by Judy Nunn
‘These officers would be placed well beyond the safety zone,’ he eagerly continued, ‘perhaps just a mile or so from ground zero, where they would observe the detonation, after which they would return to their regiments as visible proof that there is life for the conventional soldier following a nuclear attack. They would be heroes to their regiments, Harold.’ Melvyn’s eyes flickered with the light of the true zealot. ‘And their honourable service to the cause would see their careers skyrocket. What greater incentive could a serviceman have?’
He mopped his expansive forehead with his handkerchief. The heat generally did not agree with him, although here, in the cool of his laboratory, it was excitement that was promoting his tendency to sweat. Melvyn had never had such an auspicious nor attentive audience.
‘And, of course, in the process,’ he concluded, ‘we would get the test results we’re after.’
‘Perhaps.’ Harold’s agreement was dubious. ‘Presuming there are any of them left to tell the tale.’
‘Either way, we would have our test results, wouldn’t we?’ Melvyn’s thin lips curled into the slyest of smiles.
Harold gave a boisterous bark of laughter. ‘Goodness gracious me, Melvyn, what a ruthless man you are.’
Lord Dartleigh’s laugh was a little too jarring and Melvyn was shocked into wondering whether or not he may have overstepped the mark. He back-pedalled immediately.
‘Just a little joke, Harold,’ he said, ‘a little joke, believe me, nothing more. Our officers would naturally be in protective clothing and under cover. We would, furthermore, ensure that they were positioned upwind of the fallout, so that when they emerged to examine the results, they would be exposed to residual ionising radiation only. Harmless, I can assure you, quite harmless.’
‘Oh, don’t back down now, Melvyn, whatever you do.’ Harold clapped his hands encouragingly. ‘I’m on your side, remember? But do tell me, come along, old chap, do – how the heck does one convince men to behave in such heroic but downright stupid fashion?’
Melvyn relaxed. Even his sweat glands started to take a rest. ‘It’s already been done to a great degree,’ he said, pausing for effect as he sensed Harold’s intrigue. ‘You must have noticed the extreme youth of the average soldier here at Maralinga – even the majority of junior officers aren’t long out of military school.’
Harold nodded. He was intrigued.
‘The deliberate choice of young, naive servicemen, together with the strictly enforced need-to-know rule, serves our scientific purposes to perfection,’ Melvyn continued. ‘Men are kept in a state of ignorance, and we’re able to feed them the amount and the form of data we feel necessary at any given time. It is my belief that after the first firing, during which all safety precautions will have been firmly observed, a general sense of security will prevail. It is then I intend to suggest more extreme forms of experimentation, along the lines I’ve mentioned. I have many such plans.’ Melvyn’s smile was bolder now. No longer sly, he was starting to gloat. ‘Those wishing to be involved would participate on a strictly volunteer basis,’ he said, ‘after which it’s simply a case of letting human nature take its course.’
‘And which particular course would that be?’
Gideon had not been exaggerating after all, Harold thought, the man was a megalomaniac of the first order.
‘There are always those who want to be heroes and push themselves that one step further, and there are always those who are content to follow. We would have no shortage of volunteers begging to lead or be led on the latest enterprise, so long as we minimise the actual threat of danger.’
‘And, in the meantime,’ Harold said jovially, ‘should a catastrophe occur, you’d have a wealth of human material for examination purposes.’
Melvyn presumed Lord Dartleigh was joking, but he wasn’t prepared to take the risk. ‘We’re scientists, Harold,’ he said. ‘We do not make catastrophic mistakes.’
Balls, Harold thought. Melvyn Crowley was just panting for a mistake, and the more catastrophic its proportion the better. All of which quite suited Harold’s purpose.
‘Well, keep up the good work, Melvyn.’ He stood and offered his hand. ‘You’re doing your country a great service, and you have the full support of MI6, I can assure you.’
‘Thank you, Harold.’ Melvyn also stood and the two shook hands.
