A/N: Wow, I really have a habit of procrastinating, don't I? Regardless, this submission is finally done - and I had so much fun with it, too!
In my defense, school (ugh) has begun for me, and I just couldn't pick a topic (there were too many!), so that's why I'm just posting this before the deadline.
So, this is my next submission for the Gloves Up SmackDown contest (I made it into round 2 ahhhhhhhhh!), a historical fiction story featuring some sort of bizarre weather! I chose the atomic bombing of Nagasaki, and the story behind the original target of the Fat Man bomb, Kokura, Japan. 
A note, this story switches perspectives between two people who are in different time periods. Kenneth's POV is happening during the war, while Akari's is happening after the war. The italicized areas of Akari's POV represent a flashback/memory. Hope you enjoy!
Word count: 1999

The first casualty of war is innocence.

Never has a phrase ever been so true.

Because Kenneth Ackerson, 26-year old Captain in the US Air Force, will never be the same person he was before the war. The person he was before 3 days ago. The same person he is now, after today.

He moves slowly, almost mechanically, as he checks his navigation equipment, as he's done a thousand times before. But this time feels different; this time, he knows what he and his team are flying into. This time, he doesn't have the bliss of ignorance.

This time, he knows that their target city is doomed.

He's seen truly horrendous things before - after all, this is war. But his last mission - on which the explosion of the bomb left a strange taste in his mouth, shook their plane, and flashed so brightly that it burned his retinas, even while facing away - topped any and every other horror he's ever had to face.

Even though he doesn't want to do this again, doesn't want to feel another abnormally gigantic, devastating explosion, doesn't want another haunting flash of silvery-blue to linger behind his eyelids long after the mission's end, he knows he has to. He can't think about the tens of thousands of citizens that died in their last mission, or the many, many more that will die in their upcoming mission, because the alternative will cost the lives of their citizens, their troops.

War is brutal, he has learned. Not nearly as heroic as the Great War veterans make it sound. At its core, it's everyone fighting for survival.

And not everyone comes out a winner.

* * * * *

The children walk on what may have been a graveyard.

Akari Nakahara sits on a bench, watching the elementary-aged students, guided by two teachers, stand in front of the Nagasaki Atomic Bomb Memorial Bell and Monument, quiet for once as the teachers solemnly begin informing them the history behind the memorial.

They may learn about the disaster that nearly befell their city in school, but she knows that they'll never truly understand how close their people came to death. They'll never really understand the terror of sitting in a small, cramped bokugo shelter, praying to every deity that you'll be alright, that your family will be alright. They'll never know the feeling of learning, years after the incident, that your life was spared due to luck.

And, she supposes, that that's a good thing. The children in front of her are living the childhood she wishes she had - one without fear, without war.

She knows that, by comparison, she's lucky. Kokura was quite sheltered from the war; she never had to experience the horrors some other Japanese children did. But, in a way, war still stole her naivete away. The children's innocence is a gift, one that many, including her, didn't realize they had until it was gone.

Nowadays, she tries to cherish every moment that she breathes. Because if the war has taught her anything, it's that life is fragile. And nobody is guaranteed to see a tomorrow.

* * * * *

"Enola Gay and Laggin' Dragon say that conditions over both targets are cloudy, Major." The radio operator, Abe, relays to the major. "But visibility is sufficient to continue with visual bombing."

"Any word on Big Stink?" The major asks.

"Negative, sir." The major sighs.

Big Stink never shows up. After ten more minutes of circling over Yakushima island, the major makes the call to move ahead anyways.

It takes them an hour to arrive at Kokura, their preferred target. A city of 130,00 people, located at the tip of Kyushu Island, housing a large ordnance factory, which manufactures chemical weapons, among other things. Practically untouched by any American bombing so far.

That's about to change, he thinks, trying to ignore the nausea welling up in his stomach.

He glances out of the plane, expecting to see buildings and people the size of ants.

But he doesn't see any of that. Because Kokura - the entirety of it - is covered in a thick haze.

