Rocket Men: The Daring Odyssey of Apollo 8 and the Astronauts Who Made Man's First Journey to the Moon(7)

* * *



—

While Americans buzzed about Kennedy’s plan, the Soviet Union yawned. It remained far ahead in the Space Race, and had even sent a probe 42.5 million miles away, which had passed by Venus a few days before Kennedy’s speech. In June, Khrushchev bullied Kennedy during a two-day summit in Vienna at which the men discussed Communism and democracy and the relationship between the two superpowers. “Worst thing in my life. He savaged me,” Kennedy told a New York Times writer. “I’ve got a terrible problem if he thinks I’m inexperienced and have no guts.”

Four months later, on October 30, 1961, the Soviets exploded a device known as Tsar Bomba over northern Russia. Packing a force of nearly four thousand Hiroshima bombs, it was by far the most powerful nuclear weapon ever detonated or even built; for the briefest moment, it equaled 1.4 percent of the power output of the Sun. The device’s blast wave orbited the globe three times and its mushroom cloud rose to more than seven times the height of Mount Everest. The ground around the blast site melted and turned to glass, while people fifty miles away were knocked flat.

A year after Tsar Bomba, Khrushchev placed nuclear missiles in Cuba. Kennedy demanded they be removed. Khrushchev refused, but in October 1962, he was facing a different kind of president. Kennedy ordered a naval blockade of the island. For thirteen days, the United States and the Soviet Union stood on the brink of nuclear war. But Kennedy refused to call off the blockade. Just as it seemed both sides had no choice but to use their nuclear weapons, Khrushchev backed down and removed the missiles. The Cuban Missile Crisis had been among the most tense and dangerous events in American history, but when it ended, the world had a different opinion about the will of John Fitzgerald Kennedy.



* * *



—

In mid-November 1963, Kennedy visited Cape Canaveral, where he was briefed on America’s developing colossus, the Saturn V, the 36-story-tall three-stage booster being built to take Americans to the Moon. Standing outside with rocket designer Wernher von Braun, Kennedy shook his head in wonder at it all. These men in shirtsleeves and ties were building machines to take human beings to new worlds.

Six days later, the president was dead from an assassin’s bullet.

In the wake of Kennedy’s killing, some wondered whether the nation’s will to land a man on the Moon might have died with him. The new president, Lyndon Johnson, supported the space program and pushed to keep Kennedy’s deadline, but problems with logistics, spacecraft, rockets, and engineering bogged down the American effort. Some NASA analysts put the chances of landing a man on the Moon by the end of the decade at just one in ten. In 1964, the Soviet Union only widened its lead in the race to the Moon.

But NASA wouldn’t give up. Over the next three years, the Americans and Soviets volleyed for supremacy in space. Project Gemini, designed to perfect techniques the Apollo flights would use to land men on the Moon, opened a floodgate of progress. In the Soviet Union, the skies darkened. Its space program had managed a few interesting missions, but nothing close to the game changers that had put them so far ahead for so long. By the end of 1966, the Soviets were panicked. For the first time since the Space Race began, they were losing.

The American advantage never looked stronger than on January 27, 1967, when three astronauts rode an elevator to the top of a Saturn IB booster at Cape Kennedy in Florida and strapped themselves into their capsule for a simulated countdown. In three weeks they would do it for real, taking Apollo 1—the kickoff of NASA’s new Apollo program—into orbit around Earth.

At 6:31 P.M., one of the astronauts screamed into his microphone a word that sounded like “Fire!” Two seconds later, another cried out. His first word was unclear—either “I” or “We” —but the rest was unmistakable: “got a fire in the cockpit!” That was followed by garbled, desperate words and an agonized scream. Some thought they heard an astronaut saying “We’re burning up!”

After that, there was nothing but silence.

Flames spread through the capsule. None of the astronauts could overcome the cabin’s highly pressurized atmosphere and move the inward-opening hatch. Seconds later, the capsule ruptured. Technicians rushed to the scene but were beaten back by heat and fire; almost six minutes passed before they could get inside. Rescue personnel found the crew, already expired from asphyxiation, their space suits fused to the melted interior of the spacecraft. Seven hours passed before the bodies could be removed.

Until now, the American space program had owned an excellent safety record; even a chimpanzee named Ham, who’d flown on a suborbital mission in 1961, had come through it safely. Suddenly, three American heroes had died without ever leaving the launchpad, and in a way that seemed entirely preventable. Hundreds of grown men at NASA were reduced to tears by the accident.

Media reports blamed an electrical spark for igniting the pure oxygen environment of the spacecraft’s cabin. But to many, there seemed a more basic explanation. “There’s reason to believe that establishing a deadline of 1970 for the Moon flight contributed to their deaths,” said NBC News anchor Frank McGee. Like many, he thought that by rushing, NASA was risking safety.

After surviving the congressional investigation into the fire, and enduring months of delay while instituting new safety measures, NASA was ready to resume flight operations. On November 9, 1967, controllers counted down the final seconds to the launch of Apollo 4 (Apollo 2 and 3 had been canceled in a reorganization after the fire). This would be the first test of the massive Saturn V booster, a rocket that was orders of magnitude more powerful than any NASA had ever launched, and the only one capable of taking a man to the Moon. The agency dared not put a man on board.