Chapter 38 Chapter Thirty-Seven

Bamu.Frederick.Kirby, wearing a shirt with the sleeves rolled up, sat at an old rented desk.It was a dusty office building not far from the University of Chicago campus.Kirby scrambled to finish a report before Rhoda arrived by train.He was restless, partly because he was worried about this meeting, and partly because of Van Naval.Bush wanted to get to the bottom of the facts, and he also picked out ambiguities in the report.Truth be told, the picture is bleak on all fronts regarding the source of the pure graphite needed to build a uranium reactor.Even the weather.On this hot and gloomy afternoon in August, I opened the window and let in a strong wind from Lake Michigan, which was as hot as a sandstorm in the desert, plus the dust and debris suspended in the Chicago air. , the yellow sand hits the face, maybe half of the sand content in the sandstorm; and closing the window makes people feel breathless, as if wearing clothes and taking a steam bath.

A single question of graphite may well represent the whole of the curious enterprise with which Dr. Kirby now shares his day and night.The work on uranium used to be progressing slowly, like a trickle, but since the Pearl Harbor incident, it has become a mighty river that rises day by day and night by night. Various opinions, large sums of money, and people from all walks of life come in and out. Heaps of questions, everything has to be kept strictly secret.Kirby at Van Naval.Work in Room S-1 of the Science Research and Development Agency under the leadership of Bush.Anyone in the know knew that S—l stood for uranium, but to all outsiders it was a zero—that was the root of all his troubles.He wants to search for materials and construction sites, but he can't compete with powerful procurement personnel from big manufacturers and the military.Scientists in Chicago blamed graphite for the startups and failures of uranium reactors; demanded higher purity stuff; but it was not available anywhere, and the large chemical plants capable of producing this stuff were all bought by some big customers. The military order was overwhelming.That was the heart of Kirby's report to Bush, and beyond that were some insincerely optimistic estimates that were really just sugar-coating the pill.

Arthur of the Physics Department.Compton's call interrupted his work.The Compton brothers were men of extraordinary talent; the one on the phone had won a Nobel Prize, and the other was dean of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology.Kirby knew both of them.There was a group of eminent physicists and chemists, most of whom he knew, who were working hard to build an atomic bomb before the Germans did, and so much of what they were doing was duplicating each other that the waste was astonishing. .Several of them were classmates with him.In gossip, at balls, and even in the laboratory, they may not have been much better than they were; these ambitious, hard-working boys, just like him, also love to find girls and drink. Beer, love to hear pornographic news.But their achievements far surpassed him, just like the fast horses on the racetrack surpass the old horses pulling the milk cart.Although he was close to them, calling each other by first names, he didn't think he was equal to them.On the contrary, it had become an incurable wound inside him.

"Fred, I have a Colonel Peters with me." Compton's voice was simple and crisp, as usual. "He wanted to come and talk to you." "Harrison. Colonel Peters? From the Army Corps of Engineers?" "it's him." "I have a stack of reports just sent to him in Washington." "He got it." Kirby looked at his desk clock: Rhoda arrived in two hours.Since he took over the uranium project, he has encountered such things. "Bring him over, Arthur." Peters came right away, dusty and sweaty.Kirby rarely met a man taller than himself, Harrison.Peters happened to be such a rare one.The Colonel was a thin man with a long head.His thick hair was beginning to gray, his shoulders were broad, his waist was straight; his handshake was strong, and his blue eyes were menacing.Kirby gestured for him to take a seat on the oversized easy chair and ottoman.Peters sighed gratefully, fell back into the chair, stretched his legs, brushed off the dust from his khaki uniform, straightened his pants and put his thick hands behind his head. "Thank you. It's very comfortable! I've been running around since daybreak, and I've been busy. I've seen a lot, but my stupid brain can't hold much. You're in physics, aren't you? "

"Yes, I got a Ph.D. from Caltech. I'm an electrical engineer. Now I'm in production." "Something close, at least, electrical engineering. I'm a civil engineer, West Point and Iowa State." Peters yawned, looking totally free-spirited. "I am best at building bridges, but I have also done a lot of general construction. I have also done some hydraulic engineering, all of which are port and river engineering in charge of engineers. But this time high-energy physics is not my line of work at all. I don't know what I'm going to do with this mission. We're going to attack Europe, or Africa, or the Azores in six months. But I've always wanted to lead an army in the field. Anyway, ’—spreading his long arms—“an order is an order, as the Germans say.”

Kirby nodded. "If you know German, it will come in handy." "Why, is there a lot of literature on uranium in German? I can't even read English very well. Thank you very much for giving me the materials. Reading the materials is like polishing a foggy windshield So-so. It makes me start to understand what I'm dealing with." "I'm glad it helps." "But I still think some gentleman has gone mad, Kirby, and when we're fighting a big fight, he's going to play a game of riddles with three A-level urgently needed supplies. The science The riddles on the website may have no answers at all. I don't see a future for myself other than getting a bruised eye from a stone wall. How's your head?"

"It's full of bumps." Both of them couldn't help laughing, Kirby spread his hands and said again: "Is there anything I can do for you?" Colonel Peters pushed the step stool forward, sat up straight, crossed his long legs, rested his elbows on the arms of his chair, and crossed his fingers.Kirby happened to have his feet in socks on the desk, and now he felt a little uncomfortable being stared at by this burly man. "Very well, Kirby. You and I have something in common." Now his tone was straight to the point. "We're both laymen in chemical engineering and nuclear physics. We're both forced to do it. We're both on presumably the same high-stakes assignment. I'm in the Army, you It's in Van Naval. Bush's S-1 team. You've been working on this for a while. I'm hoping to get some pointers from you before jumping in."

"If you have any questions, just ask me." "Well, I've been around the country and seen the whole picture of the project at a glance. The first thing I want to say is that all the scientists are trying to sing their own tunes, aren't they? Here in Chicago Compton and his team were confident that the new element ninety-four produced in the reactor was a shortcut to making bombs. But their reactor didn't work; it burned for a while and then went out. Dr. Lawrence's group at Berkeley are pushing hard for electromagnetic separation to get uranium 235. In spite of all their fancy new equipment, they can't produce uranium 235. The guys at Columbia University - and I think the UK People—think Diffusion—"

"Gas diffusion, not thermal diffusion," Kirby made a decisive movement with his palm. "Be clear about that. They're very different." "Yes. And the Westinghouse stuff, ion centrifugation. That makes the most sense to a layman like me. Two things you're dealing with mixed up now - natural uranium-238 And the rare explosive isotope uranium 235. Right? The two have different weights, so you have to spin them up and extract the heavier one by centrifugal force. Cream separator principle." "That's hard to say, Colonel. If you want to deal with a wide range of mechanical problems, the situation is very complicated. The movement of ionized gas molecules is not the same as butter fat." The colonel smiled slightly and nodded in understanding. "I'd rather bet on gas diffusion myself," Kirby went on. "Because it's an established principle. With a corrosive gas like sodium hexafluoride, you're going to have some big design headaches, but there's nothing new to test. You just have to Build enough grading units, and build them properly—acres of insulated gas tanks, thousands of miles of pipeline, extremely tight tolerances, I guarantee you—and you'll get Uranium 235. Lawrence's electromagnetic separator is a great simplification idea. I am for Lawrence, I even admire him, my company provides him with high-efficiency equipment, but his whole concept may also be It won't work. Nobody can tell. It's a new principle. It's still an immature field. Same thing with Compton's reactors. Something that no one on God's earth has ever done, except damn Germany People have made it work."

