Category Archives: Science / Space Race

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Science / Space Race

[Mar. 5, 1960] Interlude with clippings

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Here's an inconsequential entry as I put my thoughts on the new Galaxy together.  I clipped it from the kids' section of the local paper.

I like how space travel has fired up the imagination not just for adults but for kids, too.  This will be their moonbase in twenty years…

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Galactic Journey is now a proud member of a constellation of interesting columns.  While you're waiting for me to publish my next article, why not give one of them a read!



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Science / Space Race

[Feb. 26, 1960] Fair Warning (a mystery launch)

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Something took off today from Patrick Air Force Base in Florida, not far from Cocoa Beach.

There was no official announcement, and the mission was almost assuredly solely military in nature.  An Atlas ICBM, clearly modified for satellite launch (note the second-stage booster), took off around 10:30 AM, Florida time.  After a flawless take-off, observers saw the booster break up before the second stage could separate.  No one knows why.

Could the launch have just been a test of this new second stage?  Or was there a payload on board?  The latter is likely—why waste a perfectly good missile?  It must have been something heavy and sophisticated, bigger than the Discoverer spy satellites… er… biological return capsules, to require such a heavy booster.  Either that or it was intended for a higher orbit. 

The rumor I have been hearing is that the Air Force has been developing satellites for detecting a ballistic missile attack.  Right now, it is impossible to tell if the Soviets have launched nuclear missiles against the United States until just a few minutes before impact, when the rockets cross our chain of Alaskan and Canadian radars known as BMEWS (Ballistic Missile Early Warning System).  These installations complement the DEW line of radar outposts designed to spot enemy bombers

Five minutes is not much time for the President to evaluate the magnitude of an attack, much less frame an appropriate response.  It would be better if we could see the Soviet missiles as they take off, giving our government perhaps twenty minutes to respond. 

Unfortunately, you can't see a Soviet missile launch from the ground; the Earth gets in the way.  From space, however, a satellite could detect the hot flash as the Russian birds leave their bases, so the theory goes. 

Those fifteen minutes could make all the difference.  The longer the lead time, the less of an advantage the Soviets get from a surprise strike, and the less likely they are to launch one.  With the Doomsday Clock just two minutes from midnight, any defuser of tension is welcome.

Of course, the details of the launch were classified, and the mission was unsuccessful anyway, so we're not likely to hear about the real purpose of the launch for many years to come.  But I thought you'd want the latest space news, speculative as it may be.

See you soon with this month's IF!

—

Galactic Journey is now a proud member of a constellation of interesting columns.  While you're waiting for me to publish my next article, why not give one of them a read!



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Science / Space Race

[Feb. 21, 1960] A birthday treat (A Tale of Two Space Programs)

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Happy birthday to me!  In celebration of the second anniversary of my Jack Benny birthday, here's my gift to you: a quick stop press of some recent military space endeavors, with a side of jocular sarcasm.

You may remember a certain Dr. Von Braun, formerly of the German Third Reich, lately of the Army Ballistic Missile Agency (ABMA) in Alabama.  This esteemed immigrant was a rocket engineer of sorts during the war, and he was prevailed upon to ply his trade in the service of Democracy, developing improvements to the international mail-carrier known as the Vergeltungswaffe 2.  In this role, he helped create the Jupiter IRBM for the Army, currently being deployed at Russia's doorstep in Turkey. 

Von Braun's team was recently transitioned to a civilian position; it now reports to NASA and is hard at work building the Saturn series of moon rockets.  Meanwhile, the former head of ABMA, Major General John Medaris, retired last month, had harsh words for our President's handling of the space program.  He believes the Army should have had free reign to launch a satellite before the Soviets.  Medaris also thinks that splitting up the military and civilian programs is wasteful and redundant.  I can't imagine who Medaris might suggest to lead such a unified space program. 

Personally, I think Ike's handling of our space programs has smacked of subtle genius.  Let the Soviets launch the first satellite so that they can't complain about overflights, create a civilian space agency so the world can see that there are purely peaceful uses for rockets.  It's a public relations masterpiece.  Given the volatile situation in Cuba and Berlin, the good press helps us keep the moral high ground.

Moreover, having a civilian space program allows us to, as a country, focus on science for science's sake rather than forcing it to be a handmaiden to the war machine.  Besides—this country thrives on healthy competition.