‘I shall look forward to receiving your personal reports,’ Harold said, ‘on a confidential basis, naturally. I’ll be of greater assistance to you that way – we’ll be able to cut a few corners in the general bureaucratic process.’
‘Of course.’ Melvyn once again mopped the beads of perspiration from his brow. This had been one of the most exciting days of his life. ‘Thank you, Harold. I’m only too delighted to be of service to MI6.’
‘Of course you are, old chap.’
As Harold left, he thought what an excellent SS officer Melvyn would have made during the days of the Nazi regime. Come to think of it, he looked rather like Heinrich Himmler. Harold wondered if Himmler had been bullied at school.
On 27 September 1956, after a fortnight of postponements and eleven aborted countdowns, it appeared the One Tree test was finally about to happen.
At dawn, weather conditions were perfect and meteorological reports predicted minimal change. The detonation was planned for late afternoon and, yet again, the countdown began.
Throughout the day, preparations were made. Animals were strategically placed for experimental purposes. Goats were tethered inside the air-raid shelters, which had been constructed not far from ground zero, while sheep, rabbits and mice were tethered and caged in the open air several miles from the blast. Human dummies in military uniform were placed in several of the vehicles that were strewn haphazardly about in the forward zone, the vast collection of warfare paraphernalia having been standing there for weeks – tanks, vehicles, planes, guns, radar sets and more – all awaiting the effects of a nuclear explosion.
Men, too, were prepared for their specialised tasks. Scientists and the officers of the ‘indoctrination force’ responsible for examining the equipment shortly after the blast were supplied with respirators and the all-white protective clothing fondly referred to as ‘goon suits’.
Engineers and technicians spent hours rigging the scientific recording apparatus in the blast area, and the cameras in the twin observation towers that had been erected at the firing zone, officially known as Roadside, ten miles from ground zero.
At the airfield, ground crew ran final checks on the two Canberra bombers that were to fly into the cloud shortly after detonation, special canisters fitted beneath their wings to collect air samples. The pilots were standing by their respective aircrafts, waiting to conduct their own checks, and both two-man teams were excited at the prospect of what lay ahead. Like many at Maralinga, they were young and eager for adventure.
‘Looks like today’s going to be the day,’ Maurie said as he and his co-pilot, Len, stood shoulder to shoulder watching the ground crew at work. ‘Something to tell your kids about, eh?’
‘Yep,’ Len agreed. ‘First into the cloud at Maralinga – it’s the chance of a lifetime all right.’
‘I’ve been thinking, you know – we could end up rich if we sold our story to the papers. We Flew Through the Mushroom Cloud.’ Maurie painted the headlines with a flamboyant gesture. ‘We’d make a bloody fortune.’
‘Oh, yeah?’ Len laughed. ‘What about the Official Secrets Act? What about the oath of silence? They’d have our guts for garters.’
‘I don’t mean now,’ Maurie scoffed. ‘I mean way down the track when we retire from the air force. We could sell our story to newspapers and magazines all over the world. They’d pay us hundreds! Just think of it, Len, we’d become veritable heroes. We’d be living on easy street for the rest of our lives.’
Len was never sure when Maurie was joking, but the thought was attractive so he decided to humour him. Maurie, after all, was not stupid. ‘Who knows?’ he said. ‘You
might just have something there.’
Maurie and Len were not alone in their excitement. At Maralinga, men were queuing up to volunteer for duties at Roadside, where the electronic firing would take place, all eager to witness the event from the closest possible vantage point. No-one was permitted into the forward zone beyond Roadside, with the exception of the specially equipped scientists and members of the indoctrination team who would observe the detonation from trenches just five miles from the blast. All other spectators – and there would be hundreds – were to witness the spectacle from Roadside.
The hourly countdown continued, and the weather conditions remained within the limits of safety – at least that was the way William Penney chose to interpret the meteorologists’ reports, which were, in fact, borderline. There would be no further delays, he had firmly decided. The waiting game had gone on for far too long – all was set in place and all would go ahead.