Peters said: "I spent two hours in that reactor unit under the bleachers at the football stadium, ugly, sullen thing, such a big dark thing, as high as the roof of the house, standing there. The smoke and dust technicians are busy to and fro, like a group of devils in hell, busy trying to make a fire, but they can't burn it." "Good point!" Kirby said with a wry smile. "That's another brilliant idea. You take a neutron source and bump the uranium lightly, and tell it to scatter more neutrons around, splitting itself up. Theoretically, if your design works That's right, you can set off a chain reaction and blow up Chicago - unless you can get the regulatory control right enough to make it emit a lot of heat and radioactivity and create a new element plutonium, the guy Like uranium-235, it is also unimaginably explosive. These are the predictions of gentlemen who live with pencil and paper. But this thing also creaks for a while and then becomes silent. Why? No one can say no Yes. I do have the slightest hope that there is some objective fact of nature against us, some puzzling fact of physics, which has not yet been explained. This high wall also Tell the Germans to stop there, too. But is it really an impassable wall? Or have we been on the wrong track ourselves and they're approaching the goal? That's the nagging question."

"You put the gas diffusion method first." Harrison.Peters tapped a finger on the arm of the chair, as if to seal Kirby's opinion. "Yes, but I'm an amateur myself. We must also assume that the Germans are also following all these paths, so we must not be negligent and miss any of them. This is the position of the Agency for Scientific Research and Development, That's where I stand. I'm singing my own tune, too." "Kirby, you're always looking at the clock. Am I taking your time?" "I'm going up to Union Station to pick someone up at six. She's not happy standing there waiting." "Oh. A girl," said Colonel Peters.His smile turned to a pornographic sneer; he reached out to stroke his handsome gray hair; his expression became downright salivating.The brigadier general who authorized Kirby to send the secret report to Peters had voluntarily revealed that "Big Peter" was a romantic man without a wife and a good sex hunter, which is rare among men of his age of. "Yes, a lady," Kirby said. "A good friend?" "Wife of an old and dear friend. Lost one of their sons at Midway, Navy pilot." One sentence wiped out all the colonel's pornography, like two wet sponges wipe off the chalk on the blackboard.He shook his head, his face sank, and his eyes were clouded. "It's really painful." "The whole family is in the Navy. The father is a cruiser captain and a son is on a submarine. She went up to the west coast once to see the son and a daughter on the submarine." "Well, I won't delay your business." "It's not time for me to go yet." "There's one more question I want to bother you with." "Say it." "As far as I know, the Army's task in this regard is to engage in mass production. Scientific experiments, pilot factories, etc., are all carried out by S-l." "The general formula is that," Kirby said. "The Army should have been involved long ago. I have learned my lesson in order to give the S-1 a little priority. The President has ordered the production of 60,000 aircraft, 8 million tons of ships, and 45,000 tanks a year. , and God knows how many anti-aircraft guns and shells, which manufacturer in this day and age can afford to make a bunch of neuroscientists who are Booker. A burden, Colonel, that only the Army can take over." The colonel's eyes shone brightly. "It's possible, so will S-1 and the Army fight each other? Both of us need the same urgent supplies belonging to the three A-levels, don't we? You and I are bound to start a battle behind each other's backs." In a stabbing competition, I'll beat you down and make all your efforts in vain, and it's on your efforts that decisive progress depends, won't I?" "Good question," Kirby replied, "but Van Naval. Bush's uranium department won't last long. It's about to be taken over by the Army. I'm going to sound like a traitor when I say that. Because Compton and Lawrence and their group are working hard, and everything is up to them. Scientists have never done so much. But at this stage, the proportion of theoretical science has only accounted for one percent Twenty, and 80% depends on industrial efforts, thankless, Colonel, unprecedented scale, highest speed, absolute secrecy." Kirby was excited by his own words, standing Standing up, he patted his desk with a sweaty hand. "Only the U.S. Army has the power to force U.S. industry to do this. I'm leaving this position in six months, thank goodness. Now I'm headed to Union Station." Peters also stood up and stretched his long arms. "Are we going to set a bomb?" As Kirby tied his tie and put on a coat, he replied, "You'll ask me next time. I'm out of it today. That black thing you saw, they couldn't make it work. It's been months Like this. They checked part after part and now they blame the graphite. They say there's too much boron and it sucks up a lot of neutrons and this thing shuts down. You'll hear about neutrons a lot in the future ,and also--" "They're messing with my head. Fast neutrons, slow neutrons—I'll ask you a silly question, what the heck is a neutron?" "You really don't know—" "That's right. I'm a complete dumbass and don't know anything about this stuff." "It is an uncharged particle in the nucleus. It was discovered by the Englishman Chadwick in 1932. Radioactive substances emit neutrons. They can penetrate another nucleus and knock it into two lighter particles.As early as 1939, two Germans did this for the first time.That is to split the atom so that it loses part of its mass, thereby releasing a huge amount of energy. " "Einstein's theorem," said Peters, reciting it with the seriousness of a lecture: "E equals MC squared. That's all I know." One is enough.Of course, neutrons aren't your thing.All you gotta do is that big dirty black thing, and Lawrence's gigantic electromagnet, densely packed with dials and valves.Doctors of all stripes, plus a Nobel laureate or two, they all yell at you for purer graphite, bigger magnets, or whatever else you can't find anywhere.Maybe one day there will be something made of uranium or element ninety-four, and the explosion of the lake will be louder than ever before on earth.That's what some of the smartest people alive today think.Whether this thing will come to pass in our lifetime, whether we will be the first to make it—these are the questions that determine our destiny.If the Germans had done it first, Hitler would have honestly told us to stop immediately.If they can't be built, we won't have time to build a bomb to use in this great war, which is a real possibility, and I can assure you, Colonel, just imagine that when peace comes, Congress knows The Army has spent billions of dollars building a number of large factories and producing a pile of horse shit.You'd better start preparing your testimony to Congress right away. " Rhoda was sitting in the swaying train compartment, ready to spend the two torturous hours getting dressed for the last meeting in the only sinful love relationship of her life.A sheer black shantung dress, new at Beverly Hills, accentuated her handsome figure; a purple hat gave her a tinge of endearing melancholy; gloves and shoes remained black.The attire was perfectly befitting of her state of mourning; it was equally befitting a beautiful widow ready to resurface.Two weeks of California sunshine and swimming gave her a ruddy, light brown complexion, and restored her original brilliance to her eyes; the pointed veil made her face look extraordinarily delicate, and a stranger might He would still treat her as a young woman in her thirties. A woman when she's about to desert a man--or about to be deserted by him, anyhow--she's often trying to be pretty; To meet one last time with a dead love already lying in a coffin.To put it plainly and understandably, it is to make him feel sorry, not relieved, within the scope of her ability.She pays attention to Bamu.Kirby's face, when he saw her standing on the car door for the first time, her hard work paid off.All they talked about in the taxi was what was going on with her family.The news that Byron was to be sailed to Gibraltar could not help overshadowing the good news that Madeleine was working at the film company.He had telephoned her cheerfully from San Diego to tell her the news.His new mission was a military secret, and as far as she could tell it had something to do with submarine operations in the Mediterranean.He still intended to fly to Switzerland and try to rescue his wife and baby; it might be possible in Lisbon, but Rhoda thought the idea seemed preposterous, and she hoped the mother and son would leave Italy before he could.Byron seemed delighted, and she said it was the first time since Warren's death.These words are all said and done.She and Kirby were relatively speechless, with a heavy heart, and Rhoda turned his face away, tears welling up in both of them. The only reminder of wartime in the prestigious Pump's restaurant was the crowd of uniformed patrons, mostly bald or gray-haired senior officers of the Army and Navy.The skillful waiters are busy taking care of the guests, the hot pot spits out flames, the sumptuous stir-fried dishes on the trolley come and go, and the beautiful women full of jewels are enjoying the precious prawns.The wine waiter rang the copper utensils in his hand, and hurriedly delivered wine from table to table, and bottles of wine protruded from the cold bucket. "We need some wine, I think," Kirby told her when the waiter came to take their order. "Would you like a drink first?" "I don't want to drink tonight," Rhoda replied, calmly and cheerfully. "Please give me a martini without the sweetness." Then the two were relatively silent for a long time, but the noise in the hotel was not necessarily embarrassing.They toast together.Kirby shook his head and stammered, "Lo, I keep thinking of the airport in Berlin, the time you drove me there. I don't know why. It's nothing like anything around here , God knows." Watching him through the veil, she took a sip of her martini and put down her extra-large glass thoughtfully. "That was a farewell." "Yes, we both thought it was a farewell." "I really think so," Rhoda sighed. "Is this also a farewell?" Rhoda nodded slowly and clearly.She moved her eyes, looked around the restaurant, and started talking. "I ate here once with Pug, you know? We passed by here on our way from San Francisco to Annapolis. The Ordnance Bureau sent him to Mare Island to design the battleship turrets, and our family went back to East to Warren's graduation at Severn Naval Academy. That was ten years ago, maybe eleven? Can't remember all." She swirled the drink in her glass. "When I'm happy I'm not happy, Bam, is it? I can't believe I thought I was all troubled! Byron always failed school. Madeline was fat and her teeth were crooked. Something like that It's such a sad thing. Our house in San Francisco is too small, and it's on the street. My boy, I and Pug have had enough fighting over these things. But we do feel for Warren. Proud! He's a fencing champion at school, a track medal, and a history award—oh, it's all in the past!" She broke down.Raise your glass and drink it down. "Please give me another drink, and never drink more." He called the waiter for two more glasses of wine, and then said slowly and hoarsely, "Rhoda. Let me confess, too, that it's over. I won't indulge my feelings, talk incoherently, and embarrass you. I can't help but accept you." What you decide, I will do as you decide. That's what I'm going to say." Rhoda's smile was both sad and tender. "Aren't you glad you're free, Bamu?" "In front of you, I can't do it." The earnestness of his look and tone of voice made her eyes shine. "Good eloquence, sir," she held out her hand, and the two shook hands, as if they had sealed a deal. "Okay! Now I think we can enjoy this supper," Rhoda said with a trembling voice, laughing. "It wouldn't be a pity to come to Pump's and not have a good meal, would it?" "Yes. You don't have to limit your drinking, do you?" "Oh, then give us both half a bottle of wine." "Hi Kirby." It was Colonel Peters calling him, and he was leading a tall girl in green past their tables after the head waiter.This girl Kirby looks a little familiar: a tall, big, plain-looking woman in the Compton office, her eyes are excited now, her hair is piled high, it is a style trimmed in a beauty room, and her face is covered with powder. The smear is unbearably tacky.She was plump, and the green dress was a little too tight.Their seats were not far apart, and Kirby and Rhoda could hear Peters amusing the girl.Their laughter resounded through the noisy restaurant. They enjoyed the meal and the half-bottle of wine, and Rhoda told Kirby about her plans to go to Hawaii, about the advice she had been given by some admirals on the West Coast, about her plan to take the The house is sealed up and perhaps sold.Kirby hardly said a word, and the conversation fell away.They passed part of the time instead by watching the rapid developments between Colonel Peters and the girl in green, watching them with gusto, and making some sarcastic comments along the way.He's clearly playing by the books, using basic principles and tried-and-true ingredients: smoked salmon, sparkling wine, skewered meat, crepes with fire brioche, and brandy.There was almost no break in the romantic laughter of the pair, and the girl's face was radiant with joy.Peters has the eyes to spot his prey and the knack to catch it, Kirby thought.Kirby himself didn't disdain to play tricks with the female secretary when he was lonely, but he never had any evil thoughts about the big Miss Charney sitting in the office outside Compton. The Rhoda train doesn't leave until midnight.They had finished their meal by ten o'clock, and there seemed to be nothing else to do.In the old days, they might have gone to Kirby's apartment, but of course it would be unthinkable to do so now.Their relationship was over, as if a record had been sung; their gibberish was nothing more than the last two idle turns of the stylus.Rhoda's demeanor was well-mannered, and her reaction to Colonel Peters' courtship was even a little comical; but as a man and woman, she