Deep in the barren Sonoran Desert in the summer of 2008, Drew Reeves drove a back-hoe fourteen feet into the earth. That was as far as he could go before having to hire help and an Excavator — a construction vehicle with a giant mechanical shovel on the end of a huge boom arm (pictured below).

After pulling out huge blocks of concrete and piles of dirt from the hole, the Excavator operator got a little overzealous. “He stretched that boom way too far out and down he went,” said Reeves.

Twenty-seven hours and one toppled piece of heavy machinery later, Reeves was faced with a 6,000-pound blast door. “That little tiny Excavator we had down in there, we had to tie a rope to the door handle and give it a little jerk. And it opened right up.”

The Titan II missile silo complex was first carved out with dynamite in the early ’60s and manned by a crew whose job it was to ensure our enemy’s mutual destruction should we enter nuclear war. It was later dismantled and sealed up to comply with international treaties. After sitting buried beneath rubble for two decades, the site was ready to be explored.

Many abandoned nuclear missile sites are now owned by regular citizens trying to find a function for them. Read on to probe the depths of Reeves’ silo and hear from ex-crew members who had their fingers on the button when Armageddon was just a command away.

Above: Reeves opens the entrance he built on top of the giant hole created by excavating the site.

1st and 3rd photos: Jim Merithew/Wired.com

2nd photo: Drew Reeves

Cold, dank caverns are actually not to Reeves’ liking. He had previously lived in an Atlas F silo outside Concordia, Kansas, but in spite of seven months’ work to convert the old control room into a home, the harsh winters eventually chased Reeves south.

“I loved it there,” he said, “but the weather — I didn’t like the humidity. You don’t stay down there all day, you want to come outside. And I hated it outside.”

So Reeves moved to Arizona which trumps the Midwest in weather. In spite of the improvement in climate, however, he still hasn’t managed to make a home out of this particular silo.

“I don’t like being out there all by myself,” said Reeves. “If I had somebody around it wouldn’t be so bad, but it’s hard to find a woman that would like to live underground.”

Photos: Jim Merithew/Wired.com

Reeves’ new property was one of 18 Titan II missile silos attached to the Davis-Montham Air Force base near Tucson, Arizona. Equipped with larger warheads than the Atlas missiles and faster deployment than the original design, second-generation Titans stood at alert from the program’s inception in 1963 to its end in 1987.

Lt. Yvonne Morris supervised a launch crew in the early ’80s (above) in what has become the Titan Missile Museum, where she acts as director. The museum also contains the last surviving Titian II missile.

“I had been trained enough in potential war scenarios,” she said, “to know that if I got an order to launch my missile that my parents’ farm and nice rural Virginia was a big smoking hole. It was over. And life as I know it was over.”

Photos: Courtesy Titan Missile Museum Archive. 2nd photo by Chuck Penson.

“There’s just no going back from this,” said Morris. “If you’re gonna launch a Titan II, that’s not the missile that you’re going to use to demonstrate your conviction to use nuclear weapons. It’s not the thing that says,’ Hey, I told you I would do this and here’s one to prove it.’ If you launch a Titan II it’s guns blazing — we’re in World War III.

“I’d read enough apocalyptic fiction by then, and I didn’t really have much faith in what life was going to look like after that anyway. So did I want some payback for losing my family, losing life as I know it before I die? Yes. And I’m not ashamed to say that.”

Photos: Courtesy SiloMan

America’s nuclear policy was one of deterrence by credible threat, a position held by the Titan II program during its tenure. Armageddon was strategy: mutual assured destruction. To ensure the missiles would fire after being attacked, and thus obliterate a good portion of the human race, missile silos were constructed to withstand bombardment. The center blast lock, separating the launch control from the missile, is a fortress.

“The floors in the lock area are 5 feet thick,” explained Reeves. “The ceiling is 5 feet thick and the walls are 5 feet thick.” Extra precautions were taken for Titan II missiles which were designed to launch from inside the silo.

1st photo: Courtesy the Titan Missile Museum Archive. 2nd and 3rd photos: Jim Merithew/Wired.com.

Constructing nuclear fortresses was not an easy task. Workers reported that Reeves’ site required twice as much dynamite as usual because of all the rock.

According to former Power Production Specialist Ken Barthelette, who joined the Air Force in 1960, the dynamite was just the beginning of a grueling process.

“We would work 18-hour shifts,” Barthelette said of the beginning of his service, via e-mail, “as there was a deadline assigned to each site. Some of the sites were up to 50 miles from the base so normally I would eat the foil packs they sent out to the site and slept in my parka on the steel-plated decks of the silo. I learned to sleep anywhere and at anytime while in the service.”

Barthelette served eight years at various missile sites, including Bitburg, Germany. He began his career overseeing site purchases and construction, and eventually took a position on a missile control crew.

In addition to the rugged terrain and isolation, military crews had to contend with mother nature. “I do remember one of the favorite pastimes of some of the Air Police was to shoot rattlesnakes and hang their rattles on the guard house,” Barthelette said. “Some of the strings of rattles were over a foot long. It was very rough country back then.

“Each site had a Quonset hut on site where building equipment was stored during construction. One of my duties was to stomp scorpions. When you entered the building early in the morning there were hundreds of the critters on the floor trying to stay warm on the cool nights. We would line up and step on what was in front of us always looking behind as well. I was never stung.”

1st photo: Courtesy SiloMan. 2nd photo: Drew Reeves.

High standards of construction and maintenance have partially preserved Reeves’ silo despite efforts to destroy it.

“I got the lights working and the same bulbs came back on,” said Reeves.

All of the original computer equipment had been stripped from the control room. The latrine was intentionally and crudely destroyed and the missile silo itself imploded. Everything was fair game for destruction, which is why the facility looks like it was looted by thugs. This was all to show the USSR that the site was actually decommissioned.

