15th December, 1960
A man walks silently through the cold, bitter halls of the Kremlin, fingers trembling in the cold. Inside, his mind burns with ideas, cursing the engineers who defy him, the assistants that conspire to usurp his position, his competitors in the military. Twelve days ago, he suffered his first heart attack. He can still remember the doctor's face when he storms out of the hospital to check on his office, his plans. He knows that he cannot continue like this forever- his pains in the stomach were no longer the dull aches of his youth, easily dismissed as the aftereffects of overwork or drinking. Still, he cannot bring himself to stop.
He looks up at the sky, at the stars that he knows are there but remain stubbornly invisible behind the winter fog that blinds Moscow. Three years ago, he had proven to the world that his plans would work. Now he had bigger plans, a beautiful device that would carry not steel, but humans, a device that would reach the moon itself. No, he told himself, he could not rest.
Almost by accident, he had reached the front entrance. The guards wave him in. That day his name will not be recorded, nor the day after that. In the official records, all that will be written is that the Chief Designer had arrived.
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(Reposted in the correct forum) First attempt, please do not murder.
A man walks silently through the cold, bitter halls of the Kremlin, fingers trembling in the cold. Inside, his mind burns with ideas, cursing the engineers who defy him, the assistants that conspire to usurp his position, his competitors in the military. Twelve days ago, he suffered his first heart attack. He can still remember the doctor's face when he storms out of the hospital to check on his office, his plans. He knows that he cannot continue like this forever- his pains in the stomach were no longer the dull aches of his youth, easily dismissed as the aftereffects of overwork or drinking. Still, he cannot bring himself to stop.
He looks up at the sky, at the stars that he knows are there but remain stubbornly invisible behind the winter fog that blinds Moscow. Three years ago, he had proven to the world that his plans would work. Now he had bigger plans, a beautiful device that would carry not steel, but humans, a device that would reach the moon itself. No, he told himself, he could not rest.
Almost by accident, he had reached the front entrance. The guards wave him in. That day his name will not be recorded, nor the day after that. In the official records, all that will be written is that the Chief Designer had arrived.
Svetlana Ivanova, "Red Star Rising - The Soviet Space program from 1945-1981"
To this day it is not certain why Khrushchev chose to dismiss Chelomey. There were rumours that his protege had grown violent, hurling invectives at his rival after a bitter night of drinking. Perhaps the heart attack enlightened the Premier to the dangers he faced attempting to continue the space program with two rivals in command. Whatever the reason, 1961 will be remembered as the year Sergei Korolev became, for the first time indisputably, the director of the Space Program of the Union of Socialist Republics.
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(Reposted in the correct forum) First attempt, please do not murder.
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