Red Moon Rising Sputnik and the Rivalries That Ignited the Space Age - Matthew Brzezinski [40]
The problems mounted. Tests showed that the standard support blocks used to prop up rockets at launch would not support the mammoth R-7, which at 283 tons weighed more than any object that had ever been flown. A huge gantry rig with the rough dimensions of the Eiffel Tower had to be specifically built. So did an enhanced new guidance system, because the almost tenfold increase in the R-7’s range magnified minute trajectory inaccuracies by hundreds of miles at the point of impact. And then there was the nagging issue of postimpulse boost, the unwanted thrust from fuel remaining in a rocket’s plumbing system after the engine shut down. With small rockets, extraneous fuel amounted to only a few gallons that burned off harmlessly without affecting trajectory. But with a missile the size of the R-7, the amount of propellant left over in the feed lines was significantly larger. The residue could keep the engines firing for as much as a full second after shutdown and push the missile hopelessly off course at the critical aiming point.
All these were normal glitches, typical in the creation of any major new weapons system. Korolev, however, had promised Khrushchev an impossibly tight schedule: to have the R-7 ready for flight testing in January 1957. Khrushchev, in turn, had started chopping military spending for conventional forces in anticipation of the ICBM becoming Russia’s main line of defense. He had halted the construction of costly aircraft carriers and heavy cruisers, infuriating his admirals, and had cut back on the production of long-range bombers, outraging his air marshals. If Korolev didn’t deliver, he could be jeopardizing the security of the Soviet Union, to say nothing of risking the Presidium’s collective wrath. Khrushchev may not have been a butcher like Beria, but the men around him were, and they would have no hesitation making their displeasure known.
The Chief Designer began to sweat. He could not have forgotten the telephone call he had received from Beria in 1948 after the R-l had suffered several setbacks. “I’ve been sent the protocol of the latest tests,” Beria said, his childlike voice barely a whisper. “Another failure. And again no one is to blame. Some people are soliciting an award for you—but I think you deserve a warrant!”
Korolev had frozen in fear. “We are doing our work honestly,” he stammered. But Beria had no interest in excuses. “Do you understand about the warrant?” he hissed, hanging up.
Already the R-7’s delays were piling up, and now Glushko had seriously bad news. Static firing tests of his new engines showed the boosters were not performing to expectations. Thrust was not the issue. In terms of brute force, Glushko’s motors had generated 396.9 tons of lift, which translated to a better than expected 490.8 tons in the vacuum of space. The trouble was in the all-important realm of specific impulse, the ratio that calculated how many pounds of thrust were produced per each pound of propellant consumed per second. It was the aeronautic equivalent of the automobile industry’s gas-mileage ratings, which determined the fuel efficiency of different cars. The specifications for the R-7 had called for a specific impulse of 243 at sea level and 309.4 in space. But Glushko’s engines had come up short, at 239 and 303.1 respectively, a serious enough setback to warrant an official communiqué to the Kremlin. “At present time, we are completing static testing of the rocket,” Korolev glumly informed the Central Committee in the fall of 1956. “Preparations for the first launch of the rocket are experiencing substantial difficulties and are behind schedule. The current results of the stand tests give us solid hope that by March of 1957 the rocket will be launched. After