Starman_ The Truth Behind the Legend of Yuri Gagarin - Jamie Doran [22]
For a man who had survived a Siberian labour camp, mere administrative battles with competitors or unhelpful officials at the Kremlin must have seemed relatively easy, particularly under the far less oppressive post-Stalinist regime of Nikita Khrushchev throughout the late 1950s and early 1960s. Korolev was intensely driven, and he established a network of influence far more complex and subtle than anything his rivals in the aerospace sector could muster. By 1956 he was securely in control of his own industrial empire, the heart of which was a secret factory facility in Kaliningrad, just north-east of Moscow, known only as the Special Design Bureau-1 (OKB-1). Here Korolev was the absolute ruler, although he was answerable at Kremlin level to the Defence Ministry under Marshal Ustinov, and also to the vaguely named Ministry of General Machine Building. (In this context ‘general’ meant nothing of the kind; it was a cover word for rockets and satellites.)
In 1961 the Moscow journalist Olga Apencheko described the effect that Korolev seemed to have on those around him, as he strode through the corridors and shop floors of OKB-1, although she carefully avoided naming either him or his factory. As per regulations, she referred to him only as the ‘Chief Designer’:
A dark-complexioned, rather severe-looking man with massive features, the Chief Designer of the spaceship had something more in him than he cared to show. I heard a busy rustle around me whenever he appeared in a room or work area. It was difficult to say what this whisper expressed – awe, respect, a mixture of both. When he entered a workshop everything changed somehow. The movements of the technicians became more collected and precise, and it seemed that even the hum of the machines assumed a new overtone, intense and rhythmic. This man’s energy stepped up the motion of shafts and cogs.3
Yuri Mazzhorin, one of Korolev’s senior experts on guidance trajectories, says that he was ‘a great man, an extraordinary person. You could talk to him about simple as well as complicated things. You’d think his time in prison would have broken his spirit, but on the contrary, when I first met him in Germany when we were investigating the V-2 weapons, he was a king, a strong-willed purposeful person who knew exactly what he wanted. By the way, he was very strict, very demanding, and he swore at you, but he never insulted you. He would always listen to what you had to say. The truth is, everybody loved him.’
Almost everybody . . . Valentin Glushko, an equally driven personality, operated out of his own specialist design bureau. As long as his engines were fitted into Korolev’s rockets, the two men avoided outright confrontation, but these two giants of Soviet rocketry did not get along. The tension between them undoubtedly dated back to the summer of 1938 when, for some reason, Glushko was punished with eight months of relatively mild ‘house arrest’ while Korolev was sent to a prison camp. Presumably Glushko betrayed most of his colleagues, while Korolev kept a costly silence. Mikhail Yangel was another rival, developing missiles strictly for military use from