‘A groundbreaking occasion, eh, Dan?’
‘It is, sir.’
‘Groundbreaking in quite the literal sense I should imagine.’ Harold gave a satisfied chuckle before continuing in a serious vein more appropriate to the occasion. ‘This is a proud moment for Britain, lad, and today’s only the first step. By the time we finish at Maralinga, we’ll be a major authority on atomic power, no longer reliant upon American know-how. And you and I will have been amongst those privileged to witness this glorious page in our country’s history. I’d call that damned exciting, wouldn’t you?’
‘Yes, sir.’ Despite Lord Dartleigh’s rhetoric, Daniel agreed with fervour. He was as exhilarated at the prospect of what lay ahead as every man at Maralinga. Today was finally the day! Excitement had spread like a contagion. ‘Yes, I certainly would.’
‘Good lad.’ Harold nodded approvingly, satisfied that his brief but inspirational words had hit home. He gazed happily out the window, enjoying the light breeze, his steel-grey hair glinting in the late afternoon sun. Life really was excellent.
Daniel had been assigned to drive Lord Dartleigh the fifteen miles from Maralinga village to Roadside, where, along with hundreds of others, the deputy director of MI6 would observe the explosion. Sir William Penney had extended an offer for Harold to join him in his chauffeur-driven Humber Super Snipe, in order that the two of them might be seen to arrive together with the official party, as propriety demanded, but Harold had refused.
‘No thank you, William,’ he’d said in his most aloof manner, designed to infuriate. ‘I’ve been assigned my own chauffeur of late, a young first lieutenant with the transport corps. Wouldn’t want to disappoint the poor lad now, would I? He’s no doubt eager to be at the prime observation point. Wouldn’t be fair to let him down, what?’
Harold’s reasoning had been insultingly transparent. Officers of the transport corps were heavily in demand, and First Lieutenant Daniel Gardiner could have availed himself of any number of opportunities that would have seen him at Roadside. William Penney, although irritated by the blatancy of Harold Dartleigh’s insult, had accepted the flimsy excuse with apparent grace, and had indeed been grateful to escape the man’s company, just as he had no doubt Harold was grateful to escape his.
The feeling would have been mutual if Harold had given it any thought, but he hadn’t. He was aware that both his refusal and his excuse could have been seen as insulting, a fact which rather pleased him, but he hadn’t been consciously escaping William’s company. He’d had Daniel assigned as his driver because he liked the lad, and he wasn’t about to change his plans to suit William Penney’s sense of propriety. Besides, he would make more of an impact arriving on his own rather than en masse with the official party.
‘Do you have a girlfriend, Dan?’ On such a momentous day, Harold was full of bonhomie.
‘Yes, sir, I do.’ At the very thought of Elizabeth, Daniel’s face glowed. ‘We’re engaged to be married.’
‘How delightful.’ Harold found Dan a most beguiling young man. ‘My heartiest congratulations.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘And have you set the date?’
‘As soon as I get back from Maralinga, sir.’ Daniel grinned, he couldn’t help himself. ‘In fact, if I have my way, the moment I walk off the plane.’
‘Ah, my boy,’ Harold’s smile was all-knowing and avuncular, ‘I think your fiancée may have something to say about that.’
‘Oh no, sir, Elizabeth’s not one for tradition at all. She doesn’t want a white wedding with all the trimmings.’
‘Well, good for Elizabeth, I say.’
Lucky girl, Harold thought – young Dan really was an engaging lad. Not conventionally handsome, but attractive in an earnest, boyish way – so much more pleasing to the eye than poor, plodding Ned. By rights, Harold’s cipher clerk, Ned Hanson, should have been accompanying him out to Roadside, but Harold had given him orders to remain on duty at the office in Maralinga. Much as he knew Ned longed to be part of the action, Harold found him a boring fellow. He preferred to bask in the refreshingly youthful company of the Daniel Gardiners of this world.