In any event, it's not as if the military has got such a great track record.  Just two days ago, the Air Force lost yet another Discoverer, number 10.  The booster veered off course during take-off and had to be destroyed by range safety just a minute into the launch.

I shouldn't be too hard on the Air Force, though.  Their Thor-Able booster (a hybrid military/civilian design) will be launching the first deep space probe next month under NASA auspices.  If the mission is successful, it promises to be a science bonanza.  The probe was developed by Air Force contractor Ramo-Wooldridge, better known for developing ICBMs.  Thus, this upcoming flight shows the advantages of having two separate space programs that can share their expertise.

Vive la difference!

—

Galactic Journey is now a proud member of a constellation of interesting columns.  While you're waiting for me to publish my next article, why not give one of them a read!



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Science / Space Race

[Feb. 7, 1960] The sports that matter (Discoverer 9 and solar radar)

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The score for this week–Civilian Space Science: 1, USAF Space Science: 0.

In the Little Engine That Couldn't department, we have the Air Force's Discoverer project, ostensibly for sending up biological specimens in a returnable capsule, probably for launching recoverable reconnaissance film capsules, actually not much good for anything.

The ninth in the series didn't even make it to orbit, the second stage of its rocket having failed during launch on February 4.  It's a good thing there weren't any animals on board.  Of course, I'm guessing that once they get the bugs worked out of the booster, there still won't be any.

In other news, scientists at Stanford University have just bounced a radar signal off the Sun.  Actually, the transmission happened last April—it's taken all the time since then to verify that the stunt really worked!

It's quite an impressive accomplishment—the 100 watt signal came back at .00000000000001% of its original strength, yet the Stanford team was still able to detect it.  Our ability to receive spacecraft telemetry at tremendous distances has been validated, and this is also a boon to the new science of radio astronomy.  In 1947, scientists first bounced a radar beam off the Moon.  Just two years ago, Venus was added to the list of pinged targets.  Eventually, every object in the Solar System will be systematically bombarded with radar.  This will complement our visual astronomical findings, and we're likely to learn a lot.


"Lovell Telescope Rear" by Mike Peel; Jodrell Bank Centre for Astrophysics, University of Manchester.. Licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0 via Wikimedia Commons – http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Lovell_Telescope_Rear.jpg#mediaviewer/File:Lovell_Telescope_Rear.jpg

See you soon!

—

Galactic Journey is now a proud member of a constellation of interesting columns.  While you're waiting for me to publish my next article, why not give one of them a read!



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[Jan. 23, 1960] Of Missiles and Monkeys (Little Joe 1-B and a Soviet ICBM)

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It has been several weeks since either superpower has announced an orbital launch, but space news still manages to fill the front pages of my local newspaper:

One story that has been building for several days is the impending (and now historical) launch of a Soviet missile into the Pacific Ocean.  To the unitiated, such a feat seems hardly noteworthy—after all, the Pacific Ocean is quite literally the largest target on Earth. 

Take a closer look.  The Soviet ICBM actually struck within 1.24 miles of its target, which is a rather remarkable feat of guidance.  A nuclear bomb delivered within a mile radius of any point of Washington D.C. would surely do the job expected of it. 

Moreover, the uproar surrounding this flight has been riotous.  Ever since the Russians announced the mission, citizens of our fair democracy have been up in arms.  How dare the Communists violate the sacred neutrality of our oceans?

Well, the same way they violated the sacred neutrality of orbital space, and you'll notice that the President was just as easygoing about Sputnik as he was about this latest launch; clever fellow, that Ike.  After all, if the Soviets open that can of worms, how can they protest when we follow suit?

In less contentious news, the last of the Little Joe test flights has had a successful flight with the adorable Miss Sam, a rhesus monkey, at the (dummy) controls.  It's about time we saw equal representation in our "manned" space program!  For those who don't know, Little Joe is a midget rocket that lofts a Mercury capsule several miles into the sky for a test of the emergency abort system, which is another rocket bolted to the spacecraft's nose.  If the Mercury booster fails, the escape rocket will pull the capsule and pilot to safety—theoretically.  Anxiously witnessing the flight were two of the Mercury Seven astronauts: Shepard and Glenn (one of whom, it is rumored, may be the first American to ride the Mercury for real into space).

Happily, the thing seems to work!  Miss Sam flew to a height of nine miles and a maximum velocity of 2000 miles per hour before the escape rocket fired and jerked the Mercury away from the still blazing rocket.  This test was particularly important because it was done at "max q," the instant of maximum booster acceleration.  If the system works under those conditions, it should work all the time.

