I was at the Deputy’s console in the LCC sixty feet below ground after lunch, flipping through a copy of "U.S. News and World Report." There was usually no use in trying to do serious study of any sort during the day when there was maintenance activity going on in the flight. That sort of thing was best left for nighttime, when several hours of peace and quiet could usually be expected. I was well into an article concerning the vulnerability of Mideastern oil supplies when the Maintenance Control Network (MCN) line to T-46 flashed. I picked up the handset, punched the button, and spoke:

"Capsule."

"Yes, sir. This is Sgt. Benfield. Can you patch me into Job, please?"

Benfield was the maintenance team chief. There were four other maintenance men and a security policeman with him to swap out the MMIII missile’s broken guidance computer, known as a “can change.” A code handling team had already left with the P-plug before my crew had relieved the old crew a couple hours ago.

"Will do, Sarge. How are things going out there?"

"Pretty good, sir. We're getting done a little sooner than expected. I'm just about ready to hand the sortie back to you."

"Great news. CINCSAC will love you."

"I don't care if CINCSAC loves me, sir; I just want to get home to mama tonight."

"I hear that, Sarge. OK, here comes Job."

I punched the phone button for dial line one, the private commercial phone line to the LCC, and dialed the number for Job Control back on base. Job Control was a command post type of room where the detailed status of all LF's and LCC's in the 341st SMW was posted. A team of experienced NCO’s who gathered information from the field and dispatched maintenance teams as needed to perform repairs and preventive maintenance manned it.

While waiting for Job to answer, I recalled that I had worked with Benfield in the field before, while he was working on one of my LF's a couple weeks ago. Benfield had impressed me as a man who knew his job and could run a team.

When the NCO at Job answered the phone, I told him that the team on T-46 wanted to talk to Job, then patched the lines together and monitored the conversation. The gist of it was that the can change was complete and the team was packing up their gear. They expected to be off the site in about an hour. "OK, Benfield. I don't have anything else for you right now. Check in with me on the radio when you’re ready to leave."

"Will do," said Benfield. Then to me, "Thanks, sir, I'm done with the phone. I'll call back in a few minutes when we're ready to pull the SCS key," referring to the Safety Control Switch in the Launcher Equipment Room, which was used to manually safe the missile to prevent launch when people were in the launcher. "OK, Sarge, I'll be here," I replied, and hung up.

I continued reading the magazine. I had almost finished the rather long article when the warble tone blared out over the PAS speakers; then came a calm, steady voice reading a message:

"OSCAR THREE FOUR NOVEMBER ALFA TWO, STANDBY" ... "OSCAR THREE FOUR NOVEMBER ALFA TWO, STANDBY."

I grabbed the codebooks hanging from one of the PAS speaker panel handles on the left side of my console and picked up a greasepencil. I opened the specified codebook to the required page just in time to hear the voice continue. I copied the message on the Plexiglas:

"MESSAGE FOLLOWS: OSCAR THREE FOUR NOVEMBER ALFA TWO TWO EIGHT TWO ONE TWO ZERO UNIFORM. I SAY AGAIN, OSCAR THREE FOUR NOVEMBER ALFA TWO TWO EIGHT TWO ONE TWO ZERO UNIFORM ... ACKNOWLEDGE NOW ... OUT."

I quickly determined that the message required no action for the 564th, and then punched up HVC to take the acknowledgment. All LCC's answered promptly, so I hit the EWO-1 button in response to WCP's query.

I didn’t bother returning to the magazine, but instead got up and walked over to the SACCS machine. Sgt. Benfield called again, but I couldn’t answer because just then the SACCS light flashed and copy of the same message came out of the printer. I again took acknowledgments from the squadron and acknowledged to WCP.

Now I turned my attention back to Benfield. "OK, Sgt. Benfield. Sorry about the interruption. Go Ahead."

