It also surprised me to know that this was the way radio Moscow reported it OTL as well. If anything, I depicted it taking slightly longer for them to do so ITTL.
A Man Is Finished When He Quits - The Early Presidency of Richard M. Nixon
- Thread starter SargentHawk
- Start date
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- Tags
- 1960 nixon 1960
WHY THE HELL WOULD THE SECRETARY OF DEFENSE AND THE CHAIRMAN OF THE JOINT CHIEFS OF STAFF THINK IT WOULD BE A GOOD IDEA TO SUGGEST A COVERT OPERATION THAT WOULD INVOLVE AN ASSASSINATION ATTEMPT ON THE PRESIDENT’S LIFE IN FRONT OF THE PRESIDENT HIMSELF?! ARE THEY TRYING TO GET THEMSELVES FIRED?!?!?!
I'm not a conspiracy theorist by any means, but it is important to note that there were people and threads in the American defense and intelligence that were reckless and frankly out of their minds in the Mid-Late 20th. It's like a drug junkie wrote a detailed memo on committee proposals, wore a suit and thought you were the crazy one. And often times this walked hand in hand with an unashamed, banal brutality and lack of humanity in their plans. The contrast of that with the dignity and respect afforded to their position (frankly even the ego of having that position) and the bureaucratic plainness of it all is off-putting; the definition of the "banality of evil".
Operation Northwoods and space battleship Orion are to name a few. The reason I'm not a conspiracy person is that attempts at conspiracies are exactly as incompetent as the people involved and leave a paper trail. The bigger and more visible they are, the more likely they are to be exposed and fall apart. A fake conspiracy would be the Kennedy assassination, for example; it was one lonely radical with personality, social and emotional problems and absolutely meaningless. (We sadly understand meaningless violence from disturbed people; they didn't). A real conspiracy would be Watergate. A conspiracy theory is a historical fiction story with things left in and out, a tailored context and inference by an author to seem realistic to an audience; a conspiracy is a prosecutable offense with a legally established sequence of events and involved parties based on what evidence shows rather than what the investigator wants to see.
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Also conspiracy theories are a way our brains seek to make sense of things that are nonsensical. There must be a reason. A horrible event happened and it could not just be luck, circumstance, happenstance, and other factors. Sadly it often is. There have been real conspiracies and insane plans. All the attempts to kill Castro, Northwoods, Orion, one of the more subdued plans was Manned Observation Laboratory which would be a manned spy satellite.
Chapter 4: Part 3
Wednesday, April 13th, 1961
The White House, Washington D.C.
11:13 A.M.
In the Oval Office, Nixon’s fury burned as hot as when he was first woken by the Secretary of State’s call; a call he'd received almost seven hours ago. The buttons on Nixon’s shirt collar and cuffs remained uncharacteristically unfastened as if to give the metaphorical steam an escape route; in reality, he had not yet ceased shouting long enough to accomplish the task. The morning’s briefing, dropped off by Finch at 7:00 AM sharp, was now splayed out across the McKinley-Barkley desk. Traditionally requisitioned for the Congressional office of the Vice-President, the historied desk was brought by Nixon to the West Wing to serve in place of the desk utilized by all Presidents since Taft, save for Franklin Roosevelt. In simple terms, Nixon felt an attachment to the desk following eight years of prior use and its history, both record and conjecture. Nixon’s legs were crossed with his feet propped up on the table while he held the telephone receiver in his right hand, his white-knuckle grip held it as if he were strangling it.
“Now… I’m going to say this,” Nixon continued in the same venomous tone he’d used all morning. “I am only going to say this one time, Glennan. I don’t give a damn what has to be done, or what you need to do. I want our man up there, and I want him up there before the Soviets beat us to it a second time. You understand. The times of taking this thing slow and dressing up the chimp in his little fucking uniform are over. I don’t need them parading our boys around for show and tell down there anymore, I couldn’t care less to see another glossy press piece. What we need, what I want, is proof of action and the results that come from it. The Russians just made asses out of the whole goddamn program!” Nixon exploded into the receiver, it was the second time this morning that Thomas Keith Glennan, the Administrator of NASA, experienced the pleasure of speaking to the President.
“Mr. President, we are doing everything we can here to expedite the launch but as I said in our first call this morning, the earliest we can launch is the second of next month. We simply are not…,” Glennan started.
“Well, you best make it sooner,” Nixon interrupted. “Patience is not a luxury that the United States can afford right now.”
“Sir, that is simply not going to be possible, I wish it was. I…,” Glennan began.
“Christ… Of all the goddamn things…” Nixon said cutting him off. His jaw clenched tightly, the muscles in his face twitching with suppressed rage as he furiously rubbed the bridge of his nose, something he had done so much over the past several hours that the skin was now raw. “Do you understand the issue here? Do you grasp the seriousness of what we just allowed to happen?”
“I believe it is more than evident sir.”
Nixon’s feet slid off of the desk and thundered onto the carpeted floor, sitting up straight and putting his right elbow down in the same motion. He pointed his finger at the phone and pressed it forward like a dagger.
“You’re absolutely right, it is. It is seven in the morning, and I’m just waiting to read what Kennedy, Johnson, and the whole.. the whole fucking.. lot of them are going to have to say about this thing. The Times are going to have a goddamn field day with this. A goddamn field day. We’re 4 months into this administration and we’re already getting stonewalled left and right over this, that, and the other thing. This is, and I mean this, the last thing that we needed. The morale of the whole country is at stake! The whole country!”
