Octopus Overlords

For All Mankind

On the cold afternoon of March 16, 1926, on his Aunt Effie's farm in Auburn Massachusetts, a determinedly private and reserved physics professor named Robert Goddard had the "Kitty Hawk" moment for future space travel.



Only 6 years removed from the publication of his landmark treatise "A Method Of Reaching Extreme Altitudes", Goddard planned to launch a small rocket into the air in private, with only his wife present and filming the occasion. Already a painfully shy and reserved man, Goddard had filled "Extreme Altitudes" with page after page of brilliant applied physics, putting concrete numbers to abstract theory. The work was so detailed on rocket physics that the former Clark College professor had diagrams showing exact diameters of thruster housings and fuel boosters. As an afterthought, Goddard (who like so many scientists of the time studying rockets and space, had been influenced by the science fiction of Jules Verne and HG Wells) opined that with a liquid- and solid-fuel powered thrust, a rocket could be sent out of the earth's atmosphere and continue on it's way into "infinite space". In a brief throwaway line, he mentioned that flash powder could theoretically be packed into a payload area on such a rocket, that rocket could be aimed at the moon, and then astronomers could observe the impact via telescope on earth.

Predictably, the public cared not a whit about the 68 pages of brilliant rocket physics contained in Goddard's article, instead focusing on that one part he'd included as a throwaway illustration regarding hitting the moon with a rocket. He became notorious as the "Moon-Rocket Man", much to his mortification. The notion was ridiculed and dismissed by other scientists and editorial writers, and Goddard, now something of a laughingstock, fled to New Mexico to continue his work in peace, quiet, and most of all, private.



In the ensuing years between 1920 and '26, if he was remembered at all, it was through terse dismissal by the scientific "space societies" that had sprung up in France, Austria, Germany, and the Soviet Union. Goddard was a "theorist" they sneered, and not much of one at that.

On that cold afternoon in 1926, the "theorist" was about to do something no one else in the world had done before. The rocket he planned to launch was a liquid-fueled contraption built on a skeletal frame to reduce weight considerations. It fed a mix of oxygen and gasoline into a 2-stage booster, and if it flew at all would represent the first liquid-fueled multi-stage rocket ever successfully launched.

In Goddard's own diary he noted that upon ignition, the little 10-pound rocket "did not rise at first" but that flames came out and there "was a steady roar". After a few seconds, the rocket did finally lift clear of it's frame and roar off "at express train speed" before rolling to the left and crashing to earth at great speed. Goddard described it by saying it was as if the rocket was saying "I've been here long enough; I believe I'll get the hell out of here!" (Goddard later cleaned this up for posterity, but his wife and assistants remember that phrasing from the actual launch day.) The little rocket reached an altitude of only 41 feet, and stayed aloft for only 2.5 seconds...but it had worked.



By World War II, rockets were being flown to altitudes many miles in the sky, over great, great distances. A team of German Rocket scientists, spearheaded by Werner Von Braun, brought terror to the British mainland with their V-2 rockets in the late stages of the war. After the war, both the Soviets and Americans pressed captured German rocket scientists into service, recognizing the enormous political capital and military application of their work.

By 1953, the CIA was reporting "indicators" that suggested the USSR was planning on exploring outer space as soon as practicable. In 1955, a Soviet newspaper announced that the USSR planned to launch a "spacecraft" within 2 years.

Now more CIA information is coming in. It is clear that the Russians intend to launch a "satellite" or artificial man-made moon into earth orbit within the next year or two. While a similar operation has been the stated goal of the United States for nearly three years, disastrous rocket tests using Redstone and Vanguard rockets have stalled development.

There are also conflicting CIA reports that the Soviet Union may be on the verge of instituting a manned spacecraft program.

The race into space is on! The game has begun and the clock is ticking

As America struggled to catch what the CIA believed to be a technically superior Soviet space program, it became clear that there needed to be a streamlining of funding and oversight into a fledgling program. As it stood, the Air Force, Army, and Navy all had their own pilots, aviators, and ballistic scientists working on various avionic advances that would be needed to put an "artificial moon"--and more--into space.

On August 4th, 1955, Alabama Senator John J. Sparkman delivered his famous "Red Moon" speech to constituents, and within two weeks a bipartisan subcommittee was drafting legislation for the creation of a new government department. On December 3rd, 1955, President Eisenhower signed the National Aeronautics and Space Act into law, and in so doing created NASA.

(President Eisenhower creates the National Aeronautics and Space Administration with a stroke of his pen on December 3, 1955)


The first daunting tasks confronting NASA were not limited to solving the problem of putting an artificial satellite into low earth orbit. In early 1956, the CIA reported to NASA's Chief Directorate that it was clear that the Soviets were training former MiG pilots as possible future "spacemen", or in the Russian parlance, Cosmonauts. NASA had originally considered the idea of putting a man into space and recovering him to earth successfully to be a project to undertake five-to-ten years down the line. With the Cold War becoming colder, the President made it clear to NASA--if the Russians were to begin putting men into space regularly, the political fallout at home and abroad would be cataclysmic.

Thus, the Director at NASA put the word out to the Army, Navy, and especially, the Air Force: they were looking for pilots, the best and brightest, for a possible manned US spacecraft program. While these spacemen--Astronauts in the NASA diction--would be drawn from all branches of service, it would be the Air Force that would contribute the most to the program initially. Moreover, it would specifically be dusty, dry, Edwards Air Force Base in California would foster the most fertile ground for these new pioneers.

Edwards was becoming famous for the daring of pilots like Chuck Yeager and Scott Crossfield--the "fastest men on earth"--who were constantly "pushing the envelope" on traveling faster and higher in jet aircraft. While NASA considered these two aviation stars to be too old and perhaps "too civilian" for a manned-spacecraft program, it held no such qualms about other pilots on the base. Six of the original seven astronauts were recruited from Edwards, although they would not officially enter the program until January, 1958.

Air Force Captain Ince Lemon had been one of the first names mentioned for the program. Already renowned at Edwards for having briefly broken Yeager's speed records on two separate occasions (only to have them reclaimed by the latter pilot a short time later), Lemon had been too young to fly more than a handful of combat missions at the end of the Korean War. The young pilot was considered to be one of the most preternaturally gifted aviators in the world at the time.

(Captain Ince "Incendiary" Lemon poses outside an experimental X-15 aircraft at Edwards)


Another early pilot chosen was Major Rob "Morty" Morton. A three-time winner of the Distinguished Flying Cross in Korea, Morty had a reputation around Edwards as one of the "looser", funnier men outside the airstrip, and one of the most competent flyers when at the stick.

(Major "Morty" Morton poses outside his F-104 in 1955)


Three other pilots eventually chosen for the Original Seven (the "Mercury Seven" as they would become known) were Captains Angel, Tokek, and Major Key. While Angel and Tokek had come to Edwards via conventional means (both were decorated on multiple occasions for bravery and certified as "aces" in Korea), Tokek arrived at Edwards as more of a technical advisor. Although an able pilot, Key had spent two years at Cal Tech doing some of the most advanced theoretical studies of zero-g environments ever produced, and had published his findings in Scientific American in an article promoting a future manned spacecraft program and offering what is considered to be the first prototype of a working, pressurized EVA suit in the bargain.

(Shortly after they had been notified of their selection into the manned spacecraft program at NASA--but before being announced to the general public--[l-r]Tokek, Angel, and Key pose with an unidentified fourth at Edwards.)


NASA also selected Donald K. "Deke" Slayton from Edwards, as well as Marine Maj John H. Glenn--perhaps the best-known air hero from Korea--to round out the first seven. The NASA directorate had originally planned to call two Navy men, Scott Carpenter and Alan Shepard, but both men bowed out of the selection process early on. Another possible selection, Virgil "Gus" Grissom, was injured in an automobile accident that left him in traction for two months and forced him from consideration.

