So today we come at last to the final Post of Part I of...
Part I Post #10: The First Man
At the start of the 1960s, the US and the USSR each had two parallel man-in-space efforts underway. In the Soviet Union, Chelomei’s long-term Raketoplan space plane project ran alongside the underfunded capsule programme, operating under the code-name Zarya (“Dawn”), which had been reallocated from Chelomei to Mishin in 1960 under pressure from Ustinov. The United States mirrored this situation, with the Air Force focussing first and foremost on their Dynasoar space plane, whilst the Mercury capsule programme was seen as a cheap stop-gap. The leadership of both sides were interested in what data capsule flights could provide with respect to how men could adapt to the space environment, and accepted there would be significant propaganda value in launching the first human space explorer, but few on either side saw capsules as leading to any significant military operational capability. An additional factor in the US was that Eisenhower had become more concerned with slowing the growth of the Military-Industrial Complex than competing with the Russians in space stunts, even after the flight of Vega the dog again highlighted the political benefits that could accrue.
The situation for Mercury changed with the inauguration of President Nixon. Taking his oath of office under the shadow of the Berlin Crisis and possible nuclear war had a huge impact on the shape of Nixon’s term of office. Although still a staunch anti-communist and a firm believer in the long-standing policy of containment of Soviet influence, the near-miss of Berlin convinced Nixon that direct confrontations between the two world systems had to be avoided in the future. Nixon’s policy, encapsulated in his famous “Not One Step More” speech in Bonn, instead became to “freeze” the Cold War in its current configuration, with both sides sticking to their current spheres of influence and not attempting to shift the borders between the First and Second Worlds by military means. Nixon would continue to expand the US’ military forces to ensure they would be ready for anything, but he also wanted to focus on beating Communism through the increased economic and technological dynamism of the Free World, ensuring that America stayed ahead of the Communists and would eventually begin to widen the gap again. Hopefully this would open up new options in the future for defeating the Communist system, or at least in coming to some sort of stable accommodation without recourse to nuclear war.
As a highly visible demonstration of technological prowess, space was to be a vital front in Nixon’s Cold War strategy. Shortly after taking office he created the Defense Research Agency as an independent R&D arm under the Pentagon with the aim of developing new, breakthrough technologies to augment and secure the defence capabilities of the United States. The DRA would consolidate, coordinate and complement the R&D efforts of the individual services, bring new expertise and new funding to ensure that the American military would remain the most technically advanced in the world, with its Space Systems Office having a particular focus on launch vehicle development. In conjunction with this change, the Nixon administration moved to formally incorporate space technology into the NACA’s remit, so that from November 1961 it became the National Advisory Committee for Aeronautics and Astronautics (NACAA), gaining new funding and new personnel to support its work in fundamental research in support of air and space transportation.
Both of these changes had the effect of supercharging the ongoing Dynasoar programme, including its associate launch vehicle development, but of the most immediate impact was on Mercury. With the new focus on being seen to be ahead of the Soviets, the potential of Mercury to extend an early lead made it very attractive. Dynasoar, whilst considered valuable and worthwhile, was not scheduled to begin airborne glide tests until 1963, with the first space launch not coming until at least a year later. Mercury could guarantee to put a man in space within Nixon’s first term. Suddenly, Max Faget’s lonely team of ballistics advocates found themselves with more friends and resources than they could have dreamed of a year earlier.
Following a series of wind-tunnel assessments and Redstone-launched suborbital flights of aerodynamic test vehicles throughout 1961, by the start of 1962 the final configuration of the Mercury capsule had been fixed. Mercury would be a small, conical capsule, 1.9 m in diameter - just big enough for a single occupant. Although the Air Force still used the term “pilot”, for the first few flights at least it was possible that the man inside the capsule would be little more than a passenger along for the ride. Although controls were included to allow the pilot to turn the craft in space and fire the retro-thrusters, the mission could be completely automated, with critical events verified by ground control. If the alien environment of outer space were to somehow incapacitate the pilot it would be vital to be able to bring him home with the automatic systems. Assuming that the first candidates showed no adverse effects, future pilots would test manual operation of the vehicle, providing valuable feedback into the design and concept of operations for Dynasoar.
In January 1962 the production model Mercury capsule made its first short flight when the Escape Tower rocket that would pull the capsule clear of its launcher in the event of a catastrophe succeeded in yanking a Mercury off its test stand at the NACAA Wallops Island facility. The first test of a full-up Mercury from the top of a missile came the following May, when a modified Redstone was fired at the Cape, lobbing the Mercury capsule over 350 km and reaching a maximum altitude of 200 km. On board was a Rhesus monkey named “Bucky”, who survived the experience with no ill effects, giving confidence that a man would be able to survive the experience equally well.
