We were almost to Cheyenne, Wyoming when the hail started and I-80 began to flood. My cell phone reception was terrible, but there was enough of a connection to squeeze a tornado watch to my phone.

All the reason to go faster.

“We’re going to the safest place in the world to hide from a tornado,” I told Kate, “just your standard hardened concrete nuclear missile base.” Fifteen minutes to go. We could make it. (We did make it…)

Exploring What’s Left of the Atlas Nuclear Missile System

By the time we arrived, the storm was clearing and the Air Force was beginning to inspect the active nuclear sites nearby. At least, that was what we thought the black helicopters were there for. The hail started to melt as I backed the truck into the open doors of the nearest missile launcher, where rockets would be loaded onto the launcher itself. As dark clouds followed the power lines northward, it was hard to tell if we were any safer.

The machine stood the Atlas missile up vertically over the blast pit, launching position, once the roof opened.

The side of a launcher, with outbuildings in the background. You can see the tracks where the roof would open before launch.

In a protected wing of a launcher are these empty server racks where guidance and control computers were stored.

This remote base could launch three nuclear-tipped Atlas SM65-D missiles at a time; one from each of its hardened concrete and steel bunkers. In the center of the three launchers sits an even more hardened control building. The base was one of the first active ICBM sites in the United States when it was assigned the designation 565-B in September 1957.

A gate large enough to accommodate a missile, next to the ruins of the guard shack. Wyoming is the intersection of lonely and beautiful.

The Atlas D command building. As Brutalist as it gets.

The missiles were stored without fuel, to help prevent mishaps. This is the fuel pumping building and one of the tanks.

In spite of its ability to once withstand an indirect nuclear attack, nowadays it looks a little rough. Bullet holes mark every steel door and the concrete is cracking from exposure to the elements. The blast pits below the launchers—designed to carry the missile’s flames safely away from the launch pad—are full of scummy water and toxic trash. If it were not for the constant humming and crackling from the nearby high tension power lines, it would be easy to imagine that the cold war turned hot and this was a casualty.

They remodeled, apparently.

The blast pit carried the smoke and flame from the rocket motor away from the other base buildings.

The remains of the site radar beside the command building.

The Nearby Atlas-E Missile Base

An even more hardened base lies to the north: 566-2, a “coffin” style Atlas-E site from the early 1960s. The Atlas E sites are closer to what the average person imagines when they hear the words ‘missile base’. It is mostly underground and heavy steel doors over the bunker protect the payload prior to launch. Like the earlier Atlas D, the rocket is stored horizontally and raised into firing position after the doors open over it. Unlike the Atlas Ds at 565-B, however, only one missile was stored at one location at one time.

A set of air intakes and exhaust pipes over the buried communications and control equipment rooms.

If there were no other options, operators could climb this ladder from the Communications Room to the surface, after opening two heavy steel hatches, of course.

All of these design considerations were to increase the chances of a successful launch after a Russian first strike; if we were attacked first, even if the country was in ruins, we would have revenge. This is sometimes called the doctrine of mutually assured destruction (MAD).

Kate in the Atlas E, which is essentially a buried Atlas D. Above is the protective steel blast door.

This heavy door opens directly into the missile vault and was used to load and unload the missile erector.

The rocket system used several cooling methods, once of which included an evaporation pond, pictured here.

The program was not limited to the Atlas system, however. Because these technologies were new and relatively unreliable, the Air Force funded a separate and parallel ICBM system: The Titans.

Exploring A Titan Nuclear Missile Base

Base 725-B is only an hour east of Denver, one of a cluster of identical sites activated on August 1st, 1960 as part of the United States’ early nuclear deterrent. The three sites are just far enough away from one another so that a single nuclear strike could not disable more than one: about 17 miles.

We crawled through a broken air vent and found ourselves in a long tunnel, one that connects all of the sections of the base. The entire complex is underground and stems from a central control dome that contained all of the control and guidance computers. Near the control center is another dome that once comprised a small diesel power plant, flanked by substantial air filtering (for nuclear fallout) and exhaust handling equipment rooms. On the far end of the main tunnel were a pair of retractable antennae which could be withdrawn behind steel blast doors preempting an attack. On the opposite side are the missile silos themselves, also vertically shielded by heavy doors.

The two antennae are retracted–the position they would be in if the base was under attack.

This crane could reach any part of the power station floor.

The sliding nuclear-blast-hardened door that would shield the missile during an attack.

Nearly all of the accessible steel in the complex was scrapped and gutted, which made moving around treacherous at times. The subterranean complex is connected by large round tunnels that once accommodated pipes and wires along the floor and walls. Workers would walk through the center of the space on an elevated steel grate. When the pipes were removed, though, so was the flooring, so navigating through any given hallway meant walking on support beams to avoid the toxic water along the floor of the tunnel. Don’t drop anything important. Major portions of the tunnel system were equipped with heavy hydraulic blast doors and bulkheads to seal off fires resulting from accidents or attacks.

One of the many blast doors. Note the plunger to seal off the airflow in the event of an attack or accidental explosion.

This picture shows the challenges of moving around underground in the base.

I did not take the escape ladder to the surface, but I am told it pops up in the middle of a hill next to the missile silo doors.

