The bunks were two or three high and only three feet wide. We were packed into the lower decks like sardines.
I had been in this hellhole for two weeks, sailing from Northern California’s Bay Area, and would endure another week until we reached our destination in the South Pacific. There were no initiation rites, however, because there was no room for that kind of play. To commemorate the occasion we were all issued “Domain of Neptunus Rex” cards certifying that we had crossed the equator. But no, I had just crossed the equator aboard the USS Monticello. On a hot and humid day in mid-May 1944, I woke to find myself and my bunk soaked. But I was not afraid because I figured the military would not risk the lives of their personnel.
Before participating in Operation Crossroads, I knew very little about nuclear weaponry.
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