Red Moon Rising Sputnik and the Rivalries That Ignited the Space Age - Matthew Brzezinski [82]
There was no real mystery, however. Spinning spherical objects simply caught the light better, and PS-1 would act like a bright mirror for the sun’s rays as it circled the earth, making it much more visible in the dark. Without this form of optical amplification, PS-1, at twenty-two inches in diameter, was too small to be seen from distances of up to 500 miles away. And seeing, as the old saying went, was believing.
The same psychological reasoning applied to Korolev’s decision to sacrifice scientific instrumentation in favor of audio capability. Virtually all of PS-l’s 184-pound mass was consumed by two transmitters and their three batteries. The silver-zinc chargers alone weighed 122 pounds, providing power for only a few weeks of operation. As a redundancy, they operated two identical one-watt transmitters that broadcast alternatively on different frequencies using separate pairs of ten- and eight-foot antennae. This way if one system failed, a signal would still reach earth. Hearing was also believing.
Sights and sounds from space would give even a crude little craft like PS-1 enormous propaganda and political value, Korolev argued. No one would be able to deny its existence, and even the “simple satellite” would be a Soviet triumph over the Americans, orbiting proof of the supremacy of Communist countries. “The Soviet Union must be first,” he said adamantly. Korolev’s colleagues, though, were far from convinced. “The Army needs just one thing,” Marshal Mitrofan Nedelin shot back, “a rocket that will work.” The standoff continued, with Korolev demanding that the commission accept his proposal.
Glushko and the military men led the revolt—the Red Army representatives because it was a distraction from solving the nose cone problem, Glushko perhaps as a way of getting even with his rival. Whichever the case, all the old animosity had bubbled to the surface: the fights, “using the dirtiest language and crudest phrases,” the tirades that had left so many wounded feelings. “Mindless malice,” Korolev complained to Nina.
Smarting from the rejection, Korolev stormed out of the conference room, no doubt leaving his own habitual trail of expletives that Soviet historians opted not to record for posterity. He was back two weeks later, early in the second week of September, once again insisting that his Simple Satellite Number One be given the green light. This time, however, his position had improved, and he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. The R-7 had completed another nearly flawless test flight on September 7, using up the last of the