The hour of detonation was now ticking over and the countdown had become minutes. The hundreds of spectators were in position, all facing the direction of the site and waiting for the final moment when they must obey their explicit instructions.
The countdown became seconds. In this hour before dusk, when the land reflected a beautiful light, the voice ringing out from the loudspeakers was jarringly at odds with the desert’s serenity.
‘Ten, nine …’
At the start of the final ten-second countdown, the crowd, to a man, turned its back on the site.
‘Eight, seven …’
As instructed, every spectator covered his face with his hands.
‘Six, five …’
Eyes tightly shut, they waited.
‘Four, three, two …’
Then the moment of detonation.
There was a blinding light. Even through closed eyelids, the world flashed suddenly white and was drained of all colour. The backs of necks and the bare legs of men in shorts felt the intense heat of the explosion’s gamma rays, and, seconds later, a vivid, orange-red fireball rose in the sky. But the spectators remained with their faces covered and their backs to the blast, waiting for the effects that would follow and about which they had been warned.
The shock waves hit in spectacular fashion, like a physical blow to the body. Men were taken by surprise, some even staggering slightly, caught off balance, and hands left faces to cover ears as the intensity of the reverberations jarred eardrums. In a series of successive explosions, the soundwaves proceeded to take on a life of their own. They resonated about the landscape, racing through the mallee scrub and dodging amongst the mulgas, chasing each other like demented banshees. The desert was alive with sound.
Then, finally, silence.
After minutes that dragged like hours, it was deemed safe to look and, in unison, the spectators turned to face the site.
There, towering in the sky, its stem growing taller, its head billowing larger with every passing second, was the magnificent and perfectly formed mushroom cloud of an atomic explosion.
Harold Dartleigh initiated a round of applause, not forgetting to cast a glance in William Penney’s direction.
Others amongst the official party of senior scientists and top-ranking officers joined in, and Sir William accepted the acknowledgement with a curt nod before removing his spectacles and lifting his field glasses to his eyes. But he cursed Harold Dartleigh. In initiating the applause, Harold had successfully drawn attention to himself, as if it were he who was running the show. It was too infuriating for words.
Harold exchanged a quick smile with Gideon Melbray, who was standing barely fifty yards away and who hadn’t missed a trick. Then he raised his own set of field glasses to his eyes.
During the half-hour that followed, amazing sights continued to unfold. Within only minutes, two Canberra bombers appeared in the sky. They swung in an arc, as if salu
ting all who might be watching, then dived into the mushroom cloud and disappeared from sight, eaten up by the dense morass of grey-black.
In the forward area, five miles away and clearly visible across the vast, flat plains, over seventy white-clad scientists appeared from nowhere. They gave the ‘safe’ signal to the officers of the indoctrination force, and more men materialised to join them, hundreds it seemed. An army in white was marching across the desert. They looked like aliens from outer space.
Binoculars and field glasses kept tilting from land to sky as aliens and aerobatics became of equal fascination to the spellbound spectators.
Maurie had had qualms before they’d dived into the cloud, just as he was sure Len must have had, and the pilots in the other Canberra. It was one thing to be boastful down on the ground and another altogether up here in the sky, he’d thought as they’d faced the great, angry cloud. This was pretty daunting stuff. But orders were orders, and they’d dived.
The moment they’d entered the blackness, radioactivity levels had sent the instruments wild, which had been a bit scary, but the cloud was dispersing as the breeze picked up and most instruments were now becoming operational.
Then they were out the other side and banking, preparing to turn and dive back into the cloud, the other Canberra repeating the manoeuvre below them. Their orders were to continue taking air samples for at least forty minutes.
Once again inside the eerie, all-enveloping gloom, unlike any normal storm cloud he’d encountered, Maurie started to feel elated by the experience. He wondered if Len was too, and he yelled the opening lines of ‘High Flight’ through his radio mike.
‘Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings …’