We were waiting for the Bomb Cyclone to arrive yesterday afternoon with a certain apprehension. The publicity has been a little hysterical. The storm had not been given a proper name, so the talk drifted to the subject of bombs instead. It was already 1600 local. Skies went gray for an hour or two before the waxing moon rose east of The Trillium. There was still a chance of snow, and the bigger kids were off work and sledding on the hill in front of the building.

This morning was a Sunday routine, somewhere between chapel, temple, and yoga. The door to the Conference Room and Galley flopped back and forth with the subdued energy of the Sabbath, spiritual or not.

“It’s seventy-six,” said Splash, from the south end of the conference table. He waved his tablet in the general direction of Rocket, Melissa, and Holly, who were huddled by the window, looking down at activity by the entrance.

“Seventy-six what?” Vic asked, tugging at the power cord draped across the east end of the table. He was also waving three cords of indeterminate color, searching for the flat little plugs that fit mobile phones but not the bigger ones for keeping vapes and tablets humming.

Splash grabbed the remote and brought up a PowerPoint slide on the screen to the north. Three images filled the frame. One was a dramatic color photograph of a nuclear blast. Another showed President Harry Truman speaking to reporters from media outlets that no longer exist. In the lower corner was a newspaper headline quoting what Harry had said.

Miles entered the room clad in a hooded parka over a heavy gray cardigan, jeans, and boots. The chill from his coat radiated through the room as he shrugged it off, leaning over the table to wrap his hands around a mug of the Chairman’s brand of Flat Yank. Once settled in his second layer—cardigan to match the sky, jeans and boots—he looked up at the screen.

“That looks like the Ivy Mike nuclear test from ’52,” he said. “Nice colors. Why is it up there?”

Splash leaned back. “Saturday was the anniversary of Truman’s address directing the establishment of a research team to improve the design of the atomic bomb.”

Rocket poked Melissa’s arm under her bright yellow sweater. “It was the Atomic Energy Commission. You wonder why anyone in their right mind would want a bigger bomb?”

She shook her head, her mane of blonde hair falling over her shoulders. “Didn’t the Russians do one first? Isn’t that what started the arms race after we used one on Japan to end the war?”

Miles waved for a pause and gestured toward the seats. “Yes. The Soviets had a spy inside the Manhattan Project—Klaus Fuchs. With his help they developed an improved version. What followed was the hydrogen bomb. A device capable of making weapons a hundred times more powerful than what ended a world war.”

Splash clicked to an image of winter weather. “Yeah. That information about Ivy Mike wasn’t declassified for nearly fifty years. There are some hair-raising stories.”

Miles nodded. “There are names still relevant today. Robert Oppenheimer has buildings named after him. He opposed development of the Teller-Ulam radiation implosion device that made it possible. He called it a weapon of genocide and said it would only accelerate the arms race.”

“We’ve been pretty lucky for a long time,” Rocket said, shaking his head. He was kucky. When he was flying jets for the Navy, his Phantoms did not carry them.

Miles lowered his mug. “The yield was just over ten megatons. Enewetak Atoll, in the Central Pacific. The test was conducted on Elugelab Island in November of 1952. After detonation, all that remained was a submerged crater more than a mile wide and nearly two hundred feet deep.”

There was a pause as the group looked down at the bustle in front of the building, moving on unconcerned.

“That’s what the Iranians were trying to build,” Rocket said. “To use on us.”

There was subsequent discussion of Sunday brunch, a round of mimosas, and what the President is calling a “flotilla,” or something like it. Timing came up, which seems to be approaching quickly, with forces en route to the region by sea and air.

In any event, the consensus here is that this will be a big deal.

© 2026 Vic Socotra

www.vicsocotra.com