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By Root 494 0

January 30. Despite the fact that at sea level only a gentle breeze ruffled the flags outside ABMA’s assembly hangar, at 41,000 feet the winds raged at 205 miles per hour. High-altitude weather balloons were sent up every few hours to track the disruptive air currents, which showed some signs of subsiding by late afternoon. “What’s happened? What are you going to do?” a helpless and clearly frustrated von Braun messaged frantically over the Pentagon’s Teletype machine from Washington. Much like the Vanguard crew a few days earlier, Debus and Medaris now faced the dilemma of whether to fuel Juno. If the winds didn’t die down, and the countdown was scrubbed, they would have to drain the rocket and replace all the seals rather than risk a repeat of TV3BU’s corrosion problems. But if they were too cautious, they risked missing their opportunity, since the weather forecasts were growing increasingly optimistic. Debus decided to compromise: load the fuel but hold the liquid oxygen until the last moment. That would mean less work if they had to scrub.

A final set of weather balloons was released three hours before the scheduled 10:30 PM liftoff. As data floated back to receiving stations an hour later, the initial reports seemed promising. The liquid oxygen tankers were put on standby while Debus had the numbers sent to ABMA’s Computation Lab in Huntsville for more detailed analyses. “Highly marginal,” the lab messaged at 9:20 PM. “We do not recommend that you try it.”

Drain the rocket, Debus ordered, to collective groans. The engineers shook their heads in disbelief. To have come so far, to have battled back from the political brink so many times, only to bested by the wind. It was maddening. Unbelievable. The height of poetic injustice. And now they were down to their last shot, with Vanguard breathing down their neck.

Get some sleep, Medaris counseled his dejected crew. Tomorrow would be a long, hard day.

The first weather report on Friday, January 31, gave a little reason for hope. The high-altitude winds had tapered off slightly overnight but still gusted at 157 miles per hour. A Redstone would have no problem slamming through this turbulence, but the more fragile, overextended Juno could still sustain damage in such conditions. Medaris munched nervously on a ham and egg sandwich. “Everyone was going on sheer nerve,” he recalled. “The men were tired. They had been working long and irregular hours, snatching sleep whenever they could.”

Once again, liftoff was tentatively scheduled for 10:30 PM, and at 1:30 PM the countdown clock was set to T minus eight hours, leaving an hour leeway for unforeseeable delays. The wind was still not cooperating, and as he waited for weather updates Medaris chain-smoked and forced himself to catnap. By late afternoon decision time was approaching. Juno would have to start fueling soon. The highly noxious dimethylhydrazine von Braun had swapped for alcohol required special care, and technicians in hermetically sealed suits with integral breathing apparatuses needed extra time to load the toxic propellant. They would need to start the operation no later than 6:30 PM to be ready. It was do or die. For the umpteenth time, Medaris and Debus pored over the weather charts. Cape Canaveral’s chief meteorologist, a twenty-four-year-old first lieutenant by the name of John Meisenheimer, predicted a shift in the jet stream by late evening, with winds declining to within acceptable norms. But not everyone agreed with the young lieutenant. If he was wrong, it could mean disaster and could set ABMA back cruelly. But if he was right and they didn’t seize the opportunity, Vanguard would get another chance at making history. “Every man on the crew was conscious that the hopes of a Nation were riding with us,” Medaris reflected. The hell with it. He would gamble the hopes of the nation, and the future of his five thousand employees, on the word of a twenty-four-year-old kid. Fuel the rocket, he ordered.

News that the launch was a go was quickly wired to Washington, where von Braun, Defense Secretary McElroy,