Livingston and Kennedy planned to communicate with each other using hand signals instead of the radios in their RFHCO suits. Only one person at a time could speak on the launch complex radio system — and they wanted to keep the line open as much as possible. One of them would speak to Hanson on the launch complex radio; Hanson would relay the information to Colonel Morris, who’d be right next to him at the pickup truck near the gate. Using the radio in the truck, Morris would speak to Colonel Moser, who was at the command post in Little Rock; Moser would talk to SAC headquarters in Omaha. And, hopefully, as the words passed from one person to another, nothing would be garbled or misunderstood.
At about ten minutes before three, Kennedy and Livingston reached the first blast door. Christal read the instructions for the hand pump to Hanson, who conveyed them over the radio.
The blast door opened.
Livingston took an air sample with a portable vapor detector. They’d been told to check the fuel vapor level every step of the way. If the level exceeded 250 parts per million, they were supposed to leave the complex. The vapor level was 65 ppm in front of the first blast door. As they walked through the door and entered the large blast lock, the level rose to 181 ppm.
At the command post in Little Rock, Sergeant Jimmy D. Wiley heard the vapor level and thought that Kennedy and Livingston should get out of there immediately. Wiley was part of the K crew, the backup team assembled to advise Colonel Moser. Another member of the K crew, Lieutenant David Rathgeber, agreed — if the vapor level was that high after the first blast door, it was bound to be even higher after the second one, as the men got closer to the missile. Wiley and Rathgeber told Colonel Moser that the reentry should be terminated, that the men should be withdrawn from the complex.
The issue was discussed with SAC headquarters. Livingston and Kennedy were ordered to proceed. If they could reach the next blast lock — the small area between the door to the control center and the long cableway to the silo — they could check a panel on the wall that displayed readings from the Mine Safety Appliance. The panel showed the vapor levels in the silo. Kennedy removed the breathing nuts from the second blast door and inserted the probe of the vapor detector through a small hole in the door. Sticking the probe through the door would give a preview of what awaited them on the other side.
The fuel vapor level was about 190 ppm. SAC headquarters told Livingston and Kennedy to open the door, enter the next blast lock, and check the readings on the panel. They opened the door. The room was so full of fuel vapor that they could barely see inside. It looked like a steam room. The portable vapor detector pegged out — the vapor level was far beyond 250 ppm.
Kennedy walked over to the panel. For the first time, he was scared. The blast lock had eight emergency lights, some of them bright red, and he could barely see them. The cloud of fuel vapor floating around them was highly flammable. The slightest spark could ignite it. The RFHCO suits and tools abandoned by PTA Team A were lying on the floor. This is the kind of place you don’t want to be in, Kennedy thought. He looked at the panel, and the needles on the gauges were pointing all the way to the right. They’d pegged out. The gauges said the fuel vapor level in the silo now exceeded 21,000 ppm — high enough to melt their RFHCO suits.
Back out, Hanson said, back out.
Livingston and Kennedy left the blast lock, hurried through the two blast doors, and went up the stairs.
Hanson had an idea: maybe they should turn on a ventilation fan to clear out some of the fuel vapor. The switch for the fan was on the wall of the access portal, at the bottom of the first flight of stairs.
Livingston and Kennedy were almost out of the complex when they heard Hanson say, turn on the fan. They looked at each other. Livingston patted himself on the chest, signaling that he would go down and do it.
Kennedy reached the top of the stairs and stepped into the night air. It felt good to be out of there. That cloud of fuel vapor was insane, he’d never seen anything like it. Kennedy was tired. He decided to sit for a moment on the concrete curb outside the access portal. It had been a hell of a night.
Livingston switched on the fan and came back up the stairs. He was a foot or two behind Kennedy when the Titan II exploded.
At the command post in Little Rock, the radio went dead. And the open phone line from the control center at 4–7 became silent. The sound of the tipsies — the intruder alarm that had been ringing ever since the missile crew left — was gone. Nobody at the launch site could be reached on the radio. For the next eight minutes, the command post did not hear a word from anyone in Damascus. Colonel Moser thought the warhead had detonated.