Benfield began, "Yes, sir, the lid is shut and I'm returning the sortie to remote control. You should be getting good status now." The lid was the launcher closure door, a thick concrete slab weighing about one hundred tons that covered the top of the missile silo.

The status change light for T-46 began blinking, accompanied by a routine alarm and the printer's loud grind. I pressed the alarm-reset button to silence it and called up the sortie. The printouts in the window confirmed what Benfield told me.

"Right Sarge, I confirm that," he told Benfield.

"In that case, sir, I'm ready to pull the key and go topside." This told my that all maintenance actions were complete, the rest of the team and all of their gear were cleared out, and that only Benfield and one other man were in the launcher.

"OK, Sarge, pull it."

"Yes sir, I'll talk to you topside." Benfield would not wait for me to confirm normal safing, because pulling the key would result in him relinquishing all control over the missile. Benfield pulled off his headset, turned the SCS to the "Normal" position and removed the key. He gestured to his assistant to head topside, who turned and started to climb the ladder leading to the surface. Benfield was right behind him.

About a minute later, Benfield called me from topside, and I confirmed that the proper indications had been received and that the LF was back in my control. "Thank you sir. The B-plug is on the way up, and the PT van is ready to leave now. We'll call you when the rest of us are ready to depart site."

It would be a little while yet before Benfield's team was ready to leave. They had to wait for the B-plug to reach the top of the personnel access shaft and finish loading their gear on the truck, which was a Dodge "six-pack" pickup with a van-like covered loadbed.

I called Job to coordinate actions for reconfiguring the sortie and bringing it back on alert. As usual for a can change, Job told me to do a Missile Test, a GST, and an IMU Calibration. "OK sarge, I'll take care of it."

"Thanks, sir. Call me with the results of the tests, and let me know when it's in and out of Cal. Lima Delta Job." Like WCP, Job also gave me a set of initials for my log. Now I lugged my T.O. over to the Commander's Console to run the Missile Test. After sending the command, I went back to the Deputy's Console to look at the printout. Seeing that the test was good, I notified Job and made the log entries.

Meanwhile, Benfield's team buttoned up the site, finished loading their gear, then drove outside the gate and closed it. They called the FSC on the radio to tell him that they were outside the gate. Sgt. Fox then passed the word down to me, but I had already heard the radio call.

It was necessary to wait several minutes for the LF security system to fully reset prior to running the GST and releasing the team. As usual, the IZ reset first, followed a few minutes later by the OZ. I ran the GST, got resulted in normal expected indications, and then called Job to report these developments. Another log entry, another set of initials.

It was now 1505 hrs. Sgt. Benfield and his team had been on this LF since 0752, according to the old crew's log. That meant they had left Malmstrom at about 0600, having probably reported into Job Control somewhere around 0500. They were facing a two hour drive back to base, and the better part of an hour to check back in, return tools, stop at Keys & Codes to return their keys and unused code pages, and finally, refuel and wash the truck. They would not exceed the field time limit of twelve hours, which would require them to RON (remain over night) at some LCF. But still, they would probably not get home until about 1800 or 1830. It had been a long day.

As I was running the GST and talking to Job, I had heard Benfield on the radio talking to someone else at Job, saying that they were ready to come home. I was more concerned with checking the GST results, and so was not really paying attention to the radio; but it seemed like a long and loud conversation for what was supposed to be a routine call. They were talking about an environmental fault on one of Quebec's LF's, way over on the east side of the squadron. I walked over towards the Commander's Console to look at the map taped to the side of the LCFP rack. I said to myself, “That LF must be twenty-five or thirty miles away from here. Those poor slobs will end up having to RON.” Then I heard something that astounded me! It seemed like a commercial radio station had cut into the radio link, halfway into a very popular Country & Western song.

I grabbed the handset and punched the SCC button, which was the dedicated hardwire between the LCC and the FSC in the Security Control Center topside. "Sgt. Fox," I barked, "what gives with the radio?"

