USSR Hoax

3 SPACE RACE

1966

Lee Collins nervously wiggled his foot as the President of the United States leaned back in his reclining leather chair intently studying the report Lee had just handed over. As the Executive Secretary of the National Aeronautics and Space Council, Lee was the principle advisor to the White House regarding space issues. He was responsible for keeping the president abreast on how America was doing in its space race against the Soviet Union. Even with a Gemini space mission currently underway, Lee needed to inform the president of the latest news.

As the tense moments passed, the president’s brow began to narrow, a defined crinkle settling on his forehead. He slowly took off his reading glasses before swiveling around to focus in on the executive secretary. “So you’re telling me we can’t put a man on the moon by the end of this decade?”

Keeping his poise, Lee straightened up in the chair. Though the president had long known of the combustion instability problem associated with the Saturn V rocket, this was Lee’s final assessment of the situation. “Yes, sir. Even though we thought we had solved the instability problems with the F-1 engines back in ’61, the problem has been recurring in recent tests preparing for the first Apollo launch.”

The president slammed the chair’s armrest hard with his fist. “Damn it! We can’t lose to the Soviets. There must be something we can do.”

“Sir, only one country has the expertise to solve this problem.”

“Let me guess. The USSR?”

“Yes, sir.”

The president angrily swiveled his chair before propping his snakeskin cowboy boots up on the edge of his desk. “Can’t we just copy their design?”

“Sir, the Soviets have figured out how to handcraft this particular part that attaches to the combustion chamber, which would fix the problem. These parts are made by Russian engineering artisans in a process we haven’t been able to duplicate.”

Shaking his head in disgust, the president let out a frustrated sigh as he looked out the window, mumbling to himself. “If those Commies conquer the moon, they’ll control the world.” The president started tapping his glasses on his armrest. “How far behind are we?”

Every time Lee visited the White House, the president wanted to know if America was gaining ground on the Soviets in the race to the moon. “If the engine wasn’t a problem, I would say about four months.”

“Damn, that’s close.” The president crossed his legs. “What about…” he looked down at the floor, struggling to think of something, “…that astronaut flying a jet pack later today in space, umm, what’s-his-name.”

“Tom Novak?”

“Yeah, Tom Novak. Won’t that show up the Russians when he jets around in space over the world? That’s never been done before.”

“Yes, sir. That will be very impressive. Especially considering it’s only our second spacewalk. It will definitely put a notch on our belt and put some fear in the Soviets that one day soon our Air Force will have men patrolling space on jet packs.” Lee leaned back in his chair. “But as impressive as it will be, it doesn’t get us any closer to the moon.”

The president put his hands over his face and rubbed hard for a second before slowly sliding them off. “Would you say the Soviets are staying on schedule?”

“As long as the Iron Curtain is in place, it’s anyone’s guess. They have had some notable successes recently, which they’ve graciously shared with the world. It’s the failures they don’t publicize that are the big unknowns. Our intelligence says the N1 rocket looks to be ready for a test launch soon. If that’s the case, then a mission to the moon wouldn’t be too far off. At this point, I would have to say yes, they’re hitting their marks.”

The president’s boots dropped to the floor with a loud thud. He got up out of his chair and walked over to a large antique globe resting within a chestnut-wood floor stand. He spun the globe and stared at the spinning ball. All of a sudden the president turned to Lee and said in a direct and serious tone, “How tough would you say it is to put a man on the moon, compared to other achievements throughout history?”

Lee leaned forward, putting his arms on his legs. “Sending a man over 200,000 miles through deep space and landing him safely on the lunar surface and then bringing him back home safely would have to be one of the greatest accomplishments ever achieved by man. It’s probably humanity’s most challenging undertaking.”

“Exactly. So don’t you think the Soviet Union would be struggling too?”

“I don’t know. Probably.”

“For all we know, right now, the Kremlin could be saying that we’re in the lead.” The president put a finger on the globe, stopping its spinning. “How did you come to the conclusion we’re four months behind?”

“Earlier this year, their unmanned Luna spacecraft did a soft landing on the moon, four months before we did it with Surveyor.”

“Okay, so two years ago we were a year behind. Last year, six months. So we’ve been catching up steadily, which must be making Moscow nervous. I bet you they’re starting to feel the heat. They could be thinking they’re going to lose and might be willing to make a deal.”

