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Szilard and Fermi can’t agree on whether to keep the uranium discoveries secret. Szilard fears the Germans will get wind of it and start a program to develop a bomb; Fermi believes the chance of success is only 10%, and it’s less suspicious to downplay the possibility than try to hide it. Uranium with an atomic weight of 238 is common; less than one percent of uranium has an atomic weight of 235. U238 will fission only after being struck by a high-energy neutron, but the U235 isotope will fission after accepting a neutron of any energy. Bohr realizes that U-235 is much more likely to form a chain reaction.
At Columbia, Szilard, Fermi, and Walter Zinn run a test that proves U235 emits twice as many neutrons during fission as it receives. A chain reaction is doable: “That night,” says Szilard, “there was very little doubt in my mind that the world was headed for grief” (292). Szilard and Fermi now support a military program to develop an atomic bomb, kept secret from the Germans, but Bohr thinks separating enough U235 will be nearly impossible, and he doesn’t want the openness of science compromised by secrecy.
The issue becomes moot when German researchers get wind of the uranium experiments; in late April 1939, the Nazi war office launches its own research program. Szilard and Teller visit Einstein, who agrees to write a letter to President Roosevelt urging him to begin a program to develop an atom bomb: “They also hoped for world government and world peace, conditions they imagined bombs made of uranium might enforce” (308). Many German scientists are hoping for the same thing. On September 1, 1939, Germany invades Poland and bombs Warsaw. President Roosevelt issues a stern rebuke and asks for agreement from other nations not to bomb “unfortified cities” and kill innocent civilians.
Economist and financial advisor Alexander Sachs, who has worked in the Roosevelt administration, delivers the Einstein-Szilard letter to Roosevelt on October 11; he reads aloud his own summary of the science, emphasizing the atom’s peaceful uses but pointing out the need to defend against its misuse. Roosevelt understands and comments simply that “what you are after is to see that the Nazis don’t blow us up” (314). Roosevelt orders the project. The first meeting of the Advisory Committee on Uranium meets on October 21, chaired by National Bureau of Standards head Lyman Briggs—the chief of physics research for the government—and one high-ranking military officer each from the Army and Navy. The officers are skeptical but approve a small initial appropriation. Roosevelt receives a report but takes no action.
Early in 1940, Otto Frisch, now working at the University of Birmingham, figures out that a uranium bomb would require several tons of the element and might not work. If the scarce U235 can be separated out and used alone, however, the chain reaction would definitely work and a bomb could be made from a mere 11 pounds of material. Divided into two parts and slammed together, it would release the energy of several thousand tons of TNT, including lethal radiation. The only defense against such a weapon “would be a counter-threat with a similar weapon” (325).
The English, French, Russians, and Japanese begin research into a possible super-bomb. In June 1940, the Advisory Committee on Uranium is folded into the newly formed National Defense Research Committee (NDRC), headed by engineer-inventor Vannevar Bush. In May 1940, Germany suddenly attacks and conquers Belgium and the Netherlands; by mid-June, German forces have swept through northern France and taken Paris. German planes bomb London; British bombers retaliate by striking Berlin. Hitler orders systematic bombing raids against the British capital that last from September 1940 to May 1941; this “Blitz,” as the English call it, kills over 40,000 Britons.
Several scientists, working separately, conclude that there may, indeed, be transuranics—elements larger and heavier than uranium—found among the byproducts of the neutron bombardment of uranium. These elements might fission more easily than U238, be easier to collect than the rare and elusive U235, and prove useful as explosive material. In March 1941, Segrè, chemist Glenn Seaborg, and others at Berkeley separate element 93, neptunium, and its daughter, element 94, from the decay products of uranium and find that element 94 fissions easily from slow neutrons. In keeping with its parent elements, uranium and neptunium—named for distant planets—the new element will be named plutonium.
NDRC member James Bryant Conant, an internationally famous chemistry professor and president of Harvard University, travels to England early in 1941 to open contacts on war technology. Churchill’s chief science administrator, Frederick Lindemann, wants to discuss nuclear weapons, but Conant—who defers in such matters to the NDRC‘s Bush—reveals he’s unaware of the latest developments in nuclear physics: “[T]his was the first I had heard about even the remote possibility of a bomb” (359).
The British realize they’re ahead of the US in nuclear weapons research, and, shortly, so do the Americans. Bush, after much prodding by Lawrence, finally agrees that America should carry most of the load on this project; he arranges for a committee selected from members of the National Academy of Sciences (NAS) to review the progress so far and make recommendations. The committee is chaired by Arthur Compton, a University of Chicago physics professor and Nobel laureate.