Although NASA had narrowed their selection for a manned space program to 7 men by early 1957, they still held off from announcing the program and the pilots who would become famous as part of it for one simple reason--there was no manned vehicle program in existence yet. At this early stage of development, all of NASA's resources were behind one endeavor: beating the Soviets into space with an unmanned satellite.

(**Editor's note: Yes, I know I have NASA being formed a full 2 3/4 years before it happened. I need the fiction for game purposes. Deal. Also, no slights intended to the families of legendary test pilots Joe Walker, who died testing an aircraft in 1962, or to Iven Kincheloe, one of the early famous test pilots who perished in a crash in 1956. It is likely that both men might've been astronauts at some point had they lived. Kinch looks a helluva lot like Mort, too. Sue me.)

Brilliant! Keep it coming.

(Are we going to get in game screen shots? Not that I mind, just curious as to how the game looks since I never played it in it's day.)

I thought some of those were from the game.

Lee wrote:Brilliant! Keep it coming.

(Are we going to get in game screen shots? Not that I mind, just curious as to how the game looks since I never played it in it's day.)

I can probably figure a way to do in-game screenies....

....but that said, I probably won't.

For one thing, the game is heavy on FMV--as you do a mission, there's a ton of FMV that plays to show your success or lack thereof. So, in theory I could post a grainy in-game screenie of me blowing up poor ol' Greivous Angel as he sits in a little Mercury capsule atop a disintegrating Atlas booster...or I could use that same footage from NASA themselves and have it look clearer for the AAR. (When you blow up one of those early rockets they show you any one of a number of failed Vanguard/Redstone test firings like the ones at the beginning of "The Right Stuff".)

The actual interface is a fairly grainy VGA thing--it's nice for what it needs to do, but I'm afraid saying "Here's Cape Kennedy!" and posting a screenie would break the AAR up to much. Maybe I'll post a screenie of that and call it an "artist's rendering" of what the Cape might look like someday.

Really great stuff! I look forward to more, not to mention getting the hell off this boring rock we call Earth.

(He does kinda look like me!)

Tremendous AAR, trig! I have to admit, the NASA creation deviation caught me by surprise (and agitated me, until you fessed up to it later). If you deviated from history before that, I didn't catch it.

Well written. Can't wait to read up on the continuing exploits.

~Neal

Grrrrr.....why did I pick Group 3. I'm probably still in high school while all these other jet-jockeys are getting "picked" for Group 1.

Awesome job so far Triggercut.

triggercut wrote: So, in theory I could post a grainy in-game screenie of me blowing up poor ol' Greivous Angel as he sits in a little Mercury capsule atop a disintegrating Atlas booster...or I could use that same footage from NASA themselves and have it look clearer for the AAR.

I'm being written off before I've ever left the ground.

Please dont mock and point fingers at me, but what does AAR mean?

stimpy wrote:Please dont mock and point fingers at me, but what does AAR mean?

After Action Report

stimpy wrote:Please dont mock and point fingers at me, but what does AAR mean?

Teach a man to fish.

~Neal

The Meal wrote:Tremendous AAR, trig! I have to admit, the NASA creation deviation caught me by surprise (and agitated me, until you fessed up to it later). If you deviated from history before that, I didn't catch it.

Well written. Can't wait to read up on the continuing exploits.

~Neal

Yeah, when the game starts, the US and Soviets are on relatively "even" terms as far as getting that first satellite up, and you're playing as the Director of NASA in the winter of 1957. The only way that could be possible is if Ike and maybe some folks in Congress had seen the CIA reports coming in by 1953 that had the Russians actively working to put Sputnik up, and similar reports in 1954 that guys like Gagarin were already being trained for a manned program. The Soviets weren't exactly coy about it: they did indeed publish their plans (in a fair amount of detail) in that 1955 newspaper article, for instance. Frankly though, the US refused to believe they could do it, and saw it as idle boasting. From what I've read on the subject, apparently the Cold War--despite Korea--just wasn't all that "hot" in 1957, due mostly to the fact that it was assumed as a matter of fact that the US was so technically superior to the Soviets that *of course* we'd be the first to have a successful space program. Sputnik changed all that, of course.

Like the AAR, and I'm actually tracking this one down as it sounds interesting. Does anyone know if there's a modern space development simulation (not talking flight simulator)?

(At this point I'm going to take some more artistic license, and change the narrative voice a bit. Instead of trying to write fictional dry history, I thought it might read better if this read like more of an oral history. If this doesn't work out, I'll switch back!)

November 14, 1957

"You're going to break our phone if you slam it like that again, Charles."

Von Braun's tone was humorous, but it also barely concealed the German's apprehension about something as trivial as weather conditions 800 miles south of them.

"Yes, well." Charles Hutchinson had been on the job less than 3 months and was unaccustomed to dealing helplessly without variables like weather. While the other men gathered around in the Pentagon War Room were veterans of various test-firings and had made do with weather variables, this was Hutchinson's first launch, and there was no "test" about it. "I think there are some Air Force meteorologists who will be making Hutchinson Voodoo dolls at any rate." He drummed his fingers absently on the phone, and then looked around the table at the 6 men gathereed there. "No change really, and in fact it sounds like it could be getting worse. Wind steady at 15-18 knots, gusting to 20-25."

"So no launch this afternoon?" James Van Allen--the designer of the instruments to be carried aloft by the rocket that stood on a wind-buffeted platform in Florida--was also present. If the others there held varying degrees of fascination regarding rocketry and space travel, Van Allen was the exception. He thought of rockets as little more than tools to get his measuring devices higher and higher into the atmosphere; for him the rockets were the weak link in the process and always would be.

Hutchinson turned to Van Allen. "No. Not this afternoon. I'm sorry Jim."

"How long do they expect these weather conditions?" Von Braun asked.

"Well, heavy winds through the early afternoon, but then hopefully dying down by nightfall. But then they're expecting some kind of rain squall. Tonight. Maybe all night."

"So the rain may be heavy?" Von Braun looked concerned. "If this is the case, we will want to get the rocket off the platform."

"I'd have given them your order, Doctor. Apparently there are a couple of folks down there who feel like there may be a good 2-hour window around 10 tonight."

Von Braun stood up and began to pace around the room. "I wonder what kind of weather they are having in Russia right now."

Hutchinson smiled in spite of himself "Probably unseasonably warm, dry, and no winds."

The fledgling Space Agency had been under enormous pressure of late. CIA intercepts and a couple of spy plane flyovers had not only confirmed that there were 5 Soviet launch sites in a decent cluster around central Russia, but also that the Soviets had already attempted two launches to put a satellite in orbit around the earth. The first had apparently blown up in the sky before it could fire it's second stage. The second had flown well, if the CIA could be believed...but the satellite had failed to make a good orbital burn and and came apart in the upper atmosphere. Von Braun and the others knew that a succesful Soviet satellite launch was only weeks, maybe days away, and they were racing against time.

Not that the launch at Cape Canaveral carried any guarantees with it. Far from it. NASA, now coming up on it's second birthday, was still a bureaucratic mess. Under pressure from Ike and Congress to put a satellite up within a year, the first NASA director would be forced to choose between two sons. The Navy had been working on a rocket and satellite combination called Vanguard which they hoped to launch by mid-1956. The Army had pushed for NASA to go forward with the modified Redstone/Jupiter/Atlas rockets they had been developing with "Our Germans" at the Army Ballistic Missile Agency in Huntsville, AL.

The ABMA in Alabama was "officially" an arm of the US Army, and thus the primary concern was developing reliable long-range ballistic missiles. Spearheaded by the German rocket scientists captured by the United States in the fall of the Third Reich, these scientists had little interest in the use of their rocket technology for weapons, but rather they secretly developed launch platforms that could carry heavier and heavier weights farther and farther with the idea of using their inventions to explore outer space. Headed by Romanian theorist and Goddard contemporary Hermann Oberth and brilliant young German Werner Von Braun, the ABMA physicists were almost as sure that their rockets would fly as they were that the Navy's Vanguard rockets would not.

