Three Times We've Avoided Nuclear War
Lessons for the Unpopular and Shocking U.S. Bombing of Iran
Are we on the brink of nuclear war?
MNTL is dedicated to being a place of context and peace of mind. With tensions running high, President Trump bombing (perhaps illegally) Iran, and global conflict inching closer, we need to find some historical centering to see how good leadership has pulled us from the brink time and time again. Our government needs to act rationally.
In a dramatic turn of events, U.S. stealth bombers struck three Iranian nuclear facilities on Saturday, directly entering a conflict that had been escalating for over a week. President Trump announced that American forces hit Iran’s Fordow, Natanz, and Isfahan nuclear sites in a “very successful” mission, dropping massive bunker-busting bombs on deeply buried targets. All U.S. aircraft exited Iranian airspace safely after the strikes, according to the president’s statement. The operation marks the first direct U.S. military intervention in a war that ignited on June 13, when Israel launched a campaign of airstrikes against Iran’s nuclear and military infrastructure.
The U.S. action comes amid mounting tensions across the Middle East. Israel’s bombardment over the past week systematically targeted Iran’s air defenses and missile bases, seeking to cripple Tehran’s ability to retaliate. Iranian leaders had repeatedly warned that any American involvement would trigger “an all-out war” and “irreparable” consequences, raising alarms about a broader regional conflagration. Despite these threats, Washington gambled that decisive force could set Iran’s nuclear ambitions back for good – especially with targets like the fortified Fordow facility that only U.S. weaponry could destroy. Now, as Israel and the United States brace for Iran’s response, the world watches anxiously, fearing that this high-stakes gamble could spark a wider war.
Such perilous moments cast long shadows. For decades, the specter of nuclear conflict has loomed whenever global tensions flare. As a child growing up in the eighties, nuclear war was an ever-present shadow hanging over pop culture. The popular imagination often clashed with reality when we would have drills about potential soviet strikes.
Ever since the first mushroom clouds rose over Hiroshima and Nagasaki in 1945, humanity has lived with the knowledge that it could one day obliterate itself. Throughout the Cold War and beyond, each major crisis raised the fearful question: might this be the one that ends in nuclear fire? History records several harrowing moments when the world came startlingly close to that nightmare. The current crisis brings forward echoes of those past near-misses. Here are three of the most perilous times humanity stood on the brink of nuclear war – and how disaster was narrowly averted. In the past, cooler heads prevailed. What lessons can we learn today?
The Cuban Missile Crisis
It's October 1962, and the world holds its breath. American spy planes have discovered Soviet nuclear missiles being installed in Cuba, just 90 miles from Florida. In response, U.S. President John F. Kennedy imposes a naval “quarantine” around the island – a blockade meant to prevent further missiles from arriving. Soviet leader Nikita Khrushchev insists the weapons are only defensive, but the U.S. deems their presence an intolerable threat. Tension skyrockets as Soviet ships steam toward the U.S. Navy’s blockade line, unsure if they will turn back or ignite a clash. The American military moves to its highest alert level; nuclear-armed B-52 bombers are aloft and missile crews stand ready in their silos. Across the globe, people watch the news in dread, acutely aware that a single misstep by either side could mean the end of civilization. In the first showdown at sea, several Soviet cargo ships nearing the blockade ultimately stop or turn back at the last moment, averting an immediate clash – but the crisis has only begun.
For thirteen agonizing days, the Cuban Missile Crisis unfolds in a series of white-knuckle confrontations. As the U.S. and Soviet Union stare each other down, events soon spiral dangerously close to the edge. A U-2 spy plane is shot down over Cuba, killing the American pilot and inflaming calls in Washington for retaliation. On the same day – later dubbed “Black Saturday,” October 27 – another U.S. reconnaissance aircraft accidentally strays into Soviet airspace, triggering panic in Moscow. Both superpowers are on hair-trigger alert. Neither is fully aware of how high the stakes have risen: in Cuba, Soviet field commanders already have dozens of tactical nuclear warheads at their disposal, and they have been authorized to use them if invasion seems imminent. In the Caribbean Sea, U.S. destroyers begin dropping practice depth charges near a Soviet submarine (B-59) to force it to surface, not realizing that this sub is armed with a nuclear torpedo. Battered by the explosions and cut off from communication, the Soviet captain believes war above may have already begun. In the sweltering bowels of his submarine, he gives the order to prepare the torpedo – essentially priming a nuclear weapon for launch. The fate of millions hangs by a thread.
