The Einstein Papers Read Free Page B

physicist studied the sea carefully as he sailed south. All around his sailboat he witnessed life. Atlantic porpoise slid to the surface like graceful dancers in an underwater tango, while schools of small fish boiled to the surface to be fed upon by dive-bombing gulls and pelicans.
    Continuing twenty nautical miles south along the coast, content just to be sailing, he at last grew weary and stopped in a small protected cove he had found on a previous voyage. He dropped the anchor off the bow, then glanced the short distance to land. The shoreline, carpeted by a thick forest of trees leading down to the waters edge, would provide him with a quiet spot to spend his afternoon. From the trees the chirping of birds rolled across the water and brought him peace. A pair of bullfrogs croaked out their calls while a butterfly flitted from shore and landed on the main mast.
    Einstein walked back to the stern of the boat, stretched his aching back, then settled on the deck near a coiled pile of rope. Though he usually paid little attention to food, sometimes literally forgetting he needed to eat, he had a robust appetite this afternoon. He took out one of the liverwurst sandwiches Katherine Hartley had packed for him. Unfolding the waxed paper he took a huge bite. A dab of hot German mustard dotted his chin and he wiped it away with a fingertip. Deeper in the brown paper bag he found a tin foil package. Removing a deviled egg, the top dusted with orange paprika, he consumed it with childish delight. For dessert he ate from a paper container of fresh cranberries. He washed it all down with a bottle of tepid homemade beer. Carefully placing the refuse back in the paper sack, he stowed it in a side compartment, then sat on the stern of the boat contented. His stomach was full but his mind, for once, was strangely empty. Slowly he fell into a deep slumber.
     
    Ten thousand miles and ten time zones to the west of New Jersey on an ancient rocky island, an artificial sun was about to burn with all the intensity of a hell come to earth. Sun glinted off the silver fuselage of a lone B-29 as it flew high above the water. On the wings, on either side of the fuselage, the four Wright Cyclone engines that powered huge four-bladed propellers droned in a monotonous beat as the bomber was guided north.
    Colonel Paul Tibbet, Jr., was the commander of the bomber Enola Gay, the plane assigned to unleash the unnatural sun. Tibbet, operating under a thick cloak of secrecy, had explained the purpose of the mission to his crew only a few hours before.
    The crew of the Enola Gay was a tight group, honed to perfection through the long hours they had spent training and retraining these last few months. They were as close as men could be, each trusting the other completely. Even so, no one aboard kidded around as usual on the flight north toward Japan. The crew was lost in their own thoughts. They were the chosen warriors for a new age, and they were justifying to themselves the devastation they knew they were about to inflict.
    Tibbet signaled the crew they had arrived at the ten-minutes-to-target point. The crew shed their doubts and began to prepare for the bomb run. Trained almost to the point of brainwashing, they were robotic in their movements. The crew would perform their mission exactly as they were trained. They would deliver the payload to the target area.
    That was their job.
    When the Enola Gay crossed above the city of Hiroshima at an altitude of 31,000 feet, the navigator reversed his cap and stared for the hundredth time at his charts. Checking, then rechecking his course settings, he shouted to the bombardier that they were approaching the targeted building.
    The bombardier concentrated completely. Ignoring the sweat that dotted his forehead, he sat peering into the Norden bombsight, his breath coming in shallow waves. Positive they were above the same building he had been shown on the aerial photographs earlier that morning, he activated the