This mission, MR-5, was planned to be the last Mercury-Redstone flight, as the increased priority from the White House and the DRA succeeded in persuading the Air Force to allocate models of the more powerful Atlas-D missile to the Mercury test programme. However, the first Mercury-Atlas launch at the end of May was unsuccessful, with the booster engines cutting out just seconds after ignition, causing minor damage to the rocket and the launch pad. Further test flights in June and July showed better results, the latter test boosting the unmanned capsule into a low Earth orbit, although a failure of the retro-boosters meant that it was unable to return to Earth as planned. Finally, in August Ham the Chimp completed a suborbital flight on mission MA-4.
Ham and Bucky both became minor celebrities in the US, frequently appearing on television throughout the remainder of 1962. This level of fame was not matched by the canine cosmonauts of Soviet space tests of that period. The flight of Vega in April 1960 had been a publicity coup for the USSR, but only because of a cover-up. Launched aboard a hasty modification of the Sammit re-entry vehicle, Vega was killed when the parachute of the tiny capsule failed. The resulting impact was potentially survivable for the hardened film canister of a spy satellite, but not for a living creature. The broadcasting via TASS of Vega’s barks whilst she had been on-orbit meant that the Soviets couldn’t simply deny the mission had ever happened, and so a replacement dog had been found to stand in for Vega at the following May Day parade. Although the Soviets got away with this deception for many decades, they were unwilling to take similar propaganda risks in the future, and so all biological test flights were put on hold. When flights with dogs resumed in mid 1961, they were carried out with no publicity at launch, and were simply noted as “Space technology test vehicles”. Only after the safe return of the subject would the mission’s true purpose be announced, with unsuccessful missions quietly omitted.
Following Vega’s death, future biological missions would be flown using a new re-entry vehicle design. After considering use of a simple spherical capsule, Mishin and Tikhonravov decided instead to develop a headlamp-shaped vehicle. This decision was taken with an eye to the future. The decree of September 1959 that had authorised the start of work on Zarya was primarily a child of Chelomei, and made it very clear that it was OKB-1’s Raketoplans that would be the vehicle enabling Soviet space travel in the long term. Chelomei planned for Zarya to be just a test programme on the path to Raketoplan, an unfortunately necessary step which could be safely farmed out to Mishin without harming his grand scheme.
For Mishin then, Zarya was his first, last and only chance to establish a foothold in manned spaceflight, and so he intended to make sure that, rather than a dead-end test vehicle, whatever flew would be expandable and upgradeable to support future space spectaculars which would advance Mishin’s position vis-a-vis Chelomei. A spherical re-entry vehicle, though providing superior stability, would result in gee forces unsuitable for future deep space missions. Therefore Mishin contracted with Keldysh’s Central Aerohydrodynamic Institute (Tsentralniy Aerogidrodinamicheskiy Institut, TsAGI) to propose an alternative shape which would provide some lift and steering capability whilst minimising mass. The resulting headlamp shaped capsule would be suitable for high-orbit and even lunar missions, but required use of a sophisticated active attitude control system to maintain stability during re-entry. Though the experience gained with the Sammit pointing mechanism and efforts to improve the accuracy of ICBM warheads had given some experience in this field, the complexity of the system needed still posed a significant challenge to Mishin’s engineers.
These challenges were finally overcome in February 1962, when an R-6 missile was rolled out to the pad at Tyuratam carrying the 4 tonne Zarya capsule at its tip. The rounded 2 m wide re-entry capsule (Spuskaemyi Apparat, SA) formed the nose of the rocket, with the short Sammit-derived instrument module (Pribornyy Apparat, PA) concealed under a conical supporting fairing, although for this first test flight a non-functional mock-up was in place. Inside the Zarya was another dog-cosmonaut, a male named Baikal, but this time he would only be making a suborbital hop of around 1 000 km, as without a functional service module it would be impossible to conduct the necessary retro-burn.
The first suborbital test flight however ended in disappointment, as the Zarya SA failed to separate from the R-6 second stage, and the entire complex impacted together, killing Baikal. Despite this, March saw another fearless dog, optimistically named “Vezuchiy” (“Lucky”) launch atop an R-6. Vezuchiy lived up to her name, successfully landing in central Siberia from where her Zarya capsule was retrieved less than six hours after launch.
Further suborbital flights throughout the spring and summer of 1962 were mostly successful, leading up to the first orbital flight launched on an R-6A ‘Luna’ rocket at the end of August, once again piloted by the fearless Vezuchiy. Coming less than a week after Ham’s flight, this mission made Vezuchiy the first living entity to travel into space more than once. Her reputation was slightly tarnished when the Zarya capsule landed over 300 km off target, but aside from this the mission was a complete success, with Vezuchiy completing five orbits of the Earth. Following her retrieval, a confident Mishin declared that, assuming the next two test flights went as planned, he would be ready to launch a manned mission in time for the 45th anniversary of the Revolution in November 1962. The race was tightening.
