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Roger, loud and clear.
Roger, station 7, prepare for pressurization
of stage 2 oxidizer.
Roger.
I was fairly new to working out on the missile sites.
At the age of 19, you know,
you've got that "no fear" mentality.
WCB, we got a transient read on 54...
Right above us
was a nine-megaton thermonuclear warhead.
To see the magnitude of that weapon
within ten feet from you,
it was a monster waiting to go off.
When you think about working on a weapon of mass destruction,
you're counting on everything to work perfect all the time,
and things just don't work perfect all the time.
The first thing that my commander heard are the words, "Uh-oh."
The fuel vapors in the silo
are just climbing and climbing and climbing.
We need to get the hell out of this complex
because this thing's going to blow up.
Do we let the world know?
Do I run out and say, "We got a potential nuclear explosion"?
What do you do?
Complex 3-1 has phase 14 missile age inspection.
Complex 3-2, instructor crew scheduled for...
That day, September 18th,
it was basically five days before my 24th birthday.
So I was 23.
Lieutenant Childers was 24, was the deputy.
When we went on alert in a Titan system,
we were on alert for 24 hours.
That's what a tour was, 24 hours.
We had 18 silos spread all the way out
to the eastern corner of Arkansas.
We went up the main highway to a certain point,
and then you had to pull off of the highway onto much smaller roads.
Until you came over a particular rise,
you wouldn't even know that the missile complex was there.
As we drove up to missile complex 4-7,
it's very unassuming.
There's not a lot there.
There's this huge door and there are some antennas.
However, underneath that door was the most powerful warhead
that the U.S. has ever operated.
Before you left the base, they gave you some codes
that gave you access to the complex.
MCC, what is your ident code?
Ident code is alpha-niner-victor...
You would read the code to the commander
and then you would take a lighter,
set the codes on fire, and drop them down into a box
so they would burn up and no one else could use those codes.
All four of the crew members went down three flights of stairs.
At the bottom of that, you got to a blast door.
There were a series of blast doors, 6, 7, 8, and 9.
So you'd walk through this, and you'd step into the middle level
of the launch control center,
with all of the equipment that you needed to maintain the missile.
When we took charge of a complex,
that meant that we owned that missile until the next crew came out.
So if we went to war, we were prepared
to launch those weapons on command.
Apps power, silo soft, guidance go.
We're standing by for fire engine.
We never knew what our specific targets were,
because you didn't really want to know who you were going to destroy.
Turning on my command, everybody, turn keys.
On the word "keys", we will turn.
Is the crew ready? Your B-Man?
B-Man's Ready.
MFT?
MFT ready.
Deputy?
Deputy ready.
Crew is ready... Ready?
You had to be prepared to destroy an entire civilization,
and we were trained on that.
As heartless as it sounds, I never had a problem with it.
I was doing it for my country, I was doing it to protect my country.
The whole reason I sat out there
was to prevent that kind of thing from happening.
That's what deterrence was about.
But deterrence is worthless
if you don't demonstrate that you're willing to do it, too,
and we always had to demonstrate
that I would walk out there and turn those keys in a second
and I would kill ten million people and never hesitate.
Every time I went onto a complex,
every time I saw a Titan II missile,
I had the same sense of excitement.
You couldn't see the warhead from the bottom
because you were eight stories down,
and the cone of the warhead disappeared off in the distance.
The warhead on top of the Titan II
was three times as powerful as all the bombs
used by all of the armies in the Second World War,
including both the atomic bombs.
When the crew members successfully turned the keys,
the 330,000 pound missile would lift up out of the silo.
And it would head out for about five minutes of powered flight
to the edge of space,
fly for another 20 minutes,
and hit its target halfway around the world.
Before September 18,
the only warheads that we thought
would go off in the United States would be Soviet warheads.
We never considered that our own warheads
could detonate on our own continent.
From the very beginning of the atomic age,
there has been a sense of this immense power
just being on the verge of slipping out of our control.
The world's first nuclear device was fully assembled
in a small tent in the middle of the desert.
Nobody was sure what would happen
when this thing would detonate.
They were even concerned
that when the first nuclear device detonated,
the Earth's atmosphere would catch on fire
and every single living thing on Earth would die.
And yet they did the test anyway.
After the war ended,
an engineering section of the nuclear weapons program
became known as the Sandia Laboratory,
and Sandia became America's first atomic bomb factory.
I realized if I joined Sandia, I would be working
on atomic bombs, and that was okay with me.
We were driven by the fear of the Soviet Union.
Anything we conceived of the military wanted,
and money was free.
As the technology improved,
as the number of nuclear weapons in our arsenal increased,
there were soon assembly lines for making nuclear weapons.
We had bombers in the air at all times
loaded with nuclear weapons.
We had submarines that had missiles
carrying nuclear warheads.
It was feared that the Soviets would have far more missiles than the United States,
so we went on a huge missile-building binge.
At one point, we only thought we needed 50 to 200 nuclear weapons
to completely annihilate the Soviet Union,
and by the mid-1960s, we had 32,000 nuclear weapons.
But every one of those weapons you build
not only threatens your enemy, but poses a threat to yourself.
One more time, ready? Launch verification...
September 18
was one of those days where nothing was going the way it was supposed to go.
That day, September 18,
we find out that they have a problem with the oxidizer tank,
that the pressure is a little bit low.
Each stage of the missile had two separate tanks.
One was filled with fuel and the other was filled with oxidizer.
All you got to do is mix those two fuels
and you're going to have an explosion.
We called back to base.
They said, "We had a maintenance team coming out."
A specialized unit, they called them the PTS team.
The difference between PTS people
and any other person on a missile site is,
we get to play with fuel and oxidizer,
uh, and they don't.
I loved PTS. I loved my job.
My major goal at that time was to be a PTS team chief,
and be the best PTS team chief ever.
When I arrived at Little Rock Air Force Base,
I would have been 19, yeah.
Ah, no, 18. My birthday is in March,
so I would have been one month away from being 19.
I think I was ready to take on the world at that point.
I wanted to go out to the field and work on that Titan II missile.
You know, we called it a bird, and I wanted to work on the birds, you know?
Oxidizer, when you breathe it, it turns to nitric acid.
And you basically drown in your lungs if you breathe enough of it.
We would work 12, 14-hour, up to 16-hour shifts,
and then go to sleep,
and then five hours later or so, you get up and head back in
for another 12, 13, or 14-hour day.
On September 18, we'd had a long week,
we had the next day off,
so when we finished the maintenance task at the site that we were at,
you know, we thought we were done.
Roger that, we'll send them back your way.
Our team chief called back to the base
to tell them we were on our way back
and they said, "Well, before you come back,
we want you to stop over at 4-7 at Damascus."
When we got there, they didn't have the right part.
They had to bring the part out on a helicopter.
I would say we waited from 3:30 to about 6:00 in the evening
before we could actually enter the silo.
We'd been on duty about eleven and a half hours.
So we started down the cableway to the silo,
when all of a sudden, I realized that I had forgotten
the torque wrench up in the truck.
There was a change in the checklist
that we were supposed to use a torque wrench from here on out,
but that was a recent change.
I had spent three years
basically taking the pressure cap off with a ratchet.
And so instead of sending somebody back to get the torque wrench,
I grabbed the ratchet to do that.
The ratchet's about three feet long
and the socket's about eight pounds.
And I radioed to the team chief that we're ready to begin the checklist
for pressurization of stage 2 oxidizer tank.
We had a problem with that ratchet.
It wouldn't allow Dave to actually get the socket
to clip or snap into place to be secure.
He held the socket up against the dust cap
and he put the ratchet up against it.
Basically you hold it with one hand on that ratchet handle,
and one hand cradles the head of the ratchet
with the socket on it.
And so I got on the end of it
and kind of gave it a little force,
and I remember saying to him, "You got this?"
"Yeah, I got it, I got it, let go of it."
And I go to pick it up,
and the socket falls off the end of the ratchet.
Just boompf, right through the hole
and just straight down.
As it was falling, I was thinking,
"Oh, no, oh, no, oh, no."
I wanted to jump after that thing.
Anytime I want,
I can close my eyes and see that socket.
I see the socket bouncing off the platform.
I see my RFHCO glove reaching for it.
And I see it falling in slow motion.
Seventy feet.
Hitting the thrust mount like it had eyeballs.
And then a stream of fuel coming out of the missile.
I was just in total shock.
I think we both just looked at each other for a second,
and we're like, "Oh, my God, what are we going to do?"
That missile was just blowing fuel.
Then the magnitude set in as far as what could happen.
The destructive force if that thing exploded, and we can't stop it.
Nineteen years before the Damascus accident,
a B-52 bomber carrying two powerful hydrogen bombs
took off on a routine mission over North Carolina.
During the mission, the plane experienced a fuel leak,
and suddenly, the B-52 began to break apart mid-air.
As the fuselage was spinning and heading back towards Earth,
the centrifugal forces pulled on a lanyard in the cockpit,
and that lanyard was pulled exactly the way it would be
if a crew member wanted to release its hydrogen bombs
over enemy territory.
Bombs are relatively dumb.
They sort of think that if you drop the bomb out of the bomb bay,
you must have intended to do that.
One of the weapons in particular
went through all of its arming steps to detonate,
and when that weapon hit the ground,
a firing signal was sent.
And the only thing that prevented
a full-scale detonation of a powerful hydrogen bomb
in North Carolina was a single safety switch.
All it is, is a two-position on-off switch.
That prevented a four-megaton disaster.
If the right two wires had touched,
the bomb would have detonated.
Period.
The Goldsboro accident occurred at a time
when the number of nuclear weapons accidents was increasing.
I read through all of the known accident reports.
And it scared the hell out of me.
We were shocked when we realized,
all these years we've been thinking
along this nice, neat line.
That's not reality.
There had been all these statistical assurances
that weapons wouldn't detonate in an accident.
And then there was a realization
that the weapons were nowhere near as safe
as everyone had assumed.
We knew that fire, for example, could set off
these electro-explosive devices inside the warhead
in a random way.
During a fire, the solder might melt on a circuit board.
It created all kinds of new electrical pathways
that could completely circumvent a safety device.
Of the 20,000 or 25,000 weapons that we had in stockpile,
I could not, in good conscience,
swear that they were adequately safe.
What they were saying is,
thousands of weapons in the American nuclear arsenal
were vulnerable during an accident,
including the most powerful warhead on an American missile,
the warhead on top of the Titan II.
I was sitting down in the kitchen, eating a sandwich,
when the klaxon went off.
So I didn't think too much of it.
I mean, it went off, it's like, "Okay, they just...
They're doing their procedures."
But about ten seconds later, we got another klaxon.
I got up and I walked about halfway down the stairs.
And I looked down and I can see the commander's console.
Then the commander's console has lots of red lights flashing,
and so I know something's wrong.
Captain Mazzaro was our crew commander.
The first thing that Mazzaro heard
and that the other team members heard are the words, "Uh-oh."
Mazzaro said, "What do you mean, 'uh-oh'? What's going on?"
They said, "There's smoke in the bottom of the launch duct.
Commander's trying to clear up."
"What do you mean, smoke in the bottom of the launch duct?
Do you see a fire?"
The fuel vapors in the silo are just climbing
and climbing and climbing.
So I radioed back that we had a cloud.
A milky white cloud.
I wasn't going to say "fuel" over the radio.
The reason I didn't want to say the word "fuel" over the radio
was because, uh,
in case the missile commander was listening,
I didn't want him to freak out.
I think David was just scared to say anything
about really what was happening.
Only being 21 years old.
I guess it'd almost be like, you know, you doing something wrong as a kid
and you got to tell your parents about it, you know?
You know, how you kind of just stand there
and you don't want to say what you just did.
I grabbed Plumb and we walked back up the cable way.
I immediately started looking at the fuel level reader.
When it hits that explosive level,
any spark can set off the fuel.
You could run through each of the tanks on each stage
and see what the pressure was,
and we saw that the pressure was dropping.
It was dropping fast.
And then all of a sudden, sprays came on in the launch duct.
We thought, "Well, there must be a fire."
It doesn't make any sense, nothing made any sense.
And I jumped into my checklist.
We did everything according to checklists.
You know, we ran the oxidizer checklists,
we ran the fuel checklists.
You know, you stay in the checklist, it'll take care of you.
About that time, the PTS team that had been out working
had gotten back,
and they're standing over in the short cableway,
and the maintenance team chief went over and met them
and they started talking.
At that point, I said, "Okay, guys, what happened?"
And they came in
and then they explained to the crew at that point exactly what happened.
And that's when we finally got him to admit
that he had done something, that he had dropped it,
and there was a hole, and he saw vapors coming out.
It was more than "uh-oh." And that was the first time we knew.
It was a good half-hour into it.
By then it was basically out of control.
When I became secretary of defense,
we had tens of thousands of nuclear weapons.
The numbers were a big problem,
because it only takes a few or one getting out of hand
to cause a catastrophic problem.
And we worried about that. We probably didn't worry about it enough.
The Titan II missiles, by 1980, were both old
and much more prone to accidents.
Why was it still in the arsenal?
In part because it was part of a negotiating strategy.
We anticipated trading them off against Soviet heavy missiles
in strategic arms negotiations.
It was a bargaining chip,
something that we could give up in order to persuade the Soviets
to get rid of a class of their missiles.
So that was why we still had it,
and it was therefore available for an accident.
Nearly 14,000 gallons
of poisonous liquid fuel poured out,
killing two persons and injuring more than 20 others.
This would be missile leak number ten so far in Arkansas.
The Titan II is potentially an awesome weapon of war
whose only victims so far have been Americans.
September 18, 1980,
I got a call from the command post,
said we had a serious problem.
I was the new guy.
I had no previous experience in Titan,
I had no training in Titan,
I had about three months under my belt
before the accident occurred on the night of September 18.
I got to the command center,
started to figure out what was going on.
And then I activated the missile potential hazard team.
The missile potential hazard team
gathered together some of the top figures in the Air Force
to deal with the accident.
At Barksdale Air Force Base in Louisiana,
there was Colonel Ben Scallorn,
the Air Force's leading expert on the Titan II missile.
As we're dumping fuel, the oxidizer expands,
and there's a possibility that it can rupture a tank,
and with a silo full of fuel
and you rupture an oxidizer tank
and the oxidizer hits the fuel, it's gone.
In Denver, there were executives from Martin Marietta,
who designed and built the Titan II missile.
And in Omaha, Nebraska, there was the underground headquarters
of the Strategic Air Command, known as SAC.
That night, all the major decisions
would be made at SAC headquarters by General Lloyd Leavitt.
General Leavitt was a very dedicated pilot,
a very courageous pilot in Korea and Vietnam,
but he had no missile background at all, that I'm aware of.
As things progressed, we were trying to do everything we could.
We knew what was going to happen
if we lost pressure in the fuel tank.
You know, of course, the missile was going to collapse
on top of itself.
If the missile collapsed, the entire missile would blow up,
but what would happen to the warhead was anybody's guess.
There was no one that we kept on alert
that knew anything about the warhead.
There was no checklist,
so it became a seat-of- the-pants operation as things unfolded,
and I used every resource we had that night
to try to face the problem and solve the problem.
One of the options was,
if the silo closure door was opened,
there's a possibility that the gas could have been vented.
But there was also a possibility,
if the missile did explode while that door was open,
it would throw the warhead out of the silo.
We would not have known where it went.
It could go almost anywhere.
Twenty-five years earlier,
a weapon similar to the one on the Titan II
was tested in the South Pacific.
The explosion wound up being
three times more powerful than they had estimated.
And the test revealed
that the radioactive fallout from a hydrogen bomb
could be even more deadly than the blast itself.
Back in Washington,
they took a map of the fallout pattern from the Bravo Test,
and they superimposed it on a map of the United States.
A similar weapon detonated over Washington, D.C.,
could release enough radioactive fallout
to kill everyone in Washington, D.C.,
everyone in Baltimore, everyone in Philadelphia,
half the population of New York City,
with casualties and fatalities as far north as Boston.
The fuel tank readings started going negative,
and at that point, I felt that it was potentially going to collapse.
And although there are safety measures within the warhead,
in the back of my mind, you always wonder.
I don't think anybody truly knew
what was going to happen with the warhead.
As they were talking about these tank pressures
and all these different things,
I'm getting more and more anxious and more and more anxious,
thinking, "I need... We need to get out of here.
We need to get the hell out of this complex,
because this thing's going to blow up."
Some of the crew members were eager to make an exit,
so with that in mind, we started discussing,
should we evacuate the people in the launch control center
or leave them in there?
The reason to get them out of the silo,
we had no idea what was going to happen to the launch control center
if the missile exploded.
I still thought we should be there.
We needed to be there.
If we evacuated that launch control center,
we would be giving up any ability to control any of the equipment,
we would be giving up the capacity to try any of the ideas
that people were trying to come up with in order to save this system.
Rodney and I told the crew commander
that we wanted to stay behind.
I couldn't leave. You know, emotionally, I couldn't go.
From our standpoint, we could stay
because neither one of us had children at that time, and...
Not that we didn't care about our lives,
but, you know, it just seemed that it made sense to us
that we should stay and let everybody else go.
On the evening of September 18,
people were gathering in Hot Springs.
Vice President Mondale was the keynote speaker.
Senator Pryor and Governor Clinton and others
had already gone to Hot Springs.
And I was scheduled to go over the next day.
That night we had invited a friend over for dinner, and the phone rang.
And it was this airman who worked on the Titan missiles.
When I got off the phone from this airman,
I looked around and people started asking me, saying,
"What's happening?"
And I said, "A Titan missile is going to explode."
And the question was, "Well, what does that mean?"
"What it means...
is if that nuclear warhead explodes,
we're incinerated."
You know, I said, "Little Rock's gone."
I said, "Little Rock is gone.
We're 46 miles from this site, we're gone."
I walked into our living room and looked out the front window,
and it was still daylight savings time,
so it wasn't totally dark,
and you could see children in the front yard
or people walking out to their cars,
carrying on their normal everyday lives.
And I thought, "Do I run out on the street
and say we got a potential nuclear explosion
46 miles from here?"
"Do I grab my friends and neighbors
and get in the car and start driving?"
What do you do?
I was there in Hot Springs at night,
and the phone rang and it was Skip.
And Skip says, "We have a problem."
He said, "What's the Air Force saying?"
I said, "The Air Force is telling people it's not happening.
That's what they've told the people on the site.
They're going to tell you that these things are under control.
But I think you need to be prepared for an explosion."
As the general manager of the radio station in Clinton,
we were doing quite a bit of local news,
and you realize in a small town
that you need to have a police scanner,
because everything comes off of it.
And the person said, "We've got a chemical leak
at the Titan II missile silo."
We get there about the same time the sheriff is getting there,
Gus Anglin.
This is Gus Anglin.
He was the sheriff of Van Buren County,
very popular sheriff by the way.
And so we decide to walk down the narrow road
that goes down to the silo.
And when you get down there,
there's, like, this ten-foot-tall chain link fencing
with barbed wire around the top of it.
Out of nowhere, here comes two guys with M-16 rifles.
Gus says, "Do I need to start evacuating?"
"Oh, no, sir, no, sir, we've got it under control, I assure you."
So we went back to the edge of the road, which was just off Highway 65.
This is as close as the military will allow us to get...
So here comes Channel 4, here comes Channel 11.
Before you know it, we've got about 25 people out there.
They ignored us.
We'd yell at them as they'd come by.
We'd go, "Hey, is everything under control?"
You know, "Have you fixed it yet?"
And they'd just keep driving.
They wouldn't even acknowledge that you existed.
Sheriff Gus Anglin, he didn't get the information he thought he needed from them
to make really good decisions,
and finally he just went to running everybody off.
When they were evacuating, he said, you know,
"I don't know how bad it's going to be or anything else,
get out of here right now,
and then we'll get you back in quick as we can."
They had roadblocks set up back two miles from it
diverting traffic around the area.
I had a problem, that nine months before that happened,
I had synchronized a bunch of heifers,
which means you give them a shot of Lutalyse
and they all come into heat at the same time.
You breed them all at the same time,
which also means they're all going to calve at the same time.
Well, their due date was that day.
We would have lost the farm, everything we had,
you know, if them cows all got sick and died.
So, well, we were going back in.
We finally made the decision to evacuate the crew,
because when the missile explodes,
if it does explode,
you're risking life of the four crew members on site.
So we thought the best avenue was to take the crew out of the control center.
Mike said, "We're going to have to evacuate."
Uh...
It was one of the hardest things I think anybody could do,
because you were responsible for a nuclear weapon
that was capable of destroying
an unbelievable amount of territory
and an unbelievable number of people,
and you were leaving it behind.
Nobody left it before, nobody would leave a nuclear warhead.
The whole time I was leaving, I kept thinking,
"I need to stay, I should have stayed."
I look back on it now, I still can't believe we left it empty.
We had all these classified checklists.
Nobody had ever tried to put them in a safe before, they wouldn't fit.
So we left all of them in the safe with the door open.
We thought, "We're going to go out the regular way, we'll open a door up."
As we started to open the blast door,
we immediately saw vapor.
Once we closed that door,
that cut off our main escape route.
We were instructed to evacuate through the emergency escape hatch,
which we had never actually fully opened.
It was just a metal tube with a ladder in it,
buried a good 40 feet under the ground.
There's a light at the top,
and it's supposed to shine down into the escape route,
and it didn't come on. It wasn't working. Nothing was working.
It was a hell of a thing to climb up five stories in the dark with this mask on,
and you couldn't breathe,
and it filled up with vapors and you couldn't see anything.
