Red Moon Rising Sputnik and the Rivalries That Ignited the Space Age - Matthew Brzezinski [140]
Similarly, the Soviet press had gone to great lengths to publicize Sputnik II’s other significant contribution to scientific exploration, its onboard meters that would map the radiation belts that were believed to surround the earth. To better impress the West with its technological prowess, Moscow released astonishingly detailed descriptions of the devices, and yet after the launch no major announcement of glorious discoveries had been heralded by Moscow. The truth of the matter was that Sputnik II had been such a rush job that half the systems on the satellite had malfunctioned. It had performed its political mission, but not much else.
The military, especially, had been unimpressed. The more Marshal Nedelin grew familiar with the slow-loading R-7, the less he wanted it for his Strategic Rocket Forces. Glushko had long been whispering in his ear that the rival R-16 would be better suited for warfare, and in the Chief Designer’s absence Nedelin had finally taken the matter to Khrushchev.
“Tell me, Sergei Pavlovich,” the Soviet leader confronted Korolev upon his return to Moscow, “isn’t there some way we can put your rocket at a constant readiness, so that it can be fired at a moment’s notice in the event of a crisis?”
“No,” Korolev conceded. But he reacted furiously to suggestions that his missile used the wrong propellant. Cryogenic oxidizers like liquid oxygen, he told Khrushchev, were much safer than the highly toxic and inherently unstable acid mixes proposed by Yangel and Glushko, which he called “the devil’s venom.” The Chief Designer stubbornly dug in his heels, and he switched the topic to space, his favored distractive ploy, igniting the first secretary’s imagination with tales of the 5,000-pound Sputnik III he wanted to launch in the new year; the lunar probes he would send shortly thereafter; and the manned space missions that would follow. Beguiled by visions of political glory, Khrushchev momentarily forgot the fuel issues and in a burst of enthusiasm begged his star scientist “to deliver,” in Korolev’s words, “the Soviet Coat of Arms to the Moon.”
But Nedelin and the military would not let the matter rest. The word was spread that the Chief Designer had lost his bearing, had become too wrapped up in space, and had lost all sense of priority. “Korolev works for TASS,” making newspaper headlines, the Red Army chieftains grumbled, whereas “Yangel works for us.” They decided to throw their support behind the rival designer. Nedelin would arrange another audience with Khrushchev, this time with Glushko alone.
• • •
As the Soviet military plotted its revolt against Sergei Korolev, the Army Ballistic Missile Agency was feverishly preparing to leap into space. ABMA had shed the requisite crocodile tears for Vanguard’s fiery demise, making the expected public statements of support and sympathy, but privately there had been widespread relief in Huntsville that the competition had failed.
Things were finally looking up at ABMA, whose fortunes seemed inversely related to the White House’s woes. In addition to finally getting its satellite shot, ABMA had just received a huge boost from the intense pressure brought by Lyndon Johnson’s hearings. Johnson, on November 27, had called McElroy and Quarles to appear before his subcommittee. Expecting a politically charged tongue-lashing, the secretary of defense began his testimony by throwing Johnson a bone in the hope that he might deflect accusations that Charlie Wilson’s missile cuts had put America in danger. “Before you begin your questioning, I have a brief statement to make,” McElroy said. “We have been undertaking during the past few days an intensive re-assessment of our position,” vis-á-vis Wilson’s directive to eliminate duplicate Army and Air Force IRBMs. “We are today authorizing the placing into production of both the Jupiter and Thor missiles.”
Privately, McElroy