Elugelab! An ugly name. Not something you'd call your daughter. Yet she was a bit of paradise. That is until she met up with Mike.

The LCT pulled up on the beach and the ramp was lowered. Men in khaki, carrying duffel bags strode aboard as their names were called.

The last of the list was read. Now only myself and 15 military policemen were left to perform the island sweep. The Captain with the clipboard turned and asked, "Who the hell are you?"

I told him my name and he shuffled through the papers. "Jesus Christ, he's not on the roster." Then turning to me, said, "get aboard, we'll sort this out later. Someone's going to catch hell."

With great relief I joined the others in the landing craft, the ramp was raised, and in a surge of power we pulled off the sand of Eniwetok Island and headed into the choppy lagoon.

She was a small island on Eniwetok Atoll, Elugelab, about 30 miles across the lagoon from the big island which was my home for a year. By then she was stripped of vegetation. Just a few acres of coral sand rising out of the mile-wide reef.

I knew how she had looked for the last 10,000 years. Other islands in the atoll not tampered with by man were, from a distance, lush green mounds rising from the deep blue Pacific. As you neared them you could see the white surf as breakers hit the protecting reef and then light green waves rolled on until thay lapped at the coral sand shore. Coconut trees lined the beach and the heavy jungle gave testament to the frequent, life-giving tropical rain showers.

For centuries, Micronesian natives visited Elugelab to gather coconuts and roots, fish its reefs, and take shelter from raging storms. To these people, Eniwetok Atoll was their world, surrounded by a limitless blue ocean. Most born here would live and die in this 30 mile circle of islands whose total land area was less than two square miles.

The ride on the LCT was rough. Some 40 of us stood in the well as the craft bucked and slid on a rising sea. Sailors patrolled above us, looking for signs of seasickness. When spotted, they reached down and pulled the man out of the 7-foot deep hold. Grasping him firmly, they would smile knowingly as he leaned over the sea, and gagging, emptied his stomach.

Our destination was the army troop transport, the General Collins. We ran in circles as we awaited our turn at the steel platform floating alongside the ship. At last, struggling with our possessions, we climbed onto the massive dock. Now just one more obstacle before being safely aboard the Collins. A metal stairway hung down the side of the ship. As the Collins pitched and rolled, the stairs would rise 10 feet over the dock and then plunge down. The assisting sailors cautioned us where to stand to avoid being hit by the decending stairs. At the bottom of the stroke one man would fling himself at the moving steps, and clutching his baggage, scamper the 30 feet to the deck.

Elugelab had been denuded of her jungle, a tower erected, causeways built to nearby islands, measuring instruments by the thousands placed throughout the island, the reef, and the lagoon. Finally, the device known as "Mike" was brought ashore and placed in the tower.

Safely aboard the General Collins, I located my bunk assignment. Down three flights of metal stairs I entered a large area filled with cots. They were stacked from floor to ceiling, seven high with about 18 inches between each.

"Yours is #2 off the floor. Choose if you want to be on your back or stomach before you slide in; you can't turn over. Don't step on #1 if you're both climbing out at the same time."

The aisles were so narrow that two people had a hard time passing each other. I made my way to the side of the room and rapped on the metal wall. "Are we under water here?" I asked. Nobody knew.

It was only for a few days until "Mike Shot" and then we would return to the island and our spacious tents. I took my blanket topside and slept on deck as the Collins headed out to sea.

Day 3 was shot day. We awoke early and ate our breakfast in shifts. We wore long-sleeved shirts and traded our usual khaki shorts for regulation pants for the day. The Collins was dead in the water as we assembled on the starboard side of the ship.

Elugelab was out of sight over the horizon. The waves would be lapping quietly at her shore. The last of the scientist had left hours ago. It was time for her to make her ultimate sacrifice.

At zero minus one minute we would all sit on the deck and face the bridge. At zero minus ten seconds we would shield our eyes with our arms. The PA system would tell us when we could turn and view "Mike Shot".

Four - Three - With head bowed, my arm pressed hard against my eyes. Two - One - Fire. A bright piercing light began to build, visible right through my tightly pressed arms and closed eyelids. The heat on my back increased second by second until I felt panic. Then the light dimmed, the heat waned and the PA said we could turn and observe the fire ball.

A maelstrom of white and grey and red and black churned higher, pushing through overcast clouds, higher and higher, like a thousand tornados. Slowly the red gave way to greys and blacks

"In twenty seconds you will hear the shock wave," droned the PA.

As announced, a report similar to the firing of a 5-inch gun slammed past us; a small noise for the havoc we were witnessing. We stared entranced as the mushroom cloud pushed out over us.

The General Collins' engines throbbed to life as she ran from possible contamination. We resented Mike for disturbing our routine. We drifted from our stations and sought card games or read Girlie magazines, or watched the flying fish.

It's gone now. Elugelab is no more. First went the tower Where Mike was housed, then 88 million tons of coral sand and reef. All in a second.

Where once native children swam in her surf, where men gathered coconuts and roots, there is now only a great circular hole 164 feet deep, 6240 feet across filled with the deep blue water of the Pacific. No more Wafting smoke from cooking fires on the beach. Gone is the whispering of the palm fronds in the wind, and the rustle of crabs on the shore. Gone forever.

Dick Dunlap

Email: DDunlap2@aol.com

On November 2, 1952 the worlds first thermonuclear device, a hydrogen bomb, was detonated on Eniwetok Atoll. The resulting explosion was greater than all the bombs and artillery shells used in both World Wars I & II combined.

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