We knew there was very little wind that night, and all of the vapors
that were being evacuated out of the launch duct
were settling over the site.
I was at home with my wife and kid,
and I got a call from job control,
and they said they had a problem out at 4-7.
They told everybody here,
"This is a very dangerous situation,
we don't know what's going to happen,
this is a purely voluntary mission only,
and if you don't want to go, you don't have to go."
The PTS group, it was like a brotherhood.
There's no question that we weren't going to be the team
that was going out there.
Dave Livingston was one of the guys,
and he was sitting in the back seat
and he said to me,
"Somebody's going to die out here tonight. I just feel it."
And I said, "Dave, don't say something like that, man.
Don't even say it."
And he goes, "No, I got a bad vibe, man,
Somebody's going to die out here, man."
We know, at this point, that there's a helicopter
on the way, and Jeff Kennedy was on there.
He was one of the best, if not the best,
team chief in the wing.
Jeff Kennedy was the kind of guy that...
Uh, he would never ask you to do anything he wouldn't do himself.
When I got out on site, Powell came running up to me
and said, "Jeff, I fucked up like you wouldn't believe."
I know that I need to get the tank readings
to find out how serious the leak is.
Jeff thought the longer we wait, the more dangerous it gets.
What Jeff didn't tell anybody was
we're going to go down into that silo and look at those pressures.
So we run across the silo to the escape hatch.
Kennedy goes into the tube first,
I follow him in, and all of a sudden,
he looks up at me and he says, "Stay here."
We violated the most sacred rule in SAC,
which is the two-man rule.
Nobody goes to certain parts of the silo
without being accompanied by another person.
He felt like that he could get in and out quicker
if he went by himself.
Stage one fuel was now at a negative imbalance.
There's 14,000 gallons of fuel
that have leaked out of the tank.
So now we have less than 30 pounds of pressure
before stage one oxidizer blows.
Kennedy shows the readings that he just got,
and says we still had time to save it, but we had to move.
We had to move now.
The commander was furious
that he had violated the two-man policy
by going down there and didn't even have a crew member with him,
he was just on his own.
He violated everything.
Fifteen minutes later,
SAC headquarters relieves us of all command decision making.
Now, here's SAC headquarters
that has never stepped foot on a complex.
That just pissed me off.
Time was of the essence
if we were going to accomplish anything.
Every minute that passed by,
we were further, simply because we're dumping more fuel
and everything is getting worse.
People started showing up from base.
Communications, portable vapor detectors,
they were bringing all kinds of maintenance equipment.
You think all of these experts must be coming in to work on this thing.
Then I see this bus come in,
and here are these about ten guys,
and they start putting on what looks like space outfits.
And you're looking at these and you're thinking,
"I'm 24 years old and they're all younger than me,
and these guys are the experts that are going to go in there and fix this?"
All I saw was just young guys that were being thrown to the lions.
One of the hard things for us was
it seemed like we were waiting and waiting and waiting
for some decision to be made at SAC as specifically what to do.
So the time frame of, like,
"Man, you know, whatever we're going to do, let's do it."
The SAC command center finally decided that
we had to know what the status was
in the silo, if we could get back in.
What they considered the best alternative
was go back in and check pressures.
When we find out what the plan is,
we have to break into a nuclear missile complex,
which has never been done before in history.
If we had stayed in the control center,
we could have opened every door they had to break their way in.
The plan was to go down and go through the blast doors,
get into the control center,
and depending on the fuel and oxidizer readings,
they wanted to get to the missile itself,
open up a valve to vent that tank
so it would stabilize and not collapse.
It's absolute, total bullshit.
You know, I said, "Colonel, why don't we just go down the escape hatch?"
"Kennedy, this plan has come down,
it's the plan we're going to go with, and that's it."
Jeff thought the plan was nuts.
But on the other hand, you're...
This is what you do, you're a PTS guy.
This is the plan that came down
and you suck it up and you do it.
We were directed to ask for volunteers to go back in.
I personally wasn't in favor of sending anybody else in after all the time.
It was the wee hours of the morning,
this has been going on for many hours at this point,
probably eight hours.
But I guess you go back and say, as a good soldier,
your boss says, "Do this," and you eventually do it.
And we had enough brave souls to volunteer to go back in the silo.
Rex Hukle and I were the first guys to go in.
They said, "You only have 30 minutes of air.
There is no crew down there, the crew is already evacuated,"
so they said, "You're going to have to cut
and break your way into this missile complex."
When they got to the exhaust duct,
they took a reading and the meter pegged out,
which is 250 parts per million.
250 parts per million is when the vapor
is in such a high concentration,
it could start to melt the RFHCO suits.
Almost anything could cause it to ignite.
General Leavitt directed them to press on.
I knew it was the wrong thing to do.
Whatever was going to happen was not going to be good.
We got to the portal door.
We used bolt cutters and a great big crowbar
to pry open the main lock
and then go down three levels of steps
to get to your first 6,000-pound blast lock door
with great big hydraulic pins that lock it in place.
We were getting close to the 30 minutes of air
and then they said, "You guys got it hooked up, come on back.
"We're going to send Kennedy and Livingston in to replace you."
Those guys were brave.
They knew what they were getting into
when they went back in on the underground. What could happen to them.
I was sitting in a security police vehicle,
listening and hearing what's going on.
The next team went in,
which was going to be Kennedy and Livingston.
AR to CC, stand by.
They're relaying the information
that they've opened the blast door.
When we went into the blast lock area,
there's eight lights, bright as hell.
I'm less than ten feet away from it and I can't even see it.
So they immediately evacuated and started topside.