“NASA is in full alignment with the Administration, Mr. President. We’re prepared to expedite the launch as quickly, but as realistically, as we can.”
“Look…, My question is this Keith… Just what in the hell are your boys doing over there and what have you been doing for the last three goddamn months with rockets ready to go!...I’ve received a series of several reports you know, several of them. Now, and I let it go, I assumed you all had a handle on things down there… But now… Now I’ve been hearing through the grapevine that we were ready back before March. Hell, I’m hearing we had the problems worked out back in January…”
“Sir, at the insistence of Von Braun and other members of the team…”
“You’re saying this is Von Braun’s fault?”
“I think statements of the kind have been overstated, now with… Out of his insistence that we…,” Glennan attempted.
“and look where that caution put us, right back in the damn dugout” Nixon said.
“Sir?,”
“Am I to understand that the son of a bitch asked for another test when we could have cinched up this entire thing. Am I correct in the understanding that while we were all busy watching yet another one of our unmanned rockets and a goddamn monkey go up, that… that these soviet bastards were pointing and laughing on their way to their fucking launchpads. Is that correct, or am I being fed incorrect information?”
“Yes sir,” Glennan choked out. The connotations of sacrificing someone to the rolling bus became undeniably evident. “Von Braun was adamant on performing another test flight. This flight took place last month. Leaving our next available flight for next month. While Von Braun was not the only voice cautioning a conservative approach…”
“Uh huh…” Nixon said, overtalking Glennan for a moment. He glanced up from the phone as he watched Paul Nitze enter the room. The Secretary of Defense's arrival was silent, like a thin shadow slipping under the office door. He stood in the doorway for a moment before Nixon waved him in and pointed for him to take a seat on one the two couches.
“He was certainly among the firmest where it was concerned,” Glennan continued. “This was of course despite some… vocal… disagreement by some in the program. Namely the astronauts. Those wanting to go ahead felt adamant that prior issues, the ones discovered in January and prior, were resolved and dealt with. Many felt another test wasn’t required. Again, I say the strongest voices of that camp were the astronauts, who are naturally inclined to take such risks. It wasn’t just Von Braun, Debus was also in favor of holding off, they both felt that…”
“Can him,” Nixon said flatly and coldly.
“Sir?”
“I mean it. cut Von Braun loose. I don’t care what needs to be done there or where they go, but I’m sure as hell not taking the heat for the son of a bitch because he wants to drag his feet. I’m sure we’ve got someone more domestic that will be more than willing to pick up the work.” Nixon took a deep breath and firmed his grip on the phone. “Understand?”
“Sir, I’m not….” Glennan started to say, before catching himself and swallowing hard. “Yes, I understand.”
“Good… and…,” Nixon continued, the audible taps of his fingers on the desk could be heard on the other end of the phone. “Let’s go ahead and send Von Braun’s deputy packing too while the axe is out… ensure we alter the mentality down there.”
A few seconds of silence followed as Nixon ensured that the secondary order sank in, but not wanting to rub Glennan through the mud much further, he decided to let the silence act as affirmation, instead he continued to tap his fingers before clearing his throat.
“Anyway… I trust that you’ll have that handled, sooner rather than later,” Nixon said with a tone of forlorn hope, “I want them out and replaced as soon as is feasibly possible.”
“Yes sir,”
“And Glennan, I want Von Braun’s replacement… I want an American,” Nixon said. “Someone who actually seems capable of understanding that it's important we set the standard. I expect you to make the correct call.”
“The only thing that matters at this point is that we get a man up there before the Soviets put another one up there. We have to respond tit for tat on this thing at the very least. We're past being out of time and if we don’t have something to show in response soon, some are going to start demanding for heads to roll. I'm sure as hell not going to be one of them.”
“The flight is set for May 2nd sir, weather permitting that’s our…,” Glennan started.
“The clock’s ticking, Glennan, and it isn’t in our favor, ” Nixon said, cutting him off again.
An audible ring echoed against the walls of the office as the receiver was thrown down. The President’s gaze lifted from his desk to acknowledge the Secretary of Defense.
“What is it now Paul…? Jesus… Out with it.”
“Mr. President,” Nitze said, clearing his throat before he continued. “We believe there might be problem regarding the cosmonaut,” His index finger emphatically pointed toward the ceiling as if to point at Gagarin himself.
The President’s morning anger shifted immediately to a state of shocked attention. He didn’t respond with words and instead gazed directly at Nitze while he waited for the rest of the report.
“As far as we can tell…,” Nitze said. “As far as our intel goes, it seems the cosmonaut... he’s still in orbit”
“What? We think they’re trying to set some kind of record?,” Nixon asked, hyperbolically outstretching both of his arms.
“We’re not entirely sure sir. But that is unlikely,” Nitze said. “We’ve been tracking the craft now for some time, and there appears to be no movement whatsoever when it comes to bringing their man out of orbit. This of course being in disagreement with the information broadcast from Radio Moscow and several other sources.”
“So… what then? We think they might have a problem getting their boy home?”
“Well, information is foggy where it is; but, communications seem to indicate some sort of malfunction aboard the spacecraft might have occurred. God only knows what the hell they may have done wrong. According to some of our boys, the likelihood they’d have him up there for this long… on a first attempt… its somewhat unlikely. The radio announcement regarding a return, followed by the silence… all despite announcing the flight and an approaching re-entry only raises more alarms.”