“I dunno, sir,” replied Fox, suppressing his laugh. "Near as I can figure, somebody must have keyed their VHF mike next to the car radio."

Now it suddenly made sense. The argument on the radio about going to that other LF, the long day in the field that would now surely cause Benfield to RON instead of going home, and the song itself. It was Johnny Paycheck's "Take This Job and Shove It!"

I began to laugh myself, thinking about how many times I, like most crew dogs, had had that same sentiment. Then the song was over.

Usually there is some level of routine chatter on the radio during the day, almost like a background noise: somebody's SAT team running a SAM, or a maintenance team talking to Job. But now there was complete silence on the VHF airwaves. Nothing.

Everybody knew that some of the brass back on base often monitored the radio, sometimes even the Old Man himself. If they were listening now, this team would really have their butts in the sling.

I wondered what motivated a good man like Benfield to do something like this. I remembered an old movie from a leadership training class. It was that classic World War Two Air Force yarn ‘Twelve O'clock High’ with Gregory Peck. The Bomb Group in the film was being pushed to the limits every day on their dangerous bombing missions over Germany. Losses were high, the aircrews were under tremendous pressure to bomb accurately, and the ground crews were being pushed all night to repair battle damage and get the planes ready for the next days' mission so that the group could put up a maximum effort. This was the central leadership question: What is a maximum effort? How far can you drive a man before he breaks? How hard do you push to get a tough job done, without pushing so hard that you are suddenly unable to get anything done?

Our squadron had just finished code change a few days before. About once a year the Launch, Enable, and Inhibit codes in all of the missiles and LCC's were changed. It was a very

complex operation for everybody. The squadron was essentially split in two during the process, with LF's, and to a lesser degree, LCC's changing sides all the time. It was really tough to keep the maximum number of missiles on alert and at the same time stay within the very strict Weapon System Safety Rules. The hard part for crews was keeping track of which missiles were controlled by which LCC. If you screwed this up, you either had a missile that could not be launched, or one that could not be inhibited - maybe neither. These were very big No-No's, guaranteed to land favorite parts of your anatomy on the chopping block.

The maintenance and security teams were run ragged during code change. Long days, lots of RON's; trying to hit as many LF's as possible to keep the maximum number of missiles on alert safely. There was great potential for code handling violations, which would usually result in an Article 15. And something always seemed to go wrong. I had been at Tango during the code change. Right after the code handling team in the LCC had read the new tape into the WSC it went tits up, which really threw a monkey wrench into the whole process. Extra maintenance was needed to replace the WSC and read in a new code tape. Squadron realignment was necessary, which resulted in maintenance and code handling teams being redirected. It was a real mess for everybody.

Now that code change was over, the brass started worrying about the IG. The IG was expected soon because the current Wing Commander had taken over only four months earlier. Just what we all need - more pressure, I thought.

The silence was broken by the voice of the senior NCO at Job. "Trip 28-2, this is Sgt. Black at Job Control."

After a few seconds, Benfield answered, "Trip 28-2. Go ahead, Job."

"Benfield, here's the deal," began Black. "Start heading towards Quebec-12. While you’re enroute, I'll see if their SAT can reset the fault. If they can, you can come home and report directly to me. If they can't, you will have to check out the problem, RON if necessary, and see me in the morning."

After a several seconds of silence, Benfield answered, "Roger Job, we're enroute to Quebec-12. Out."

I thought Black had handled the situation well, but there were still a couple of things that needed to be done to prevent further problems. I quickly called Benfield and gave them the obligatory safety briefing and reminded them to notify TCC of their departure. TCC was listening and came on the air, "TCC copies Trip 28-2 departing T-46 for Q-12 at this time, notify us of any route changes."

Benfield acknowledged with "Trip 28-2, roger and thanks."

I logged Benfield off T-46, then went to the back of the capsule for a cup of coffee before beginning the lengthy reposture actions that would bring the missile back to strategic alert.