A convoy of military vehicles drive deep into the New Mexico desert. It's a scorching

summers afternoon in the middle of July 1945. At the tail end of the group is a trio

of buses filled with tired, bedraggled men. No one talks much. Sweat drips from their

brows as they climb to the top of the hill. Several miles away at a site the

conquistadors called Journey of the Dead, there's a hundred foot still tower

holding a nuclear bomb. There were no computers. There were no modern

electronics. They were doing everything with wires and tape. It looked like it was

wrapped up with duct tape and it was basically, but it was very precise. It had to be.

Everything had to work perfectly. Darkness descends. The men count the minutes to the detonation

scheduled for 2 a.m. Every knot, bolt and screw has been double checked and every

equation scrutinized in minute detail. But nobody can control the weather and shortly after

midnight a violent storm breaks. Wind, rain and lightning tear across the landscape.

The weather man was told by General Groves if the weather doesn't clear in time to have a

pre-done detonation then he was fired or maybe he was going to be shot but I mean Groves was

extremely agitated. Tension crackles among the men as the detonation is pushed back and back

again. And then in the hour before sunrise the weather starts to clear, the weather man can

breathe again. World as goggles are handed out. In the desert there is total silence.

In 60 seconds, 5 miles away and in clean line of sight, detonation of the world's first

atomic bomb will be attempted. One of the scientists has run a sweepstake on the success or failure

of the test. Nobody knows what's going to happen. Will it work or will it kill them all?

As the countdown begins there's interference from a local radio station.

A waltz by the Russian composer Chikovsky hisses over the line.

...