WHEN CHUCK MAULTSBY radioed to the Duck Butt rescue crew that he couldn’t see their flares over the Arctic, the pilot of the DC4 asked him what stars he could see. Chuck responded that Orion’s Belt was about fifteen degrees off his nose. The DC4 pilot immediately asked him to change course and steer ten degrees left.
Maultsby let out a sigh of relief. Yes, he was lost, and yes, he might be over the Soviet Union, but now he had the means to get back to safe sky. His reprieve was short-lived. A new voice came over the radio and told him to turn thirty degrees right. He flew in silence for a moment and then radioed the rescue plane pilot, asking if he had heard the latest instruction over the radio. He had not, and Maultsby’s anxiety grew tenfold. If that pilot hadn’t heard the unknown radio call, Chuck knew for sure he had strayed far west of Barter Island and was near Soviet territory. He didn’t know, however, that he was now directly over the Soviet Chukotka Peninsula, and the Russians had pinpointed the trespasser.
From the Soviets’ perspective, the sudden appearance of an intruder on their radar could mean a multitude of things, all of them cause for alarm. Was the United States conducting a probing mission in advance of an attack? Was a spy plane trying to enter their airspace in the least populated region? Or did the blip on the radar represent something far worse—an advance bomber carrying nuclear bombs? Whatever was invading their airspace, they had to shoot it down before it got any closer to their eastern military installations.
The unknown caller reached out to Maultsby again, this time instructing him to make a thirty-five-degree right turn. The Western-sounding voice bore no hint of a Russian accent, but whom could it belong to? Was the speaker an accomplished Soviet linguistic expert steering him to the precise location where he could be eliminated—or perhaps directing him to a Soviet airstrip where he could land, putting the undamaged U-2, with all its secrets, in the hands of the Russians?
There was only one way to find out if the voice on the radio was friendly or hostile. If the caller was one of Maultsby’s own people, he would know the secret code. “I challenged him,” Chuck later said, “using a code that only a legit operator would know, but there was no response.”
That moment or two of silence was terrifying. The unknown voice had been louder and clearer than that of the rescue plane pilot. Maultsby knew he must be hundreds of miles off course, to the west.
The Duck Butt pilot broke the silence with a weak transmission, asking Chuck if he could see the glow of the sunrise on the eastern horizon. Maultsby could not—he was too far west. Time was running out. The transmissions from the rescue plane were getting weaker and weaker, and the last one Chuck heard had told him to turn left by fifteen degrees.
He made the turn and at the same time flipped to the emergency channel and shouted, “MAYDAY! MAYDAY! MAYDAY!”
He knew he only had thirty minutes of fuel left. But what he didn’t know was even more terrifying. A US radar installation at the western extremity of Alaska had picked up six Soviet aircraft flying upward toward Maultsby. He had penetrated three hundred miles deep into enemy airspace, and MiG fighter jets had launched from Pevek and Chukotka airfields. Their supersonic speed would bring them to the intruder in a few short minutes.
WHILE MAULTSBY’S MAYDAY call did not receive a confirmation from the rescue plane or Eielson Air Force Base, the Strategic Air Command (SAC) at Offutt Air Force Base in Omaha, Nebraska, was well aware of what was happening. At approximately 12:30 p.m. on Saturday, October 27 (8:30 a.m. in Alaska), General Thomas Power, head of SAC, learned that a U-2 had gotten lost during its sampling mission to the North Pole. Powers, off base when informed, immediately drove to Offutt and joined the on-duty staff at SAC headquarters. A large screen showed the track of Maultsby’s plane over Soviet airspace, followed by the flight paths of six MiGs. The data were courtesy of a successful covert operation whereby the United States had breached the Soviet air defense system. In effect, the air force could now see exactly what the Soviets saw, and the MiGs were closing the gap on the lost U-2. The situation was alarming to say the least, but SAC had to handle it carefully—the American military commanders didn’t want to tip off the Soviets that they had penetrated their air defense system. They decided to share and compare information about the MiGs and the U-2 with the commander at Eielson Air Force Base, but they made clear that no communications must indicate how this information was known, lest the Soviets learn the SAC intelligence secret.
The US military was already at DEFCON 2, the highest state of readiness short of war, and the Soviets were in a similar heightened status. One miscalculation, and nuclear exchanges were terrifyingly possible. Adding to the apprehension from the Soviet perspective was a recent message to the Ministry of Defense from General Issa Pliyev in Cuba, warning that his sources thought an air attack on the island would likely occur on October 27 or 28.
To counter the MiGs closing in on Chuck, the air force scrambled two F-102 fighter jets from Galena Air Force Base in Alaska. If Maultsby was still flying and had not been shot down, these jets would protect him—or, God forbid, shoot him down themselves if need be to prevent the Soviets from striking first. A Soviet attack on an American plane could trigger an armed US response. Might SAC, or even the president himself, sacrifice an American pilot in hopes of preventing World War III? The pilots prayed they would never find out.
ON OCTOBER 27, 1962, the danger went far beyond Maultsby, the MiGs, and the F-102s. The outcome of this potential engagement threatened the entire world. The F-102s were carrying tactical nuclear missiles.