(The ABMA group at Hunsville, consisting of "Our Germans" as Eisenhower had dubbed them. Hermann Oberth is in the foreground, with Wernher Von Braun seated on the table to his left.)


Imaginably there was tremendous rivalry between the Army and Navy for NASA's green light and funding for a launch, and when NASA chose the Navy's Vanguard program, the ABMA could have gone into hibernation. Vanguard was officially selected because, according to NASA, it was the more "feature complete" program; indeed, the Naval Research Laboratory promised that if NASA made their program the focus for the first satellite to be launched into space, they could be ready for a launch by October, 1956. The unspoken reason for choosing the Navy's rocket and satellite was due more to the lineage of the rockets. Vanguard was seen as the "All-American" rocket--built and developed by US scientists, while within the halls of Washington, there was concern that a layer of old Nazi Germany hung over the rocket science going on in Huntsville.

So, NASA backed Vanguard, making the announcement officially in March of 1956, but unofficially told the ABMA at Huntsville to continue their work simply as a contingency should Vanguard encounter problems. Von Braun and his crew had every intention of doing so anyway, because as the German told his colleagues, "Vanguard will not fly."

Early on, Von Braun seemed to be right. Hopes for an October, 1956 launch were scuttled by a steady stream of unsuccessful test firings of NASA and the Navy's rocket. Then in early summer of 1957, the New York Times broke the news that the launch of a Soviet satellite, called Sputnik, was imminent. "Sputnik Fever" gripped the country, suddenly caught up in the fervor of a "Space Race", as a Collier's Magazine story had put it. There were Sputnik science fiction stories, Sputnik songs, and even talk of a Sputnik movie wherein the evil Soviet satellite launched an invasion of earth, only to be repelled by the bravery of the United States armed forces.

NASA announced on June 21st that the kinks had been worked out of Vanguard, and the rocket and satellite were ready to fly. The launch date was set for July 4, and NASA promised a "rather memorable fireworks display" for the American public that day.

(Vanguard I on the launch pad, July 2nd 1957. Two days later it would be the first launch under the supervision of the newly created NASA.)
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With the launch site--Cape Canaveral in Florida--crawling with Washington politicians, military brass, hundreds of press, and perhaps thousands of interested by-standers across the inlet, NASA counted down the final seconds before launch. Listening in on closed-circuit radio transmissions in Huntsville, Von Braun is alleged to have said to a colleague "If this thing flies, I'll eat my feet."

Moments later, the initial stage for Vanguard ignited with a roar and great billowing clouds of fire to the "oohs" and "ahs" of awed spectators. It lifted itself from the platform and immediately zoomed to its maximum altitude--in this case, four feet. Then the first stage engine exploded, the entire rocket collapsed in upon itself, and the remaining fuel in the secondary and orbital stages ignited as well forming a huge, oily, fiery explosion that seemed to observers to have been some sort of bad joke.

The unsuccessful launch of Vanguard I on July 4, 1957.


The headlines the next day in the paper made NASA the butt of a national and worldwide joke. "KAPUTNIK", "STAYPUTNIK", and "FLOPNIK" were some of the more wickedly funny headlines conjured up by angry newspaper editors who felt, like many Americans, betrayed by the level of readiness they'd been led to expect from the Space Administration prior to launch.

With mass resignation at NASA and talk of massive funding cuts (not to mention a palpable sense of growing panic that America had not only lost the Space Race already, and perhaps the Cold War in the bargain) Von Braun and the ABMA stepped into the breach. While Vanguard was undergoing numerous unsuccessful tests, the Huntsville crew had managed numerous successful launches of a modified Redstone/Jupiter ballistic missile which Von Braun felt could be further modified to provide the lift required to put a satellite into orbit.

NASA had learned from its Vanguard error, and that's where Hutchinson came in. He'd arranged for the rocket assembly and it's precious payload to be secretly shipped into the Cape as soon as Von Braun told him the new ABMA rocket, tentatively dubbed "Atlas" was ready. Although Hutchinson had encountered more residual doubt about this rocket from his NASA peers, he had faith in Von Braun's acumen.

What he didn't have faith in was the payload. In a very early meeting, Hutchinson had sat down with Von Braun and William Pickering of the Jet Propulsion Lab, the latter group being the one to design the actual "artificial moon"--the satellite that would theoretically be put into orbit. Pickering was angry. The JPL had been given no warning by the NRL, and the Vanguard satellite component was merely a radio transmitter with antennae.

"Well Bill," said Hutchinson, "isn't that basically what Sputnik is going to be when the Russians put it up?"

Pickering snorted. "Yes, we can make a satellite that's no better or worse than something the Kremlin could dream up. Is that what we want? I'll be frank, gentlemen. The American scientific community is apoplectic about this little radio beeper you want to launch. Give us a few weeks--a month even--and we can deliver you a satellite that will perform honest-to-god measurements and data collection up there. It'll give the launch some scientific purpose!"

Hutchinson had heard this before. Von Braun expressed their mutual opinion "Can we not do the science on a subsequent launch? Should we not find out whether we can do this first?"

"We can do this--we'll put a satellite up there eventually, fellows. If not this year, then next. It will work. But I assume you don't plan to stop there. If you're going to try a manned space program--and everyone knows you are--you'd better start collecting data right away. For instance, you have to know what sort of radiation you're dealing with on cosmic rays."

The phrase "cosmic rays" meant one thing to Von Braun and Hutchinson. An Iowa physicist named James Van Allen had been launching small rockets from high-altitude observation balloons for over a year now, each rocket equipped with tiny, lightweight geiger counters. Van Allen had observed that as the atmosphere thinned at its highest altitudes, there seemed to be a buildup radiation from the sun and outerspace, something he called "cosmic rays".

"Van Allen got to you, eh Bill?" said Hutchinson with a laugh.

"Well, yeah. But the man is right. If he can put a tiny radiation sensor into one of his rockets, surely we can do something like it with regards to a satellite. And we can do this gentlemen. It isn't a matter of months or years before we can build this satellite! It's a matter of days. We could have one ready to go by mid-October!"

In the end, Hutchinson and Von Braun had given Pickering and Van Allen a go. The Explorer satellite, as it was designated, would be a modified Sergeant rocket in two sections. The rear section was a small rocket engine that would be used to put the satellite into it's orbital path when it exited the atmosphere. The front section contained 3 instruments, including a thermometer and Van Allen's "Cosmic Ray" device--a super geiger counter to measure the radiation swirling about the outside of the atmospheric protection. Finally, Explorer would contain two separate radio transmitters to beam the signals from the instruments back to Earth.

Everything had shipped into the Cape in good shape. The Juno/Atlas rocket stood on the launch platform, with Explorer I ready to go as its payload. Now the weather would need to cooperate. Hutchinson, Von Braun, Van Allen, Pickering, and a host of Army brass sat around the War Room at the Pentagon waiting to hear from counterparts at The Cape. The group had sent out for an early dinner and was in the middle of it--5 pm local time--when the secure line phone rang again. Von Braun and the others saw no change in Hutchinson's expression as he answered a few questions with terse "yesses", "no's", and a final "we'll get right back to you," as he hung up the phone.

"Well?" Von Braun was standing.

Hutchinson smiled. "Winds down to 8-12 knots, and falling. We can be go for a launch by 8:30. No rain until after midnight. If that's enough time, Herr Doctor, I can give them the go-ahead."

Von Braun sat back down. "It is not ideal, but such things seldom are. If the Soviets beat us because of a thunderstorm, it will not be a good thing. We will have to go sometime. I say we do so now."

Hutchinson made the call. Launch time was officially set: 8:40 pm.

With the rocket and platform bathed in the light of dozens of floodlights, the crew at the Cape went through the final preparations for launch. Although the launch was "secret", word had gotten out, and over the past day a small crowd had gathered at the nearby beach to watch--enough people that a few police cruisers were required to keep the peace. In addition, there were a handful of press present, although they had been forced to agree to "embargo" their stories on the launch until the next day.

