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By Root 1507 0

just another journey hauling four of the men from one aircrew toward their aircraft. But the black of the night was split wide by a vast sea of light, and Tibbets was stunned to see that the Enola Gay was bathed in spotlights, a far too obvious center of attention. He glanced into the darkness, knew that the island still had its Japanese holdouts, abandoned, desperate men who would scamper through dark fields to inflict whatever damage they could, or steal anything not secured. My God, he thought. They’re getting a hell of a show tonight. I guess … sit back and enjoy it, boys. This is like some damn Hollywood movie premiere. The shock passed, and Tibbets felt annoyance rising, the jeep pulling up close to what was now a massive crowd. He saw cameras, perched on tripods, the popping of flashbulbs, eyes turning his way, calls for him to speak. There were many reporters, the event prearranged by General Farrell. In a few short hours, there would likely be no need for secrecy, and Farrell knew, as did Tibbets, that these men could take all the pictures they wanted, since for now there was no way they could share them with anyone beyond Tinian. What Tibbets had not expected was the carnival atmosphere that surrounded his plane.

He saw Farrell now, the general pushing through the crowd, men reluctantly making way. Farrell held out his hand, and Tibbets accepted it.

“Best of luck, Colonel. This is a hell of a moment. Hell of a moment. We could end the war, you know.”

Behind Farrell, men were scribbling furiously, pencils on paper, jotting down his words. Tibbets didn’t know what to say, suddenly didn’t feel like giving these men anything to jabber about.

“Thank you, sir. Excuse me, I have to make the preflight checks.”

“You bet. Don’t let anyone get in your way.”

Tibbets moved toward the plane, MPs struggling to hold back the eager reporters, some of them in uniform, the official army photographers. Others called out to him still, hoping for a photo of his face, some comment he would offer. Questions came as well, and he ignored that, tried to focus, went through the preflight routine in his mind, the automatic ritual, checking every cowling, every hatchway, the tire pressures, examining the outside of the four engines and the pavement beneath them, searching for oil or hydraulic leaks, any sign that all was not in perfect readiness for takeoff. He moved around the enormous plane, tried to avoid being blinded by the brightest lights, moved to the hatch, saw Parsons pressed back against one of the fat balloon tires by a photographer.

“Just smile! Show me some teeth!”

Parsons seemed terrified, slid away from the man with a curse, and Tibbets saw that his belt was missing the forty-five. Tibbets waited for him, said in a low voice, “You need a sidearm.”

Parsons looked down, cursed again.

“Forgot it. What do I do?”

Tibbets searched the crowd, saw one of the MPs watching him, waved the man over. The face was familiar, and Tibbets said, “Nick, I need your forty-five.”

Parsons pointed sheepishly to his empty belt, and the MP complied immediately.

“Here you go, sir. If you don’t mind … love to get it back. It’ll be a hell of a souvenir.”

Parsons hooked the holster onto his belt, said, “Yeah, fine.”

Tibbets gave the MP a slap on the arm, said nothing, followed Parsons to the hatch, then both men were up and into the plane.

Parsons stood for a long second, seemed to get his breath, and Tibbets was close behind him, said, “You okay?”

“Yeah. Jesus. What a circus. Didn’t expect that.”

“Leave it to generals to make a damn show. Farrell’s a good guy, but he likes to get his name in the paper. Hasn’t been much chance of that before now. Let’s go to work.”

Parsons settled in at the special instrument console, his assistant there already. Tibbets had seen the gashes on Parsons’s hands, fresh cuts from the practice at arming the bomb. He moved into the cockpit, thought, Deak will be fine. We’ll all be fine. Just … do the job. Lewis was already in the co-pilot’s seat, acknowledged Tibbets with a quick nod, no smile.

“Okay, Bob,