was as distant as a sister.She sat there with an indifferent attitude, made more charming by the passing of time and the torment of sorrow; It may look like this, but it seems to be an absurd delusion, almost as despicable as peeping into a lady's bedroom. The army officer, lifting Miss Charney from her chair, leaned over and whispered something in her ear, and they both laughed heartily.The two of them would have no problem, Kirby thought, as to what to do next; but he was faced with this problem, a frosty woman, for two long, hard hours. "I'm going to propose something you haven't thought of, my dear," said Rhoda. "If you're angry, it's going to embarrass me." "yes?" "Have you seen that little theater in Union Station that shows newsreels and cartoons? We'll go there. If you're busy, I'll go by myself, and you can go back to work. You'll still be working until late." Late? Writing a report on that horrible thing you're working on that I don't even know what it is?" "No, no, I don't have work to do." Rhoda's suggestion could at least kill the time until midnight. "That's pretty good, too. The duck and the wild rice make me so full." Peters stood alone in the lobby of the hotel with a proud expression on his face.When he saw Kirby and Rhoda, he immediately stood up straight, and his face became a little restrained and serious.Rhoda walked away to the lounge. "Kirby, is this the wife who lost a son?" "yes." Peters grimaces in disbelief. "I can trust you if you tell me the Navy pilot is her husband." "She's a beautiful woman," Kirby said. "Your Miss Charney is really amazing. I never thought she could be so beautifully dressed." "Oh, Joan didn't hesitate. Quite a laugh. You see, Kirby, my nephew Bob went to the RAF in 1939. He was an Army lad, twenty-one, and couldn't wait to do it." A guy. Killed in the Battle of Britain. My brother's only son. Our family died because I never married. Bob was a good boy, a good boy. Mother almost died, and since She's been in and out of the nursing home. Your friend seems to be doing fine." "Yes, she has other children. She's a strong woman, to be honest." Miss Charney came out of the dressing room, her hips twisted, her green silk bosom throbbing.Peters put on a lecherous smile and held out his hand to say goodbye to Kirby. "It would be good to have a chat with you today." "You are welcome to come back anytime, Colonel." Miss Charney twisted her fingers at Kirby, rolled her eyes. "Very well, Dr. Kirby, we met at Pump's Diner! That's better than the physics department, isn't it?" "I think it's true in every sense of the word," Kirby said.Miss Charney thought it was a flirtatious compliment, took the Colonel's arm, and went away laughing. Rhoda appeared immediately.What a difference the same women make, Kirby thought; how strikingly Rhoda came, the way she walked, the way her head showed it.The great age difference put her at a great disadvantage, and yet she was more charming than poor Miss Charney.In Kirby's view, her slender body twisted so naturally and comfortably, and her charm remained the same as before, and even increased.A strong thought came to him: he couldn't let it go.He estimated that he could only live another ten or fifteen years.Without Rhoda, these future years can only be as bleak and bleak as the ice and snow of Antarctica. They went to the movies and sat side by side to watch Symphony of the Nonsense.Bamu.How many times Derby had held this woman naked in his arms and shared the pleasure, now he found it difficult to even hold her hand.Finally he took her hand.Rhoda didn't withdraw his hand, nor was it too stiff or too soft to respond.But there's nothing sexy about a handshake; Kirby just holds a friendly hand.After a while, feeling bored, he put her hand back on her lap.On the screen, the three pink piggies hopped and sang, "Who's Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?" Bamu.Kirby knew he had lost Rhoda forever.Henry. She kissed him only once, standing on the step of the Pullman.It was a cold kiss, not unsexy though.She drew her head back, raised her veil, and gazed into his eyes.Her own eyes were indifferent, and a little sparkling.He felt that she was now getting a taste of his regret, that she was finally repaying him for months of neglecting her, and for his timidity about marriage.There have been turbulent ups and downs in this matter, but it has never become a fact; adultery with other people's wives is always a bad thing, let alone a beloved wife of a soldier who went to war in a war year.He got what he deserved, Kirby thought, and he deserved to accept his fate in the Antarctic world. "Goodbye, Bamu, dear." "Goodbye, Rhoda." After she had settled her things in the carriage, Rhoda went into the club car to buy a nightcap.There she ran into Harrison by accident.Colonel Peters.