Fear of large-scale war tends to seep into society quietly, without fanfare. It doesn’t always arrive with sirens or dramatic headlines. Instead, it lingers in the background, shaped by news alerts, diplomatic tensions, and a growing sense that the global order is more fragile than once assumed. In recent years, this unease has deepened, fueled by rising political tensions, fractured alliances, and increasingly aggressive rhetoric among world powers.
When Donald Trump returned to the White House, part of his message centered around keeping American troops out of prolonged foreign conflicts. On the surface, this promise appealed to a war-weary public. Yet, alongside those assurances, came a series of actions and statements that unsettled analysts. Escalating pressure regarding Venezuela, sharp rhetoric toward Iran, and repeated public insistence that the U.S. should acquire Greenland all contributed to a growing sense that global stability is hanging by a thread.
At the heart of public anxiety lies the prospect of a third world war. Unlike previous conflicts, a modern global war—particularly one involving nuclear weapons—would do more than just redraw borders or shift power dynamics. It would threaten life on a scale that could irreversibly alter civilization. Optimists point to deterrence, treaties, and rational self-interest as barriers to such a catastrophe. But more cautious voices argue that history is filled with wars that didn’t start from long-term plans, but from miscalculations, pride, and moments where restraint faltered.
As uncertainty grows, people are asking more concrete, uncomfortable questions. Not just whether a global conflict could happen, but what it would look like if it did. This shift from abstract fear to specific scenarios is telling, revealing a deeper loss of confidence in the systems that were meant to prevent such an escalation.
Nuclear historian Alex Wellerstein from the Stevens Institute of Technology weighed in on this issue in 2025. Wellerstein explained that in the event of a nuclear conflict, targets would be selected based on strategic importance rather than symbolism. The first strikes, he noted, would likely target an adversary’s ability to retaliate.
“If the adversary were Russia and the goal was to prevent U.S. retaliation,” he said, “command centers and intercontinental ballistic missile sites would be hit first. A different kind of attacker, especially a rogue actor, might target population centers or symbolic locations.”
This distinction shifts the focus from obvious megacities to smaller, lesser-known locations that hold far more strategic value than their population size suggests.
Take Great Falls, for example, a city of just over 60,000 residents. Despite its modest size, it is located near Malmstrom Air Force Base, which controls hundreds of nuclear missile silos. In a nuclear scenario designed to neutralize U.S. strike capability, this proximity makes the area a high-value target.
Cheyenne, Wyoming, offers a similar case. Located near Francis E. Warren Air Force Base, a critical hub for the U.S. nuclear missile command, Cheyenne’s strategic importance places it on the vulnerability list despite its low public profile.
In Utah, Ogden and Clearfield are near Hill Air Force Base, an essential installation for nuclear weapons storage and aircraft maintenance. While these communities have relatively small populations, their location near key military infrastructure makes them potential targets in a first-strike scenario.
Further south, Shreveport is near Barksdale Air Force Base, home to B-52 bombers capable of carrying nuclear payloads. A strike aimed at disabling the base would almost certainly devastate the surrounding civilian area, regardless of the target’s intended focus.
On the Pacific front, Honolulu holds strategic value due to its concentration of naval and air forces. The legacy of Pearl Harbor remains a key part of military planning, and Hawaii’s geographic position is vital in U.S. defense strategy across the Pacific.
Omaha, Nebraska, also stands out due to its proximity to Offutt Air Force Base, which serves as a central hub for U.S. nuclear operations. Nearby Colorado Springs hosts NORAD, the North American Aerospace Defense Command. Both locations hold immense strategic value despite lacking the global profile of coastal cities.
The Southwest is not immune either. Albuquerque, home to Kirtland Air Force Base, contains one of the largest concentrations of nuclear weapons-related infrastructure in North America. Its importance makes it another prime early target in a conflict aimed at crippling U.S. capabilities.
Other major urban centers, such as Washington, D.C., Seattle, San Francisco, Houston, Chicago, Los Angeles, and New York City, are considered vulnerable not because of their military significance, but due to their population density and economic influence. A strike on these cities would send shockwaves through global markets and infrastructure.
None of this analysis suggests that nuclear war is inevitable. Experts remain confident in the power of deterrence and the multiple layers of safeguards designed to prevent catastrophe. Still, the fact that these discussions are becoming more relevant highlights something important about the current moment.
Public anxiety is not solely based on fear of weapons, but fear of miscalculation—of leaders misreading intentions, alliances cracking under pressure, or egos overriding caution. History teaches that wars often don’t begin because they’re wanted, but because they’re mismanaged.
The conversation about potential targets is unsettling because it forces people to confront how interconnected military strategy and civilian life truly are. These cities are not just dots on a map. They are homes, schools, hospitals, and communities filled with people who have no say in global geopolitics.
Whether the world steps back from the brink or edges closer to it will depend on diplomacy, restraint, and the recognition that power without control is a liability. For now, the growing unease is a collective awareness that peace is not a permanent state. It is something that must be actively maintained, especially in an era where the cost of failure is unthinkable.