“It indicates they might not be able to get him down.”
“That’s our thinking. Yes.”
“Well… that might not be so bad…,” Nixon said in a darkly uplifted tone of voice.
“Sir?,”
“It's horrible, of course… but, if they can’t get him down, they didn’t complete the task did they…”
....................................................................................
Friday, April 15th, 1961
United Nations General Assembly Building, Manhattan, New York City.
James Wadsworth, United States Ambassador to the United Nations, made his way out of the Assembly Hall, his eyes stabbing daggers at the Cuban delegation that sat collected together, all of which had smiles on their faces. Dr. Raul Roa, Cuba’s Foreign Minister, had just delivered a heated speech of condemnation to the General Assembly and the room was dead silent. The one sided staring contest broke as he walked past and once Robert D. Murphy, Deputy Ambassador, caught up to him.
“You catch the paper yet?,” Murphy said with a raised eyebrow, he retrieved the roughly folded New York Times from under his arm. The word ‘Stucknik’ was splashed across the front page.
“I did… what’s the poor bastard's name… Gagarin right?” Wadsworth responded, his focus not diverting from the approaching doorway ahead of them. “Hold that thought,” he said, stopping in the aisle.
“And when it comes to this… Might help if we actually knew a damn thing about what’s going on,”
“Plausible deniability is a bitch isn’t it,” Wadsworth said impassively. His eyes shot across the Assembly Hall looking at the exits and judging the best course of action. “This way, they never pack up at the lower doors, there's another route to the press room through there, takes longer but we won’t be mauled by the damn New Yorker and Washington Post.”
“No, no. I get it,” Murphy said with a grin. “How much of that are we planning on refuting?”
“What? Roa?, hell… we’re refuting all of it. President’s orders.”
It was no secret to either men that they were on their way to a feeding frenzy, and they were the first and most desired course of the attendees. For weeks now, the Cuban delegation had been issuing statements and complaints to the United Nations regarding events unfolding on the island and today, they had very loudly and eloquently listed them all again. Since the President’s issuance of a complete and total embargo of the island on February 20th, there had been a rash of events festering all over the island. A vast and ever growing number of bombings, at least 60 confirmed but as many as 200 reported or claimed, were at the forefront of this list. Roa’s specific mention of the seven bombings that had taken place at Cuban universities and schools carried special weight as he listed the 4 dead professors and 6 students by name. A colossal number of reports of unidentified aircraft intruding into Cuban airspace and dropping leaflets, and in several instances, explosives and fire bombs were also cited along with the claims of radio interference and pirate broadcasts. Also listed, was the indeterminate number of ‘foreign nationals’ that had been arrested by the Cuban government and linked to these acts of terrorism.
“Stucknik… a bit tasteless isn’t it?,” Wadsworth said with a suppressed chuckle as they passed through the lower doors and into the hallway, both of them practically walking in step.
“It does sum up the situation rather concisely…,” Murphy answered as he again brought the paper into view and looked at the picture of Gagarin on the front page. “Anyway…”
After climbing a short set of stairs, the two men reached the hall where the press room waited with its doors propped open. From the noise that grew louder as they came closer, the room was packed, as was to be expected. The flash and crackle of the camera bulbs confirmed that fact as the light assaulted both men on their way to the podium. Wadsworth took a deep breath, steadying himself as he mentally prepared for the maelstrom, straightening his tie in the physical manifestation of this process as he arrived at the podium. Murphy, out of the corner of his eye, took a position with several others to podiums left.
“Gentlemen of the press…” Wadsworth began, “Today, we witnessed the Cuban delegation, under the heading of Dr. Roa deliver an account before the General Assembly. His words reflected the Cuban government's perspective, and we acknowledge their right to express those views here…”
As Wadsworth reached a natural pause in his statements, hands shot up across the room. To which, he simply raised a hand and gestured for them to go back down.
“While we make that acknowledgement, I want it clear today that the United States finds and holds no truth in these accusations where the involvement of the United States is concerned. I think it is clear… very clear… that the deeply unfortunate events that have been transpiring within Mr. Roa’s nation have occurred, are occurring, and will in all likelihood, continue to occur. These cited events make up a long list of which the Cuban government blames the United States and other western nations. However, we are steadfast in our determination that these actions were not carried out by the United States or any citizen of the United States. We believe these are domestic actions being carried out on a domestic level for domestic reasons. These events, the bombings, flights, and so on, reflect nothing more than that of a nation under the leadership of a communist government where the people are clearly not unified in the fact that it be that way. With that… I’ll open it up to a few quick questions.”
A forest of raised hands filled the room, and the loud silence of writing pens and pencils were soon replaced by a growing roar of questions. Without really judging who it was he was selecting, Wadsworth pointed in the crowd and left it for the press to figure it out.
“Mr. Ambassador, Dr. Roa's speech accused the United States of planning a direct military intervention in Cuba. Can you comment on these allegations specifically?” Came the reporter’s question. “And does the United States have any response to President Castro’s assertion that Cuba will defend its sovereignty against any aggression?”