(Explorer I atop an Atlas/Juno rocket, lifts off to put the first satellite in space on November 14, 1957.)


Hutchinson and his crew sat inside the War Room and watched as a clock ticked by. 8:40 came and went. The phone rang. Hutchinson couldn't hide his relief from the others in the room.

"Atlas cleared the platform and is on the way! It appears that both stages have fired perfectly!"

The room exploded into cheers but Hutchinson, beaming himself, tried to calm everyone. "We expect our first signal response in 2 hours. Then we'll know if we have a satellite or not."

The next two hours were spent guzzling coffee and engaging in quiet but anxious conversation. Occasionally Hutchinson would call the Cape. No new news. 10:45 came and went. Shortly before 11, the phone rang.

"Then why did you call me?" asked Hutchinson angrily into the receiver. He crossed his arms. "Cape called to say they haven't heard anything yet. We may have missed on the orbital burn."

Pickering, who had pushed hard for the Explorer configuration that went up earlier that evening, was unmoved. "She's a good machine. Give her a chance."

When the phone rang again after midnight, the men in the room were expecting the worst.

"You're sure?" said Hutchinson. His face broke into a broad grin. "That's fantastic news!" By the time he'd hung up, everyone else was standing and looking at him expectantly.

"We have a signal. We have a satellite!" The room exploded into cheers and backslapping. The space age had begun.

"Anything on the signal delay?" Pickering wanted to know.

"Yeah, apparently we managed an orbit almost a hundred miles higher than we expected. But it is a beautiful orbit, and we're getting radio like crazy from Explorer right now."

Someone had come up with a bottle of champagne and the men imbibed as they shared congratulations. Now Hutchinson had a surprise for the room. "Dr. Von Braun, Mr. Van Allen, Mr. Pickering?"

The men paused in their mutual congratulatory merrymaking.

"There's an Army car waiting for you. There are some gentlemen from the press at the National Academy of Science who'd like to ask you some questions. Congratulations fellows. Here's to many more launches just like this one!"


(l-r William H. Pickering, James Van Allen, and Wernher Von Braun celebrate at the press conference at the National Academy of Science with a full-scale model of Explorer I)

A smashing good read, General. Now when can you put me inside one of those things?

rrmorton wrote:A smashing good read, General. Now when can you put me inside one of those things?

Preferably, after we've been assured Vanguard I was more the exception than the rule.

I'll echo the smashing read thoughts, though.

(Okay. The Explorer flew well, considering the safety rate of the rocket that launched it was at 50% when it went up. Three stages--launch, orbital burn, and hardware power-up went off without so much as a hiccup.

In the game, thanks to the successful launch in '57, we've got some cash. We invest it immediately in recruiting and training the Original 7 Astronauts, as well as beginning the Mercury one-man capsule program. R&D on the Atlas rockets continues as well.)

There were seven of them now. Although they'd been secretly notified as individuals that NASA wanted them to be the country's first astronauts in the program, it wasn't until the summer of 1958 that the group were announced to the press at a bulb-popping press conference in New York.

(The "Original Seven" pose alongside an early prototype Mercury capsule at Cape Canaveral.)


While the original training was intended to take over 18 months, NASA expected to spend that time working the kinks out of the Mercury capsule and making it flight-ready. Six months into the program, it became apparent from CIA intercepts that the Soviet Union was in the early stages of putting a manned craft into space, and the NASA directorate decided to step up the timetable for their first manned launch.

On the afternoon of January 17, 1959--shortly after the astronauts had completed some group tests of the pressurized suits they'd wear into space, Ince Lemon and Deke Slayton were pulled away for a meeting with the directorate. The training of all the future astronauts was going well, but Lemon and Slayton had performed the best in the capsule simulations to date, and thus were briefed on what was hoped would be the first manned space flight in history. They would be removed from the basic training the rest would continue to undergo and would instead begin immediate training for the specifics of that first mission, separate from the others. A month later, NASA informed the astronauts that Lemon ("Lem" to his friends in the program) would be the primary crew for the flight, with Slayton slated to be his backup.

While those two trained for that mission, NASA began to stage unmanned tests of the Mercury craft, to various levels of success. On the last three tests, Lemon and Slayton prepped with the craft as if they would be riding along, and these three tests were some of the most disastrous. In fact, the final test before Lemon's eventual mission had the capsule's drogue parachutes failing to open and plunging into the ocean at 400 mph...where the flotation systems for the capsule also failed to engage and the damaged and dented tin can sank within a matter of seconds.

(One of the unmanned Mercury test launches explodes on the pad at the Cape.)


Shocked by the destruction of the unmanned Mercury in what was supposed to be a "dress rehearsal" for his own manned launch, Lemon expressed deep safety concerns with the NASA Director.

"Von Braun and the others tell me they've fixed the problem, Lem. I trust them. You trust them. If they say we're go for this mission next month, I believe them." The Director then challenged his would-be first astronaut. "Deke'll take the flight if you don't want it."

That settled that.

NASA had originally envisioned the first manned flight to be an orbital, but Von Braun and the crew at Canaveral were *not* willing to certify such a mission as ready-safe at this point. Instead, they wanted to be sure that the Mercury's cantankerous controls could be used to manually fly the craft even by a pilot feeling 6 g's of pressure in the upper atmosphere. The first flight then would be a brief one: Lemon's flight would be a parabolic arc into the upper atmosphere, a re-entry, and then a return to earth within about 15 minutes. Naval rescue teams would ideally pluck him and the capsule from their ocean landing and America would have another space first.

On the morning of October 18th, Ince Lemon was packed into his Mercury capsule for the flight designated Freedom 7 by NASA parlance (the first six Mercury flights had been unmanned tests like the one that had unnerved the man who would soon be in space.)

("Lem" Lemon shortly before the hatch on the Freedom 7 was closed before launch.)


As the countdown reached T-minus 60 seconds, a cadence of obscure-sounding commands that would soon become part of national lexicon rolled between mission control and Lemon in the capsule.

"Guidance?"

"Go."

"Pressure?"

"Go"

"Fuel?"

"Go. We are go for launch."



At 10:15 the engines on the modified Atlas/Redstone rocket ignited and the flight of Freedom 7 began, broadcast live on national television on all three networks. A rapt audience of millions (including President Eisenhower) heard Lemon just seconds after the rocket began moving say "Roger! Liftoff and the clock is started....Yes sir, reading you loud and clear. This is Freedom 7. The fuel is go. Cabin at fourteen psi. Oxygen is go. Freedom 7 is still go!"

(Freedom 7 takes "Lem" Lemon into space in October, 1959.)


While the first 45 seconds of Lemon's flight felt surprisingly smooth, but as the lifter and capsule approached trans-sonic speeds and the "sound barrier" the capsule began to vibrate violently. At 88 seconds, as it moved through that barrier, Lemon was bounced so roughly inside the craft that he was unable to read his own instruments and dials. The flight smoothed noticeably after that, but by the time the lifting body was ready to detach and fall back into the Atlantic Ocean, Lemon was being pressed into the seat of the capsule by gravitational forces six times his body weight.

Despite all that, NASA had a job for Lemon to do. Shortly after the rocket detached and Freedom 7's retro rockets spun it so the heat shield would take the brunt of the atmospheric pressure, Lem took over manual control of the craft and steered it--with great difficulty, but correctly--through a series of maneuvers. Moments after performing these duties, the craft spun back for re-entry.

Re-entry went beautifully. Lemon would recall in a book later the "glorious" feeling as his parachutes deployed successfully and arrested his descent. As horribly messed up as the final unmanned "dress rehearsal" had been in September, the first manned flight had gone perfectly, and succeeded beyond NASA's wildest expectations.

