Epic Rivalry Read online

  Von Braun nonetheless found some reasons to believe that the United States would develop a genuine space program, and the IGY was one of them. He believed the Army’s Redstone possessed the potential to take center stage in such a space program. His Redstone rocket was doing well in its tests, and he and others inside and outside the military were starting to think about orbiting satellites as a part of the U.S. contribution to the IGY. He therefore was pleased to receive a call in June 1954 from an old friend, Frederick Durant, president of the International Aeronautical Federation (IAF). In an interesting twist in the Cold War setting, Durant, a former naval aviator, worked for the CIA from 1951 to 1954, and continued to provide information to the agency later. The U.S.S.R.’s Academy of Sciences joined the IAF in 1955, and the CIA was most anxious to learn of any comments its representatives made on technical papers presented or Soviet space capabilities.64

  Durant invited von Braun to his June 25 meeting in Washington, D.C., with Commander George Hoover, chief of the Office of Naval Research (ONR), to discuss placing a satellite into orbit in the near future. Von Braun later recalled that Hoover opened the meeting by saying, “Everybody talks about satellites, then nobody does anything. So maybe we should put to use the hardware we already have.” By Hoover’s later account, von Braun came prepared with a specific plan to use a modified Redstone. By the end of the session, there was an agreed Army-Navy plan to use a Redstone with lengthened fuel tanks for the booster stage, along with no less than three additional upper stages. The third of these would employ a single solid-fuel rocket to kick a five-pound Navy-developed satellite into an orbit at least 200 miles above the Earth. The time frame for launch was between fall 1956 and November 1957.65

  The tiny, ultra lightweight satellite would have no room for any instruments, a fact that led to its unofficial nickname, Project Slug, soon changed to Project Orbiter. Launch was to take place at the Equator from a Navy ship specially built to handle large rockets. An equatorial launch to the east would take the greatest possible advantage of the Earth’s rotation. This was essential, since the booster-upper stage combination planned in 1954 could not have orbited even five pounds unless it was launched from the Equator. Von Braun secured the agreement of his Army boss at that time, Major General Holgar Toftoy, to provide a Redstone rocket as the launch vehicle. Von Braun himself assigned several of his staff members to work on the project, a move accepted by his superiors.66

  Project Orbiter did not long remain the only candidate to launch America’s planned IGY satellite . The U.S. Naval Research Laboratory (NRL), which had reviewed and commented on Project Orbiter, went a step further by seeking acceptance for its own satellite-launching rocket. The Navy advocated using its highly successful Viking high-altitude research rocket, which would serve as the first stage of a new rocket; two additional stages would be used to boost a 40-pound satellite into orbit. In other words, the projected weight of the NRL satellite would be eight times the weight of the satellite designed for Project Orbiter. The NRL proposal was submitted to the government in March 1955.67 In addition to Orbiter and the modified Viking, the Air Force argued for the use of its untested Atlas missile to launch the IGY satellite, but this proposal earned little support. Accordingly, senior Air Force generals viewed the launching of civilian satellites as an unwise diversion from the highest national priority accorded to the development of Atlas as the nation’s first ICBM.

  The planned IGY satellite, at least in the minds of its creators, was to be a civilian effort. Prestigious organizations such as the National Science Foundation, an independent federal agency, and the National Academy of Sciences endorsed the civilian nature of the project. Nonetheless, it was understood that the military alone possessed the resources and experience necessary to develop and launch rockets and satellites. Accordingly, responsibility for the launch vehicle selection was assigned to the Department of Defense.68

  On July 28, the White House publicly announced its strategy to protect the nascent U.S. reconnaissance satellite program by emphasizing the peaceful use of space for international scientific purposes. Eisenhower’s press secretary James Hagerty observed: “The president has approved plans by this country for going ahead with the launching of small, Earth-circling satellites as part of the United States participation in the International Geophysical Year…. The president expressed personal gratification that the American program will provide scientists of all nations this important and unique opportunity for the advancement of science.” A possible reason for the timing was American concerns that the U.S.S.R. might move first to announce its own IGY satellite plans. As early as January of that year, Radio Moscow had reported that Soviet experts believed they could send an Earth satellite into orbit in the near future.69