“As the President has stated himself,” Wadsworth began, already looking exasperated. “The United States is not planning anything that can be considered a military intervention in Cuba, let alone a direct one. He is dedicated in the diplomatic and economic approach that he and the previous administration has taken. Not to mention the United States’ dedication to the pursuance of international law and the securance of peace. As for the statements made by President Castro, I can only say that the aggression he seems faced with appears to be that of a domestic front and no amount of blaming the United States is going to change the fact that the citizens of that island seem deeply unsatisfied with his government.”
To this, Wadsworth knew he was committing to a lie, even if he himself was not privy to any of the actual information, he simply knew that this was not true.
“Is the United States prepared to present evidence to the commission to back up the claim that these events are domestic?”
“In a way, yes,” Wadsworth answered quickly. “We have a mountain of reports of our own as well as announcements and records from the Cuban government itself. In the way that there is instance after instance of Cuban dissidents being tried, imprisoned, and oftentimes executed for these activities. What we have not seen however is any proof that anyone not tied to the domestic front of the Cuban people has been captured or even verifiably tied to such activities. The school bombings Roa mentioned in specificity have already had arrests linked to them, and those arrests were all of domestic men in resistance groups. When they are arresting their own citizens for acts in their own country, I would say that its proof enough that it's a domestic situation. Really, its on the Cubans to prove these claims not for us to disprove them. Because of that, if nothing else, I am resolute in the fact that the First Commission will come to that same conclusion.”
“Ambassador, any comment on the Gagarin situation?”
..........................................
The White House, Washington D.C.
11:13 A.M.
In the Oval Office, Nixon’s fury burned as hot as when he was first woken by the Secretary of State’s call; a call he'd received almost seven hours ago. The buttons on Nixon’s shirt collar and cuffs remained uncharacteristically unfastened as if to give the metaphorical steam an escape route; in reality, he had not yet ceased shouting long enough to accomplish the task. The morning’s briefing, dropped off by Finch at 7:00 AM sharp, was now splayed out across the McKinley-Barkley desk. Traditionally requisitioned for the Congressional office of the Vice-President, the historied desk was brought by Nixon to the West Wing to serve in place of the desk utilized by all Presidents since Taft, save for Franklin Roosevelt. In simple terms, Nixon felt an attachment to the desk following eight years of prior use and its history, both record and conjecture. Nixon’s legs were crossed with his feet propped up on the table while he held the telephone receiver in his right hand, his white-knuckle grip held it as if he were strangling it.
“Now… I’m going to say this,” Nixon continued in the same venomous tone he’d used all morning. “I am only going to say this one time, Glennan. I don’t give a damn what has to be done, or what you need to do. I want our man up there, and I want him up there before the Soviets beat us to it a second time. You understand. The times of taking this thing slow and dressing up the chimp in his little fucking uniform are over. I don’t need them parading our boys around for show and tell down there anymore, I couldn’t care less to see another glossy press piece. What we need, what I want, is proof of action and the results that come from it. The Russians just made asses out of the whole goddamn program!” Nixon exploded into the receiver, it was the second time this morning that Thomas Keith Glennan, the Administrator of NASA, experienced the pleasure of speaking to the President.
“Mr. President, we are doing everything we can here to expedite the launch but as I said in our first call this morning, the earliest we can launch is the second of next month. We simply are not…,” Glennan started.
“Well, you best make it sooner,” Nixon interrupted. “Patience is not a luxury that the United States can afford right now.”
“Sir, that is simply not going to be possible, I wish it was. I…,” Glennan began.
“Christ… Of all the goddamn things…” Nixon said cutting him off. His jaw clenched tightly, the muscles in his face twitching with suppressed rage as he furiously rubbed the bridge of his nose, something he had done so much over the past several hours that the skin was now raw. “Do you understand the issue here? Do you grasp the seriousness of what we just allowed to happen?”
“I believe it is more than evident sir.”
Nixon’s feet slid off of the desk and thundered onto the carpeted floor, sitting up straight and putting his right elbow down in the same motion. He pointed his finger at the phone and pressed it forward like a dagger.
“You’re absolutely right, it is. It is seven in the morning, and I’m just waiting to read what Kennedy, Johnson, and the whole.. the whole fucking.. lot of them are going to have to say about this thing. The Times are going to have a goddamn field day with this. A goddamn field day. We’re 4 months into this administration and we’re already getting stonewalled left and right over this, that, and the other thing. This is, and I mean this, the last thing that we needed. The morale of the whole country is at stake! The whole country!”
“NASA is in full alignment with the Administration, Mr. President. We’re prepared to expedite the launch as quickly, but as realistically, as we can.”
“Look…, My question is this Keith… Just what in the hell are your boys doing over there and what have you been doing for the last three goddamn months with rockets ready to go!...I’ve received a series of several reports you know, several of them. Now, and I let it go, I assumed you all had a handle on things down there… But now… Now I’ve been hearing through the grapevine that we were ready back before March. Hell, I’m hearing we had the problems worked out back in January…”
“Sir, at the insistence of Von Braun and other members of the team…”
“You’re saying this is Von Braun’s fault?”
“I think statements of the kind have been overstated, now with… Out of his insistence that we…,” Glennan attempted.
“and look where that caution put us, right back in the damn dugout” Nixon said.
“Sir?,”
“Am I to understand that the son of a bitch asked for another test when we could have cinched up this entire thing. Am I correct in the understanding that while we were all busy watching yet another one of our unmanned rockets and a goddamn monkey go up, that… that these soviet bastards were pointing and laughing on their way to their fucking launchpads. Is that correct, or am I being fed incorrect information?”