I had got topside,
and now we get a command from the team chief
to go down and turn on an exhaust fan.
Livingston taps himself on the chest, and he went down.
After that, within seconds,
I saw the explosion.
All of a sudden, I lost all communications.
PTS-1, do you copy?
I repeat, PTS-1, do you copy?
Everything you ever read or heard about a nuclear explosion,
all communications were lost until things settled out.
And that's the first thing I, uh...
That's the first thing that entered my mind,
that we had a nuclear explosion out there
and we may have a shock wave
coming into Little Rock Air Force Base
and all the surrounding communities,
and that's the first thing I thought about.
And all the people would be dead out there on site, of course,
and I just...
It was unimaginable what was going through my mind.
It was almost like
you wanted to get down on your knees and, uh...
And, uh, pray to the higher power...
uh, to protect everybody.
About 3:00 in the morning,
I decided, "Well, might as well go milk."
And just before I got to the roadblock,
you drop off a hill on Highway 65, there's a spot
that you can see the ground at the missile base.
Just as I got to that spot, it blew.
You felt it more than you saw it.
I mean, I was a mile and three quarters, two miles away from it,
and it almost shook my truck off the road.
I was sitting on the hood of Gus' sheriff's car,
just kind of sitting there,
and had on slip-on shoes and was kicking one off and on.
Then all of a sudden, it was just, "Ka-whoom!"
Everybody was running as hard as they could to get out of there
because we may be living our last few minutes.
Go, go, go!
I thought, when I jumped in my car
and drove as hard as I could,
that I was probably outrunning a nuclear blast, you know?
I thought, "This Dodge Omni is going to outrun this thing."
The sky just lit up.
It really looked like the sun was coming up,
which is why our initial reaction was,
"The nuclear bomb went off, the nuclear warhead exploded."
So much gravel and rocks were coming down.
It was smashing windshields and putting holes in trucks.
I was literally trying to crawl underneath a truck,
and it started to move and I crawled out again
real fast, and somebody drove it off.
Oh, my God!
The stuff stopped falling,
but there was flames everywhere and you could hear this roar.
And you looked down there, you could see
this steam and fire coming out of the complex.
All I know is the first thing to hit me was wind.
It was like, "Boom!"
Just like a concussion, man, it was like, "Bang!"
And you're blown backwards, you have no control over anything.
As I was sliding on my back,
burning, going up the street, my left eye opened
and I could see glowing steel blowing past me,
And in my heart, I said, "It's over.
You're not going to live through this."
You know, "I just hope it's not painful."
I got up and took off running.
I got five steps away,
and a chunk of concrete bigger than a school bus
hits the ground right behind me,
and it's got steel rebar hanging out of it.
As I'm running,
I feel this whack hit my ankle and just shatters my ankle.
The next step I took, I just buckled and went down.
That's when I started to realize
that my face and neck and back were all on fire.
And I was picking people up and carrying them up the road,
trying to get them away from the debris.
Evacuate, evacuate!
All you heard was, "Evacuate, evacuate, evacuate!"
Air Force Colonel said,
"The other two who are on the site, they have to be dead."
And we looked down at the site and said,
"I'm with you, Colonel, they have to be dead."
I got into the last truck that was there
with a bunch of hurt guys, and I said, "Let's go."
As soon as it blew,
I can remember being flipped ass over tea kettle.
When I woke up, I was laying on my back,
my legs were up against the complex fence.
I was screaming and crying.
There was nobody there.
You only had yourself.
You know, the pain I had to deal with
was trivial to the fact that I wanted to live, I wanted to survive.
I mean, I thought of my kids, my wife.
I said, "I am not going to die in this complex."
I went to stand up and I fell right down.
My leg was broken.
I fell down four, five times, got back up.
All the time that I'm walking, I can hear Livingston,
"Oh my God, help me. Please, somebody help me."
Because of my leg being broken,
I determined that I could not get him.
This is something that I fought with for eons.
If Livingston had known that I was there,
would that have been enough of an adrenaline rush,
to know somebody's got to get some help?
Off the complex was a truck.
I had to make it from one end of the complex to the other.
When I got to the truck and I radioed for help,
the truck went dead.
On my way back to the missile site,
I could hear Kennedy on the radio in the truck.
Help! Help me!
Help me!
Can anybody read me?
And I headed down the road
as fast as I could get that truck to go.
I got partway there, and two security policemen were in the road
and they waved me down.
Who's bringing them?
What?
Who's bringing people here?
They've got them in trucks.
And he told us to evacuate and not go down there.
And I said, "Screw you.
Our friends are down there, we're going."
I'm not gonna wait here.
Please help me!
Where are you?
When I got back to the missile site,
I saw Kennedy.
He was burnt, and...
He had a hole in his leg the size of your fist.
He was really hurt bad, and...
He told me to go find Livingston.
We put our helmets on and we went onto the site.
It was like another world.
Ordnance guys had told us that the warhead
was full of plastic explosives
that could be laying all over the ground,
so somehow we were not supposed to step on them.
There was giant chunks of concrete blasted all over
that looked like the size of semi trucks.
There's a strange glow coming out of where the silo used to be.
And when we got back to the truck,
they had already found Livingston,
and I was angry because they didn't have an ambulance.
I put him in the back of a pickup truck.
And we...
I held him.
He begged me not to tell his mother,
like he had done something wrong.
When we arrived at the hospital, I was hyperventilating,
breathing, because the burn pain was so great.
I had a nurse tell me,
"If you don't calm down, you're going to pass out."
And I couldn't calm down.
