“It’s not the end of the world at all…It’s only the end for us. The world will go on just the same, only we shan’t be in it. I dare say it will get along all right without us.”
- Nevil Shute, On the Beach
“Plans are worthless, but planning is everything. There is a very great distinction because when you are planning for an emergency, you must start with this one thing: the very definition of ‘emergency’ is that it is unexpected, therefore it is not going to happen the way you are planning.”
- President Dwight D. Eisenhower, speech to the National Defense Executive Reserve Conference (1957)
Let me tell you something about myself, something I normally don’t share till the third beer or the second date: I’ve always been interested in how nations and individuals planned for nuclear war. Now, before you call me a psycho, let me be very clear. I’m not actually rooting for a nuclear war. That would be psychotic. I’m just fascinated – and terrified – by the various hypotheticals. That just makes me…well, it makes me something less than a psychopath, at least.
This interest has manifested itself in various ways. I’ve read a lot about the Cold War, though serious histories typically dance around the subject of Armageddon, even though it’s the whole reason the Cold War existed in the first place. I bought a used copy of Herman Kahn’s On Thermonuclear War, and it sits uncomfortably on my bookshelf, an odd conversation starter of sorts. I’ve also searched online for old Civil Defense manuals and instructions, just to get a flavor of what it might take to build my own backyard bombproof. And if I see a Fallout Shelter sign, you can be sure I’m going exploring, though I have yet to find any leftover emergency wheat crackers (or much evidence that these shelters would have done much more than delay our inevitable radiation-induced mutation into post-apocalyptic monsters).
Despite all my digging, I’ve been vaguely frustrated about what I’ve learned, and more so about what I have not.
Well, my search is over.
Garrett Graf’s Raven Rock is exactly what I’ve been looking for. It is a well-researched and rollicking tour through the architecture of the Cold War. It provides a serious overview of America’s post-apocalyptic planning, a dark subject that is nevertheless bleakly entertaining. This could pass for farce if it wasn’t true. For instance, the “Emer-zak” system in Washington, D.C., was civil defense as imagined by Kubrick. At the push of a button, Emer-zak would have broadcast alert messages through any Muzak system.
Raven Rock contains a great deal of information, and Graf attempts to corral it all by structuring his book in semi-chronological fashion. He goes administration by administration, starting with President Truman, the first Chief Executive of the Nuclear Age, and ending with President George W. Bush at the dawn of the War on Terror. With each president, Graf describes how nuclear war planning changed and progressed to meet new challenges, such as shrinking warning times (as bombers gave way to intercontinental ballistic missiles) and the growing power of bombs (as we went from atomic bombs measured in kilotons, to megaton thermonuclear weapons).
The title of the book comes from the Raven Rock Mountain Complex buried in Pennsylvania. Construction started in 1951, and it gained a reputation as the purported “underground Pentagon.” You will not be surprised that Graf spends a lot of time on Raven Rock, and other secret underground shelters meant to house various arms of the Government. These bunkers include famous (and quite un-secret) locations such as NORAD’s Cheyenne Mountain, in Colorado, and the now-defunct Greenbrier hideaway designed to house Congress, and built to blend into a posh West Virginia hotel. Graf also devotes time to lesser known sites, such as the repurposed Quonset hut buried near JFK’s Florida retreat.
Graf is not interested merely in naming bunkers and telling you how deep they are, or how they were built on springs, or how the huge blast doors were such marvels they could be closed by a single person. He also gives you the broader evolution of American contingency planning during the Cold War. This includes the evolution of Air Force One from a random prop plane given a homey nickname by each successive president, to the modern jet that – if necessary – can make such a quick takeoff that it appears to be moving vertically.