“Yes sir,” Glennan choked out. The connotations of sacrificing someone to the rolling bus became undeniably evident. “Von Braun was adamant on performing another test flight. This flight took place last month. Leaving our next available flight for next month. While Von Braun was not the only voice cautioning a conservative approach…”
“Uh huh…” Nixon said, overtalking Glennan for a moment. He glanced up from the phone as he watched Paul Nitze enter the room. The Secretary of Defense's arrival was silent, like a thin shadow slipping under the office door. He stood in the doorway for a moment before Nixon waved him in and pointed for him to take a seat on one the two couches.
“He was certainly among the firmest where it was concerned,” Glennan continued. “This was of course despite some… vocal… disagreement by some in the program. Namely the astronauts. Those wanting to go ahead felt adamant that prior issues, the ones discovered in January and prior, were resolved and dealt with. Many felt another test wasn’t required. Again, I say the strongest voices of that camp were the astronauts, who are naturally inclined to take such risks. It wasn’t just Von Braun, Debus was also in favor of holding off, they both felt that…”
“Can him,” Nixon said flatly and coldly.
“Sir?”
“I mean it. cut Von Braun loose. I don’t care what needs to be done there or where they go, but I’m sure as hell not taking the heat for the son of a bitch because he wants to drag his feet. I’m sure we’ve got someone more domestic that will be more than willing to pick up the work.” Nixon took a deep breath and firmed his grip on the phone. “Understand?”
“Sir, I’m not….” Glennan started to say, before catching himself and swallowing hard. “Yes, I understand.”
“Good… and…,” Nixon continued, the audible taps of his fingers on the desk could be heard on the other end of the phone. “Let’s go ahead and send Von Braun’s deputy packing too while the axe is out… ensure we alter the mentality down there.”
A few seconds of silence followed as Nixon ensured that the secondary order sank in, but not wanting to rub Glennan through the mud much further, he decided to let the silence act as affirmation, instead he continued to tap his fingers before clearing his throat.
“Anyway… I trust that you’ll have that handled, sooner rather than later,” Nixon said with a tone of forlorn hope, “I want them out and replaced as soon as is feasibly possible.”
“Yes sir,”
“And Glennan, I want Von Braun’s replacement… I want an American,” Nixon said. “Someone who actually seems capable of understanding that it's important we set the standard. I expect you to make the correct call.”
“The only thing that matters at this point is that we get a man up there before the Soviets put another one up there. We have to respond tit for tat on this thing at the very least. We're past being out of time and if we don’t have something to show in response soon, some are going to start demanding for heads to roll. I'm sure as hell not going to be one of them.”
“The flight is set for May 2nd sir, weather permitting that’s our…,” Glennan started.
“The clock’s ticking, Glennan, and it isn’t in our favor, ” Nixon said, cutting him off again.
An audible ring echoed against the walls of the office as the receiver was thrown down. The President’s gaze lifted from his desk to acknowledge the Secretary of Defense.
“What is it now Paul…? Jesus… Out with it.”
“Mr. President,” Nitze said, clearing his throat before he continued. “We believe there might be problem regarding the cosmonaut,” His index finger emphatically pointed toward the ceiling as if to point at Gagarin himself.
The President’s morning anger shifted immediately to a state of shocked attention. He didn’t respond with words and instead gazed directly at Nitze while he waited for the rest of the report.
“As far as we can tell…,” Nitze said. “As far as our intel goes, it seems the cosmonaut... he’s still in orbit”
“What? We think they’re trying to set some kind of record?,” Nixon asked, hyperbolically outstretching both of his arms.
“We’re not entirely sure sir. But that is unlikely,” Nitze said. “We’ve been tracking the craft now for some time, and there appears to be no movement whatsoever when it comes to bringing their man out of orbit. This of course being in disagreement with the information broadcast from Radio Moscow and several other sources.”
“So… what then? We think they might have a problem getting their boy home?”
“Well, information is foggy where it is; but, communications seem to indicate some sort of malfunction aboard the spacecraft might have occurred. God only knows what the hell they may have done wrong. According to some of our boys, the likelihood they’d have him up there for this long… on a first attempt… its somewhat unlikely. The radio announcement regarding a return, followed by the silence… all despite announcing the flight and an approaching re-entry only raises more alarms.”
“It indicates they might not be able to get him down.”
“That’s our thinking. Yes.”
“Well… that might not be so bad…,” Nixon said in a darkly uplifted tone of voice.
“Sir?,”
“It's horrible, of course… but, if they can’t get him down, they didn’t complete the task did they…”
....................................................................................
Friday, April 15th, 1961
United Nations General Assembly Building, Manhattan, New York City.
James Wadsworth, United States Ambassador to the United Nations, made his way out of the Assembly Hall, his eyes stabbing daggers at the Cuban delegation that sat collected together, all of which had smiles on their faces. Dr. Raul Roa, Cuba’s Foreign Minister, had just delivered a heated speech of condemnation to the General Assembly and the room was dead silent. The one sided staring contest broke as he walked past and once Robert D. Murphy, Deputy Ambassador, caught up to him.
“You catch the paper yet?,” Murphy said with a raised eyebrow, he retrieved the roughly folded New York Times from under his arm. The word ‘Stucknik’ was splashed across the front page.