The committee quickly concludes that nuclear research points to weapons in three forms: radiation products dispersed from airplanes onto the enemy, propulsion systems for submarines, and “violently explosive bombs” (365). These weapons will take two to four years to develop. Bush, however, remains skeptical. Then Hitler invades Russia, and the stakes go up.
Lawrence and Segrè show that plutonium’s fission rate is nearly twice that of U235. The English, however, share with the US its “MAUD” report that concludes that “Tube Alloys”—code name for a U235 bomb—is feasible and that an industrial plant should be built to extract the material. The NAS committee’s second report recommends making this project a priority. Briggs puts the MAUD report in his safe and ignores it. Meanwhile, German scientists have chosen to generate plutonium instead of U235.
University of Birmingham physicist Mark Oliphant visits America to urge the Americans to speed up their work; he discovers that Britain’s MAUD report has been held up by Briggs. Oliphant enlists Lawrence in a campaign to convince the reluctant American bureaucracy to get moving. Once onboard, Conant and Bush present the British case to Roosevelt, who approves it but keeps future decisions on the use of nuclear weapons strictly to a small group within his administration. The scientists will have no say in the matter.
At Columbia, Fermi suggests offhandedly to Teller that it might be possible to use an atom bomb to ignite a fusion bomb that converts hydrogen to helium and releases a thousand times as much energy as the atom bomb: “Teller found it a surpassing challenge and took it to heart” (374).
Heisenberg, whose progress with U235 experiments makes him believe a bomb is possible, meets Bohr in Copenhagen to discuss it. Bohr—who dismisses the idea that an atom bomb is feasible—seems surprised to hear that the Germans believe otherwise. Bohr refuses to discuss technical matters with his old protégé and is upset that Heisenberg so dutifully serves the Nazis. Heisenberg feels loyalty to Germany, not Hitler, but he must couch his thoughts carefully, given the German spies everywhere in Denmark. The meeting is a disaster that puts distance between the two longtime friends.
Compton's third NAS report, issued in November 1941, summarizes the latest experiments with U235 and its extraction but doesn’t mention plutonium research; Compton argues for plutonium a few weeks later and gets Bush’s approval. The project now will move forward on several fronts.
In a surprise maneuver, Japan attacks the US naval base at Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, on the morning of December 7, 1941. More than 3,500 servicemen and civilians are killed or wounded. Eighteen ships, including eight battleships, are sunk or damaged, along with nearly 300 aircraft. The next day, President Roosevelt gets from Congress a declaration of war against Japan, Germany, and Italy.
At Columbia, Fermi—armed with new funding—builds a huge latticework of graphite bricks interspersed with large cans of uranium oxide, 38 tons in all, to study how to control uranium’s fission and decay products. Fermi casually refers to this structure as a “pile”; the name sticks. First tests show a “k” value—the number of neutrons coming out of an atom for every neutron fired in—of 0.87, meaning the reaction will peter out. The new Office of Scientific Research and Development (OSRD), under Conant, takes over from the NDRC: “[T]he bomb program had advanced from research into development” (398). Compton’s notes show that plutonium can make bombs half the size of U235 weapons but plutonium will take longer to generate. In April, Fermi redesigns the pile and gets a k reading of 0.918. Compton consolidates the various labs into one place at his own University of Chicago. Pile research will commence under the old football stadium’s stands.
Meanwhile, the Nazis, their war effort bogged down in wintry Russia, economize by shifting nuclear research to the ministry of education under incompetent bureaucrats. Armaments minister Albert Speer talks to Heisenberg and authorizes more money, but by mid-1942 Speer and Hitler believe an atomic bomb will take longer to build than the war will last, and they put the project on a back burner. Not knowing this, the US plows ahead: “Time, not money, was becoming the limiting factor in atomic bomb development” (406). Conant decides that all five methods of generating nuclear material—centrifuges, gaseous diffusion, cyclotron, graphite filtering and heavy-water filtering—should be used. This guarantees that the fastest method of the five would be found.
Glenn Seaborg takes over plutonium production at Chicago. His goal is to extract a dime-sized amount out of two tons of uranium. His team uses chemicals, a microscope, and miniaturized instruments to extract and weigh micrograms of plutonium. In August 1942 they succeed and celebrate over a tiny speck of pinkish material.
