A thousand suns

Truman stared long and hard at Wallace. ‘And why didn’t it occur to you to mention this to me yesterday?’

‘It is a flawed theory. It’s simply wrong, sir.’

‘How certain are you of that, Wallace?’

Wallace swallowed nervously.

‘Give me something I can understand… one chance in ten, in a hundred, a thousand?’

‘It’s impossible, sir, to give you a figure like that. All I can say is that it is very unlikely that this kind of bomb will work at all.’

‘Unlikely,’ repeated Truman.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Not “impossible”…’

‘Highly unlikely, sir,’ Wallace added.

‘And given they need much less of this uranium to make one of these fast-cycle things, is it possible they could have made more than one?’

Wallace nodded. ‘If they have taken this theory on board, then yes, sir… needing much less uranium than one hundred and ten ounces, it is possible they may have acquired enough U-235 to have made several of these bombs. But I must stress that it is highly improbable — ’

Truman raised a finger, ‘But, you cannot reassure me and say impossible.’

Wallace swallowed nervously as the men around the table studied him intently.

‘No, sir, I cannot give you that assurance. No atom bomb has yet been tested. In truth, we cannot know for certain what will happen when we eventually test our bomb, nor the Germans’ much smaller device. As it stands, the science is entirely theoretical, sir. We have only our arithmetic to guide us.’

The colour continued to drain from Truman’s face; he was shaken by this young man’s reply. The fellow had been unprepared to utter the word ‘impossible’, leaving Truman to draw small comfort from the young man’s assurance that it was highly improbable.

‘I think from this point on I would like us all to consider that the threat issued by Adolf Hitler might be a genuine one… and given his demand for unconditional surrender expires today, I’d suggest we had better start working out what we’re damn well going to do.’ His words had started out calmly, but a slowly emerging sense of panic and frustration had driven him to shouting by the end of the sentence. The men around the table shuffled awkwardly under his steely gaze.

He looked at his watch. ‘If our deadline started from zero hundred hours yesterday, I’d guess we have sixteen and a half hours until it expires. For now, I will presume that this deadline will be when he intends to explode this bomb.’

Chapter 43

Mission Time: 6 Hours, 1 Minute elapsed

8.06 a.m., an airfield outside Nantes

Max cast a quick, anxious glance at his wristwatch; fifteen minutes had passed since they had landed. He checked the pump gauge on the side of the fuel truck; it showed a reading of just under 3000 gallons. They needed to fill the main tanks at least — they took about 3600 gallons. The extra tanks inside the fuselage towards the rear of the plane were useless. Several gashes, caused undoubtedly during the skirmish with the Mustangs, had resulted in their losing the entire load. The gashes were so bad they couldn’t even consider patching them. Hans had reported that the back of the plane near the tail-gun reeked of aviation fuel.

Pieter was leaning out of the pilot’s window and periodically calling out the fill readings for their tanks, but his attention was caught by movement near the entrance to the airstrip.

‘Max!’ he shouted down. ‘It looks like something — ’

The pizzicato rattle of gunfire from the barricaded entrance to the airstrip made both of them jump. It was a quick exchange, no more than a couple of bursts from two different guns. A moment later Koch jogged across the grass field towards them from the direction of the guard hut.

‘What’s happening?’ asked Max.

‘It was a jeep-load of American soldiers. They drove up to the barricade and my men opened fire on them.’

‘Did they get away?’

‘Yes. So, I expect we’ll have some more company very soon.’ Koch studied the fuel gauge and turned to Max. ‘How much longer do you need?’

‘Another five, ten minutes.’

The young captain gestured at the Me-109s parked in a cluster nearby, each pilot awkwardly attempting to fill their wing tanks from five-gallon fuel drums. ‘And them?’ he said, pointing towards the fighter planes.

‘They’ll leave as soon as we’re off the ground.’

Koch nodded. ‘If that jeep was on its own, we’ll have a while before word spreads, but I’ve got a feeling that we’ll be due some company very soon.’

‘Can you hold them away for ten more minutes, though?’ Max asked.

Koch turned towards the guard hut and barricade and the small crescent wall of sandbags. It was hardly a great defensive position, and in any case, the airfield wasn’t contained. The Americans could easily by-pass the official entrance and enter the strip from any direction via the woods that surrounded it.

‘All we can do is fire enough shots to make them keep their heads low, slow them down a little, that’s all. I don’t suppose any of them want to be heroes today.’