“I did… what’s the poor bastard's name… Gagarin right?” Wadsworth responded, his focus not diverting from the approaching doorway ahead of them. “Hold that thought,” he said, stopping in the aisle.
“And when it comes to this… Might help if we actually knew a damn thing about what’s going on,”
“Plausible deniability is a bitch isn’t it,” Wadsworth said impassively. His eyes shot across the Assembly Hall looking at the exits and judging the best course of action. “This way, they never pack up at the lower doors, there's another route to the press room through there, takes longer but we won’t be mauled by the damn New Yorker and Washington Post.”
“No, no. I get it,” Murphy said with a grin. “How much of that are we planning on refuting?”
“What? Roa?, hell… we’re refuting all of it. President’s orders.”
It was no secret to either men that they were on their way to a feeding frenzy, and they were the first and most desired course of the attendees. For weeks now, the Cuban delegation had been issuing statements and complaints to the United Nations regarding events unfolding on the island and today, they had very loudly and eloquently listed them all again. Since the President’s issuance of a complete and total embargo of the island on February 20th, there had been a rash of events festering all over the island. A vast and ever growing number of bombings, at least 60 confirmed but as many as 200 reported or claimed, were at the forefront of this list. Roa’s specific mention of the seven bombings that had taken place at Cuban universities and schools carried special weight as he listed the 4 dead professors and 6 students by name. A colossal number of reports of unidentified aircraft intruding into Cuban airspace and dropping leaflets, and in several instances, explosives and fire bombs were also cited along with the claims of radio interference and pirate broadcasts. Also listed, was the indeterminate number of ‘foreign nationals’ that had been arrested by the Cuban government and linked to these acts of terrorism.
“Stucknik… a bit tasteless isn’t it?,” Wadsworth said with a suppressed chuckle as they passed through the lower doors and into the hallway, both of them practically walking in step.
“It does sum up the situation rather concisely…,” Murphy answered as he again brought the paper into view and looked at the picture of Gagarin on the front page. “Anyway…”
After climbing a short set of stairs, the two men reached the hall where the press room waited with its doors propped open. From the noise that grew louder as they came closer, the room was packed, as was to be expected. The flash and crackle of the camera bulbs confirmed that fact as the light assaulted both men on their way to the podium. Wadsworth took a deep breath, steadying himself as he mentally prepared for the maelstrom, straightening his tie in the physical manifestation of this process as he arrived at the podium. Murphy, out of the corner of his eye, took a position with several others to podiums left.
“Gentlemen of the press…” Wadsworth began, “Today, we witnessed the Cuban delegation, under the heading of Dr. Roa deliver an account before the General Assembly. His words reflected the Cuban government's perspective, and we acknowledge their right to express those views here…”
As Wadsworth reached a natural pause in his statements, hands shot up across the room. To which, he simply raised a hand and gestured for them to go back down.
“While we make that acknowledgement, I want it clear today that the United States finds and holds no truth in these accusations where the involvement of the United States is concerned. I think it is clear… very clear… that the deeply unfortunate events that have been transpiring within Mr. Roa’s nation have occurred, are occurring, and will in all likelihood, continue to occur. These cited events make up a long list of which the Cuban government blames the United States and other western nations. However, we are steadfast in our determination that these actions were not carried out by the United States or any citizen of the United States. We believe these are domestic actions being carried out on a domestic level for domestic reasons. These events, the bombings, flights, and so on, reflect nothing more than that of a nation under the leadership of a communist government where the people are clearly not unified in the fact that it be that way. With that… I’ll open it up to a few quick questions.”
A forest of raised hands filled the room, and the loud silence of writing pens and pencils were soon replaced by a growing roar of questions. Without really judging who it was he was selecting, Wadsworth pointed in the crowd and left it for the press to figure it out.
“Mr. Ambassador, Dr. Roa's speech accused the United States of planning a direct military intervention in Cuba. Can you comment on these allegations specifically?” Came the reporter’s question. “And does the United States have any response to President Castro’s assertion that Cuba will defend its sovereignty against any aggression?”
“As the President has stated himself,” Wadsworth began, already looking exasperated. “The United States is not planning anything that can be considered a military intervention in Cuba, let alone a direct one. He is dedicated in the diplomatic and economic approach that he and the previous administration has taken. Not to mention the United States’ dedication to the pursuance of international law and the securance of peace. As for the statements made by President Castro, I can only say that the aggression he seems faced with appears to be that of a domestic front and no amount of blaming the United States is going to change the fact that the citizens of that island seem deeply unsatisfied with his government.”
To this, Wadsworth knew he was committing to a lie, even if he himself was not privy to any of the actual information, he simply knew that this was not true.
“Is the United States prepared to present evidence to the commission to back up the claim that these events are domestic?”
“In a way, yes,” Wadsworth answered quickly. “We have a mountain of reports of our own as well as announcements and records from the Cuban government itself. In the way that there is instance after instance of Cuban dissidents being tried, imprisoned, and oftentimes executed for these activities. What we have not seen however is any proof that anyone not tied to the domestic front of the Cuban people has been captured or even verifiably tied to such activities. The school bombings Roa mentioned in specificity have already had arrests linked to them, and those arrests were all of domestic men in resistance groups. When they are arresting their own citizens for acts in their own country, I would say that its proof enough that it's a domestic situation. Really, its on the Cubans to prove these claims not for us to disprove them. Because of that, if nothing else, I am resolute in the fact that the First Commission will come to that same conclusion.”
