One False Step

by Richard Tongue

   There was, however, a rival. As the V-2 rockets began to run out, the desirability of maintaining a capability for upper-atmospheric research had become increasingly apparent, and the result was Project Viking, which created a new launcher designed solely for research; by the end of the program, the team was setting new altitude records, and the potential for further development was obvious. This team was also interested in the launch of a satellite, and there had been much discussion of such a concept. By 1955, both the Air Force and the Naval Research Laboratory – which had developed Viking – were themselves making proposals for satellites. Ultimately, it came down to a choice between the Army's Project Orbiter, and the NRL's Project Vanguard.

   Project Orbiter had the advantage that it could be developed relatively quickly, from 'off-the-shelf' components that were proven to have a high reliability. Little development work would be required, and it would not even greatly slow the progress of necessary defence work; the Air Force had primary responsibility for long-range ballistic missiles, rather than the Army.

   Had Project Orbiter been approved, a Redstone booster would have been used as the primary launch vehicle, with a cluster of solid-fuel Loki boosters used as an upper stage to propel a five-pound satellite into orbit at an altitude of two hundred miles. It was believed that this satellite could be tracked optically, rendering radio location needless; such a small satellite could not have returned much data, and could be compared with Sputnik 1, which was principally a technology demonstrator rather than a scientific tool. It would certainly serve to provide the United States with a 'first', but very little more than that.

   Project Vanguard was the more ambitious program. It required the development of a new launcher, as well as the satellite to be carried into space, but had the advantage of promising a greater scientific payback for the IGY than Project Orbiter was likely to return; it was a more sophisticated program. Another key advantage was that such a project would be entirely civilian in nature, and could be used as a tool to demonstrate the peaceful intentions of the United States in the new frontier. Though undoubtedly the nature of the programs was a major factor, the civilian nature of Project Vanguard would prove the decisive factor in its selection over Project Orbiter.

   This was not merely for reasons of propaganda, but for far deeper reasons than that. The need for covert reconnaissance of the Soviet Union was increasing as the Cold War chilled; the CIA was completing the final development of the U-2 spy plane as the Orbiter/Vanguard decision was in progress, and flights would soon begin over the Soviet Union and its allies. It was recognised, however, that ultimately this would simply be a stopgap which would close as anti-aircraft technology improved, and that something more advanced would be necessary. That something could be a satellite.

   Consideration of the uses of a satellite for reconnaissance and intelligence-gathering purposes had been ongoing for some years, and much of the data on this field is classified or simply lost. Eisenhower's position on the matter is known, however – fundamentally, he wanted this technology, and had been convinced of its potential usefulness. The danger was the response from both the Soviet Union and the rest of the world; it is hard to argue with the theoretical concept that this could be considered a blatant violation of airspace. What was needed was some form of agreement that territoriality ended at the atmosphere, or a 'cover story' that would suggest that the work being conduct in space was scientific, open, and shared with other nations – at least at first.

   Conspiracy theorists might suggest that the President wanted to be beaten in this race to give him an excuse to proceed with other programs, but this seems unlikely. Now-declassified CIA documents make it fairly clear that Soviet prowess in the missile field was being underestimated; though they were making no secret of their plans to place a satellite into space themselves for the IGY, few in the West believed that they were really capable of such an achievement. It is far more likely that Eisenhower simply wanted to promote the idea that space was a civilian field, rather than a military one, and use that precedent to later orbit vehicles over the entire Earth with impunity.

   Project Orbiter died at that time. Had it been given the full go-ahead, it is highly likely that it would have succeeded in placing its tiny satellite into space for the IGY, possibly even before it. Follow-up satellites may have been larger, but they would have had to use either further modifications to the Redstone, or more likely larger missiles altogether, which would have required a complete redesign. It is far more likely that the satellite launch would have been a one-off spectacular, and one where the Soviet Union would almost certainly have loudly protested the violations of its territory. Little scientific data would have been obtained, and paradoxically it could have considerably slowed the pace of American space efforts.

   While the Project Orbiter saga was developing, Army Ordinance began to become involved in another project, one that would prove the foundation of its efforts in space throughout its involvement in that arena. The Army had elected to coordinate its missile development into one agency, the Army Ballistic Missile Agency (ABMA), under the command of Major-General John Medaris. He had been an advocate of the development of guided missiles by the Army during his term as Chief of the Industrial Division of the Ordinance Corps; his interest was founded on the idea that unlike projects such as new personal sidearms, guided missile projects could be 'sold' to the Department of the Defence; this was an era when cutting-edge projects were attractive.

   An opportunity was arising for the development of such a missile. The Air Force had, for some time, been working on its Atlas ICBM (Intercontinental Ballistic Missile) project; this was showing some promise, but was not thought likely to become operational before 1959-60. It was already evident that this missile would not totally satisfy the strategic requirements envisaged, and work was already beginning on a successor missile, the Titan.

