one way to get rid of nuclear waste

This is from Under the Cloud: The Decades of Nuclear Testing (Richard L. Miller, 1986, The Free Press)—apparently it really happened, during the early 1950s, and one wonders if the U.S. Army major ever got any public commendation for it.

This was undoubtedly a free-lance enterprise, and despite the success of such individual initiative in protecting national security, one supposes it couldn’t happen today, what with so many “managers,” “planners,” “controllers,” “manipulators” in the mix of things.

No link, because this is out of a real life book, and one assumes it’s okay to post this lengthy excerpt since it’s like, circa .00017% of the whole book.

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Having an army that had always relied heavily on artillery, [the Soviets] were also particularly interested in the small shells similar to the one fired during the 1953 “GRABLE” shot. Thus, some time later, the Russians were delighted when a U.S. Army major walked into the Soviet residency in West Germany offering to rent them the latest model of a nuclear artillery shell.

The embassy immediately turned the matter over to the GRU, the supersecret Office of Military Intelligence. The officer in charge was suspicious; the major wanted a lot of money for the shell. And it had to be returned in two months so his supervisors wouldn’t miss it.

It was an unusual request, but two months would give the Soviet weapons specialists ample time to determine how Los Alamos had miniaturized its fission weapons. As proof of his intentions, the major had even turned over some documents detailing operations procedures for use with atomic equipment. Specialists in the GRU confirmed that the documents were genuine. To the Soviets, the deal began to look better and better.

They decided to rent the shell.

Key embassy personnel immediately boarded an Aeroflot plane for Moscow. There they were given a week-long crash course detailing what was known about American atomic weapon technology. Upon their return, they made plans to meet with the major and receive the merchandise.

Shortly afterwards, the Soviets waited in a forest clearing on a dark rainy night, bank note-laden briefcase in hand, waiting for their shell. The major finally pulled up in the car and handed the GRU officers the weapon. Pulling out a Geiger counter, the GRU weapons specialist quickly determined that it was indeed radioactive. The size, weight, and markings matched perfectly. After turning over the bank notes to the major, the agents headed straight for their embassy with their new American bomb.

Within hours, the atomic weapon was on its way via armed diplomatic courier to GRU headquarters in Moscow.

The headquarters of Soviet military intelligence was (and still is) located in a drab, windowless brick building complex at one side of Kodinka airfield in the center of Moscow. Surrounded by armed police, guard dogs, and electrified barbed wire, it is a masterwork of security. Inside the fence is a wall-like, two-story building enclosing a central courtyard in which still another building is located, the nine-story head office.

Cars are not allowed inside the courtyard. All coming into the area are scrutinized thoroughly, their clothing checked for any bit of metal that may be a weapon or spy device. Briefcases, cigarette lighters, and “outside” fountain pens are forbidden. Even belt buckles are frowned upon; many of the operatchiks inside the GRU wear suspenders. Surveillance is complete and absolute. No object is too small or insignificant-appearing to be dismissed as a potential weapon.

Into this fortress of security the GRU chief carried an American atomic bomb. As soon as it was safe in the headquarters building, a call was made to the Soviet Central Committee at the Kremlin, not far away.

“Where is the bomb?” someone at the Kremlin asked.

“We have it in GRU headquarters!”

“In Moscow?”

“Yes!”

“And what happens if there is a little spring inside this shell and it explodes right in the middle of the Soviet capital and turns Moscow into Hiroshima?”

Silence. The GRU chief hadn’t thought of that.

The chief was soon on his way to the Kremlin to do some explaining. The shell, meanwhile, was headed for the island of Novaya Zemlya, the Soviet atomic testing site in the wilds of the arctic. Scientists there were ordered to tear the weapon apart.

Fearful of “the spring,” or some other booby trap, the scientists initially refused. After explaining the situation to them, the military officers finally persuaded the scientists that it was in their best interests to open the atomic shell. At first, the technicians were surprised at the radioactivity level; it was higher than expected. Perhaps the Americans were using the uranium or plutonium in a new configuration, one that was more radioactive.

When they finally opened the shell, the scientists had their answer: The weapon was a mock-up, a “standard weight equivalent” that had been skillfully painted to look like the real thing. As for the question of radioactivity, looking inside the scientists found the answer. For an exorbitant fee, the Soviet government had purchased several pounds of American nuclear waste.

Furious, the GRU chief tried to locate the American major, but he was too late. He—and the bank notes—had been transferred back to the States. After receiving his “service incompetence note,” the chief then petitioned the Soviet Central Committee for authorization to track down the major and have him killed. Permission was denied. In effect, the chief was told that the major had outsmarted him once, he could probably do it again.

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