Miss Sam was recovered by helicopter almost immediately upon her splashdown into the Atlantic Ocean, 8 and a half minutes after launch.  Less than an hour after leaving the ground, the intrepid monkey-naut was safely back on Wallops Island where she'd started from. 

This flight marked the last time a boilerplate Mercury will be tested.  The remaining two Little Joe flights will feature real production models off the McDonnell assembly line.  Thus, humanity gets one step closer to the stars.

See you in a few!

—

Galactic Journey is now a proud member of a constellation of interesting columns.  While you're waiting for me to publish my next article, why not give one of them a read!



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Science / Space Race, Uncategorized

[Dec. 19, 1959] Like Water for Rockets (The testing of the XLR115)

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In other news, the XLR-115 rocket was successfully tested on December 7, 1959.


State Archives of Florida, Florida Memory, http://floridamemory.com/items/show/31535

I see you scratch your head.  "Is that important?" you wonder.  "Aren't rockets tested all the time?"

Yes and yes.

You all have heard of Newton's Third law, "For Every Action, there is an Equal and Opposite Reaction."  This principle powers our rockets: through the controlled rapid combination of fuel and oxygen (also known as burning), exploding gasses are produced, which are given a hole at the base of the rocket through which they can escape.  This action propels the rocket in the opposite direction—up, hopefully.

The heavier the rocket, the more fuel it takes to send it into space.  Fuel is by far the largest component of any rocket through most of the rocket's flight (until it is all used), so it stands to reason that one would want the lightest, most efficient fuel possible.

Up to now, rockets have used familiar fuels, from petroleum derivatives to alcohol, because they are relatively cheap and easy to manipulate.  To break the weight barrier, one needs a truly light material, preferably the smallest stuff that could possibly oxidize.  Hydrogen happens to be the lightest element possible, Atomic Number One.  It burns: most of you know the chemical nomenclature for water is H2O, which simply means that any molecule of water comprises two atoms of hydrogen and one of oxygen.  Water is, essentially, burnt hydrogen. 

If one could bottle hydrogen safely in a rocket, then it would be the most efficient rocket fuel possible.

It's a tough project.  It won't do for the hydrogen to be kept in gas form, as in a World War I zeppelin.  That would result in an overlarge rocket and very elaborate mixing and ignition mechanisms.  No, you need to store the stuff in liquid form, and that takes a very cold and very good Thermos, indeed.  Just a few years ago, the idea of using liquid hydrogen as rocket fuel was as much science fiction as hyperspace and flying cars.

Until now.  The XLR-115 is a liquid hydrogen rocket.

Thus, the next generation of rocketry has begun.  At first, the XLR-115 will be used in the Centaur second stage, allowing boosters like the Atlas to send large payloads to high orbit, the moon, and the planets.  Ultimately, the liquid hydrogen rocket will likely be a vital component is the first manned lunar rocket. 

And that's why this news is important.  Now you know.

Note: If you like this column, consider sharing it by whatever media you frequent most.  I love the company, and I imagine your friends share your excellent taste!

P.S. Galactic Journey is now a proud member of a constellation of interesting columns.  While you're waiting for me to publish my next article, why not give one of them a read!



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Science / Space Race

[Dec. 12, 1959] Beeping its last (The end of Vanguard 3)

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Two days ago, there were three active satellites—two Vanguards and one Explorer.

Yesterday, there were two: Vanguard 3 has gasped its last beep.

For 84 days, the last of the Vanguards circled the Earth, returning data from its solar X-Ray detectors, its magnetometer, and its micrometeoroid sensors from an orbit higher than that of its dumber, smaller older brother, Vanguard 1.

Did you know that the Sun emits X-Rays?  That's what happens when you heat gasses to millions of degrees Kelvin; such temperatures are common in the solar corona, the bright fringe of gas surrounding the sun's disk that one can see during a solar eclipse.  The atmosphere absorbs most extraterrestrial X-Rays, so a satellite is needed to gather comprehensive data.  Sadly, all of the energetic particles trapped in the Earth's Van Allen Belts swamped Vanguard 3's detectors, and no useful data were obtained. 

On the other hand, Vanguard 3's magnetometer did a heck of a job, returning more than 4000 signals, nearly 3000 of which were of high quality.  We have never had such a comprehensive map of our planet's magnetic fields, and it is likely that scientists will be studying these results for years to come, learning how these fields interact with the solar wind to cause phenomena from radio storms to aurorae.