  Durant announced the U.S. plan at the IAF congress in Copenhagen, Denmark. Academician Leonid Sedov, chairman of the Commission for Interplanetary Communication of the U.S.S.R. Academy of Sciences, also attended the meeting. Soon after Durant spoke, Sedov announced the Soviet Union’s own commitment to launch a satellite. “From a technical point of view, it is possible to create a satellite of larger dimensions than that reported in the newspapers which we had the opportunity of scanning today,” he said. Sedov then added, “In my opinion, it will be possible to launch an artificial Earth satellite within the next two years. The realization of the Soviet project can be expected in the near future.”70

  The reference to a Soviet satellite of “larger dimensions” than the one announced by the United States came more than two years before the launch of Sputnik 1. Was it perhaps intended as a tantalizing tease? At the time Sedov spoke, the Soviets had no plans for launching a satellite. Nor would Sedov likely have had much contact with Korolev’s design bureau. Nonetheless, he clearly knew something was being planned; it is highly improbable that he made the comments without authorization. Regardless of the circumstances behind Sedov’s comments, they and the Eisenhower administration’s announcement together generated significant press attention.71

  Back in Washington, on August 4, 1955, an advisory group named the Stewart Committee—after its chairman, Homer J. Stewart of California Institute of Technology’s famed Jet Propulsion Laboratory—issued a formal report endorsing the U.S. Navy’s entry, which soon took the name Vanguard. The Army was predictably opposed to the decision, citing its belief that Redstone could orbit a satellite sooner than Vanguard. The Army had a proven flight-tested rocket, while Vanguard existed only on paper. Senior Army officials also noted the missile was set to enter production shortly.72

  The reasons for this decision have remained controversial. One factor that may have shaped it was the fact that the Army’s team was composed almost entirely of Peenemünde veterans, and the Redstone owed much of its design lineage to the V-2. Vanguard, by contrast, was a completely made-in-the-U.S.A. entry.73 Also influencing the selection may have been the desire to select as the IGY satellite launcher the rocket that came closest to having a civilian pedigree. On that score, Vanguard was the clear winner. Orbiting of a benign scientific satellite as part of America’s IGY contribution was in keeping with the overarching goal of establishing freedom of space as quickly as possible. That, in turn, would pave the way for the WS-117L strategic reconnaissance satellite to fly over the Soviet Union without credible legal challenge.74

  Von Braun, of course, was disappointed by the Stewart Committee’s decision. “This is not a design contest,” he said. “It is a contest to get a satellite into orbit, and we (the Army) are way ahead on this.” The most he could secure, however, was a promise that the Redstone would be a backup for Vanguard. With the unofficial sanction of his superiors at the ABMA, von Braun and his team continued to develop a satellite and booster rocket, anticipating a time when it would be needed. “We bootlegged work on the satellite. Night after night, men…put in endless hours on their own,” he said.75

  The Navy’s Vanguard development effort did not get off to a strong start. Almost immediately after development work
began, it became clear that the Department of Defense, focused on a huge build-up of missiles and bombers to counter the perceived Soviet threat, did not regard Vanguard as a high priority. That reality was underlined in October 1955, when the Vanguard’s builder, the Glenn L. Martin Company, was selected by the Air Force to build America’s second ICBM, Titan, as a backup to the Atlas. Realizing the Titan would be a much larger and more profitable program than Vanguard, Martin transferred many of the experienced engineers expected to work on Vanguard from Baltimore to Denver, Colorado, to work on the Titan.76

