressed neither regret nor triumph, focusing instead on the technical precision and professionalism required for such a complex operation. As the Cold War intensified and nuclear weapons proliferated, public sentiment around Hiroshima became increasingly divided. The 50th anniversary of the bombing in 1995 brought renewed scrutiny to the crew of the Enola Gay, particularly when the Smithsonian Institution's planned exhibit on the aircraft was met with controversy. Veterans' groups clashed with peace activists and historians over how the bombing should be remembered. Tibbets and other surviving crew members criticised what they saw as a politically skewed narrative that cast them as villains rather than soldiers following orders during wartime. The exhibit was eventually revised, displaying the aircraft without a strong interpretive stance. While many of the men maintained personal pride in their military professionalism, few glorified the destruction itself. Their reflections were often grounded in the logic of the time: a brutal war, a feared invasion, and the perceived necessity of demonstrating overwhelming force to end the conflict swiftly. These were not bloodthirsty men; they were professionals who had been tasked with delivering an incomprehensibly powerful weapon, under orders and in service to a broader strategic objective. As the years passed, the crew of the Enola Gay aged into a world that changed dramatically from the one in which they had taken flight. They watched as the power they had unleashed became the centrepiece of global geopolitics. Some lived long enough to see the fall of the Soviet Union, the debates over arms control, and the shifting global consensus about the use of nuclear weapons. Yet through it all, the men remained tethered to that day in 1945. Whether in silence or speech, pride or doubt, they carried the memory of Hiroshima with them. Their mission was history's turning point, but also their personal burden. They did not ask to become symbols of victory, destruction, or moral ambiguity, but that is what history made them. Their story is not one of monsters or saints, but of men caught in the furnace of global conflict, making choices within the brutal logic of war. They dropped the bomb. And then, for the rest of their lives, they lived with it. 'The Hiroshima Men: The Quest to Build the Atomic Bomb, and the Fateful Decision to Use It' by Iain MacGregor is out now