“Ambassador, any comment on the Gagarin situation?”
..........................................
Very good chapter, I much like that we are seeing things from the first person point of view when it comes to the politics of the day. Would like to see how stressed Castro is with all the bombings and internal strife he's facing, I think he might just attack Guantanamo Bay as a way to somehow unify Cuba against the Imperialistic Americans. Keep up the good work.
Sacking Von Braun is an ... Interesting development. Specifically given the situation vis-a-vis Gagarin there is essentially no way that launching an American on a sub-orbital flight is going to be 'comparable'. I can see the argument being that the US is being more deliberate and careful but the fact will remain the USSR at least attempted orbital flight and the US is still taking 'baby-steps'. Nixon ITTL would seem to less involved with things than he was OTL. (VP is in the White House person "in-charge" of space development so Nixon was plugged into NASA's planning and development)
My guess is that we're going to see NASA raked over the coals and possibly replaced with the military here, much to the disgust of LBJ and the Democrats.
Of course we could see Nixon here giving the green light to the development of the Orion in this context
Randy
My guess is that we're going to see NASA raked over the coals and possibly replaced with the military here, much to the disgust of LBJ and the Democrats.
Of course we could see Nixon here giving the green light to the development of the Orion in this context
Randy
More that I'm seeing a more militant Nixon in TTL than OTL's Nixon. (More 1968 rather than 1960)
As I noted Nixon OTL was aware of NASA plans and essentially agreed with them so he'd know there was no way to get an American into orbit before the Soviets did. There was no way that NASA was going to push an astronaut onto the Atlas before they were ready and they had initially planned to fly all the Mercury astronauts on sub-orbital flights first. The 'best' they could have done was over-rule Von Braun on another Mercury/Redstone test and send an American into "space" and then argue that it was still the 'first' but now... Nixon was just as adverse as anyone to the idea of loosing an astronaut on his watch.
Pushing NASA to put a man into a sub-orbital flight at this point is definitely going to leave it looking like America is in a distant second to the USSR. Keep in mind that Gagarin's flight was not that much of a surprise to NASA or the Administration, whoever Nixon's VP is ITTL would have known about the delay and if Nixon was wanting an American to go up first he could (and likely would) have let that be known to NASA previously. OTL the Kennedy administration, (LBJ specifically) were not pushing NASA because they were willing to just let NASA set it's own goals and knew that getting someone into orbit was not in the cards. ITTL with the same intel and background to the point of Nixon being in the White House I'd have figured that Nixon would have joggled NASA's elbow to override Von Braun and get Sheppard into space first BECAUSE he knew an American in orbit wasn't going to happen for at least a couple of years.
Personally I'd see the military doing a worse job than NASA given the Air Force (the likely candidate) was ambivalent about manned space flight and what work they WERE doing was very scattershot and not well thought out. They still have the same 'launcher' problem that NASA has and will be less willing to use something like the Saturn 1 for anything and will likely insist on a totally new launcher program and the big budget to go with it.
Nixon TTL is unlikely to go for a Lunar goal, he is less likely to be willing to expend the money and resources needed.
Randy
I will say that I love the conversation I'm seeing after this update, it's always so encouraging to see people enjoying the timeline.
Let it be known that the next update is coming soon, definitely by the end of the week i would like, but that it will contain some grim subject matter.
Let it be known that the next update is coming soon, definitely by the end of the week i would like, but that it will contain some grim subject matter.
I am happy to see this timeline live again and I have enjoyed your writing and working with you when we did stories on Shared Worlds.
Apropos of nothing current: I wonder if Hannah Nixon's passing won't be bigger news in this timeline and may place more focus and academia on her.
Love it
I'm not familiar with nasa history
Does this mean that Apollo 11 won't happen
I'm not familiar with nasa history
Does this mean that Apollo 11 won't happen
Chapter 4: Part 4
Tuesday, April 25th, 1961
It was now the thirteenth day into the flight of Vostok 1, and for Gagarin, it was going to be his last. For the first several days into this fatal odyssey, the command at Baikonur attempted to provide him with a long list of systems he could turn off and on intermittently that would extend the life support systems aboard the Vostok craft. These procedures failed to provide Gagarin with any relief; he was aware that these measures ensured nothing much past extending the life of the batteries. By the beginning of the fourth day, as he watched the oxygen levels in the tanks falling at a ceaselessly constant rate, he knew he would never see his wife, Valentina, or his two daughters, Yelena and Galina, again. Galina, barely a month old, would never have a single solitary memory of her father. Yelena, who celebrated her second birthday eight days ago, was very likely to be the same. Nevertheless, he was thankful that he was able to speak to them and say his goodbyes to Valentina on day nine of the flight; it was a short talk all things considered, but they both were able to say what needed to be said. After that, he had started to wave to all three of them as he passed over the Soviet Union; each and every time he passed he waved and blew three kisses. The capsule, once a spartan representation of courage, now felt like a cramped and metallic coffin, and every breath he took was heavy and stale with the essence of sweat and defecation. In truth, the smell passed the point of unbearable days ago, and it was the smallest courtesy that he had gone blind to the stench some time ago. Even so, he continued keeping his visor down in a vain attempt to better separate himself from what remained detectable.