  Vanguard had other problems as well. These included a redesigned first stage that virtually eliminated all traces of the Viking research rocket on which it was supposed to be based and replacing the original Viking engine with a new one built by General Electric. Looming over all the project’s difficulties was the specter of an out-of-control budget. What started out as a reasonably priced 20-million-dollar program soon doubled, and then doubled again, to just over 80 million dollars. In April 1957, Eisenhower’s Bureau of the Budget director informed him that the total cost estimate had risen to nearly 110 million dollars. The president was not happy to hear this news; he directed that every possible effort be made to avoid “gold-plating” and control costs. (The Central Intelligence Agency provided 2.5 million dollars to the Vanguard project, its “civilian” nature notwithstanding, likely looking ahead to the time when it would launch reconnaissance satellites.77)

  Yet another problem soon emerged to dog Vanguard. Although the contract with Martin called for the orbiting of a 21.5-pound payload, or satellite, delays in testing resulted in an NRL decision to sharply reduce the required payload for the Vanguard’s first satellite orbit attempt. To ensure that Vanguard would orbit at least one satellite during the July 1957 to December 1958 IGY, NRL opted to use a miniature 6.5-inch sphere, weighing under four pounds, and intended as a test satellite, for its first try to orbit.78

  Even as they kept their satellite plans and dreams alive, von Braun and his team remained focused on the Redstone Arsenal’s major project, the Jupiter IRBM. The work on that missile would lead to the Army eventually winning the satellite-launching contest. One of the most daunting problems facing the new long-range ballistic missiles then under development was the need for a reentry vehicle (RV) that would safely carry the missile’s thermonuclear warhead back through the Earth’s atmosphere at the end of its flight. The reentry took place at very high speeds, generating an enormous heat buildup. It was vital to test the Army’s RV design in space before it was tried out on the Jupiter.79

  Von Braun recognized that the Redstone modifications made for Project Orbiter also made the missile ideal for testing RVs. As von Braun’s colleague Ernst Stuhlinger later wrote: “It is not known which of the two concepts emerged first in von Braun’s thinking: Redstone as a reentry test vehicle or Redstone as a satellite launcher. Both applications of a launch vehicle had been obvious to him for years. When the opportunity arose, he was prepared. Either application would have enabled the other one.”80

  Twelve Redstones were modified for use in the RV test program, using the designation Jupiter-C, though in truth they bore no similarity to the Jupiter immediate-range ballistic missile. They were, rather, Redstone missiles lengthened by a few feet to carry more propellant, equipped with upper stages similar to the Project Orbiter design, and modified in other ways to carry out the RV missions—and, not incidentally, to create an ideal satellite launcher. Von Braun noted later, “We did not point out that, with minor modifications, they [the Jupiter-Cs] could also serve as satellite launch vehicles.”81

  On September 20, 1956, the first Jupiter-C stood on its pad at the U.S. Air Force’s Cape Canaveral launch facility, ready to fly. It was configured with three live stages and a dummy, or inert, fourth stage. Von Braun, of course, was not alone in realizing the Jupiter-C’s potential, with a functional fourth stage, to kick a payload into orbit. As he oversaw launch preparations from his office, a phone call came from his ABMA boss, General Medaris, who advised him firmly: “Wernher, I must put you under orders personally to inspect that fourth stage to make sure it is not live.” Pentagon officials, concerned that von Braun might harbor an irresistible desire to beat Vanguard to orbit, had ordered Medaris to ensure that didn’t happen.82

  Though an orbital mission was not possible on this flight, the top (fourth) stage reached an altitude of 682 miles and a range of 3,355 miles, both records, clearly demonstrating the American potential to launch a satellite. Nonetheless, another 16 months would elapse before another, nearly identical Jupiter-C would have its chance to perform that mission.

  THE LOOMING THREAT

  In 1957, the Soviet Union—under a shroud of strict secrecy—began to take concrete steps to launch the first Earth satellite. This would be a dramatic contribution to the IGY by the Communist state—and one with vast propaganda value. The impetus for the endeavor stemmed from the United States’ July 1955 announcement of its own plan to launch a satellite within the time frame of the IGY. This provided the Soviet Union with a clear warning of American intentions. Now the task at hand for Korolev and his team was to beat the Americans into space. The R-7 missile, already at hand, became the chosen carrier for launching the Soviet satellite into orbit. The nose cone of the R-7 was redesigned to carry a satellite rather than a thermonuclear device. Faced with the urgent task to leap ahead of the Americans, the Korolev team quickly built a simple and lightweight satellite—Prostreishiy sputnik, or “PS.”83