(The view from aboard a Navy recovery helicopter of Ince Lemon's successful Freedom 7 touch down in the Atlantic.)


The United States had beaten the Russians in getting a satellite into space. Now they'd gotten the first man into space and safely back again as well. Ince Lemon went from celebrity to National Hero overnight, toasted at White House dinners and given a tickertape parade through New York.



The United States was in the lead in the Space Race as the 1950's came to a close. Would the new decade see them maintaining their lead? The Soviets were developing technology that was in some way superior to anything the Americans had, and only time would tell if NASA could match them.

Some game mechanics as they relate to the AAR:

1. That's no made-up stuff about the failed test flight. I ran one with the Mercury Capsule at 61% safety value, and it would've been successful except the parachute snarled and then the damn thing sank. At launch, both rocket and capsule were R&D'd to maximum safety: 84% for the Atlas, 76% for the Mercury. Each successful launch adds 1% to the safety factor up to it's maximum safety value....but as you can see, the Mercury is a very, very unstable craft in this game. The actual manned mission Lemon flew went beautifully, btw--none of the numbers "rolled" on the various step checks were even close to being failures.

2. To beat the Russians to a manned mission, you have to pull two astronauts out of basic training, as described in the AAR. You can look at everyone's stats and see who you'll grab. Lemon's stats were the best through his abbreviated training: Capsule and End were both maxed at 4, although his EVA and LM will suffer a bit in the long run. For his backup, I didn't want to pull another OO'er out, so I grabbed Slayton, even though it'll kill his time spent in the program I think.

3. One of the things you have to monitor in the game is the "mood" of your astronauts. Their mood is represented by a numerical figure, and also shown for easy reading as a color-coded square as well. Green means the astronaut is in great spirits. Yellow means he has misgivings. Red is bad, and usually means the astronaut is on his way to announcing leaving the program. Never seen it before, but prior to launch for some reason Lemon's mood dropped to 63%--yellow. Thus the bit about seeing the unmanned test crash and his misgivings. After the launch, his mood rocketed (ahem) back up to 78.

4. Basic training carries with it an element of randomness. Even though I set everyone's stats to where they put them in the other thread, those numbers can go up or down by the time the 'naut graduates Basic. In Morton's case, two of his numbers (LM and EVA) both went up, while the rest stayed the same. He came out a helluva flier. He also achieved a first for me: always when the astronauts come out of Basic, their moods are Green and in the high 70's, low '80's. Mort comes out with a green mood indicator, but a 68 mood--10 full points behind the next highest. Seems like someone's a little pissy about being passed over for the first flight, huh? Like any good NASA director, I'm gonna make the prima-donna happy and he'll have the second mission--and it's a doozy.

5. Finally--we're WAY ahead of the Russkies at this point. They've had a couple of failures, and I'll even get to one of them in the next writeup. Unless something terribly awful happens, I don't think the race against them will be much of a challenge now...but the race against 1970 always, always is.

Fun to read your gameplay reasons behind the fiction. Very engrossing..

Congratulations, Lem, on being the second-best astronaut in the world. Now kindly step aside. The big dawg's goin to work!

Have I graduated from the Air Force Academy yet?

Great writeup.

Where can I find this game?

galaril wrote:Where can I find this game?

Start here.

April, 1960

"We've got news from Star City."

NASA Director Trigg R. Cutt looked up from the mission readiness reports he was thumbing through. They'd known that the Soviets would try the world's first orbital flight very soon--NASA had tried to rush to get their own orbital Mercury flight going by April...but that had now been pushed back to May, and the previous day Cutt had gotten word that the Soviets would launch the next day.

"Is it good news or bad news?" he asked his aide.

"Depends. Are you one of German Titov's buddies?" The aide dropped a thin manila file onto Cutt's desk. He looked up at his aide, and then read the single, typed page inside the folder.


German Titov's ill-fated Vostok 2 prepares for launch.

He finished reading and put the page back inside the folder. "We've confirmed Titov died?"

"Yes, sir. Some sort of heat shield failure on re-entry, and it damaged his chute is what our resources tell us. It never opened and he hit at around...."

"400 mph. We've done the same test on one of our capsules." Cutt turned his chair, looking absently out his window, lost in thought.

"Anyway sir, it looks like we did it."

"Huh? Did what?"

"We won the space race! Our estimate is that Korolyov will have no recourse except to scrap their Vostok capsule entirely. It'll be 1961 before they'll try another manned mission, and probably with a different spacecraft."

Cutt sighed. "Son, we're leadin' at the quarterpole of a pretty long race. Tell Kraft at Mercury and Von Braun that I want a leaders meeting this afternoon."

The Mercury program had started off well with Ince Lemon's "shakedown cruise" of the single-man capsule. Since then, the program had encountered a series of "manageable setbacks"--various test failures--as NASA tried to gear up for the flight they'd been dying to make all along: a manned orbital. The constant delays in a launch had frayed tempers all over Canaveral. At one point, astronaut Morty Morton--the man selected for the primary crew of the orbital flight--had pointedly and frustratedly asked Mercury manager Chris Kraft "Are you ever gonna let me fly this f****** thing?"

Cutt thought he had an idea that would let Morton do a little more than that.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"So we have some time" said Kraft. "That's welcome news. We can nail down some of those electrical problems and be ready for launch by late May, no problem."

Cutt looked around the room at the various program directors at NASA. "I'm not sure I've expressed myself properly. This is an opportunity gentlemen, and not a small one. We're expected to try an orbital flight of our own, and if we do it, we may well be very ahead of the Russians. I want to put some daylight between us, though. We've beaten them by a matter of days or hours in the past; now we have an opportunity to beat them by a year."

"What are you thinking of here, Trigg?" asked Von Braun.

Cutt turned to Kraft. "What if you had time to get that new hatch on to Mercury. Like a month or two. Could you do it? Would it be better?" One of the major mission problems with Ince Lemon's initial space flight was that the cramped instrumentation inside the Mercury capsule made it nearly impossible for him to enter or exit the craft on his own. If the flotation devices on the capsule were to fail and the astronaut inside needed to exit the cabin rapidly, he would be unable to.

"Well, we'd have to rearrange the instrumentation as well. Two months, we'd need, but that would be optimal for the spacecraft for an orbital flight. Let us do that and Morty can get in and out of that thing like it was an easychair."

"Let's consider that right now you maybe have your 2 months." Cutt looked at Kraft. "The pressure equalization system that we built into Mercury. We ever use it? Test it?"

Kraft looked puzzled. "We've tested it extensively, and it works. But it's strictly a backup measure, in case something was to breach the hull of the Mercury on launch. We could abort to a parabola flight and recover the aircraft right away with a good re-entry burn."

"What if we used the pressure system for something else? Like an open hatch?"

"We'd need to adjust, but it should rate for about 12-14 minutes. What are you thinking here?"

Cutt stood up. "Gentlemen, none of us know where the finish line in this 'race' is, just yet. Manned orbital flight? No, I think that's a stepping-stone. The Russians may put a 2-man craft up, and that would allow them to do some things that we are far from being ready to do. Like docking two craft in orbit. Like movement around outside the craft. Does anyone think we will still have won a space race if the Soviets are able to build a primitive orbiting laboratory?"

Cutt continued. "My plan here is a bold one. I was over at DCC last week, and have asked their representative to be here next week. The suit they're developing would be perfect for this. Assuming we can adjust the hatch, and assuming the pressure-tests on the cabin work, I would like to not only have Morton fly an orbital, but also leave the craft for the first-ever space walk."

There was silence in the room...and then it erupted into animated argument. Cutt quieted the room, and then asked Kraft to speak.

"Sir, this craft was NOT meant for this sort of activity. There are simply too many variables. I was at DCC a week before you, and every single final failsafe they have for their EVA suit involves, basically, a second astronaut yanking the astronaut making the EVA back into the spacecraft if there is a suit failure."

Cutt smiled. "And how would that work if all we have right now is a single-man craft?"