Graf further devotes a good deal of space to what I’ll call America’s modified “dead hand” system. In technical terms, the dead hand refers to autonomous command and control systems that could launch a retaliatory nuclear strike even if human capabilities had been eliminated. America did not implement anything like that, or at least it’s not mentioned here (the Soviets apparently did, and you can read about it in David Hoffman’s The Dead Hand). Instead, the U.S. was obsessed with maintaining redundancies to insure against a decapitating first strike. To that end, SAC flew endless patrols in the “Looking Glass” planes, staying constantly airborne for decade after decade. The U.S. also developed waterborne options, known as the National Emergency Command Post Afloat. Graf also describes the chilling Emergency Rocket Communications System stationed at Whiteman Air Force Base. If the U.S. was subjected to a storm of nuclear missiles and bombs, the ERCS would launch its own ballistic missile into low space. Instead of carrying a warhead, the missile carried a UHF repeated to deliver Emergency Action Messages to our remaining forces. It’s absolutely amazing to think how much expertise went into perfecting an act of pure, cold vengeance. You’ve blown us all to hell, Commie. But you’re going to burn with us!
The subtitle of Raven Rock is quite villainous: “The Story of the U.S. Government’s Plan to Save Itself – While the Rest of Us Die.” (Cue evil laugh). I suppose it is worth at least a moment to meditate on the ethics of a democracy spending massive resources to protect governmental leaders while they played high stakes nuclear poker with other nations. Still, it is a bit of an oversimplification to say that America didn’t do anything to protect its citizens. They did some things, just not a lot (especially in comparison to the USSR).
In the early days of the Cold War, the Government generally believed a nuclear war was survivable (which might have been the case, as long as you shot down enough Soviet bombers). As destructive tonnage grew, however, and the world was introduced to multiple independently targetable reentry vehicles, any talk of survivability became little more than propaganda. Of course, there is a cheap thrill to be gained by looking at some of the wackier ideas that sprang from the panic of Sputnik and mushroom clouds. Underground cities, for example, were much discussed.
In the end, the U.S. went with an underfunded Civil Defense plan that involved a mixture of public and private fallout shelters. Even had the project been fully funded, I wouldn’t have been overly reassured. For example, the Office of Civil and Defense Mobilization (or the OCDM, one of hundreds of acronyms in this acronym-mad book) provided helpful hints to stretch the shelter’s supply of wheat crackers. The hint was to serve six 125-calorie meals a day, which would keep you fed, and plus, break up the monotony of the day! I don’t know about you, but if that’s the option, I’ll take the clap-bang of a thermonuclear wallop instead.
If there is a theme to Raven Rock, it is “continuity of government.” The phrase is repeated many, many times, as the Government worked to perfect a system for establishing a line of succession that would survive a catastrophic war. (This includes a chapter on the now-iconic “designated survivor”).
Graf’s focus on this aspect frankly gets exhausting. (Honestly, unless you are really into this subject, I can see how you might find much of this exhausting). However, he ultimately uses it to show what happens to the “best laid plans of mice and men”, etc., etc. During his damning chapter on September 11, 2001, Graf shows how 19 men with box cutters were able to disrupt a continuity plan that was designed to survive a full scale nuclear attack. The failures that day – with important governmental officers incommunicado – really demonstrate, in a graphic way, the importance of continuity plans. We know in hindsight that the 9/11 attacks only had one wave. But what if there had been more? What happens when the next terror attack comes from a shipboard nuke out on the Potomac? Judging by the chaos on 9/11, the answers aren’t heartening.
Planning and preparation is never a bad thing. I was an Eagle Scout, so being prepared is something I fully support. Still, many of the fallbacks that Graf discusses seem exasperatingly laughable. No matter how deep you build your bunker (unless we’re talking the 3,500 foot Deep Underground Command Center, which never got off the drawing board), they seem quite pervious to destruction. No matter how much concrete, rebar, and granite, a well-targeted missile can still get through and blow your expensive bunker to smithereens.
This is a book filled with facts and figures and technical wonder. It is not a tome filled with moral ponderings or philosophizing. As I finished, though, I couldn’t help but think what all this underground infrastructure had meant. Billions of dollars and millions of man hours were spent burrowing and hardening and preparing for a cataclysmic war. What good could those resources have done above ground, preparing for something else?
Of course, the builders of those bunkers, and the people who’ll fill them will say it’s all necessary. To repurpose Tacitus: We have built an underground empire, and called it peace.