Red Moon Rising Sputnik and the Rivalries That Ignited the Space Age - Matthew Brzezinski [25]
Korolev must have sensed that he was losing his audience, and his one chance to get Khrushchev or one of the others to personally sign off on his pet project. He quickly changed tack. The Americans, he said casually, were in the advanced stages of developing a similar satellite. This was a slight exaggeration, but the Presidium didn’t need to know that. The United States, Korolev continued his pitch, had been working on a satellite for some years. He was certain, though, that he could beat them to space. It would be a significant scientific victory, he added, not to mention a serious defeat for the capitalists. Bulganin and Molotov looked at the model satellite with renewed interest. The shadow of a smile formed under Kaganovich’s dark mustache.
Korolev’s ploy had not been subtle, but it had its desired effect. He decided to press his advantage: “The Americans have taken a wrong turn. They are developing a special rocket and spending millions. We only have to remove the thermonuclear warhead and put a satellite in its place. And that’s all.”
Sergei Khrushchev recalled his father staring long and hard at the satellite model, mulling over Korolev’s request. “It seemed as if he was still debating the matter,” he observed. Part of the problem was that other than the prestige of being first in orbit, the satellite didn’t appear to have much of a purpose. Korolev had spoken of scientific readings and radio signals, but the men of the Presidium failed to see the point. They were not alone. Only a few hundred people on the entire planet in 1956 grasped the true potential and significance of a satellite, and several of them happened to work in surveillance at the CIA. For the leaders of the Soviet Union, dreams of distant space conquests risked becoming costly distractions from the immediate and earthly concerns of the cold war.
Minutes passed, and Korolev once again assured his masters that launching a satellite would in no way interfere with the development of the ICBM since it could only occur once the R-7 was fully operational anyway. Khrushchev seemed to weigh this. The ICBM was unquestionably the Soviet Union’s overriding priority. But the prospect of thumbing his nose at the arrogant Americans also had a certain undeniable appeal.
Okay, he finally relented. “If the main task doesn’t suffer, do it.”
2
JET POWER
Five thousand miles from Moscow—beyond bomber range—the Alabama sky brimmed a slate blue. To the west rose the Appalachian foothills, rolling like a brown carpet of dead leaves. The Tennessee River ran south, also brown and undulating, a giant corn snake weaving through the fallow cotton fields. To the east stood Huntsville, ancient Confederate battleground and the new home of the U.S. Army Ballistic Missile Agency.
The plane was coming in from the north, from Washington, whence the money and decisions flowed. Major General John Bruce Medaris stood on the tarmac, scanning the wintry horizon, searching for the contrail that would announce the impending arrival of the secretary of defense. Pacing at the edge of the runway, Medaris flicked his riding crop impatiently. A memento from his days serving with General George S. Patton, the swagger stick, along with his slender mustache, hazel eyes, and vaguely piratical air, lent Medaris a remarkable resemblance to Errol Flynn. This he knew, for he was vain, and his vanity, with its attending indiscretions, had already cost him one marriage—and very nearly another.
Dashing was the term the newspapers used to describe him. Belligerent, abrasive, and “a troublemaker who was hard to handle” were a few of the other, less flattering descriptions of Medaris, who would bluntly reply that “politeness is