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“We were not aware at that time of the firestorm, but we did realize that the target was well and truly alight, for as we looked back even halfway across the North Sea we could see the smoke,” Chris Dickenson, Short Stirling flight, engineer

The formidable Short Stirling was the first of the RAF’s three four-engined heavy bombers to enter service in August 1940. Before the type was officially decommissioned in July 1946, the Royal Air Force (RAF) manufactured and flew a total of 2371 units. The Stirling was at the forefront of the British night bombing campaign against Germany from its first operation in February 1941. The RAF’s largest wartime bomber was deployed by 12 squadrons at the height of its operational service with Bomber Command in 1943 before unacceptably high losses necessitated its retirement to second-line tasks.

The preparations for destroying Hamburg using all of the RAF’s available heavy bomber squadrons, including the nine Stirling units in No 3 Group, were laid out in an order that “Bomber” Harris gave to all of his heavy bomber groups on May 27, 1943. A series of nighttime strikes with maximal effort were to be supplemented by daytime attacks by heavy bombers from the USAAF’s Eighth Air Force.

The RAF’s raid planners were familiar with Hamburg because Bomber Command had attacked it 98 times since the war’s start. With a population of more than 1.5 million, it was the second-largest city in Germany, and its complete destruction would have a negative impact on the Third Reich’s industrial and civilian morale.

In the book Short Stirling Units of World War 2, Jonathan Falconer explains why Hamburg was a crucial choice as a target for two tactical factors. First off, the city’s location at the entrance of the Elbe river meant that it would be easily visible on H2S radar screens even if it was beyond of Oboe range (although this was of little help to the Stirling crews as their aircraft were not so equipped).

Second, the city was a perfect testing ground for the RAF’s top-secret new radar jamming device, codenamed “Window,” because it was protected by 15 radar-equipped defense boxes and night fighter stations in the Kammhuber Line (the name the Allies gave to the German high air defense system established in July 1940 by Oberst Josef Kammhuber).

On the night of July 24–25, a force of 791 bombers, including 354 Lancasters, 239 Halifaxes, 120 Stirlings, and 68 Wellingtons, made their first attack on the city. As each aircraft approached Hamburg across the North Sea, bundles of “Window” were thrown down its flare chute, and as was expected, the German early warning radar systems broke down. More than 2396 tons of bombs were dumped on the undefended city during the hour-long operation. Only 12 bombers, including three Stirlings, failed to return, thanks to the “Window” effect.

On the night of July 25–26, 705 aircraft from Bomber Command’s squadrons attacked Essen while the shock of “Window” was still fresh in people’s minds. Among the 26 bombers that did not return, seven aircraft from Stirlings had a poor performance.

Hamburg residents were suffering in an unexpected heatwave since late July had been much hotter than anticipated. The weather on the 27th was significantly warmer than it had been the previous days, and Harris ordered 727 bombers to attack the city that night using largely the same strategies as on the 24th and 25th. The Stirling and Halifax aircraft’s capacity for incendiary to high explosives was boosted for operational reasons, a move that resulted in unexpectedly greater destruction than before.

That night, the crew of Flt Sgt “Speedy” Williams’ No 75 (NZ) Sqn in Stirling EH936/W brought 20 small bomb containers (SBCs) with them. Chris Dickenson, a flight engineer, wrote “smoke up to 16,000 ft.” in his logbook. A vast number of fires started to spread as a result of the heatwave’s high temperature, low humidity, and concentrated bombing. These fires eventually joined forces and sucked in all the available oxygen with the intensity of a storm, and the conflagration that resulted became known as a “firestorm.”

It burnt out of control for several hours as a result of about 2300 tons of bombs, and the blaze only died down once every flammable material had been reduced to ashes. In the firestorm, about 40,000 residents died, and in the days that followed, 1.2 million people fled the city.

Chris Dickenson remembered: “We were not aware at that time of the firestorm, but we did realize that the target was well and truly alight, for as we looked back even halfway across the North Sea we could see the smoke.”

The second raid’s casualties, with just 17 aircraft, represented a very low 2.2% mortality rate. Only one Stirling didn’t make it back.

On July 29-30, 777 aircraft launched a third night attack on the still-burning city. The extremely intensive bombing set off numerous fires, but fortunately for those who were remaining in Hamburg, no firestorm developed. By now the city’s defenses had recovered from their initial paralysis, with night fighters and flak claiming 28 of the attacking force. At 3.6 percent of the force, of which four were Stirlings, this level of casualties was nonetheless considered acceptable by the statisticians of Bomber Command’s Operational Research Section.