Speaking of radio, if you've ever listened to your shortwave, you might have heard "Whistlers"–those enigmatic sound that calls to mind a skyrocket flying overhead or birds chirping or even a flying saucer.  Such signals have been heard since radios were invented, and it is now known that they are emitted by lightning and propagated in the ionosphere.  Vanguard 3 was able to "tune in" to Whistler emissions with its magnetometer, which allowed scientists to make some estimates of the density of electrons in the ionosphere.  Two for one is a good deal!

No micrometeoroids pierced Vanguard 3's hull for the duration of its mission, but that doesn't mean the satellite didn't run into its share of space junk.  The first preliminary estimates from returned data suggest that 10,000 tons of space dust crash into the Earth's atmosphere every day.  That sounds like a lot, but considering that it is spread out over the entire surface area of the planet, it's a negligible concern to a small satellite.

With the silence of Vanguard 3, the Vanguard program has come to a virtual end (though Vanguard 1 still keeps beeping away).  Three successful launches out of eleven seems like a pretty lousy record.  Consider this legacy, however: the bonanza of returned data, the comparative inexpensiveness of the program, the first stage being turned into the Vega second stage booster for other rockets, the second and third stages being used on the Atlas Able and the Thor Able rockets, the Vanguard worldwide signal receiving station pioneering space communications.  Vanguard surely must count as a raging success.  Moreover, Vanguard set an important precedent by showing that rockets can be used for purely civilian purposes as well as for sending weapons of mass destruction across the globe.

If my epitaph is half as laudatory, I shall be a very happy corpse.

Up next—The Twilight Zone and then… Astounding!

Note: I love comments (you can do so anonymously), and I always try to reply.

P.S. Galactic Journey is now a proud member of a constellation of interesting columns.  While you're waiting for me to publish my next article, why not give one of them a read!



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[Dec. 5, 1959] Sam and Joe (The successful launch of Little Joe 2-A)

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I admit it.  I splurged last night.

I'm not the poorest of people, but I am thrifty.  Last night, however, I took a detour on the way home.  I ended up at my favorite cafe off Grand Avenue in downtown Escondido.  They sell pizza, which I've noticed is becoming as commonplace as burgers these days.  I ordered a slice pepperoni, a salad, and I washed it down with a beer.  Then I sauntered down to a local coffee shop and enjoyed a day-old brownie and a cuppa joe.  For dessert, I had a new 35 cent Ace Double (novel, that is). 

The night set me back 16 bits, but all of the week's stress washed away.  It beats a head shrinker, right?

Now, you might expect that this is a lead-in to a review of the Double, but I haven't finished it yet, so you'll just have to wait.  In the meantime, here's an exciting Double Dose of Space News.

Remember Little Joe?  It's that cluster of rockets with a Mercury capsule on top designed to test out the abort systems on the spaceship.  That little tower on top has rockets that will propel a Mercury and its pilot to safety if something goes wrong during booster launch.  The first flight was a total bust.

Since then, there have been two missions, the first of which was not entirely successful.  Little Joe 1-A, launched November 4, seemed to go off okay, but the escape rocket went off too late, and the pressure on the capsule was far too low to make a good test of the system. 

December 4 saw the next flight, Little Joe 2.  NASA decided to go for broke with this one and fully equip the capsule with a host of biological specimens.  One minute into the flight, the escape rocket blasted the Mercury and its contents, including seeds, bugs, cell samples, and a rhesus monkey named "Sam," at Mach 6 to an altitude of 53 miles.  Sam experienced a good three minutes of weightlessness during the flight.  All occupants were recovered several hours later, safe and sound.

The flight was a complete success, but it was not as strenuous a test as it might have been.  The next mission will feature an abort rescue at "max q," or the craft's strongest acceleration.  If the escape system works then, it will be probably be rated safe for actual use.  Exciting stuff!

Next up: 1959's Galactic Stars awards!

Note: I love comments (you can do so anonymously), and I always try to reply.

P.S. Galactic Journey is now a proud member of a constellation of interesting columns.  While you're waiting for me to publish my next article, why not give one of them a read!



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Science / Space Race

[Nov. 28, 1959] Broken nose (Atlas Able and Discoverer 8)

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It's enough to make a fellow cry.