* * * * *

The air raid sirens begin to wail, their cries rising up and down, as though they're already mourning for their city.

She freezes for a second, eyes widening with fear. She knows what the loud sound stands for - its meaning has been drilled into her head for the entirety of her seven years. But she's only heard the alarms in practice - and this is not a practice. Their mom always tells them when there will be a practice.

Dropping her now-forgotten toys, she rushes into her house, heart beating fast. "Akito?" She calls for her older brother. "Onii-san?"

There is one, terrifying second, where she thinks that he's gone, that she's all alone in the house. But her mind-numbing terror at the thought disappears as her brother rushes into the main room.

"Come on, Akari." He grabs her hand, pulling her outside their house again. "We need to go." She can feel the sweat residing on his palm, the way his hands shake, just slightly. She's shaking too, she realizes.

They reach their bokugo in seconds. It's nothing more than a hole in the ground, just big enough to hold five people, dug by their father, before he went off to war, years ago. But it's the best protection they've got.

Her brother gently grabs her hands, helping lower her into the hole, before climbing in himself. After his feet are on solid ground, he pulls the roof of the bokugo, made primarily of bamboo and earth, overhead.

And then, they wait.

They've only been sitting in silence for a few minutes before she can't stay quiet any longer.

"What about Okaasan?" She questions, her voice tremulous. Their mother is still at work, in the factories, and if the enemies really do drop bombs on them, then their mother might not make it back in time.

"She'll be alright." Her brother assures her. "They have bokugos near the factory, too. She'll hide in one of them."

"Why do we have to hide, though?" She questions again, feeling tears well up in her eyes, the fear and worry all finally leaking out. "Why do the Americans want to hurt us?"

Her brother doesn't have an answer to that.

* * * * *

The first bomb run is an utter failure.

The mixture of smoke and clouds refuse to break, and they can't see the Kokura Arsenal, their aim point for this bombing. The major calls it off.

The second time, they try a different angle, flying in blind and hoping against hope that the wind will blow the haze away, granting them clear visibility.

That doesn't work either, and it's called off yet again.

Their third try goes about the same way. The only difference is, this time, they're spotted. Anti-aircraft fire starts almost immediately. Their flight path instantly becomes more treacherous, as they move to dodge the projectiles.

Thirty seconds later, the air raid sirens begin wailing. The feeling that engulfs him after the sound begins is a mix between dread, for their mission, and relief, for the citizens of Kokura.

In another thirty seconds, fighter jets are lifting into the sky, training their guns on Bockscar and the observation plane accompanying them, the Great Artiste. There's no way they'll complete the drop now.

The major seemingly reaches the same conclusion. "Set a route to Nagasaki, Captain Ackerson!" He calls.

The only choice he has is to say,

"Yes, sir."

* * * * *

It feels like centuries have passed before the air raid sirens stop.

She lifts her head, cautiously, looking up hopefully at the ceiling of their bokugo. They didn't feel the ground shake, as all her teachers said it would when a bomb hit.

Was their city spared?

Her brother stands up, just as carefully, lifting the roof of the shelter and peeking out. He stands there for a minute or two, just listening, and she doesn't dare interrupt the silence.

Finally, he lifts the roof fully off, and turns to her, smiling. "It's over."

She feels her lips lift into a smile, the first since the sirens started blaring.

Quickly, they both scramble out of the shelter, and into their home. Once there, they both reach a silent agreement, settling themselves in the main room to anxiously wait for their mother.

While she waits, she plays quietly with the dolls her father gave her, but she can't bring herself to focus on the usually fun game. Not with her mother still out there.

Her mother bursts in nearly half an hour later, and the hug that she immediately sweeps them into feels like the best hug she's ever gotten.

"You're both okay." Her mother repeats, like a broken record, between the kisses she presses onto their cheeks and foreheads. "You're both okay, you're both okay, both my babies are okay."

* * * * *

The thirty minutes it takes to reach Nagasaki feels like forever. Once they reach Nagasaki, though, everything is a blur.