740 aircraft launched the fourth and last raid of this catastrophic string of assaults on the night of August 2-3. (329 Lancasters, 235 Halifaxes, 105 Stirlings, 66 Wellingtons, and five Mosquitoes).

The operation quickly devolved into a disaster for the RAF when a big thunderstorm over Germany produced towering cloud formations that reached as high as 20,000 ft. Due to their subpar height performance, several of the attacking forces turned around early or, like the Stirlings, bombed alternate objectives. Unfavorable weather is certainly to blame for some of the 30 lost planes. Among the missing were three Stirlings.

In the four raids, more than 8600 tons of bombs were thrown on Hamburg. Together, they showed the terrible results of repeated area bombing and nearly sent the Nazi leadership into a panic. The impact of these bombings, according to Reich Armament Minister Albert Speer, could only be compared to a significant earthquake, and more severe assaults against six more German cities would have brought Germany to its knees. However, “Bomber” Harris missed this chance because he was reluctant to take the chance of having his men return repeatedly to the same targets.

Photo by Charles E. Brown and Ian Dunster via Wikipedia

Tibbets came over to us and said ‘there is a new bomb under construction and, if successful, it will shorten the war’

Tech. Sgt. Brandon Shapiro first published the following story under the title Atomic Exposure: USAAF Navigator Photographed First Nuclear Missions.

Russell Gackenbach, 93, was sitting on his floral-patterned sofa in a small one-bedroom apartment in Clearwater, Florida, looking through a photo album that had original photographs of some of the most iconic people and moments in American military history.

“This is me and Tibbets (Col. Paul Tibbets, pilot of the Enola Gay),” Gackenbach said, as he pointed to two U.S. Army Air Force officers standing next to one another. “This was me and Necessary Evil, the plane I flew on as we dropped the bomb on Hiroshima (Japan).”

Gackenbach connected name to face and story to picture as if it were yesterday. Even though it had been 70 years, the vivid details of his story and the sincere tone in his voice revealed how dearly held each of those people and occasions were to him.

Gackenbach was a second lieutenant who flew into the heart of Japan on August 6, 1945, where “Little Boy,” a 9,000-pound uranium-235 atomic bomb, was dropped on Hiroshima. He was also an aircraft navigator and photographer. The mission was the first time a nuclear weapon had been used in conflict, which was unknown to him at the time.

Before “The Bomb”

Gackenbach, a Pennsylvania native, joined the Bethlehem Steel Company in 1941 as an inspector of military bombs and shell casings after earning his high school degree from Allentown High School. Shortly after, Gackenbach, at 20 years old, made the decision to join the U.S. Army Air Corps in order to fulfill his childhood dream of becoming a pilot.

“I was originally classified for training as a pilot; however, during school, I was unable to conduct my solo flight in the allotted time and was eventually ‘washed out’ of the program,” said Gackenbach. “Then, I was sent to navigation school where I earned my wings and my commission.”

Gackenbach was sent to Wendover, Utah after obtaining his navigator certification and finishing the radar operators course in Boca Rotan, Florida. Young Gackenbach set off on an incredible voyage there, just seven months after getting his commission, that would alter the course of history.

“In September of ‘44, we were approached by an unfamiliar colonel who stressed that he was ‘forming an elite group that was to be made up from the best in the Air Corps,’” said Gackenbach. “The missions were to be dangerous and if anyone was not able to deal with the secrecy of the group, they may leave.”

Gackenbach accepted without hesitation, was interested in the chance, and was honored by the opportunity. Gackenbach and his crew saw Tibbets for the first time shortly after; it was at this point that they finally received a picture of what the mission would entail.

“Tibbets came over to us and said ‘there is a new bomb under construction and, if successful, it will shorten the war,’” recalled Gackenbach. “He was not able to tell us exactly what it was or any more details about it. He informed us that we were going to be under tight security, our movements would be limited, and we need to learn to keep our mouths shut.

“Before he left he pointed to a sign posted up on the outside of the gate, which read ‘what you see here when you leave here, let it stay here’ –and he meant that.”

Preparing for the unknown

The newly formed crews were working nonstop to switch from 15 mission-specific B-29 Superfortresses that had been equipped to carry the new atomic bombs to the B-17 Flying Fortress.