At that fateful moment, one man’s conscience averts catastrophe. The submarine’s second-in-command, Vasily Arkhipov, refuses to approve the launch. He urges the captain to wait, arguing that the explosions outside are warning signals, not an attack. An argument erupts in the cramped control room as heat and fear intensify. But Arkhipov’s solitary act of sanity prevails: no torpedo is fired. Unknown to the men on those ships, a nuclear war has just been delayed by the slimmest of margins.
Meanwhile, in Washington and Moscow, back-channel negotiations are frantically underway even as military forces stand primed to fire. President Kennedy resists his advisors’ calls to invade or bomb the missile sites, determined to find a peaceful solution if possible. Finally, in the eleventh hour, a deal is struck. Khrushchev agrees to withdraw the missiles from Cuba, and Kennedy secretly promises to remove U.S. nuclear missiles from Turkey (and Italy) in return. The United States also publicly pledges not to invade Cuba. As Soviet ships turn back and the missile installations in Cuba are dismantled, an eerie wave of relief washes over humanity. People around the world exhale, knowing they’ve narrowly escaped the unthinkable. The Cuban Missile Crisis ends as suddenly as it began, leaving both superpowers shaken by how close they came to annihilation. Chastened by the experience, Washington and Moscow install a direct “hotline” between the Kremlin and the White House to manage future emergencies. For a time, both sides tread more carefully, newly aware of the terrifying fragility of global peace when nuclear weapons are in play.
The Stanislav Petrov Incident
Shortly after midnight on September 26, 1983, a Soviet military bunker outside Moscow is jarred to life by electronic alarms. Lieutenant Colonel Stanislav Petrov, the officer on duty, stares at his early-warning monitors in disbelief: the computer system is reporting that the United States has launched several nuclear missiles toward the Soviet Union. A shrill siren wails as red lights flash on the control panel. Protocol dictates that Petrov pick up the phone and notify his superiors of an apparent incoming attack. In the tense depths of the Cold War – just weeks after the Soviet military shot down a South Korean passenger jet and amid President Ronald Reagan’s fiery rhetoric – nerves are on edge and every second counts. In this moment, one mid-level officer’s judgment will decide the fate of the world.
Petrov’s training screams at him to trust the warning and pass the alert up the chain of command. If he does, the Soviet leadership might quickly order a nuclear counterstrike against America. Heart pounding, Petrov hesitates. Something feels off. Only five missiles detected? He knows that a real U.S. first strike would likely involve hundreds of warheads, not just a handful. It doesn’t make sense. Sweat beads on his forehead as the siren echoes through the underground command center. His staff glance over anxiously, awaiting his orders. Seconds crawl by. Acting on a hunch and a deep sense of responsibility, Petrov makes a decision: he will not report the alert as an attack. Defying protocol, he silences the alarm and continues to monitor, praying that he is not making a terrible mistake.
Five minutes pass, and the ominous blip on the screen never materializes into an attack. The radar stations downrange show no corroborating evidence of incoming missiles. Petrov’s gut instinct was correct – it was a false alarm. Later investigation reveals that a Soviet satellite had misinterpreted the sun’s reflection off high-altitude clouds as the bright flare of missile launches. With a wave of immense relief, Petrov informs his superiors that the system was in error. His calm refusal to act had quietly saved millions of lives. The world outside went on unaware of the close call that night, and the incident remained classified for years. Eventually, word of Petrov’s deed leaked out, and he would be celebrated as “the man who saved the world” by doing nothing. His story is a stark reminder that sophisticated technology and hair-trigger doctrines can fail catastrophically – and that sometimes the difference between war and peace comes down to the judgment of a single person in a single moment.