One of the chief concerns prior to the launch, was that of the landing, and its relative unpredictability given the re-entry procedure. The powers that be elected to supply him with a single tool for self defense should the landing take place in the wilderness or hostile territory. Gagarin now held that tool, a Makarov pistol, in his right hand and was now debating its use for the exact opposite purpose. Through the viewport by his feet, he again watched as the Western coast of Africa passed underneath him, and he sighed deeply before looking down at the pistol. This was the last day the craft would be capable of sustaining life, his efforts to conserve electricity notwithstanding. It was a matter of oxygen and, to a lesser extent, water both being unavoidably scarce. There was a week left before the craft would finish its fall back to Earth and there was no way imaginable that he could live long enough to think about surviving it. The question as to why he had not yet used the pistol was one he held no answer to.
In the midst of such a final decision, there was one solitary comfort in the short time he had remaining. In this forlorn situation, Gagarin’s ears could hear the most beautiful music. Even though the clarity waxed and waned with static coming in waves, the quality dependent on his placement relative to the globe beneath him, it still brought him the smallest of comforts. He hummed the tune to the classical music that came in clearer and clearer, and he found himself ironically waving the pistol as if he were a maestro orchestrating the chords by gunpoint.
As the instruments quieted and the piece ended, Gagarin glanced at the oxygen levels again, the tenth time in as many minutes. The hours were dwindling, and he needed to make a decision and answer a question. How exactly did he want to die?
Ejecting into the vacuum of space was the first possibility that he ruled out, simply due to the violence undergone by the human body in the vacuum of space. Besides, he preferred that at least some piece of himself return to Earth for a burial. What remained on the table, of course, was to either run out the clock and suffocate slowly, switch off the oxygen and suffocate now, or to use the Makarov and quickly bring an end to the entire affair.
Faced with a deadline on making that decision, the doomed cosmonaut allowed himself to cry for the first time, his tears quickly growing into an uncontrollable torrent, in more ways than one. This quickly became an unforeseen problem, in and of itself, as his tears grew into clear saline blobs that clung to his lower eyelids. With no gravity to draw them down, the more he cried the larger they grew, and soon his vision blurred to the point of effective blindness. Struggling to see, he hastily pushed up the visor of his helmet and attempted to wipe them away, but only succeeded in smearing the collections around and further into his eyes. With a frustrated scream, he let go of the pistol and furiously began to work at removing the gloves on his hands.
As he did so, he shook his head rapidly in another attempt to dislodge them, only causing the growths to somewhat combine together and shift downward underneath his nose. Gagarin, eyes burning and with tears now marching across his face in a unified mass, finished ripping off his left glove and was finally able to swipe and rub away the tears by dabbing his eyes clean with the now exposed sleeve of his flight suit. He tried to calm himself. He tried to slow his now rabid angered breathing and again began clenching and releasing his fists. After a moment, the light came in from the capsule’s window and glinted off of the floating spheres. All at once, he both loved and despised the beauty of the scene that was the ethereal globes of his tears dancing in the absence of gravity. Like him, they could do nothing in the capsule but exist, trapped and floating in the balance. Another few seconds went by before the pistol too drifted into view, beckoning him. Before long, it was again in his grasp.
Now without his gloves, his fingers closed around the cool metal of the Makarov and he felt the grip in his hand. It was not until now that he realized how much lighter the pistol was in orbit; and somehow, the absence of its full weight only heightened its ominous whispers and promise of release. His heart exploded against his sternum, each beat echoing like a ticking clock representing the time that was left. He racked the slide of the Makarov, ensuring a round was chambered and ready to fire. His decision was made.
He reached over with his left hand and reengaged his transmitter,
“This is Cedar… do you read?,” Gagarin said as he looked over the pistol in a trance-like state, it was spectacularly clean and polished.
The music abruptly stopped, before the response came. A voice unfamiliar to Gagarin on the other side,
“Cedar. We hear you. How is your condition?”
“I have something I would like to say… For posterity…,” Gagarin said emptily.
“Proceed Cedar,” Came the response after several seconds. Given the timing, he had no doubt that they were all expecting something like this.
“This is Major Yuri Alekseyevich Gagarin,” he began, pausing momentarily. “Cosmonaut and citizen of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics. Do not let those say that what has happened is a failure, for there is always a cost in discovery. The time… the time has come to say goodbye, dear friends, like voyagers embarking on a long journey. The time is growing near… so that I cannot breathe well…,” Gagarin continued, his voice shaking ever so slightly as he looked to see the world underneath him, “I see everything… Our Earth, Our clouds, Our oceans, Our mountains… That is all I see. I see it at peace. Now that I must go… know that I too…go in peace, farewell…”
Before a response could come back over the communicator, Gagarin cut off both it and the receiver. There would be no more music, no more conversation. He reached out again and shut off the lights in the capsule. His grip tightened on the pistol and a flurry of images raced in front of him, dancing on the dark walls of the Vostok capsule. His footprints left outside his home in the village of Klushino after the first snowfall, the first time he’d felt the solid punch in his chest while taking flight, Titov’s helmet clashing into his before the launch, Valentina's intoxicating smile, the crying of his daughters. Each memory seemed imbued with life, a stark contrast to the cold darkness of his present. Through the viewport, for the last time, he looked upon the Soviet Union and where he imagined his girls to be.
He blew three kisses, took several very quick breaths, and in one smooth fleeting motion, silently placed the cold barrel of the Makarov underneath his chin and pulled the trigger.