They tirelessly trained from Wendover Field from September 1944 to April 1945, before packing up their operation and moving to the Marianas island of Tinian in May.

The 4th Marine Division took possession of the island on August 1st, 1944, following a brutal campaign to reclaim it from 9,000 Japanese soldiers.

The 20th U.S. Army Air Force now called Tinian, Saipan, and Guam home after 15,000 Seabees constructed six 7,900-foot runways to accommodate the B-29.

“The transition to the Marianas put us about seven and a half hours away from Japan; although we were in a new location, we trained the exact same way had been doing in the states,” said Gackenbach. “Our only focus was to follow orders and polish our skillset for what we were told was to be a perfect mission.’”

The group practiced for almost a year, dropping inert test bombs made by the 216th AAF Base Unit, a special ordinance group, that they called “pumpkins.” In order to provide information on ballistics, electrical fusing and detonators, release mechanisms, and the impact on the flying characteristics of the aircraft, inert bombs were dropped by B-29s during training.

Missions of preparation continued up until August 5, 1945, the day before the first atomic bomb was dropped.

New weapon, new mission, new world

The crews assigned to the bombing mission were called in on August 5. Once there, they underwent a search and were instructed to empty their pockets before going to the briefing area. Only the information required for the flight—the route, the targets, and their specific job assignments—was provided at the briefing.

“We did not know what type of bomb we had; did not know what type of blast to expect; did not know the effect of it,” said Gackenbach. “The only thing we were told was, ‘don’t fly through the cloud.’”

The allocated crews gathered the following morning for a last-minute special mission brief; they worked out the details and quickly ate breakfast. The Enola Gay, the Great Artiste, and the Necessary Evil were three B-29s that departed for Japan’s southern coast at around three in the morning.

“As we approached Hiroshima on Aug. 6, 1945, the Enola Gay and The Great Artiste went forward, as we stayed behind and did a looping 360-degree turn,” recounted Gackenbach. “When we came out of the turn, the radios went dead; and when the radio went dead, we were alerted, ‘bomb bay doors open, bombs away.’”

In an effort to get as far away from the bomb as possible, the Enola Gay and The Great Artiste immediately performed diving spins to the right. The bomb detonated in front of Gackenbach and the Necessary Evil as they trailed the first two aircraft. Gackenbach held a camera up to his eye and pressed the shutter as a massive mushroom-shaped cloud boiled upward.

“The delay between our aircraft was planned; we were to document the event,” said Gackenbach. “The photographs seen around the world were ones I had taken approximately one minute after detonation, at a height of 30,000 feet, roughly 16 miles from the city.”

The aircrew was aware that this was no ordinary bombing operation from the first practice flights until they arrived over the target, but nothing could have prepared them for what they saw 47 seconds after the command of “bombs away.”

“We were awestruck; we didn’t know what to say, or do, or anything. We made three turns around the cloud and headed home to Tinian,” said Gackenbach. “I did not hear the word atomic until the next day.”

The crews didn’t realize the extent of the tragedy until days later, when Hiroshima photos were presented to them; only then did they fully comprehend the catastrophic impact of the weapon they had used.

“We never really talked about what we did—I stayed mute for a very long time. Even during our reunions, we only talked about each other and the time we spent together,” said Gackenbach.

On November 1, 1945, military planners set the date for Operation Olympic, the invasion of Kyushu, the home island of the Japanese. The invasion of Honshu, the largest island in Japan, would occur after it in 1946.

Given the remarkable American casualties in the struggle for Okinawa that spring—one-third of the invading force was killed, wounded, or missing—the U.S. government estimated that 1 million Americans would die and be injured in an assault on the Japanese home islands.

Instead, the August 9 atomic bomb missions of Hiroshima and Nagasaki ended World War II with Japan’s unconditional surrender on August 14, 1945.

“Looking back at the event 70 years later, I still believe the right decision was made and I think that President Truman knew that as well. Can you imagine if people found out we had a device that would save millions of lives and did not use it? He would have been in a peck of trouble,” Gackenbach said.

Gackenbach, the sole survivor of the first atomic attack, continues to this day to visit schools and cities, shaking hands and sharing his firsthand experience of one of the most pivotal events in American military history.

When asked if he would do things differently, he responds with a stoic: “I do not regret the part I played in it; it was the right decision.”

Photo by U.S. Air Force