   This left a capability gap, and a committee working under Dr. James Killian suggested that a top priority should be the development of a stopgap IRBM (Intermediate-Range Ballistic Missile), with a range on the order of 1,500 miles. Such a weapon would not be able to reach its targets from the continental United States, but it would be suitable for deployment in NATO countries such as Britain, Italy and Turkey, and would have the range to strike the Soviet Union from these targets. (It was assumed that NATO members would accede to the request to site nuclear missiles on their soil that would remain under the control of the United States – in the event, considerable diplomatic problems ensued when the time came to actually deploy these weapons.)

   Naturally, the Air Force considered that it should develop the IRBM, and came up with a project to develop a missile known as Thor. There were concerns, however; it was already suggested that the Air Force was somewhat overstretched with the Atlas and Titan projects; the Army, with its recently formed ABMA and considerable missile experience, was in a good position to suggest a rival project, which was to be known as Jupiter – based on its successful Redstone missile. The Army was suggesting that this weapon could be deployed for battlefield use – the Air Force, quite reasonably, suggested that while it technically could be employed for such use, a missile with that range would be best employed in the strategic role – an Air Force mission.

   At this stage the Navy entered the picture. They had a role for a medium-range missile of the manner envisaged, but did not themselves have any capacity for the development of such a weapon. They could throw their support behind the Army project, with the understanding that the missile would be developed to suit their needs as well as those of the Army. On this basis, the peculiar arrangement occurred that the United States Army – in the shape of the newly-created ABMA – was tasked to create a missile that would be primarily for naval use, as well as a backup to the Thor missile, the development of which was approved. It was hoped that this could be operational on the battlefield by 1960.

   This state of affairs did not last for long. Though initi
al development progressed, it became apparent that the requirements for a naval missile were incompatible with the long-range goals of the Army; the Navy would soon begin work on the Polaris missile, which would later provide the focus of its nuclear deterrent force. By 1956, the Navy had withdrawn from the project, which left the sole role for the Jupiter as the backup to the Thor, and therefore at grave risk of cancellation.

   Further, the Jupiter would not even be able to find a home in the Army. While missiles such as the Redstone were operated by the U.S. Army in the field, the 'Wilson Memorandum', issued by the Pentagon in 1956, indicated that the Army would not be permitted to operate any missiles with a range greater than 200 miles. The Jupiter could only be operated by the Air Force, and it could hardly be expected that they would adopt a missile created by a rival organisation in preference to their own.

   While the Jupiter was in danger of cancellation, and as the Navy was withdrawing, it was about to attain a new triumph. In a bid to help get the missile into production, General Medaris pushed for the earliest possible test of the missile at IRBM ranges. A key problem had been the re-entry of the nose cones, the element that would hold the warhead of the missile; the first 'maximum range' test, Missile 27, would be fired without the nose cone. Strictly speaking, this was not a 'true' Jupiter missile, the first of these would not be launched until May 1957 – this was a Redstone/Jupiter hybrid, using the basis of the proven Redstone booster (confusingly, the 'Redstone' missile was named after the 'Redstone' Arsenal) to test Jupiter components. In this case the hybrid was the 'Jupiter-C' type, an elongated Redstone missile with solid fuel upper stages.

   While the missile had four stages, in this case, the fourth stage – instead of being filled with solid fuel – was filled with sand. The reason for this was simple – had it been fuelled, the fourth stage would have entered orbit. This had been pointed out during the development stage, and far from authorising a satellite launch, even one thrown together rapidly, the missile was ordered loaded with sand. Upon its launch from the Atlantic Missile Range, the missile attained an altitude of more than six hundred miles, and a range of three thousand miles – far in excess of its design specifications. (When it was reported, the launch was described as a 'man-made comet'.) Two missiles had been prepared for launch; the success of the first rendered the second shot unnecessary, and the other - Missile 29 – was placed in storage in the hope that it might be used for the launch of a satellite should Vanguard falter.

   In the event, the Jupiter escaped cancellation. The decision on whether to cancel the project or not was deferred again and again, until the point where the missile was close enough to operational status that cancelling it seemed like a poor idea given the money already spent. In addition, the Jupiter won other missions in the interim, including the 'Hardtack' operation, a series of high-altitude nuclear tests in the Pacific. Ironically, the flight that the Jupiter would become best known for would not be flown by a Jupiter, but by a Redstone missile bearing its name.

   The Vanguard rocket, as might be predicted given that it was a technical advancement considerably in advance of the state of the art, was running into a series of delays. The creation of a new launch system was proving time-consuming, and the team working it only had the experience of the Viking project behind them, a rocket with considerably less potential than many other similar vehicles in the US arsenal. Costs were rising, but this was less important than the fact that the delays were mounting.

   Not that anyone thought that it was a race. The Soviet Union had claimed many times that they were on the verge of a launch into space, but few believed that they had the technical proficiency to pull off such a launch. These few were generally those in the American rocket community, who were aware that not only did the Soviet Union have a long-standing domestic interest in rocketry, but had also managed to obtained some critical material and personnel from Germany. On August 26, 1957, TASS indicated that it had launched, “A super long-range intercontinental rocket”, sounding very much like what was planned for the Atlas missile – a missile that was still years away from entering service. Even so, there was a general assumption that the United States, with its presumed technological edge, would not be beaten to the punch.

