August 03, 2025, 09:35 PM
ChuckFinleyDid the Nagasaki bomber ‘miss’ on purpose to save lives?
Nagasaki was not the original target, and the bomb fell miles from its heavily populated centre. An investigation throws the official explanation into doubt
Kermit Beahan, bomb-aimer on the B29 holds a picture of The Great Artiste, an instrument-carrying aircraft named in reference to his bombing talents. He also shows a photo he took of the bomb blast
EVERETT COLLECTION/BRIDGEMAN IMAGES
Bernard Clark
Saturday August 02 2025, 7.00pm BST, The Sunday Times
Few people have heard of Captain Kermit Beahan.
Beahan was the bomb-aimer on the B29 that dropped the plutonium bomb, known as Fat Man, on Nagasaki on August 9, 1945, an act that ended possibly the cruellest war in history.
Except that he didn’t drop Fat Man on Nagasaki: He dropped it to the north, 2.18 miles short of the city –— on tennis courts belonging to the managing director of Mitsubishi, next to what had been the largest Roman Catholic cathedral in Japan, in the hilly suburb of Urakami.
Because of Beahan’s “near miss”, much of the blast went over the city or was absorbed by the hills, thereby preventing a much larger loss of life. Indeed, a centre-of-Nagasaki “bulls-eye” would have killed a hundred thousand — but the final count, six months later, was thirty-eight thousand.
That is still a horrendously large number of deaths, but the story behind Beahan’s near-miss may be one of the most humane acts in the long history of warfare.
It was never intended to bomb Nagasaki — it was the secondary target. The primary target was a factory in the city of Kokura, then surrounded by the highly populated industrial cities of Yawata and Tobata. Had Beahan dropped the bomb there, as planned, there would have been an estimated 300,000 casualties.
President Truman had ordered that the bomb could only be dropped visually — Beahan had to be able to see the target. The army air force had two weather aircraft over Kokura, and both reported a tenth of cloud — essentially a sunny sky, so there should have been no impediment to a visual drop. But that’s not what happened.
In 1999, while researching my novel and ten years after Beahan died, I visited his son, also called Kermit Beahan, in Houston. Then just retiring as an F1-11 pilot in the US air force, he was welcoming and intensely proud of his late father. He gave me a transcript of the intercom chatter of the whole bomb run, from take-off on the island of Tinian, part of the Northern Mariana Islands, to a semi-crash landing on Okinawa island.
The verbatim record was written by Abe Spitzer, the radio operator, who was mystified as to why Kermit hadn’t just dropped the bomb on Kokura in what appeared to be cloudless sky.
As the B29 approached Kokura, the population of 600,000 below carried on as normal, with no idea that the most lethal bomb ever used was hanging by a thread above their city, over their lives.
Captain Kermit Beahan waving from a B-29 bomber after a flight from Japan.
After Beahan dropped the bomb short of Nagasaki, he was heard to utter, “Never again”
Beahan climbed down to the bomb aimer’s position, lying flat under the cockpit, the aircraft steadied, the bomb bay doors opened, the pilot, Major Charles Sweeney announced, “it’s all yours, Beahan, over to you.”
While preparing to make the sharpest possible turn to flee from the blast, Sweeney shouted, “All you men make damned sure you have your welding goggles on, I don’t want any blind men on my crew.”
And then, according to the intercom transcript, from the nose of the aircraft came Beahan’s cry:
“Goddam to hell, no drop, no drop! I can’t see the goddam target! There’s cloud over the goddammed, goddamned target!”
Beahan was insisting that cloud cover prevented him from releasing the bomb.
Three times, the B29 made its bomb run, three times, lying flat in his aimer’s position, Beahan refused to release the bomb. “Goddam, goddam, no visual! No drop, no drop, no drop!”
With Japanese fighters now climbing fast, Sweeney, low on fuel, set course for the secondary target of Nagasaki, 130 miles away. The population of Kokura had no idea how close it had come to obliteration.
A furious discussion erupted on the plane. At this point cloud had started to gather. If Beahan couldn’t see the ground over Nagasaki, several on board argued to Commander Frederick Ashworth, the US navy’s strategic director of the drop, that he should overrule Truman and agree to a radar drop — meaning cloud cover would not be an issue — at Nagasaki.
Eventually, Ashworth gave way. Famed for being able to “drop on a dime”, Beahan would be allowed to use radar instead of a visual drop. Given that Nagasaki was a V-shaped port, and the centre easily located on radar, there was little doubt this would work.