I was on fire, I felt like I was on fire.
Take it easy, Dev.
I went to the hospital that Kennedy and Livingston went to.
And we were there for a few hours, I think.
And then the doctor comes out and informs us
that David Livingston had passed away
and that Kennedy was, like, hanging by a thread.
You just keep replaying things in your head.
"What if I did this? What if I did that?"
The ifs and buts.
You know, and you just keep replaying it.
Dave Powell was a lot closer to David Livingston
than most people knew.
I remember looking over when I was at the funeral,
and I remember Powell just weeping.
He feels responsible for the death of David, he really does.
He felt responsible for the death of his friend.
As soon as I found out Livingston died,
I wanted nothing more to do with the Air Force.
We were in the hospital two days
before a single, solitary Air Force personnel
were out at that hospital.
They came in every eight hours on my face, neck, and back,
and they used a scrub pad, it was like a Brillo pad,
and they scrubbed all the skin, the dead skin, off
so that the new skin would grow back.
All the scrubbing was immensely painful.
The Air Force was in a really big hurry
to get me back to the base so that no one could get to us,
there could be no interviews, and you would not be speaking to the press.
The phone rang about 3:30
with a call from one of the airmen that said,
"It just blew."
The first thing I did was look around and say,
"I'm alive, we're alive, my family's alive,
my neighborhood's alive."
And my response was, "Where's the warhead?"
And the person said, "We don't know."
will once again, partly, will be up
throughout the remainder of the night and into the morning...
When you were trying to talk to the Air Force to find out,
is there a nuclear warhead?
Was one involved?
Did you find it?
Was it, you know... what condition was it in?
Had it burst open?
Was there uranium spread all over the area?
They would not admit that there was even a nuclear warhead.
We could not tell the local populace
or any of the political or law enforcement people
that we had a warhead on the missile.
That was, we could not confirm nor deny that we had
a nuclear weapon on-site,
and that was SAC and national policy at that time.
My personal feeling was that it was a ridiculous policy,
but nevertheless, we had to live with it.
Sheriff, has the Air Force told you very much?
Haven't told me a darned thing.
Does that make you mad?
Yes, it does.
So they wouldn't tell us anything,
but one of the local merchants in town
found the Air Force frequencies.
Could you give us a status
on those EOD and disaster preparedness people?
Still walking up the hill.
They know that you're listening to them,
and they said, "Be real evasive about what you talk about."
They keep on talking about,
"We cannot find it, we cannot find the unit."
And that's how we knew they were trying to figure out
what happened to this nuclear warhead.
Where did it go?
Roger, on-scene commander.
The team went to the unit,
now they're on their way out to give a full report.
Team commander, command post,
what unit are you talking about, sir?
Let's not talk about that.
It's laying in a ditch.
Besides, it's not even up close.
It blew it out and it's laying in the ditch, it's all exposed.
I went out there the next day.
Somebody said, "There it is."
And it was in the ditch
and somewhat, as I recall, somewhat buried.
And then someone called the nuclear people at Sandia
to assess whether or not we had a hazardous situation.
The phone rang.
They said, "We had a problem."
I knew I had to get to Damascus.
We helicoptered into the silo.
I was apprehensive.
I knew that the warhead could have been armed,
ready to fire.
Was there a chance that that bomb could have detonated?
Yes.
It was only after we had landed I learned that
because of the absence of any power source,
the risk of a nuclear detonation was approximately zero.
The governor of the state of Arkansas is Bill Clinton.
As you can see, he's standing by in Little Rock this morning
to talk with us about the situation.
Do you think that the people of Arkansas
who lived around the Titan II missile site, Governor,
were in danger at the time of the explosion?
Well, Tom, of course, as regards to nuclear explosion,
all we can do is to trust the experts there.
They say there was never a danger of a nuclear explosion.
As far as the community itself is concerned
and the danger from possible radioactive leak,
if the warhead itself has been...
If there is a warhead and if it has been damaged,
have you heard anything from Washington confirming
whether there is one there or not?
I have not.
I've heard rumors, I won't go into those right now.
I remember that Vice President Mondale,
he was trying to find out, "Did this have a real warhead?
Did this missile... Was it armed with a nuclear warhead?"
You know, when Vice Commander Colonel Ryan
went to Hot Springs,
Vice President Mondale asked that question,
whether a nuclear weapon was involved,
and, of course, Colonel Ryan said,
"I can't confirm or deny,"
and that's to the vice president.
That's when he got on the phone with Secretary Brown.
The first thing I wanted to know was
whether there had been any scattering of nuclear material,
or still worse, a nuclear explosion.
And when I heard that there had not been,
my level of attention went way down.
Accidents were not unusual in the Defense Department.
There was at least...
There must have been several every day.
According to the Department of Defense,
there have been 32 broken arrows...
That is, serious nuclear weapons accidents
that could have endangered the public.
But a few years ago,
the Department of Energy released a declassified document
that said there had been more than a thousand accidents
and incidents involving our nuclear weapons.
Not only had the public not been told
about these hundreds and hundreds of accidents,
but even the man responsible
for the safety of our nuclear weapons
wasn't being told about accidents
involving those weapons.
When I was the director of weapon development,
I was unaware of
a large number of accidents and incidents
because I had no access to the information.
I was surprised when I read about the number
of nuclear accidents that we had in the Air Force.
I knew about some of those,
but I didn't know there were so many.
Again and again, in looking at these documents,
you find an effort to blame the person who dropped the wrench,
who used the wrong tool at a Minuteman site,
blew the warhead off the missile,
who brought the seat cushions onto the plane
that caught on fire and crashed the plane.
