Frozen Whiskers and Secret Missiles
By Roderick “Whiskers” McNibble, Senior Foreign Correspondent, Dusty Gulch Gazette Arctic Desk
(aka the only bloke stupid enough to go there)
The last time I saw daylight was somewhere over Norway, curled on a pallet of mystery crates marked “Definitely Not Missiles.”
Perfectly normal start to an assignment, really.
I am here - allegedly as a journalist - sniffing out whispers of something called Project Iceworm, buried in the Greenland ice.
I suspect something fishy. Or ratty. Or possibly both.
It all started when I started going through old unpublished articles and found one written by Monty but never shared.... until now...
When looking back at Cold War history, few projects blend Arctic survival with nuclear brinksmanship quite like Project Iceworm - one of the strangest military schemes ever conceived.
The U.S. Army planned to bury hundreds of nuclear missiles beneath Greenland’s ice sheet, hidden in a constantly shifting frozen labyrinth.
Born at the height of U.S.- Soviet rivalry, Project Iceworm imagined a secret, mobile missile base that would outfox Soviet surveillance. The plan envisaged a vast network of tunnels stretching up to 4,000 kilometres beneath the ice, capable of housing and moving some 600 medium-range ballistic missiles - codenamed “Iceman.”
Camp Century was the polite public face of the operation. Built in 1959 and sold as a “nuclear-powered Arctic research station,” it was in fact proof-of-concept for Iceworm. Beneath 150 feet of ice, engineers carved living and working spaces for more than 200 personnel: barracks, a hospital, a chapel, a mess hall, even a cinema - all powered by the world’s first mobile nuclear reactor, the PM-2A.
But nature proved the project’s undoing.
Ice cores taken at Camp Century revealed that Greenland’s ice sheet - assumed to be frozen solid - was slowly but relentlessly flowing. Tunnels bent, twisted, and collapsed as the glacier shifted. By 1966, the U.S. conceded defeat. Project Iceworm was abandoned, its ambitions quite literally crushed by the weight of ice.
In April 2024, NASA scientist Chad Greene flew a Gulfstream III over northern Greenland, scanning the subsurface with radar. Roughly 150 miles east of Pituffik Space Base, the instrument picked up a faint signature - a buried structure matching Camp Century’s location. A ghost beneath the ice that refuses to stay quiet.
Politically, Iceworm was as precarious as its engineering. The U.S. pursued the project without informing Denmark, Greenland’s governing authority at the time. When documents were eventually declassified, the revelation caused a diplomatic chill and raised uncomfortable questions about sovereignty, secrecy, and military overreach.
Yet Camp Century also produced unexpected benefits. Its ice cores later proved invaluable to climate scientists, capturing ancient biological material and providing critical data on Earth’s shifting climate.
Today, Project Iceworm is a case study in Cold War paranoia, technological hubris, and unintended consequences. It’s a story of extraordinary ambition buried beneath snow - and of a reminder that nature, not nations, usually gets the final vote.
After all, beneath the geopolitics and engineering bravado, Mother Nature normally remains in charge.
Camp Century: The Coldest Rental Property on Earth
After being dropped (okay, punted) out of a Hercules cargo plane, I burrowed through snow so cold it made my tail snap like a breadstick.
And there it was.
A tunnel, yawning dark like the mouth of a frozen wombat.
Inside:
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bunk rooms with beds still made,
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a canteen menu offering “Tuesday Mystery Stew,”
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and a cinema still looping South Pacific.
What Exactly Was Project Iceworm?
Well, dear reader, picture this:
A giant, secret underground hamster maze - except instead of squeaky wheels and sunflower stems, the Americans wanted 600 nuclear missiles trundling around under the ice like caffeinated wombats with dynamite strapped to their backs.
Even for humans, this seems… excessive.
Roderick’s Theory #1
Iceworm wasn’t about missiles.
It was about proving the Yanks could dig tunnels faster than moles.
Danes Slightly Miffed
Denmark, who technically owned Greenland at the time, was not consulted.
A diplomatic cable I found frozen inside a coffee mug read:
“Dear America,
kindly refrain from burying weaponry in our ice
without so much as a note.
Regards, Denmark.”
To which Washington replied:
“…What missiles?”
Nuclear Reactor Underground? Sure, Why Not
There was a reactor down here too - because nothing says sensible engineering like warm pipes melting the ceiling above your head.
One room still glows faintly. Either radiation… or someone left a lava lamp on in 1962.
Unexpected Protest
I was halfway through gnawing open what I hoped was a ham tin when I heard it:
Squeaking. Loud. Angry. Organised.
An army of Greenlandic lemmings appeared, wearing tiny scarves with “ICETOOTH FOREVER!” stitched in snow thread.
Their leader - a chunky fellow named Lars - issued a statement:
“This is sovereign lemming land.
Take your Yankee tunnels and shove them in Alaska.”
Passionate.
I am considering interviewing him for Dusty Gulch Gazette: Arctic Living with Lars the Lemming.
Roderick’s Theory #2
Camp Century isn’t abandoned.
It’s the world’s first secret lemming nation-state.
Their flag is a chewed sock.
Final Notes from the Field
After two days of subterranean exploration and one unfortunate incident involving a frozen latrine and a stuck tail tuft, I conclude:
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Project Iceworm was real
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It was madder than a cut snake
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Humans still make terrible decisions when bored
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Tunnels are best left to professionals - i.e., rodents
I am currently tunneling toward the coast in search of:
A) warmth
B) whiskey
C) something edible that isn’t 60-year-old powdered meat
If I don’t return, publish this and tell Mrs McNibble that I died as I lived: chewing wiring in a top-secret government facility.
This is Roderick (Whiskers ) McNibble signing off
“If it’s mad, cold and possibly classified - I’m on it.”
Or:
“This rat digs deeper than the CIA ever did.”
Chill people.....