Teller develops a theory on how to use an atom bomb to ignite a hydrogen bomb 500 times more powerful; at a Berkeley conference, the other scientists are intrigued; they call such a weapon a “Super.” Teller also mentions the possibility that nuclear bombs might accidentally ignite the Earth’s oceans or atmosphere. Further calculations by Bethe, however, show that such a possibility would require temperatures 100 times hotter than those inside a “Super.” Bush reports the findings to Secretary of War Stimson: “The hydrogen bomb was thus under development in the United States onward from July 1942” (422).
The Army assumes authority over the nuclear program, but its brisk, top-down ways irk the scientists, and they protest. Army deputy chief of construction, Leslie Groves, who has recently finished building the Pentagon, is appointed to manage the nuclear project. Large, gruff, no-nonsense, and capable, General Groves irritates many but gets things done, and the work speeds up.
As graphite and uranium supplies pour in, Fermi runs pile tests that return a k value of 1.04, enough to sustain a chain reaction. Assuring himself that an out-of-control pile is unlikely, Compton approves a major test. They build it in the squash court next to the stadium, 250 tons of long graphite blocks arranged in 56 layers to slow neutron absorption, some drilled with holes to contain small cylinders of uranium whose collected weight is six tons. Long wooden strips covered in sheets of cadmium are slid by hand into and out of the pile; cadmium absorbs neutrons and can control the chain reaction. Special Geiger-counter-like instruments keep tabs on the radiation.
On December 2, 1942, Fermi directing, the control rods are pulled out slowly, one at a time. At each step, radiation levels rise as predicted. The last rod is pulled out six inches at a time, the radiation ratcheting up slightly with each pull. When a preset radiation level is reached, an automatic rod slides into place, preventing the pile from going critical. After lunch, they repeat the experiment, pulling out the control rods, the final rod to the level reached that morning. They pull this rod out further, and the radiation clicks increase to a roar as the pile goes critical. The rate of neutron intensity doubles every minute. After 4.5 minutes at half a watt, Fermi orders the rods replaced and the pile shut down: “Men had controlled the release of energy from the atomic nucleus” (440). It’s a new world. Szilard, who first imagined this event years earlier, recalls, “I shook hands with Fermi and I said I thought this day would go down as a black day in the history of mankind” (442).
In these chapters, the storm clouds of war hung over nuclear research, adding urgency to the scientists’ efforts and entangling them in the stresses of life-and-death wartime decisions. American and German physicists, cut off from each other by the Second World War, nevertheless reasoned similarly about how to explore uranium fission. They assembled similar experiments, gathered similar test materials, and reached many similar conclusions.
As part of an informal international fellowship that operated under the strict discipline of the laws of nature, scientists learned a way of thinking that tuned their minds to the best ways to probe natural phenomena. Nuclear physicists knew the same math and the same techniques of detection. At the outset of World War II, English and American researchers understood that their German colleagues, now officially their enemies, would develop a weapon, and so the Allies must, too. The work wasn’t identical, and differences in funding, bureaucratic support, and access to natural resources eventually added up to large disparities in success between the two groups.
Though science is chiefly a reasoned process that pursues the truth wherever it leads, it is often buffeted by politics. Though world events steered pure physics research toward weapons of war, some skeptics among political leaders at first stymied the quest for an atom bomb. Much of the success of the American nuclear effort relied on the strong personalities and political acumen of several scientists, including Einstein, Szilard, Lawrence, Compton, Oppenheimer, Lindemann, and others. These researchers stepped away from their ivory towers to campaign for specific uses, in both war and peace, of their new knowledge. This kind of political involvement would repeat itself in later decades during test-ban and disarmament talks, and later still in the environmental movement.
In 1941, the US wasn’t at war—the populace at the time felt a deep disinclination to get involved in other countries’ conflicts—yet Roosevelt and the scientists fully expected the conflict to engulf America in short order. Thus, American researchers were busy at their atomic bomb experiments well before the US entered the war. Arcane scientific discoveries are one thing; a super-bomb is quite another. Fermi’s Chicago reactor pile, the first controlled fission on the planet and the first demonstration that enormous energies could be released from the atom, made him more famous than did his earlier Nobel Prize.
The Chicago pile worked on the same basic principles as today’s nuclear power plants, but the purpose of the reactor was simply to prove that fission was possible. Once the theory was proven, the next step would be to develop chain reactions that happen in a fraction of a second, releasing all their energy at once in an explosion. It’s Fermi himself who thought up a more advanced form of atomic power, idly mentioning the idea to Edward Teller, who ran with it and later became famous as the father of the hydrogen bomb, a weapon so powerful that it needs an atomic bomb to ignite it.