The Boeing B-29 Superfortress was not another bomber in the skies during World War II, but a turning point. Beyond its brute firepower, the aircraft represented the convergence of sophisticated engineering, America’s industrial might, and the emergence of a new, disturbing era. The B-29 story is as much about the individuals and decisions behind the machine as it is about the aircraft.
The concept of a bomber to fit such requirements came in 1940, when the US Army Air Corps set forth lofty specifications: an airplane that would fly at 400 mph, carry 10 tons of bombs, and travel 2,500 miles on a mission. All of these for that era were nearly unthinkable. Boeing stepped up to the challenge with the Model 345, which would ultimately become the B-29. With the support of General “Hap” Arnold, the project was approved in June of that year, and by September 1942, the initial prototype flew. What ensued would prove to be the most expensive war program ever.
It took as many brains as steel and rivets to build the B-29. The Wichita factory set the pace, delivering the first finished airplane and ultimately rolling out over a thousand. A milestone was reached when the 1,000th B-29 was decorated with $10,000 worth of real money—later given to charity—a moment that celebrated the pride of the production-line workers.
Seattle, Renton, Marietta, and Omaha factories got into the act, with the likes of Cessna, Beechcraft, and General Motors providing critical subassemblies. A mass of women flocked into industry, learning to operate equipment and perform precise work that was previously reserved for men. With the new skills and determination, they became a critical force in maintaining production at full throttle.
Technically, the B-29 was something that had never been seen before. Its pressurized cabin meant that crews could operate comfortably over hundreds of miles, a quantum improvement on the freezing, unpressurized cockpits of previous bombers. Just as innovative was its central fire control system, a brilliant network that enabled gunners to operate defensive turrets from the safety of the aircraft. Revolutionary, at least in its time.
With the introduction of the atomic bomb, the mission of the B-29 acquired an entirely new role. Some proposed that the British Avro Lancaster, with its broader bomb bay, should be used instead. But strategic and political considerations kept the mission in American control. Under the secret “Silverplate” program, some B-29s were cleared of much of their defensive armament, reconfigured to deploy the huge “Little Boy” and “Fat Man” bombs, and equipped with more powerful engines. A new crew member—the “Weaponeer”—was added to take care of bomb arming in flight.
The training for these sorties was rigorous and top-secret. Crews were practicing at Utah’s Wendover Field with “pumpkin bombs,” mock-ups of the atom bombs, in terms of size and weight. Families were not informed, and documents were discreetly destroyed to maintain utmost secrecy.
In the meantime, thousands of miles away across the Pacific, Tinian Island in the Marianas was converted into the war’s largest airbase. Six expansive runways made it the departing point for the 509th Composite Group, the task force charged with conducting the atomic missions. Every aspect was practiced, including the evasive maneuvers pilots would perform after dropping their bombs—hard turns at top speed to get away from the pending blast.
Colonel Paul Tibbets commanded the Enola Gay on August 6, 1945, when it delivered “Little Boy” on Hiroshima. Three days later, Major Charles Sweeney piloted Bockscar for the Nagasaki mission with “Fat Man.” Both attacks were meticulously planned operations with several B-29s used for weather reconnaissance, observation, and data gathering. Of these, The Great Artiste had a crucial role to play in observing the impact of both detonations.
Even when the war was over, the B-29 could not be spared. The Silverplate plane was still modified and served as America’s sole nuclear delivery system for many years. A few, such as The Great Artiste, have survived to the present day, serving as tangible reminders of a world forever changed.
Ultimately, the B-29 was not just a machine—it was a reflection of what might be accomplished when human innovation, industrial might, and the demands of war came together. Its legacy does not rest solely in its engineering exploits but in the moment it ushered in: the doorstep to a new age that redefined history.