Red Moon Rising Sputnik and the Rivalries That Ignited the Space Age - Matthew Brzezinski [111]
In the palace’s convivial atmosphere, Khrushchev could cast a reassuring and proprietary eye on men whose careers he owned: the suddenly ever-present Rodion Malinovsky; Aleksei Kirichenko, the powerful Ukrainian party boss who had accompanied Khrushchev to Korolev’s design bureau in February 1956, when the Chief Designer had requested permission to launch a satellite; Leonid Brezhnev, the dimwitted but trustworthy loyalist, who was actually neither but found it expedient to play the part. Khrushchev had just put Brezhnev in charge of missile and defense matters at the Presidium, a reward for his (literally) swooning support during the botched coup. The post seemed largely ceremonial, since the first secretary still made all the important decisions himself. But it sent a signal that the bushy-haired young political commissar from Dnipropetrovsk was on the rise; and, just as important, that loyalty paid off.
It was Khrushchev, not Brezhnev, who shortly after 11:00 PM was summoned away from the meeting on a missile-related matter. An aide, Sergei Khrushchev recalled, whispered in his father’s ear that he had a phone call. “I’ll be back,” Khrushchev announced, leaving the room. He returned a few moments later, a broad smile creasing his tired features. He said nothing, though, and for some time sat silently, staring at his fingernails in a distracted manner as he listened to reports on the beet harvest and coal stockpiles for the coming winter. After a few minutes of fidgeting, however, he could no longer restrain himself and raised his hand for silence.
“Comrades,” he said, addressing the assembled Ukrainian Central Committee members. “I can tell you some very pleasant and important news. Korolev just called.” (At this point Khrushchev acquired what his son would later describe as “a secretive look.”) “He’s one of our missile designers. Remember not to mention his name—it’s classified. So,” Khrushchev continued, “Korolev has just reported that today, a little while ago, an artificial satellite of the Earth was launched.”
The Ukrainians stared blankly, not quite sure what to make of this news. Obviously, the boss was pleased, but about what few could tell. Most people in the room had never heard of a satellite before. “Everyone smiled politely, without understanding what had just happened,” Sergei recalled. Khrushchev, perhaps sensing the perplexity of his provincial underlings, felt compelled to explain. “It is an offshoot of an intercontinental missile,” he said.
This additional intelligence did not appear to make the visibly confused local party bosses any wiser, so once more the Soviet leader elaborated. As Sergei described the scene:
Father began talking about missiles. He spoke of how the appearance of ballistic missiles had radically altered the balance of forces in the world. His audience listened in silence. They seemed completely immersed in his account, but their faces revealed their indifference. They were used to listening to Father, regardless of the subject. The Kiev officials were hearing about missiles for the first time and clearly didn’t understand what they were.
Missile doctrine might have been above the pay grade of the regional party hacks but, ironically, it was Khrushchev who had missed the point. Despite his unusually prescient grasp of rocketry’s role in modern warfare, he had completely failed to recognize Sputnik’s significance as a propaganda weapon. “He had viewed the satellite primarily in military terms,” Sergei conceded. For the Soviet leader, Sputnik had been a milestone in the ICBM race, not a milestone in human history. That mankind had just broken the bounds of gravity, and made its greatest leap—to quote CBS’s Eric Sevareid—from the primordial mud, was completely lost on the missile-obsessed Khrushchev. Which may have explained why the lead story in Pravda on the morning of October 5 was incongruously titled “Preparations for Winter” and