There remains enough wiring and conduit to run the site. Using the original plans, Reeves was able to access the septic system. However, the well that provides water to the facility had been filled with concrete, which required re-drilling. Now it pumps 15 gallons a minute, operated by solar power.

Photos: Jim Merithew/Wired.com

The miles of conduit, piping and air ducts remind Reeves of the missile frigate he served on as an electrician during the Vietnam War. Substrata has been alluring to Reeves since childhood.

“We always had underground forts, and I always wanted an underground house because they’re so unique and easy to heat and cool,” he said.

Although the space hasn’t been renovated, Reeves occasionally spends the night. He dismisses concerns of claustrophobia, citing the size of the bunker. Nighttime creeps don’t affect him.

“There’s no bugs,” he said. “There’s nothing down there to bother you, there’s no spiders. Nothing.”

Paranormal enthusiasts may beg to differ. Barthelette recalls an eerie incident from his time spent underground.

“A neighbor called the main base,” said Barthelette, “and told them that a light was hovering over the site. I was instructed to go and investigate. It was after dark and I was not armed…. I went topside and saw nothing. It happened three times. The lady who called said that each time I appeared topside the light would disappear. We never found out what that was all about.”

1st photo: Drew Reeves. 2nd photo: Courtesy SiloMan. 3rd photo: Jim Merithew/Wired.com

Decades after Barthelette was investigating UFOs, Morris’ military career included its own unique frontier. She was part of the Air Force’s early recruitment of women soldiers.

“To introduce women into [missile crews] after so much human engineering had gone into setting up the system for four men,” explained Morris, “I think that probably took a lot of scrutiny.”

Titan II duty was considered to be a combat position and missile crews were an early breach through the military’s glass ceiling. Original Atlas and Titan I crews were designed to build a closely knit team, some of which remained together for years of service. Introducing women into the commands threatened calculated chemistry.

Despite this period of change, Morris never felt alone. She estimates that at the time of her deployment, women comprised at least a quarter of missile crews. All 18 teams would assemble at Davis-Montham a for pre-departure briefing. “It was hard to find a crew that didn’t have at least one woman on it,” she said.

Regardless of gender, crews were kept busy during their 24-hour shifts. Life at the end of the world is a psychologically draining role. “There was a lot of human engineering that went into the design of the missile sites and the structuring of alerts to keep you busy and thinking about other things,” said Morris.

The threat of Armageddon was less stressful than rigorous military tests. Many soldiers used their shifts to work on correspondence courses or other studying. Commanders faced demotion for failing monthly evaluations.

“The thing that I was consumed more by, as a crew member, was the constant stress of having to be practically perfect,” said Morris.

1st photo: Courtesy Titan Missile Museum Archive. 2nd and 3rd photos: Jim Merithew/Wired.com

When the site was functioning, equipment crammed nine floors — the depth of the missile silo — as well as two of the floors in the launch control room. Each machine required at least one thorough inspection per shift and some received additional attention. This process, called the daily shift verification, typically took a two-person crew four to five hours to complete. Communication tests, cleaning and painting helped fill the long hours.

“I was never bored or frightened except the day I was on duty when President Kennedy was killed,” said Barthelette. “I stood at parade rest for four hours waiting to push the button. We were on high alert. We received very little news underground so we had no idea what was happening above. Otherwise it was exciting, rewarding, and a pleasure to serve.”

“The sites were huge,” said Barthelette, who served 18 months during the ’60s at Beale Air Force Base. “The power center was an exciting place with four 1,020-kw Nordberg diesels to supply power. We could produce enough power to run the city of Marysville, California. There were two power men on each crew. We would work together and replace each other when we had our nap time. There were bunks set up near the control center for rest. We had full kitchens for food. We ate very well.”

Crews of four would occupy the site for 24-hour periods. The military provided accommodations but most homeowners would prefer a less spartan atmosphere. The top floor of the command center held basic bunk beds, a kitchen and a small reading library. “Paperback books: Science-fiction, mysteries and westerns are what I remember most,” recalls Morris.

Contrary to the myth of isolation on alert, by the ’80s crews had access to the outside world. “We had television, to the extent that we had crappy antennas and we were underground,” said Morris. “So we didn’t miss all the big games.” The silos were rigged with phone lines and calls could be placed and received.

1st and 3rd photos: Jim Merithew/Wired.com. 2nd photo: Courtesy SiloMan.

Ideally, Reeves said, he would convert the three-level control center into a new home. The 3,900 square feet would accommodate the largest of families, but first the gutted equipment cabinets would have to be removed. At an estimated 150lbs a piece, two feet wide by six feet tall, each would have to be dragged through the complex and out the blast door.

Ventilation is facilitated by the entry blast door remaining ajar. “It’s a little bit stuffy for some people. It doesn’t bother me right now but I have another way,” said Reeves. His plans involve building an air shaft through the roof of the control center equipped with a solar powered fan to draw air deeper into the complex.

Understandably, Reeves questions whether he will be able to finish remodeling the silo. Overhauling a massive structure is a daunting task to face alone, particularly when having to commute to the site in your spare time. If he had the money Reeves would hire help to finish the cleaning and possibly convert the 14 acres of land into an RV park.

“Put a few pads in,” he said. “Maybe ten. And rent it out in the winter time for the snowbirds that come down to the desert.”

An RV park wouldn’t be the craziest end for a Cold War relic. Other sites in the Tucson area were sold without disclosure of the underground complexes. Just north of the city one former silo is crowned by a proud Methodist church; another now houses a daycare. Prospective subterranean dwellers are welcome to experiment with their own Titan II silo– Drew Reeves is willing to let his go for $495k.