   In a strange coincidence, a collection of key dignitaries were present at Redstone Arsenal on October 4th, 1957. The new Secretary of Defence, Neil McElroy, was visiting the base as part of his orientation tour; the Secretary of the Army was also present, as well as a selection of senior Army officers. They were celebrating the evening at a cocktail party when the news came through that the first satellite was orbiting the Earth, and it originated in the USSR – the launch of Sputnik 1. Most of the people in the room were aware that the United States had, more than a year ago, passed up the opportunity to launch a satellite first. It was von Braun who broke the silence following the announcement.

   “We knew they were going to do it! Vanguard will never make it. We have the hardware on the shelf. For God's sake turn us loose and let us do something. We can put up a satellite in sixty days, Mr. McElroy! Just give us a green light and sixty days!”

   This proved slightly optimistic, but certainly the unused Missile 29 represented a proven method of launching a satellite into space from American soil. While the new Secretary of Defence was not willing to provide clearance over the cocktails, the rhythmic beep-beep-beep of the satellite proved a critical psychological element. The entire nation was up in arms, demanding that some response should be made to the Soviet launch; though they were slightly slow to pick up on it, the leaders of the Soviet Union rapidly began to promote the launch as an example of Soviet technological superiority.

   In this atmosphere, all of a sudden the pocketbooks that had been closed to anything related to 'space' opened. The Army would have the opportunity to attempt their satellite launch with Missile 29, as well as another missile; but they would have second fiddle once again, as they would operate as a back-up to the Vanguard team; as officially they were the 'orbital satellite' team, so they would receive the first chance to launch as a counter to Sputnik 1.

   In December, Vanguard was ready to begin its first launch, and a satellite was duly fitted. By then, Sputnik 2 had been shot into space, carrying Laika, the first living animal to enter space. This only heightened public demand for action to be taken to counter their lead. On December 8, 1957, the rocket lifted from the pad...only to explode two seconds later, sending out a blast heard miles away. The satellite that was intended to orbit the Earth survived, but proved too damaged to use; it ended up in a file cabinet at the NASA Historical Archives. This delay meant that Vanguard would lose its chance to be the first American satellite in orbit, and opened the way for the Army to attempt to launch it's satellite, christened Explorer 1, into orbit in January 1958.

   Not that it was as simple as that, of course. While General Medaris had finally obtained permission for a pair of satellite attempts, only a limited period was available for launch before the site was required for other duties – including a second attempt by Vanguard in February. During the first few days, attempts at launch were frustrated by poor weather conditions. January began to run out, and the time approached when they would be forced to yield their slot on the pad. Finally, on January 31st, the decision was taken to make an attempt at a launch, and Missile 29, another Jupiter-C, was fuelled for launch. Conditions appeared to be good, and the final countdown began.

   The missile left the launchpad, rising into the sky in a virtual parallel of the 1956 launch, though this time with a fuelled fourth stage! All early indications were that the launch was a total success, but it this was not the end of the story, and the anxious wait began for the signal of Explorer 1 to reappear over the horizon, indicating the completion of a successful orbit. The minutes passed and across the country, people held their breath.

   It was perhaps an appropriately dramatic touch to the end of the story of Explorer 1 that it was late; the missile had worked
better than had been predicted, placing the satellite into a higher orbit, but finally, Goldstone Tracking reported that it had picked up the satellite's signal – the United States had managed to close the gap with the Soviet Union, albeit with a considerably smaller satellite.

   ABMA had beaten all comers to launch the first American satellite into space, and a further series of launches quickly followed. The Jupiter-C boosters that had been mothballed following the successful re-entry tests of 1956 were rapidly recommissioned, and were readied for a series of follow-on space shots. The first of these, Explorer 2, was launched in March 1958, with a similar mission profile to Explorer 1, but with far less success. The first stage of the launcher failed to reach the required velocity, and the satellite was unable to reach orbit.

   Explorer 3 was a different story. Three weeks following the failure of Explorer 2, it entered orbit and provided one of the more astounding discoveries of the early satellite shots – the first readings of what became known as the 'Van Allen Belt', a belt of radiation that surrounded the Earth. This provoked excitement from the scientific community, and there were great demands for more data on this new discovery; Explorer 4 and Explorer 5 were tasked for this objective; Explorer 4 was a success, though Explorer 5 went the way of Explorer 2.

   Vanguard was still continuing in parallel to the Explorer program, but with less success. A launch attempt in February, following Explorer 1, was a failure, and success was finally achieved in March with the launching of a 3¼ pound satellite into orbit; attempts to launch larger satellites in following months were also failures.

   Despite the obvious successes of the Explorer program, particularly in contrast to Vanguard, ABMA was beginning to run into difficulties. All that the agency had to offer as a space launcher was the Jupiter-C, and the inventory of these vehicles was rapidly running out. The Army satellite program had been sneaked in behind the backs of a lot of senior officials, and ABMA had no designated space role beyond the Explorer flights; though General Medaris was seeking assurances that his agency would receive a share of space projects in the future, the responses were less than satisfactory.