Gadget
July 16, 1945, 5:15 AM
New Mexico, United States
The endless desert stretched for miles in ever direction, still damp from the rain whic had already delayed the test by several hours. The great metal assembly of the shot tower clawed at the dawn horizon as the last vehicle sped away from the site.
"Aren't you scared?" Rabi asked the man beside him.
"Nope." replied Griesen with a cheeky grin. "Only thing I'm worried about is what I'll do if that countdown hits zero and nothing happens!"
Both men fell silent for a few minutes. "Do you have the time?" Griesen finally asked awkwardly. "Thirty seconds." Rabi's voice trembled with a heady mix of emotions: fear, hope, anticipation all intermingled. "OK, now I'm scared!" Griesen blurted.
"Three... Two... One... Time!"
And a almost exactly two miles away Lieutenant Edith Turner of the Women's Army Corps destroyed the shot tower made history when she grew to a height of two hundred feet.
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"We did it, Oppie. Two hundred feet and almost three hours. It's one hell of an accomplishment!"
General Leslie Groves was never a man known for dispensing praise, but then, this was hardly a typical project. It had been three long years since he had taken this assignment, three years while America fought her way across Africa, Europe, and the Pacific. Yet today's test had justifed all of it; every night spent in the office, every urgent cross-country train trip, the weeks living at Trinity Base Camp. It was a shame that the project had been utterly unable to replicate the results on male subjects, but when it really came down to it size mattered rather more than mere sex, and the existing women's auxiliary programs provided no shortage of willing volunteers.
Robert Oppenheimer, on the other hand, still had reservations.
"We may have built the weapon, but I'm worried about extraction. We only have a short window - perhaps fifteen minutes - between the time the weapon returns normal size and when it returns normal strength. After that-"
"Don't worry about it." Groves cut in. "We have an escort carrier waiting offshore with one of the new H-5 helicopters. They won't have enough range to get back, so they'll ditch in the sea and be picked up by one of our submarines."
"Alright, alright. I'd just hate to think I'm sending a young woman to her death, that's all." Oppenheimer, mollified, returned to his data.
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Little Boy
August 6, 1945, 8:15 AM
Hiroshima, Japan
30,000 feet
"Three, two, one, bombs away!"
Only this time it isn't a bomb. Mused Captain Samantha Smith, Women's Auxiliary Corps, in the instant that the great machines stuffed into the cramped belly of the B-29 spun up. This time it's something worse. She buckled the strap on her helmet and patted the M1911 pistol at her side.
Then the doors beneath her feet fell away and Sam hurtled out into the air. And a good thing too! Another second in there and I'd grow right through the airplane.
Suddenly she was yanked violently upwards as her parachute opened. Beneath her the city of Hiroshima unfolded like a map, rivers, roads, buildings... People. She was almost at her full height now; a hundred and fifty feet of angry American unleashed on the people of Japan.
Her combat boots struck the ground and instantly she threw herself into a parachute landing fall: first she dropped to her knees, then rolled onto her rear, before throwing herself onto her side. That was the theory, at any rate. In practice, her ankle twisted as her leather-clad feet smashed through a massive warehouse and she toppled backwards.
Japan had already suffered one of the most extensive bombardments in history, B-29s raining down bombs day and night practically unopposed. Sam's posterior struck with more force than any bomb yet built, smashing a car and two dozen pedestrians to red jam between her uniform pants and the unforgiving asphalt.
"Woops!" She thundered cheerfully. "Nothing broken! Well, nothing important, anyhow." Sam stood, up and peered at her uniform. "Golly, you made a bit of a mess, didn't you?"
She looked out across the city.
"Three hours to go!"