They only have enough fuel for one pass over the city, which is also covered in clouds. The situation looks similar to the one in Kokura - not good.

His conflicting emotions war for dominance within him. He should feel upset - their mission could get postponed several weeks if they fail this drop, therefore dragging the war on several more weeks as well.

So is it wrong for him to feel a little better?

Better that he might not have to drop the most destructive weapon the planet has ever seen today, even if it'll eventually be done?

Abe suggests going back to Okinawa, postponing the bombing for another day, as the clouds look just as impenetrable as they did in Kokura.

He can tell that the major is about to agree, when someone else - Albert, the tail gunner - calls, "Wait! I see a gap!"

They all turn to look, and, sure enough, there's a break in the clouds behind them.

His heart sinks, but he swallows down his emotions. He has a job to do.

It all happens within two minutes; they confirm the opening, he sets the path to the gap, the bombardier activates the automatic release mechanism, they turn and head for the gap, and then, when they're right over it, the bomb falls. They dive to the right, mirroring the Great Artiste, and, suddenly-

BOOM!

And there it is again - the same strange taste in his mouth, the same shockwaves of motion, the same flash of silvery-blue that lets him know that Nagasaki is now gone.

* * * * *

It had taken her far too long to put the pieces together.

It wasn't until she was twelve, five years after the war's end, that she'd understood the true devastation of the atomic bombs.

She was fifteen by the time she realized that her city, less than a hundred miles from Nagasaki, had had an air raid on the same day of the bombing, but with no bombs, hardly thirty minutes before Nagasaki was annihilated.

She had frantically scoured any information she could find, hoping and pleading and praying that it was not the case.

But it was. It had been confirmed, a few months after the bombing of Nagasaki.

Kokura was the Americans' original target.

All that had spared them was the luck of the weather - a cloudy day, mixing with the fumes from the Yawata's recent firebombing, had hidden their city so well that the Americans couldn't destroy it.

The weather.

She had nearly died, and she didn't even know it.

The only reason she was alive was because of sheer, dumb luck.

The luck of Kokura, the people of her city call it. At their time of need, fate intervened and saved them all.

And, yeah, she's grateful to be alive, to be able to still feel the cool autumn breeze and see the cherry blossoms bloom every spring.

But, she wonders, as she sits in front of the memorial, exactly twelve years after the decimation of Nagasaki, what did their luck cost?

A/N: Well, what do you think?

Firstly, as always, all the information in this story was found through hours of research. I was NOT alive during the bombings, and I'm not Japanese. So, please correct me if any of my information is wrong. Please. I'd really like to know.

Secondly, Here's some extra information for you:

Onii-san: Big brother (informal)
Okaasan: Mother
Bokugo: A type of small air raid shelter used by the Japanese in World War II, often built by civilians

Neither Kenneth Ackerson nor Akari Nakahara are real people. I'm imagining Kenneth in place of the Bockscar's actual navigator, Captain James Van Pelt, because it felt wrong using the guy's name when I don't know anything about him. He also flew on the Hiroshima mission, but on the observation plane, the Great Artiste, if you didn't guess that, already. 

The quote at the beginning, The first casualty of war is innocence, was said by Oliver Stone.

I've always been fascinated with World War II - actually, I was working on a story about Hiroshima on the anniversary of Hiroshima's bombing. So, learning that Nagasaki wasn't the original target of the Fat Man bomb intrigued me. I tried to look at my other options and make mental storylines for them, but I could never get my mind to stray far from the possibilities of this story. So, here it is. Maybe haze isn't exactly the most bizarre weather, but the fact that it came in just in time to spare Kokura and doom Nagasaki is what's bizarre, in my opinion.

Also, the August 29th is International Day Against Nuclear Tests, as declared by the UN, so I suppose this topic is very appropriate.

Anyways, I hope you guys enjoyed reading this! I certainly enjoyed learning about this part of history that was previously unknown to me. :D