There's this instinct to blame the operator,
to blame the little guy.
If the system worked properly, somebody dropping a tool
couldn't send a nuclear warhead into a field.
No special precautions have been ordered
at other Titan missile bases around the country
because of that explosion in Arkansas.
In Arkansas, the system itself apparently did not fail.
A mechanic's wrench fell from a ledge
and struck the missile, puncturing a fuel tank.
That is classified as human error.
The Air Force says the Titan is not to blame...
that it was human error that caused the accident.
The accident that I've described here
is unrelated to the state or the age of this system.
I was served with an article 15 for dereliction of duty
because I chose to use the ratchet
instead of the torque wrench.
Sergeant Kennedy got a letter of reprimand
for violating the two-man rule.
I gave them my all.
And what did I get from them?
A letter of reprimand.
After the accident, I thought that Kennedy and Devlin
and the others that were hurt would be treated like heroes,
because they were.
And they were treated like crap.
Some of the officials here at the air base
apparently have also changed their attitude
towards some of the men who risked their lives that morning.
Channel 4 News called and said, "You want to tell us
about how well the Air Force is treating you
since the missile explosion?"
I said, "Yeah, I'll tell them."
I worked three-and-a-half years,
did a good job for three-and-a-half years,
and then I wound up hurt from this explosion,
and then all of a sudden, they don't want you anymore.
You know,
I don't know if I'm going to be railroaded out,
or you know, I don't know where I stand, really.
Oh, man, were they mad.
I think every brass on base was mad at me.
When I wore my military uniform with my boots on,
I almost couldn't walk.
I couldn't even move the boot because my ankle was shattered,
there's no Achilles tendon.
So I just went in and said, "Colonel, would it be possible
for me to wear a gym shoe on my left foot?"
He looked at me and he said,
"Devlin, I wouldn't authorize a fucking thing for you."
I planned on staying in the Air Force for a career.
Within only a few months,
I knew I couldn't stay in the Air Force.
I kind of lost it, um, after that accident.
I just had a meltdown.
I went into the TV room where we all played cards one evening,
and there was beer bottles all over the place,
and I just started throwing a bunch of beer bottles all over the place
and took my frustrations out on that.
The base commander, he gave me an honorable discharge
which I was thankful for, but that was not my goal,
was to leave the military at that time.
There was an old motto that went around
that to err was human, to forgive wasn't SAC policy.
We have a checklist in our command post
that calls for us to notify the OES.
Now, I'm not saying it broke down there.
Don't misconstrue what I'm saying.
What I'm saying is from there on down, there was no plan.
This is the test bed, 4-7 was the test bed, and we never...
Nothing like this has ever happened before.
Even though, you know, I'd just had three months there,
I was in charge, and a senior guy
is responsible for the whole operation.
I expected I was going to lose my job,
let's put it that way, after that happened.
I thought that was... That would be the next step,
and that happened on Thanksgiving.
My regret was that...
I took orders from my boss,
I clicked my heels like a good soldier
and tried to execute those orders as best I could.
And as a result of that, we lost life.
I think about Livingston often...
What it'd be like to still have him around
and call him up on the phone.
Jeff Kennedy passed away a couple of years ago.
I have no doubt that Jeff died from being involved at Damascus,
no doubt in my mind.
I hear a song on the radio, I'll see something on TV,
and bam, there it is, it's back, you know?
It's very hard to talk about, even today.
I tried to live as normal a life as I can,
but there isn't a day goes by that I don't think about it.
Thirty-whatever, 35 years, whatever it's been.
Every day.
It went like clockwork,
6,500 pounds of explosives set to go at high noon.
Seven years after the Damascus accident,
the last Titan II was deactivated.
If you didn't know they were there,
you wouldn't know what it was now.
It just looks like a small hill.
I think nowadays, people don't realize that
we still have 7,000 nuclear weapons.
They think that's all in the past
and that they're not there anymore,
and the reality is they're all over the place.
Nuclear accidents continue to the present day,
although there have not been nearly as many occasions
of things being dropped or blown out of silos.
In part, that's because there are fewer of them.
On the other hand, the...
degree of oversight and attention
has, if anything, gotten worse,
because people don't worry about nuclear war as much.
Since the beginning of the atomic age,
the United States has built about 70,000 nuclear weapons.
None of them have ever detonated by accident.
That's due to the skills of our weapons designers,
whose safety recommendations were finally adopted,
and the bravery of our military personnel.
But it's also due to luck.
Pure luck.
And the problem with luck is eventually, it runs out.
Nuclear weapons are machines,
and every machine ever invented eventually goes wrong.
It doesn't matter how much you plan,
it doesn't matter how many checklists you have,
somebody's got a ringer somewhere
they're going to throw out there at you.
Nuclear weapons will always have a chance
of an accidental detonation.
It will happen.
It may be tomorrow, or it may be a million years from now,
but it will happen.
♪ This is just a nightmare ♪
♪ Soon I'm gonna wake up ♪
♪ Someone's gonna bring me round ♪
♪ Just like everybody ♪
♪ Stepping over heads ♪
♪ Running from the underground ♪
♪ This is your warning ♪
♪ Four minute warning ♪
♪ I don't wanna hear it ♪
♪ I don't wanna know ♪
♪ I just wanna run and hide ♪
♪ This is just a nightmare ♪
♪ Soon I'm gonna wake up ♪
♪ Someone's gonna bring me round ♪
♪ This is our warning ♪
♪ Four minute warning ♪