Attending missile school at Vandenberg Air Force base was fun for a few months. I was back in California where I could visit friends and family in the LA area on weekends, at least for the first several weeks. Soon, though, the gasoline shortage crisis made the trip tougher. I'd have to get up early on Saturday morning, to try and find an open gas station to fill up before the trip back on Sunday afternoon. Because my car had California plates that ended in an even number, I could only get gas on even days. I finally gave up trying to make the drive because one weekend I returned to the base on fumes, afraid that I would not make it back.
I drove to Minot when missile school was over with a friend, Tim McConnell. We tried to drive through Yellowstone, but the roads were snow covered and finally they were snow packed and impassable. We had to return the way we came and then drive around the park on the west side and eventually through Montana to the north of the park.
I had already been assigned to the blue squadron, the 742nd in the 91st Strategic Missile Wing. (The 740th--red--and 741st--green--were the other two squadrons.) I was given the additional duty of Squadron Supply Officer, ensuring that each new arriving officer got his issue of cold weather gear.
Lt. Mitchell from Alabama was my first commander. I had two others before I was able to upgrade from Deputy Missile Combat Crew Commander to Commander as a 1st lieutenant, probably in late 1976. I was assigned for most of my tour at Minot to Kilo Launch Control Facility (LCF), one of the farther launch facilities, to the far northwest of the base itself. We served our tours 60 feet underground in one of the fifteen Launch Control Centers (LCCs) or capsules.
I would read the LA Times newspaper on alert which I had subscribed to for most of my tour of duty in Minot. If I found an interesting article, with a pointed remark within it, I'd cut out the statement and secretly tape it over the door at Kilo or at one of the other launch sites we'd be sent to over the years from Alpha to Oscar.
The most amusing statement I read was from an appropriate article about nuclear war. It advised, "The best way to survive a nuclear blast is to not be where one goes off." Our launch sites were likely the primary targets of any Soviet first strike against the U.S., so there was no way we could obey this suggested safety advice. We could harden our LCC and hope to ride out any actual first strike attack, launch our retaliatory missiles, and then leave the LCC eventually, even if we had to dig our way out.
My commander and I were out on alert during the Bicentennial celebrations on Independence Day in 1976. We had received warnings at our predeparture briefing about possible protesters showing up (I don't believe anyone thought we'd see any actual terrorists). They might try to disrupt events around the country or even make threats against our military facilities. We had to treat any strange event or sighting as a potential attack. What our security personnel saw that early morning in the dark could simply have been a drunken local farmer, whooping and hollering it up along with the rest of the country. Or it could have been a local kid out for a joy ride who decided to give the Air Force a brief scare. Who knows?
4 July '76 -- Kilo LCC
Farther from freedom this early morning,
amid the year of celebration,
we manually harden our separation to protect us
as quiet threats increase to noisy gestures:
an elusive figure clings to the topside fence
and then is gone.
We had been warned.
Valves close,
emergency air flows,
and we know how blind we become down here.
These are striking depths,
deep for feeling patriotic.
More confusion as I react,
only man alert among these Minutemen.
Questions confirm I am correct,
lifting switch guards, punching buttons.
I had practiced my response.
Though never was it for real. Not like this.
Sounds flow disturbingly.
Most of them dull.
A few so rude that I jump in sleepless anger--
irritated to fight each noise any night.
I would challenge Edison,
and all who improved him into this--
this capsuled form for our fears--
lighting and powering someone's vision of final revenge.
Never in your dreams,
Rarely in your thoughts,
But always in our reliability.
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