As the aircraft swung in across the sea, man became God that morning, while the population of Nagasaki below were beginning to think about lunch.
Clouds did hide the ground, but it no longer mattered; with only enough fuel for a single run, using radar Beahan could plant the bomb on the apex of the V; the blast would be contained by the surrounding hills, the result would be lethal, widespread carnage.
Then three miles out, with dense cloud below, as the bomb doors were opened, all twelve men on the aircraft heard that familiar voice again.
Photo of the Boeing B-29 Bockscar crew, two days after the Nagasaki mission.
The crew of the B29 Bockscar that dropped a Fat Man nuclear weapon on Nagasaki. Kermit Beahan is fifth from left, next to the pilot, Charles Sweeney
“Bear right”, Beahan called to Sweeney, “A target has become apparent.”
The pilot duly banked the plane to starboard, advancing on Nagasaki’s much less populated suburb of Urakami.
“I’ve got it. Believe it or not, I’ve got it. The stadium. There’s a hole in the clouds, I can see a target.” Kermit began laughing. “Yes, sir, I’ve got it.”
Suddenly, there was a technical glitch — the electronic switch that controlled the delivery of the bomb was malfunctioning. Beahan had to release the bomb manually. He reached up to an iron bar above his shoulder and pulled sharply down.
At 10.58, the B29 jolted sharply upwards as Fat Man dropped smoothly from her belly, 2.18 miles from the centre of Nagasaki. Beahan laughed. “Holy mother of Jesus,” he said quietly, “Holy mother of Jesus.” And as the crew cheered and clapped with relief, Beahan mumbled over the intercom, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Never again,” he said. “Never, ever again.”
Black and white photo of the atomic bomb "Fat Man" being prepared for transport.
The Fat Man was a plutonium bomb significantly more powerful than the uranium bomb dropped on Hiroshima
GETTY
That day, Thursday August 9, 1945, was Kermit Beahan’s 27th birthday.
Was his personal birthday present to humanity to turn a Nelsonian blind eye to clear skies at Kokura, and deliberately drop the bomb to one side of the secondary target at Nagasaki? A clue to the answer comes from an unexpected source.
When I stayed overnight with Kermit Jr, we discussed his father’s near miss.
“I can tell you one thing about that,” he said, “one thing for sure. My father was dedicated to the air force and also dedicated to following orders. Whatever Dad did, he did because a senior officer told him.”
So, the question: Did a single bombardier, Captain Kermit Beahan, having seen the carnage of Hiroshima a few days earlier on August 6, decide himself to drop the fantastically destructive bomb to the side of the secondary target? Or, did someone very senior order him to?
The nearest we may get to an answer is the radio message sent ten minutes after the B29 had survived the ensuing massive atomic shockwave.
“Results technically successful; but other factors make conference necessary before taking further steps.”
Though the war was in its final throes, the fanatical brigadier general in charge of bombing Japan, Curtis LeMay, was set on killing as many Japanese as possible, and was outraged at the relatively limited carnage of Nagasaki. LeMay’s anger led to alternative scenarios to justify why Fat Man hadn’t killed hundreds of thousands more people — mainly cloud cover.
I spent a week in the archives at the Library of Congress in Washington DC and delved deep into weather reports, wind directions, written orders, interviews and debriefs. While it was possible to discern a half-hearted postwar cover up, none of the suggestions of cloud cover or smoke blowing over the target were at all convincing. Beahan’s actions were either self-determined or ordered. In other words, there was no cloud cover that day at Kokura.
Truman was deeply appalled at the huge loss of life at Hiroshima. Possibly he used one of several back channels to bypass LeMay, and communicated directly with General Farrell, the chief of field operations, on the island of Tinian before the B29 took off. But as with so many conundrums of history we will probably never know.
Photo of the atomic bomb explosion over Nagasaki, Japan, during World War II.
Although the devastation caused at Nagasaki, above, killed tens of thousands, it was nothing compared with the Hiroshima bombing, days before, which was reported to have “deeply appalled” President Truman
ALAMY
In a deserted cemetery in Urakami there is a memorial marble with etched kanji to victims of the A-bomb, including extended families ranging from children aged two to 75-year-olds, all with the date of death of August 9, 1945.
By accident or intent, one thing we do know: despite Nagasaki’s tragedy, Kermit Beahan spared Kokura, and instead dropped the most destructive bomb in history well short of the secondary target. As well as killing thousands, he thereby indirectly saved hundreds of thousands of lives.
Nagasaki by Bernard Clark is out now from Great Cumberland Publishing (£19.99)
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