Quiet Demise of the U.S.’ Ultimate Weapon Is Bittersweet for Its Keepers

They wait silently beneath these rolling ranchlands, invisible to passing cars, impervious to cattle lumbering overhead but ready to fly in an instant.

A small metal rod protruding from the ground often is the only hint of what’s below. Come too close, and a silent alarm triggers an instant response from heavily armed guards.

At stake is the security of America’s -- and perhaps the world’s -- ultimate weapon of mass destruction: the MX missile. The 71-foot-high missile, also called the Peacekeeper, can travel halfway around the world before striking within 400 feet of its target.

Since 1986, the weapons have been the quintessentially quiet neighbor in these parts, keeping to themselves but capable of enormous destruction if provoked. Now the hulking rockets that confounded the Soviet Union, prompted street protests in Europe, inspired Hollywood thrillers and terrified millions are fading away.

For the last two years, MX numbers have shrunk from 50 to 13. By next December, none will be left. And their demise has been bittersweet for the crews trained to care for and, if necessary, launch them.

“There is a nostalgia in seeing something so powerful go away,” said Capt. Carrie Owen, a missile operator at the Romeo One Launch Control Center located 60 feet below the wind-swept plains of eastern Wyoming. “We are all so proud to be a part of it.”

The facility closed down last week. Its codes were removed, its targeting system unplugged and the top secret “cookies” -- mysterious devices that verify a president’s order to fire an intercontinental ballistic missile -- spirited away by young men in green jumpsuits.

The last three launch centers will be shut next year, and its crews given new jobs.

The missiles were deployed by President Reagan, who believed that only a more modern, more powerful weapons system could wring arms concessions from the Soviets.

“It was a paradox,” said Col. Evan Hoapili, commander of the 90th Space Wing at F.E. Warren Air Force Base in Cheyenne, which has responsibility for the missiles. “Reagan said, ‘If I field a more modern weapons system, I will have a world with fewer nuclear weapons.’ It sounded crazy, but he was right.”

In 2002, President George H.W. Bush and Russian President Vladimir V. Putin agreed to reduce their nuclear warhead stockpiles to between 1,200 and 2,200 each by 2012. The MX, with 10 warheads apiece, was chosen for shutdown.

“The Peacekeeper is the largest, most powerful and most accurate weapon system ever devised,” said Lt. Col. Dave Bliesner, who oversees day-to-day operations of the entire MX missile network. “It causes us a little bit of sadness to see it dismantled.”

Bliesner was driving out from Cheyenne to visit Romeo One on its last day of operation. He went through the little town of Chugwater, past the old soda shop, before turning down a country road and pulling up to a few nondescript buildings surrounded by a chain-link fence.

Uniformed guards carrying M-4 assault rifles were the first indication that this wasn’t a local farmhouse. After lengthy security checks, Bliesner and a visitor were allowed into an enormous elevator that slowly sank below ground.

Two huge blast doors, weighing 8 tons each, were opened. A short walkway led into the launch center or capsule, a claustrophobic room about 20 feet long and 6 feet across. Banks of aging computers lined the walls. There was a keyboard used to retarget missiles and a safe holding top-secret decoding devices.

A red chair with a seat belt sat on a rail, designed to allow a person to move the length of the room securely during an attack. A simple bed and a toilet took up the rest of the space.

Capt. Leland Taylor monitored a panel of lights and buttons. Just then an alarm went off, indicating something had come too close to a nearby missile site. Security was dispatched.

“A lot of times a rabbit or even the wind sets it off,” Taylor said.

Missile operators train endlessly. They do checklist after checklist and must take three tests a month to ensure their technical and mental readiness. Anyone judged less than 100% capable is removed from duty.

“This is a zero-mistake job,” Bliesner said. “We take the power of these weapons very seriously. If there was any Dr. Strangelove-like person inside saying ‘Oh, God, let it happen today,’ I would never certify them. No one wants to launch these missiles, because we all know the repercussions.”

That’s why it isn’t easy to launch a missile.

“First of all, there is no big red button,” said Owen, who works alongside Taylor.

A missile can be fired only when specific computer codes from the president are fed to the capsule. The codes must be verified and a second launch center must agree the order is legitimate. Then the missile is enabled.

“It’s like a gun that must be cocked,” Owen said.

After that, the duty officers retrieve two keys from a locked safe. One keyhole is at the front of the capsule, the other near the back. The keys must be turned simultaneously to launch.

There have been some tense moments over the years.

“Sept. 11 was the first time in my career when I thought we would have to do our mission,” Owen said. “We didn’t know what was going on.”

The capsule, staffed by two officers 24 hours a day, is designed to survive a near hit from an incoming missile, but not a direct hit.

When the MX disappears, the U.S. will have 500 ICBMs left -- all of them Minutemen III scattered across Montana, Wyoming, Colorado, North Dakota and Nebraska.

But even the Minuteman is being downsized, going from three warheads each to one.

“The U.S. Air Force is doing an analysis now to see what system will replace the Minuteman in 2020,” said Maj. Gen. Frank Klotz, commander of the nation’s ICBM force. “It may not even be a missile.”

Klotz said the weapons served a valuable function in deterring nations seeking their own nuclear forces from attacking the U.S.

“When I came in we had nine ICBM bases, and now we have three. We had 1,054 deployed ICBMs and that is down to 513,” he said. “The decision for our national political leadership is how low we can go.”

For some, the missiles transcend politics and treaties.

Gary Smith, a civilian field supervisor for the MX, has worked with the weapon since its inception.

“All good things must come to an end,” he said. “I have a fondness for that system. It’s like the child you raise through elementary school, high school and college and now it’s gone. But the American public can be proud that it did its job by never having to be deployed.”