This base was equipped with three missile silos. Where the gigantic rocket motors and the nuclear warhead once waited, though, there is only dark space and ten feet of water. Nevertheless, looking into the huge missile vault from the edge of the personnel tunnel gave me a new appreciation for the effort and expense of the Cold War. Only my most powerful flashlight could illuminate the dark water some 90 feet below—the total height of the silo is about 170 feet. I still wonder what is submerged on the bottom. Far above, painted in bright red colors that have never been faded by sunlight, were the steel blast doors. Unlike modern missiles that launch from underground, Titan missiles were raised to the surface by a hugely powerful elevator and launched there, filling the silos with its fiery plume.

Thank goodness that, in 1965, this base was retired without ever having to be used. The fact that we never had to use systems like this is, of course, because these systems were so effective. Had they been any less well designed, they might not have been such an effective deterrent.

If you are curious about ICMB base design and rocket development, I strongly encourage a visit to South Dakota’s Minuteman Missile National Historic Site (Philip, SD) and Nebraska’s Strategic Air Command Museum (Ashland, NE). Both of these museums are safer and more informative than exploring a ruined missile base yourself.

Atlas D Gallery

Taken several years before the tornado story when the weather, and the condition of the buildings, were nice.

The command building and a coolant tank. In the distance, rain and hail pound Wyoming dirt.

The fiery side of a launch building, just is it began to rain.

“Man has set for himself the goal of conquering the world but in the processes loses his soul.” Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, Russian writer and historian.

Where equipment was scrapped.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve been getting reports that several Yellow Helicopters have been seen hovering above town. We are all aware of the Black Helicopters, which are World Government, and Blue Helicopters, which are Secret Police, and the Helicopters with Detailed Murals of Diving Birds of Prey, which are the helicopters that took all the children in Night Vale away a few months ago (we still don’t know what those helicopters are but they did bring all the children back unharmed, and much more well-behaved than before, so they are deemed just as safe as the other helicopters) but these new Yellow Helicopters, no one quite knows.” – Welcome to Night Vale, Ep. 32

A gate large enough to accommodate a missile, next to the ruins of the guard shack. Wyoming is the intersection of lonely and beautiful.

The only light in the ‘coffin’ of the Atlas E is that which leaks through the exhaust vents.

The metallic arms of the missile erector, which would stand rockets over the blast pit in the launch position. Medium Format film–cheap but excellent Fomapan 100 in a Pentax 67.

Wyoming has Montana’s ‘big sky’ reputation truly challenged.

The remains of the site radar beside the command building.

Knowing that a tornado just passed nearby is less distressing when you’re surrounded by nuclear-attack-hardened buildings.

Looking down into the lunch building of an Atlas D, near the motors for the retractable roof. In this design, the roof separates to allow the missile to be erected into launch position.

The blast pit carried the smoke and flame from the rocket motor away from the other base buildings.

The middle missile launcher, as seen from the roof of its neighbor.

The Atlas D command building. As Brutalist as it gets.

Empty equipment racks behind a missile launcher.

They remodeled, apparently.

Looking through a launcher doorway at an outbuilding… the fire truck garage, if I recall correctly. Fomapan medium format in Pentax 67.

I found a face.

The lower door is where the rocket exhaust would flow into the blast pit during initial launch. The upper doors would vent the rocket so the erector and other equipment in the building would not be (as) damaged.

Outbuildings near the perimeter fence. Beyond is all ranch land.

Tornadic fronts duel over the retired missile launcher.

If it wasn’t for the humming and crackling of the wires, I could believe I had arrived to a post apocalyptic landscape.

The perimeter fence still holds strong, 50 years after it was put up.

What are we to do in an emergency?

The missiles were stored without fuel, to help prevent mishaps. This is the fuel pumping building and one of the tanks.

Atlas E Gallery

This heavy door opens directly into the missile vault and was used to load and unload the missile erector.

The only light in the ‘coffin’ of the Atlas E is that which leaks through the exhaust vents.

A set of air intakes and exhaust pipes over the buried communications and control equipment rooms.

If there were no other options, operators could climb this ladder from the Communications Room to the surface, after opening two heavy steel hatches, of course.

Kate in the Atlas E, which is essentially a buried Atlas D. Above is the protective steel blast door.

In the distance, a semi truck kicks up fresh rain from the highway. As seen from the top of the steel blast door.

This old Jetta did more offroading than your average lifted tinted loud-exhaust pickup.

The rocket system used several cooling methods, once of which included an evaporation pond, pictured here.

Titan Gallery

This picture shows the challenges of moving around underground in the base.

Rocket propellant and coolant were stored underground adjacent to the missile silo. This is the hallway that connects the missile area to the propellant area. Walking in this area was nice because the floor was dry.

One of the many blast doors. Note the plunger to seal off the airflow in the event of an attack or accidental explosion.

A typical wall in the base.

The sliding nuclear-blast-hardened door that would shield the missile during an attack.

The large domed rooms were surreal.

The Comm Room’s portals once supported many more conduits.

This crane could reach any part of the power station floor.

Water at the bottom of the silo was perfectly clear.

I did not take the escape ladder to the surface, but I am told it pops up in the middle of a hill next to the missile silo doors.