Because the United States had entered DEFCON 2, nuclear-tipped GAR-11 air-to-air missiles had recently replaced the F-102s’ conventional missiles. The F-102s could now bring down multiple enemy aircraft with just one shot—the explosion would destroy any aircraft within a half mile. Incredibly, the decision to use these missiles was up to the pilots—no one could stop them from firing if they deemed it necessary. And the two pilots flying to Maultsby’s aid might very well think it necessary to respond if attacked by a MiG. They had no other weapons except these nuclear-tipped ones, so their options were limited.
One can imagine the tension at SAC headquarters in Nebraska. Only the people manning the Soviet air bases might have been more anxious, still not knowing if the intruding aircraft was the vanguard of a wave of US bombers loaded with nuclear missiles or something else. President John F. Kennedy’s fear from the start—of a miscalculation by individuals outside his control—was playing out over the skies of the easternmost section of the Soviet empire.
THE UNKNOWN VOICE spoke to Maultsby again, and this time the U-2 pilot did the only thing he could do: try to ignore it. Then he heard what sounded like Russian music.
Chuck was exhausted and frightened—he had been in the air for an astounding nine hours—but every neuron in his body was screaming for escape. His suppressed panic reared its head for the first time and affected him physically, his breath quickening and his pulse pounding in his head.1 He now knew for certain that he had penetrated Soviet airspace, and he’d been around long enough to know both enemy surface-to-air missiles and aircraft would be targeting him for a kill.
At that moment, he made a critical decision. I will not be a prisoner of war for a second time. Maultsby turned the plane so that the Russian radio signal was behind him and tried to put as much space between himself and the Soviets as possible with what little fuel he had left.
Chuck figured that the Soviets had likely tracked him on radar, and maybe at this very moment a MiG was trying to intercept him, but in the night sky he had no way of spotting an enemy closing in on him. He continued to call Mayday, but no one answered.
While Maultsby dearly wished the U-2 could fly faster, the plane did have one thing going for it. It was at an elevation of 75,000 feet, while the MiGs could climb only to 60,000 feet.
Chuck calculated that his remaining fuel would power him for only twelve more minutes, so he had to think quickly. He would shut down the engine and glide as far as he could, then use the tiny amount of fuel left to help with a landing or in any new emergency. He made one last radio call saying he was going off the air; maybe the rescue crew would hear what he thought might be his final words.
As soon as he turned off the engine, Maultsby’s pressure suit inflated to keep his blood from boiling. The suit pushed upward on his helmet, and because he had forgotten to fasten the lanyards that kept the helmet from rising, the lost pilot could no longer see the plane’s instrument panel. As he wrestled his helmet into place, he thought, What a fine mess I’ve gotten myself into. And the mess kept getting worse. His windshield fogged up, and then his faceplate did the same.
The exhausted pilot dared not use his battery power to fix the windshield situation. He needed to save his batteries should he have to make one last radio call. If he had to bail out, he wanted to broadcast that decision in hopes the rescue plane could hear it.
Chuck Maultsby felt more alone now than ever, with only the sound of his breath to break the silence.
MAULTSBY NOW EFFECTIVELY sat in a glider coasting thirteen miles above the USSR. Amazingly, even with no engine power, the U-2 continued to cruise at that level. Chuck began to wonder if his altimeter was stuck. With his helmet fogged, he craned his head forward as far as possible and, using his tongue, licked the condensation off the faceplate. He had flown seven or eight minutes without power, but still the spy plane maintained its altitude of 75,000 feet.
Not until roughly ten minutes into the glide did the altimeter show the slightest change, indicating the beginning of a slow descent. Chuck couldn’t do much except keep the wings level and pray that he’d make it to the border before he was blown out of the sky.
WHILE MAULTSBY WAS in mortal danger, members of ExComm began a morning meeting at the White House. The Soviet ship Grozny, which US surveillance had temporarily lost track of, was still steaming toward the quarantine line and was less than one hundred miles away. During the early part of the meeting, Defense Secretary Robert McNamara proposed launching night reconnaissance missions involving flares “to keep the heat on.” The president asked him to hold off implementing that idea until they discussed it again in the evening, when they would make the decision based on what transpired during the day.
Most of the morning meeting revolved around discussion of a new proposal and letter from Moscow, announced publicly on Radio Moscow, stating that the United States had to withdraw its missiles from Turkey in order for the Soviets to do the same in Cuba. The ExComm members were astounded that they had not had time to respond to Nikita Khrushchev’s late Friday proposal, and already the Soviets had upped the ante. During the meeting the president voiced his frustration but also his keen understanding of worldwide public perception.
President Kennedy—He’s [Khrushchev] got us in a pretty good spot here. Because most people would regard this as not an unreasonable proposal.
The group then discussed the many issues with the new proposal, including North Atlantic Treaty Organization coordination and the fact that officials in Turkey had not been consulted.
Even though it was a morning meeting, ExComm members were already showing signs of strain and fatigue from strategizing a response regarding the new Russian demands. They would soon have lots more to worry about.