"That's the crux of the problem, isn't it? I never thought we'd stop with this one-man capsule, Trigg. We've been working with MDC in St. Louis on this Dyna-Soar variant that..."

Cutt interrupted "Yes, yes, I know about it, and I support the work. But we don't have funding to go forward with it right now. Let's get back to Mercury. If we can get enough testing on that EVA suit, and the capsule tests come back overwhelmingly positive, why not take the walk? We could perhaps finally dishearten the Soviets into abandon their program, and we can proceed at a pace more agreeable to us. This could be the entire match. At the very least, this could be the step that finally puts us so far ahead that our fighting for congressional funds eases up enough for us to consider lunar satellites or something more grand of our own."

"Who would fly this mission? They'd have to be out of their minds with all these new and untested systems. I think you should leave this ultimately with the pilots" said Von Braun.

The NASA chief laughed. "You know Morton as well as I do. If you told him to get out of the craft, flap his arms and fly home, he'd do it if it if he thought it would get him on the front page of the New York Times."

"Or get him laid."

"Yeah, either of those. We'd need to get him to DCC right away for final tests on the suit, and then back here to test the suit in simulators."

"What kind of time frame are you looking at here, Trigg?"

"We have time now," Cutt said, "let's use it. Let us try to be go for launch by late September. That's the mission I'm upgrading to. That's what we'll fly. Gentlemen, let's make it so."

Dont guess Ive made it in yet huh?

Daehawk wrote:Dont guess Ive made it in yet huh?

Group II recruitment happens Spring, 1961. You fellas are in the on-deck circle!

BTW--a few more game housekeeping notes.

There's no way--no way in hell--that you could fly an EVA mission with the Mercury capsule, or the Vostok (the Soviet 1-man craft that Gagarin and Titov historically flew successfully) for that matter. The game lets you do it, and if you don't for "historical accuracy" your opponent will beat you to it.

The funding, if I don't give Mort the Hal treatment, will let us skip Gemini and go straight to a 3-man craft and moon rocket.

Morton, you media whore. Let the rest of us have our turn at crashing and burn... I mean, soaring and flying through the atmosphere.

October 19, 1960

"Mission Sequence start. T Minus 60 seconds."

"Cabin pressure is go. We are go for launch."

NASA Director Trigg Cutt paced around the hall outside the Mission Control building, listening to an intercom feed of the launch. He remembered when he first told Morton about the mission upgrade. "Mort, this is going to be long pass for a touchdown. We make this mission happen, and we've bought NASA enough funding and enough time to get bigger, safer spacecraft and rockets up there. You don't have to fly it if you don't want to. There's a lot of stuff here that *should* work, but might not. It's your call."

"I don't fly this mission, then what?"

"We do a regular orbital flight as we originally scheduled and try an EVA sometime in late fall or early next year."

Morton leaned back in his chair. "And who flies that mission?"

"Probably Angel or Tokek."

Morton snorted. "I wouldn't trust those guys to walk down the street without trippin' over their shoelaces. Sure as hell wouldn't trust 'em to walk in space." He laughed. "Hell, Trigg. You knew I was gonna take this mission even before you asked."

"Well, I figured you'd say go."

"I hate bein' that easy to read, but okay. You got a crazy-ass tough mission to fly, you got one pilot here who can fly it. Just get me and the missus dinner at Ike's house when I get back, y'hear?"

"We have ignition. T-minus 15 seconds."

"Everything looks good here, Control. We are go."



There had been much in-fighting at the Mercury building over a couple of final changes Cutt had asked for the Friendship 7 Flight. The first of these was the installation of a small, color-film camera that would attach to the hatch door and fold out upon opening, and then be stowed afterwards for re-entry. Kraft had protested vigorously, but as Cutt had pointed out, "What's the use of taking this space-walk now if no one sees it? This could be the biggest scientific exploration achievement of either of our lives..." Eventually, a combination of Cutt's determination, and the engineering achievement of a NASA engineer had won out, and the camera was placed.

The other major concern raised was that while Morton was outside the craft, obviously no one would be inside. What if a warning light went up? What if the presence of Morton outside the craft caused drag that put the craft out of it's orbit? All these things were planned on, but Cutt had insisted that some sort of remote alarm system be installed inside Morton's EVA suit in the event of an alarm light. At the Dave Clark Company, a system was rigged that would shoot a small electric vibration into Morton's right foot in the event of an alarm light and alert him to re-enter the craft.

(Morty Morton tests the installation of the "remote alarm system" in the right boot of his EVA suit, August, 1960)


"...3...2...1...And we have liftoff!"

The sudden shudder threw Morton's hand against the "Abort" lever inside the Mercury craft. "Damn," he thought "that would've been a f***-up." He managed to get his arms back to their launch positions.

Control, we are good. We have cleared the tower. Friendship 7 is underway!"

It was Morton and Kraft who'd decided that *all* the Mercury missions would carry a numerical designation of "7". "We need all the help we can git on this thing, fellas!" Kraft jokingly agreed, and the designation was born.

The Atlas rocket hit its second stage about 40 seconds later. "Control, this is Friendship. We are still nominal."

"We copy Friendship."

"Suit pressure nominal. Say again, EVA suit is A-OK." In two minutes, Morton executed a roll as directed. "Control, we look good for OIB."

"Copy that Friendship, and you are go for Orbital Insertion Burn."

"Roger that. Proceeding with OIB."

With a lurch, the retro rockets on the Mercury craft kicked in and threw off the final stage of the Atlas rocket. The capsule burst through the atmosphere and as Morton executed a NASA-guided roll, and Friendship 7 became the first US spacecraft to enter a low-earth orbit.

"Friendship 7, this is Control. You're looking good here. Nominal burn."

"Zero-g's here, and I feel fine. Turning the craft around...and the view is tremendous!"


("The view is tremendous!")

Back at Control, Trigg Cutt was chewing the end off an inkpen. He'd earlier tried to light a cigarette, but it had shredded in his shaking fingers. They were through the first of many hurdles, though. The next, and most-improbable step of the mission would happen as Morton completed his first orbit in just over an hour.

"Control, I feel great. Zero-gravity and I feel normal. Everything is fine."

"We copy you Friendship. The flight surgeon looks very happy down here." Tom Tokek, the backup on the mission, had taken over on the Mission Control microphone. "Friendship, how do you feel about taking a walk?"

"Control, we are A-OK up here. Everything nominal. Let's roll down the window and take a walk."

"We copy you Friendship. Morty, you are...." Tokek paused, "I'm getting the thumb's up. You are go for EVA."

"Copy that Control. Activating cabin repressure. Cabin repressure system activated. We look good here. We are nominal."

"Copy that Friendship. We are still go here."

"Opening EVA hatch, control." A pause. Concerned looks shot through the Control room. "Control, we are good. Hatch is open. Suit readings are nominal. Cabin pressure readings nominal. The window is open, over."

"Copy that Friendship. You are go to activate camera and exit the craft."

"Exiting pressurized hatch area...and Control this is incredible. I am outside the craft right now. I would imagine we're moving at....at 15,000 miles per hour, and this is fantastic. I'm going to power up and move off from the spacecraft...and I am now about 8 feet from the craft and we are both together here. I am able to move about the craft on the outside. This is indescribable, Control. I'm at a loss for words. Suit appears nominal, no alarms."

"We copy you Friendship, how's the view up there Mort?"

"Toke I hope you get a chance to do this, it's the thrill of a lifetime. The suit is very good, I can move about very freely."

"That's great to hear, Friendship, but if we're going to finish this mission, we'd better get you inside and roll up the window."

"I have amazing pictures I think. The earht looks beautiful from here."

"Copy that Friendship. We need you to complete EVA activities and re-enter the pressurized hatch area."

"I copy you Toke. I'm re-entering. and we are good. Closing hatch sequence is good."

"Copy that."

"Camera is stored."