The Norwegian Rocket Incident of 1995
Four years after the end of the Cold War, a frosty dawn breaks on January 25, 1995. On this seemingly ordinary winter morning, Russia’s early-warning radars pick up something inexplicable. At the Olenegorsk radar station in the far north, operators spot a blip rising over the Barents Sea. A rocket has been launched from Norway, and it’s streaking through the atmosphere on a high-arcing trajectory. Within seconds, they realize it looks alarmingly similar to a U.S. Navy Trident missile fired from a submarine. It even appears to separate into multiple stages as it climbs, mimicking the behavior of a missile releasing nuclear warheads. In an instant, the routine morning turns into a potential doomsday scenario. Russian commanders fear this could be the precursor to a nuclear strike – perhaps an American missile meant to deliver an electromagnetic pulse over Moscow. The alert is relayed immediately to the highest levels. President Boris Yeltsin is urgently handed his “Cheget” nuclear briefcase – the first and only time such a nuclear command device has ever been activated in a real alert. For the first time in history, a Russian head of state activates the device that holds the launch codes for a nuclear retaliation.
Inside Russian military headquarters, adrenaline surges. Standard procedure dictates they have mere minutes to determine whether this is a real attack and decide if they should retaliate. In this case, roughly ten minutes are on the clock. Submarine commanders are put on high alert with their weapons primed. As Yeltsin and his top generals confer via secure lines, the pressure is immense – each passing second feels like an eternity. Could this unidentified rocket be the first strike in a U.S. nuclear onslaught, or is it a terrible misunderstanding? Yeltsin peers at the data, his mind grappling with the magnitude of the decision before him. All the while, the mysterious rocket keeps climbing and hurtling onward.
At last, new data brings relief: the object is headed away from Russian territory, not towards it. No other signs of an American attack have appeared. Yeltsin refrains from authorizing any launch. Moments later, the enigmatic rocket finishes its trajectory and falls harmlessly into the sea off Norway’s coast. It takes a bit longer for the full picture to emerge. The “attack” turns out to be a Norwegian scientific research rocket – ironically, a project to study the aurora borealis. Norway had notified international authorities about the launch weeks in advance, but that message never reached the right people in the Russian radar system. Twenty-four minutes after it was fired, the Black Brant XII rocket splashes into the ocean, and the crisis melts away almost as quickly as it began. Most of the world has no clue that on that cold January day, we all came within a hair’s breadth of nuclear war. The Norwegian Rocket Incident stands as one of history’s closest calls, a chilling example of how easily miscommunication or technical misinterpretation could have triggered an unspeakable catastrophe. The scare prodded Washington and Moscow to review their alert systems and communication protocols yet again, trying to ensure that no such deadly confusion would happen in the future.
Each of these episodes expose an unsettling truth: as long as nuclear weapons exist, so does the constant risk of unimaginable disaster. Time and again, the world has teetered on the edge of annihilation not through deliberate malice, but through miscalculation, miscommunication, or mere accident. And each time, humanity survived by the slimmest of margins: a last-minute compromise, a lone decision-maker’s courage, a stroke of incredible luck.
It is sobering to imagine that we would move toward that future willingly.
As a new crisis emerges and old rivalries flare up, that shadow of the bomb looms just as large. The fact that humanity has made it this far into the nuclear era without a catastrophe is as miraculous as it is sobering. We have come so close – and yet somehow, each time, pulled back in the nick of time. But can we count on our luck holding forever? The symbolic Doomsday Clock still ticks perilously close to midnight, a reminder that the danger is never truly gone. Even today, over 12,000 nuclear warheads still exist worldwide, many on hair-trigger alert, ready to launch at a moment’s notice. We carry on with our daily lives under this specter, seldom acknowledging that in hidden silos and submarine bays, the power to end the world quietly waits.