  Korolev moved fast to test a reconfigured R-7 as the launch vehicle for the Soviet satellite. He was anxious to have the satellite in orbit before the beginning of the IGY. The first three launches of the R-7, in May-July, were failures, creating fears that the United States might indeed be the first with a satellite in orbit. When a fourth R-7 launch proved successful on August 21, Korolev was elated. The missile followed a 4,000-mile trajectory to the Kamchatka Peninsula in the Soviet Far East. On September 7, Korolev repeated the R-7 test flight. Nikita Khrushchev, who witnessed the September firing of the R-7, gave his go-ahead for a satellite launch, seeing clearly the propaganda potential for the Soviet Union on the eve of the IGY celebrations.

  Still fearing an imminent American satellite launch, Korolev decided to act decisively. A powerful R-7 booster was transported to the launch pad at Baikonur on the morning of October 3, 1957, escorted on foot by Korolev and members of his team. Technicians spent the following day and night getting the rocket ready for a momentous launch.84 The space age was about to be born.

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  TAKE THE A-ROCKET

  In the years after World War II, atomic power seemed like the logical future of space rocketry. The staggering magnitude of nuclear energy had been demonstrated by atom bombs, and nuclear reactors promised to channel this power for peaceful uses. Halfway through a century that had seen technological leaps from the horse to the jet aircraft, it seemed reasonable to suppose that the atom would soon serve humankind as obediently as radio waves and the internal-combustion engine. Military designers drew up concepts for atomic tanks and actually put considerable development into designing an atomic-powered airplane. Detroit created a study model of the Nucleon, the personal atomic automobile. In this climate, a reactor-powered rocket didn’t seem outside the realm of possibility.

  Artist’s conception of a nuclear-powered spacecraft in orbit over Mars.

  Leading space writer Willy Ley wrote of these atomic rockets in his 1949 book, The Conquest of Space.85 America’s greatest space artist, Chesley Bonestell, combined the expectation of near-future nuclear rocket power with the iconic image of Wernher von Braun’s V-2 to produce realistic paintings for books and popular magazines of the time. He depicted transcontinental commercial atomic rocket planes and the moon landing of a towering, single-stage atomic space rocket so powerful that it could fly all the way to the moon and back.

  Just as nuclear reactors turned out to be more difficult to manage
than first anticipated, rocket development proved so expensive that “incremental advance” became the standard practice, especially under pressures of budget and time. Improving past designs little by little wherever possible tended to be far more reliable than venturing a design that was completely new. The V-2 precedent put Soviet and American engineers alike on the path to improving and enlarging upon its liquid-fuel concept rather than replacing it entirely with a reactor. The whole space race was accomplished on both sides with conventional liquid-fueled rockets, from the Sputnik’s R-7 to the mighty Apollo-Saturn V.

  Wernher von Braun nonetheless saw a real future for the atomic engines. NASA had even put its own development into the idea under the NERVA program: Nuclear Engines for Rocket Vehicle Application. Theoretically, a nuclear rocket would be more efficient than a conventional rocket, making it ideal for “long haul” flights such as interplanetary missions to Mars. A reactor would superheat its liquid fuel, rather than burning it, and would be fired only in space, leaving no radiation in Earth’s atmosphere. The nuclear engine could be refueled in space and reused for years. Such an asset would drastically reduce the cost of space-flight operations. Von Braun had artists draw up the vital role this nuclear rocket would play in the post-Apollo space program.8 His NERVA “space tug,” once launched, would ferry loads back and forth from the moon to high Earth orbit and help carry astronauts to Mars. NERVA engines were built, and in the emote desert of Nevada, tests proved out the concept. We might have seen nuclear rockets after all, but NERVA was cancelled along with von Braun’s other visions under President Richard Nixon, who put an end to the Apollo lineage in favor of the space shuttle program.