(Morty Morton takes a walk in space aboard Friendship 7.)

In another hour, Morton had completed his third earth orbit. The spacecraft executed a perfect roll and re-entry burn. "We are go for re-entry, I think I'll take a swim!"

"We copy you Friendship. You are go."

The craft came through the atmosphere beautifully, and the chute opened as scheduled. Friendship 7 landed in the ocean and Morton activated his flare.

"Control I have touched down. We are in great shape here."

"We copy you Friendship. Great work up there."

"Thank you Control. Thank you for a beautiful flight."

Trigg Cutt listened to the explosive cheers from the hallway outside the Mission Control room. He went inside and shook first Kraft's hand, and then Von Braun's. Great work, gentlemen. Great work. We can do this. We can even go to the moon if we want."

All right, boys, now that's the way it's done!

I've got tickertape in my hair, girls swooning everywhere I look, and surf n' turf with the President later on tonight.

Have fun up there, you guys. I never felt smaller or bigger in my whole life.

(Really well done, Trigg R. Cutt! Best AAR EVAR.)

A couple more game notes:

Every game turn (there are two per year: a spring and fall turn), there's a random event that occurs. Sometimes it's a good thing, sometimes a bad, sometimes indifferent. One of the fall events has to do with "contractors making hardware 50% off." This is a huge event for the US, and in our game here it happened fall of 1960. This allowed us to start up the Saturn Rocket program, the XMS-2 Shuttle program, and the Ranger satellite program.

So....that kinda sets our direction for the moon. Nothing wacky like a Direct Ascent approach. Screw that. There is no safer capsule in the game than the XMS shuttle. We can R&D it to 91% safety, and after 4 missions it'll have a max safety rating of 95. With a pilot with a 4 capsule rating, that means that it'll take a double-ought roll for it to fail.

We'll need to do a couple more things, too. We'll need to start running a ton of docking missions, for instance. The docking module cannot be R&D'd. You have to keep running missions and doing docking stuff in space. Each time you fail, it gains 1 point of R&D. Each success is 5% R&D. You can max it at 90. That's a lot of missions.

Sadly, you Group I astronauts are gonna start getting fidgety. You're going to start leaving the program. That's the way the game works. In all likelihood, it'll be a Group II or III guy who walks on the moon.

Shame that you're just the the second man in space Mort.

Ready for Group II!!!

Send me to space!! As much as I like sitting in the safe confines of the control room, I'd much rather touch the heavens, lol.

I'll get you lads into space very soon. Promise!

I'm getting tired of banging all these astronaut groupies. Plus they want to see me go into space!

What with the coverage everywhere on the internet and in the media on the 40th anniversary of Apollo 11, I've been playing a lot of Buzz Aldrin's Race Into Space (actually playing the freeware version which can be found here) and remembered this unfinished AAR. At the time, the laptop I'd had this on had failed. I had backed up a bunch of files from the laptop onto a zip drive, but never really went looking for my BARIS saves. As I struggled through a game last night (barely, and I mean *barely* beat the Russians and didn't get to the Moon until March of 1970), I thought back fondly to this AAR mostly because by 1961 I was clubbing the Russians like an Aleut on a baby seal. "I wonder", I thought "If maybe my save games from that AAR four years ago are still on that old zip drive? Nah...."

But there you go and there they were! Problem: the saved games were from the actual Buzz Aldrin game by Interplay and Strategic Vision, and those are incompatible with the vista-friendly Sourceforge "Race Into Space" version linked above. I was going to have to re-install good ol' BARIS and try to get it running with DOSbox. Thankfully, that worked. Game seems to run fine.

I dunno if anyone is even remotely interested in the continuation of this AAR, but screw it...I feel like writing it, so there you go.

Ok, first off, a few notes as I look through where I left off.

1. Morton's just flown a frakking humdinger of a mission. Incendiary Lemon did the Alan Shepard "popgun" 15-minute sub-orbital straight-up-and-down flight, to be the first man in space, but Morton outdid history. Not only did he replicate John Glenn's orbital flight, but he also did the first EVA "space walk", beating Ed White by nearly 5 years (as pointed out above, there's no real historical way any astro- or cosmonaut could've done a spacewalk from a one-man capsule, but the hell with it--the game lets you try it.)

2. The Soviets are struggling. We got very lucky to beat Sputnik into space with our Explorer program, and then we beat them by getting Lemon into space first. They then tried get back the initiative (the computer plays a smart, risky game here) by skipping a suborbital flight and going for the gusto and trying to put German Titov into an orbital flight. That first one-man orbital flight is risky (a -4 mission safety penalty) even if you've done the logical first step (a suborbital manned flight) first. Skipping the suborbital and going straight for the orbital flight is one hell of a hail mary, as it carries a -6 mission safety penalty, which is pretty significant for a flight with as many steps as this one has. Sure enough, the mission failed and Titov was killed a capsule crash. That should *really* set the Soviets back. I would imagine that they won't even try another Vostok (the Soviet 1-man capsule) launch, and will instead start developing a 2-man Vokshod program...or decide to go for the crazy and start a direct ascent program. (Direct Ascent is incredibly expensive, takes a long time to research, but carries the benefit of being able to skip a bunch of docking missions and whatnot. If you're way ahead, Direct Ascent can be a fun way to goof around to get to the moon, but if you're way behind it's a high risk gamble that might be the only way to catch up.)

3. I currently need to recruit new astronauts, Group II guys. That's Varity, CSL, Daehawk, Ralph Wiggum, Sarkus, Percy, Debris, Pyperkub, and Neil Armstrong, just because. That'll be the first thing I do.

4. Grievous Angel is scheduled to do a Mercury Orbital mission with a 2-day endurance. That is one *hell* of a risky mission in a Mercury capsule with only a 78% safety rating sitting atop a rocket with an 85% safety rating. Sorry, GA. I'm scrubbing your mission. I'm so far ahead right now that I don't want to risk getting any astronauts killed.

5. I'll write it up as a game event, but I also got a random event card that had a "50% off all hardware this turn", so I took advantage and bought our two priciest pieces of hardware to get to the moon: the Saturn V rocket and the XMS shuttle, an early, smaller space shuttle prototype modeled off the McDonnell-Douglas "Dynosoar" experimental spacecraft that never got past the design phase. The three-man shuttle is the safest spacecraft in the game and is the only reusable craft (provided you don't wreck it) possible. The downside is that it's incredibly expensive to start the program, and incredibly expensive to research. The 50% off event made it a lot more cost-effective to grab and start up.

6. By scrubbing GA's orbital duration mission, I'm effectively killing the Mercury program. I'll transfer all the Group I astronauts from Mercury to the XMS program, but by focusing on the XMS over doing Gemini (2-man capsule) and Apollo, the US will probably not see another manned spaceflight until 1964. That means that a lot of the Group I guys are going to get fed up and drop out of the program, I expect. It happens. I would imagine that if everything stays on target, it'll be a mix of one GII astronaut with a couple of GIII guys who eventually fly the moon mission, hopefully in the winter of '69 at the latest.

7. We'll also need to build a new launch pad and start developing a new unmanned program. To get to the moon, you have to map it, and that means sending satellites to orbit it, and also develop a working Surveyor program to actually land an unmanned probe on the moon's surface. Lot's of prestige for doing that, but damned expensive. The Soviets will probably beat us on the lunar probe, because NASA won't be able to afford Ranger for lunar flybys, Surveyor for an unmanned probe landing, AND the XMS program.

8. Expect lots and lots of docking missions from '64-through '68. By '65 we'll need to get started on a LEM program and also get going on booster rockets going. Even with the lift capacity of the might Saturn V, the XMS and Eagle LEM are too heavy to get into space without strap-on boosters to provide additional thrust.

Cool! I remembered this AAR when you posted about BARIS going Vista-friendly.

'bout time that funding came back online. Let's light some candles!