The successful mission of Vezuchiy, coming so close to that of Ham, focussed attention in the US on just how tight the race had become. The Air Force’s original plan had been to launch at least two, more probably three more “Astrochimp” missions before attempting to launch a man into orbit. This was partly to gather more data on the biological effects of spaceflight, but also to improve confidence in the Mercury capsule, in particular the retro booster control system, which had given some trouble on the second unmanned flight. But following this methodical test regime could risk letting the Reds beat them into space, with some in the chain of command of the opinion that the “Godless Commies” would not be above risking a pilot in a substandard spacecraft if it meant getting there first.
Largely at the instigation of von Braun, now back in Government service as the DRA’s top rocket specialist, a new test plan was put forward. To ensure that the first man in space was an American whilst minimising risks, von Braun proposed launching Mercury on a Redstone for a suborbital mission first. Two spare Redstone missiles had been ordered as part of the early test phase in case of failure of one of the unmanned tests, and true to form von Braun had ensured these extra boosters had been stored rather than scrapped following the completion of those tests. Taking one out of storage and prepping it for flight would be the work of a few weeks, much simpler than the reconditioning job that had been needed for Explorer 1. Although the entire flight would last just over 15 minutes, it would be able to launch on very short notice, whilst the reduced duration and “Fail-safe” assurance that the capsule would return to Earth no matter what meant that the risks of mechanical failure were vastly reduced. Of course a sub-orbital flight would not grab the same headlines as an orbital mission, but by taking the place of one of the planned “Astrochimp” tests the addition of this ballistic hop would have only a small impact on the orbital mission’s schedule. The Air Force, von Braun promised, would be able to have their cake and eat it.
The plan was formally approved in mid-September, by which time Mary-Ann had splashed down after becoming the second chimpanzee in space and the first to orbit the Earth. The next launch, scheduled for 5th October, was chosen to carry the first human in history to travel beyond Earth’s atmosphere.
At 8am on the morning of Friday 12th October 1962, test pilot James W. Wood was transported to Launch Complex 5 at the Cape Canaveral Air Force Station. Standing at the pad, holding T-minus 2 hours 20 minutes into its countdown, was the Redstone missile chosen to carry Mercury mission MA-6. Winds were light and visibility good.
After ascending the support tower, two airmen helped the silver-suited Wood into his Mercury capsule, named “Spirit of Freedom” by Wood himself, in reference to Charles Lindbergh’s pioneering flight in the “Spirit of St. Louis”. Wood was strapped into place and, after a final check, the hatch of the tiny vehicle was closed and sealed. After giving a final thumbs-up through the window of the hatch before the two airmen left the gantry, Wood then busied himself working through the pre-launch checklist. All systems looked good and the countdown resumed.
The countdown proceeded relatively smoothly, with only two holds to check minor technical issues, until at T-minus 15 minutes the final planned hold-point was reached as the real-time trajectory computer was checked. Checks completed, the final phase of the countdown began. Inside the capsule, Wood reported “
Freedom is ready to go.”
At 10:56 am the Redstone’s A6 engine ignited and James Wood began his flight into history. “Lift off. Clock has started,” he reported as the missile cleared the launch pad. two-and-a-half minutes into the flight the engine shut down and the escape tower was jettisoned. The Redstone separating cleanly to leave
Spirit of Freedom on a ballistic trajectory that would carry it to a maximum altitude of almost 200 km. As the Mercury capsule continued along its flight path, Wood reported that he was feeling fine and suffering no adverse effects. Three minutes after launch he activated the manual controls and tested the Attitude Control System (ACS). Wood confirmed he had good control over yaw, pitch and roll, and followed up these simple tests by manually re-orienting
Freedom for re-entry. As he passed apogee, Wood reported good visibility of the Earth, picking out various landmarks.
Seven minutes into the mission, Wood activated the Automatic Stabilization Control System (ASCS) and prepared for re-entry. Exactly as it had been designed to do, the ASCS maintained
Freedom’s attitude as the capsule plunged back into the atmosphere, with Wood reporting forces of up to 9 gee as the craft descended. At 9 minutes and 40 seconds, the drogue parachute deployed, followed by the main ‘chute 40s second later. Finally, at Mission Elapsed Time 15 minutes 27 seconds, the
Spirit of Freedom splashed down in the Atlantic Ocean 500 km East of the Cape. Ten minutes later a helicopter from the USS Kearsarge triumphantly retrieved James W Wood, the First Man in Space.