There she stood, a proud and lovely Atlas Able booster, with the largest American lunar probe ever built at its tip.  Well, perhaps it wasn't so lovely.  The Atlas ICBM is impressive enough, with three mighty engines at its base and a hot temper that has resulted in an unimpressive operational record to date.  On top were the second and third stages of the Vanguard rocket, the same "Able" that has served the Air Force so well when mated to the Thor IRBM.  That's how NASA got its first Pioneers into space, if not to their desired target: The Moon.

The Able looked a bit like a silly Q-tip perched above the Atlas.  Nevertheless, it's the best combo we've got at the moment to compete with the Russians at their game.

Just 30 seconds after the launch, early morning on Thanksgiving (November 26), a piece fell off the nose.  Four-and-a-half minutes later, the second stage failed to ignite, and the rocket plunged into the ocean along with its precious cargo, the a 300 pound Pioneer posthumously dubbed "P3."

This setback may push the program back a full year.  There is a back-up payload but no rocket to launch it, the Atlas being in high demand for both the military and the Mercury program. 

What went wrong?  I gave my friend, John Vehrencamp, a call last night to commiserate and get the inside dope.  John designed the payload shroud, you see, which appears to be the likeliest culprit for the failure.  Sure enough, his long face was clearly expressed in the morose tones of his voice.  He took the full blame for the incident.  You see, he hadn't taken into sufficient consideration the drop of air pressure outside the nosecone as the rocket ascended.  The thing wasn't properly vented and exploded like a balloon in vacuum.  It's going to be a many-beers kind of weekend for John, I'm afraid.

I don't think this mishap will have any impact on the Thor-Able deep space mission planned for early next year, thankfully.

In related news, the Air Force had another bad Discoverer mission on November 20.  The eight in the series of "biomedical capsule recovery flights" (which ironically have not carried a biomedical payload in many missions) launched all right, though I understand the orbit was eccentric and not optimal.  The recovery capsule ejected, but no parachute was spotted.  Much like Thomas Edison, the flyboys are finding many ways to get the process wrong.  Their losing streak can't continue forever, right?

See you soon—December looks to be a great month (he said hopefully).

Note: I love comments (you can do so anonymously), and I always try to reply.

P.S. Galactic Journey is now a proud member of a constellation of interesting columns.  While you're waiting for me to publish my next article, why not give one of them a read!



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Science / Space Race

[Nov. 10, 1959] Orlando Oranges and Space Slips

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Greetings from sunny Orlando, Florida!

I know what you're thinking: why travel across the country to central Florida, which at first glance has little to offer to the tourist?

Firstly, my only first cousin on my father's side lives here with her family.  Secondly, Orlando is home to the Martin Marrietta manufacturing plant—and guess who has a free pass to see the Titan and Atlas rocket assembly lines?

Also, I wanted to see the place before it is destroyed in next month's atomic holocaust.  Or at least before Fidel's revolution travels to the mainland.  I imagine it will hit Florida before other states.

As you can see, Orlando has gotten its Christmas decorations up early.  Someday Christmas will precede Halloween, I predict.

I haven't had a chance to tour much, so I'll save the meat of my sightseeing report for next time.  In the meantime, here's a Space News round-up:

(Note that neither of these stories happened in Florida, which just figures since it is one of the rare times I'm actually in the state)

As you know from reading this column, there are two competing manned space programs in this country.  Sadly, one of them has suffered a setback: On its third mission, the rocket plane X-15 experienced an explosion in mid-flight.  Luckily, pilot Scott Crossfield managed to dump his fuel in a jiffy and get the plane on the ground in one piece.  He's fine, and the plane will fly again, but it won't go up until it's known precisely what happened.

The Air Force has also had a mishap: Discoverer 7, their capsule-return spacecraft designed for biological sample return (which hasn't carried an actual biological sample in several flights) got up into orbit just fine; but then it started to tumble, and the boys in blue couldn't get the capsule to separate from the rest of the craft.

While I may be cynical about the stated purpose of the Discoverer program, it does underline how technically complicated even an unmanned mission can be.  Getting the rockets to work is only one of many problems to be tackled before we can think of sending a person into space.

I will try to have an update in two days' time, but it may have to wait until I get back home.  I've a brand-new typewriter waiting for me there!

—
Note: I love comments (you can do so anonymously), and I always try to reply.
P.S. Galactic Journey is now a proud member of a constellation of interesting columns.  While you're waiting for me to publish my next article, why not give one of them a read!



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