March, 1961

It was a Saturday, just 17 days before Grievous Angel launched for the latest flight for NASA. After the historic successes of his fellow Mercury Seven cohorts, Incendiary Lemon and Morty Morton, Angel was champing at the bit to take his own turn to make history in the Mercury capsule. His mission would be yet another first for the American space program--he would put his Aurora 7 Mercury capsule into a high earth orbit and then stay there for 54 hours--nearly 2 and a half days in space. He had tested the best of all the Mercury astronauts for his fitness for an endurance mission in the cramped confines of the capsule, and the training and preparation had ramped up considerably over the last two months. Grievous was home that Saturday, enjoying his last "day off" before two and a half weeks of intensive testing until flight date.

He was sleeping in, uncharacteristically, when the phone at his home in Florida rang. "mmm...hello?"

"Grieve? It's Trigg down at the Cape. Sorry to bother you today."

"No...no, no problem. What's up, Trigg?"

"I've, uh, I've got a few things that I need to still cover with you about, uh, Aurora Seven. Would you maybe have time to come down here to the office this afternoon? Like around two maybe?"

Grievous sat up in bed and scratched the sleep from his eyes. "Can't it wait until Monday? This is my last time off. I'm pretty tired."

There was a pause on the other side of the line. "I'm sorry Grieve. I know that. This is, uh, fairly mission critical. I'd like to cover it today, actually."

Grievous recognized Cutt's tone on the phone. He hadn't phrased it as an order, specifically, but for those who knew the NASA director, the intent in his voice was clear. He wasn't asking, or requesting--he expected Grievous Angel to be in the director's office by 2:00pm that afternoon. "Yeah. Ok, all right. I'll see you at 2."

"Thanks Grieve. I wouldn't have you down here if I didn't think it was important."

Yeah yeah, whatever. Angel had encountered enough "mission critical" briefings over the past few months to know that the definition of the phrase was usually anything but critical. He'd hear some engineer or other say "We've got a critical problem here", and it would turn out to be too much dust over a half-inch of a metal plate inside the capsule. Still....he realized he'd never heard Trigg Cutt call an issue critical before. This might be something pretty big.

NASA team activity around the Cape was buzzing apace despite the weekend. He parked and headed over to the building where Cutt's office was. The NASA Director met him at the reception area and the two walked down the hall together.

"This must be a real lulu," said Angel as the two headed toward Cutt's office.

"Well, yeah, it is."

They got to Cutt's office and Angel was surprised to see Flight Director Chris Kraft already seated there. After exchanging pleasantries, Cutt took a seat behind his desk and motioned Angel to sit next to Kraft on the other side of his desk.

"Gentlemen, thanks for coming in today, and Chris, I expect you know what this is about. Let me bring Grieve here up to speed." He paused for a moment and opened a thick, bound report on his desk.

"Grieve, we just got the full after-mission report on Morton's Friendship 7 craft. That's what I've got right here." Cutt paused and put on his reading glasses and flipped to a few pages idly for a moment. Angel fidgeted in his seat. What had he given up his weekend off for here?

"We've been going over his craft, and the telemetry data here. Some pretty interesting things we learned on that mission." He looked up and looked Grievous in the eye. "We may not tell him as much, but Morty might be the luckiest damned SOB on the planet. We've found about 12 different spots on his mission where the Mercury capsule or the rocket booster that put it in orbit could have--maybe should have--failed catastrophically. Some, uh, crazy, crazy turns of fate that went our way that day." Cutt pushed his glasses back up his nose and closed the report.

"God protects fools and drunks, Trigg. Mort's a little of both." Kraft snorted a laugh next to him.

Cutt smiled wanly. "Yeah, like I said, that thrill jockey is a lucky bastard. But here's the thing. Studying his capsule, apparently he was losing the integrity of the tiles on his heat shield every ten minutes up there. If that crazy cowboy hadn't started his de-orbit burn when he did...heck, if we'd waited even another ten minutes...it sure looks like we'd have lost the whole spacecraft on re-entry."

Angel shifted in his seat again. "So, uh, what here? You sayin' we need to use better glue on the heat shields for Aurora 7? We got some faulty workmanship?"

The NASA Director cleared his throat. "Not exactly, no. Well, I shouldn't say that conclusively, because that's what we thought at first. But, uh, it seems like this is a problem with Mercury. Grieve, this heat shield integrity thing is a design flaw, not a workmanship flaw."

Angel was fully alert now, not quite comprehending what part of his mind was already telling him. "So what are we saying about Aurora here, Trigg?"

"What I'm saying, Grievous, is this: if I put you in that Aurora Seven craft and send you into space, I'm as good as signing your death warrant. The more we study it, the more that Mercury looks like a deathtrap to us."

Angel seemed nonplussed by this. "So what if we scrap the duration and just do a single orbit? Maybe push back a month and change the mission to something simpler?"

Cutt shook his head. "I don't think I'm making myself clear. Mercury is done. Chris and I have talked, and we're scrapping the program here at three missions. Aurora 7 is scrubbed, as well as all future missions in that configuration."

Angel shook his head and was silent. "Are we sure about the capsule? I mean, this could just be more crap from the slide rule jockeys here, Trigg." There was a pleading sound in his voice.

"We're not negotiating this, Grieve. Mercury is dead. Chris and I went over everything Thursday and Friday and we've made a decision and it's final. I know this is a crusher. I know it. I want you flying up there, Grieve. Hell, I think you're our best pilot." Angel nodded absently, staring at the corner of Cutt's desk.

"So what now then? If Mercury is done, what happens to the astronauts?"

"Well," said Cutt. "That's the next step, and this is going to be new information for both of you. I'll sketch it out real briefly for you both, and then we'll have a full briefing in a week. For right now, this information stays with the three of us, understood?" Both men nodded.

"Mercury's design flaw in the heat shielding wasn't a total washout for us. In fact, strange as it is, it might've helped some of our contractors to work out a better configuration for re-entry heat shielding on future craft. So there's that. Then there's new intel we've developed from Star City in Russia. The Soviets seem pretty pissed at us for 'winning' the space race with Morton a few months ago, so apparently they've moved the finish line. We think they'll launch a satellite to fly past the moon within the next two years--it sure looks like that's what they're doing."

Kraft said "So they do a lunar flyby with a ball of radio parts and can say they went to the moon?"

"Something like that," Cutt replied. "At any rate, we think they've got a rocket and a satellite that can do it for them, and do it before we can do something similar. Now that won't wash, gentlemen. We can't have the Soviets claiming that they're ahead of us because they can aim some crappy satellite at the right trajectory and get it to swoop around the moon and calling that the finish line. The solution is clear to me, and I had a long talk with President Kennedy himself last night and he agrees. The way we beat the Soviets in the space race is we move the finish line to the very furthest back, and then beat them to it anyway. Gentlemen, the President will give a speech to Congress next week, and in that speech he will announce a new national effort, and the goal will be to put a manned spacecraft on the moon."

Angel shrugged. "Well, we all knew that gettin' to the moon was something that was out there eventually for us to build to."

"You're right, Grieve," said Cutt. "This is a little different though. The President wants us on the moon by 1970."

Astronaut Angel and Director Kraft both gave low whistles. "Good heavens Trigg, is that do-able?" Kraft asked.

"Well...I guess we'll find out. We'll have a full briefing with all astronauts and engineering teams next week after the President's speech. For now, the goal and the speech are strictly on the hush, gentlemen, got it?"

"Understood," said Angel.

Trigg got up from his desk and walked around to put his hand on the astronaut's shoulder. "I'm sorry I scrubbed your mission, Grievous. For now, all I can say is 'trust me', but I think you'll be pretty excited about the mission I intend for you to fly."

Grievous nodded, then got up and shook both men's hands. "All right then. The moon."

"The moon," said Cutt. "We're going to the moon."


"...I believe that this nation should commit itself to achieving the goal, before this decade is out, of landing a man on the Moon and returning him safely to the Earth."