“A deal?”

“For years the UN has dangled a space treaty in front of us and the Soviets stating the country that lands first could not claim ownership of the moon. Both countries have been circling the table with neither side stepping up and agreeing to the terms. Intelligence has learned Moscow is now willing to sign that treaty. Why? Possibly because they’re behind us and are scared of an American-owned moon. So what if we leaked out we’re having some instability issues with the F-1 engine, a problem we are confident we can fix without any outside help. The Soviets might think that’s their in, offering a fix in secret in exchange for us signing the treaty.”

Lee shook his head. “Sir, I only see that working if Moscow feels they’re going to lose the race.”

“Do you have any proof they aren’t thinking that?”

“No, sir. But it tips our hand.”

“True, it’s a gamble. But let’s see if they bite. You never know how they might react. If by chance they are having some serious problem of their own, they might be interested. If not, we haven’t lost anything. But I guarantee you this, the possibility of America owning the moon scares the hell out of the Russians.”

“As does a Red moon to us, sir.”

“Exactly.”

TOM NOVAK WAS gasping for air as he wrestled against Newton’s laws, struggling to reach the back end of the Gemini spacecraft that was zooming faster than 17,500 miles per hour over South Africa. The capsule was entering the cold, night side of Earth on the start of its thirty-second orbit. The exhausted young astronaut was running on pure adrenaline after spending over a half an hour wrestling with his umbilical cord while testing how to move around in space. Having already surpassed the longest spacewalk ever, Tom still had the most exciting and challenging part of his EVA coming up.

As only the third man to venture out into the harshness of space, he was about to attempt something incredible and straight out of a sci-fi novel. With the Soviets pulling off many firsts in space, including the first spacewalk, NASA needed to do something fantastic to get the world’s attention. Tom’s mission was to strap on a space-age jet pack and fly tethered around in space, just like his childhood comic book hero, Buck Rogers. Even for 1966, this was one hell of an undertaking that would surely show up their space archrivals.

The Astronaut Maneuvering Unit, also called the AMU jet pack, was waiting for Tom at the back end of the ship in the depths of the adaptor section. The ten-million-dollar contraption was designed by the Air Force to rule space. The hope was that in the near future, America would be policing the heavens with military men zipping around on these machines. They would be building space stations, performing rescues, and disabling enemy satellites. Air Force Major Tom Novak was going to be the first to test this expensive toy in space.

As he approached the outside edge of the bell-shaped adaptor section in the dimming sunlight, he was greeted by an unwelcome surprise. To his shock, hundreds of dangerously jagged tooth-like metal edges lined up all along the entire rim of the metal ring. Mission planners had failed to prepare Tom for this unexpected obstacle. The razor-sharp barrier was the aftermath of the Titan rocket ripping away. If just one of those pointed teeth punctured Tom’s spacesuit, he would be dead within minutes.

Preferring not to alarm mission control and chance his spacewalk being cut short, Tom kept quiet as he analyzed the situation. Drawing from his recent experience floating around in space, he felt he could safely maneuver around the edge without his umbilical cord or himself coming into contact with any of the sharp edges. Confident it was a safe bet, he decided to give it a go.

After placing supporting wires meticulously over the treacherous edge, Tom expertly maneuvered over the lip into the dark abyss beyond. Holding tightly onto a handhold, Tom flipped up his sun visor to get his first look at the ghostly machine as it sat patiently in the darkness. The contraption seemed to be challenging Tom, as if it had a mind of its own. He had a love-hate relationship with the metal device. He had spent more time with the apparatus over the last six months than he had with his wife. Sometimes the jet pack cooperated during training, but at other times it was as stubborn as a mule. Tom was determined to control the beast this time around.

With a limited supply of oxygen, Tom was on the clock. He had to stay on a strict timeline if he wanted any shot at flying the machine. He had to be fully strapped in and ready to go when their spacecraft entered daybreak, less than thirty minutes away. He was in a race against the sun.

Sweating profusely, he worked hand-over-hand through the darkness along a small railing into the recessed area until he was positioned next to the jet pack. Unfortunately, only one of the tiny lights in the spacecraft’s flared back end worked, giving off light no brighter than a candle. To compound matters, his visor was starting to fog up with condensation due to his heavy breathing. Unable to see, he was forced to navigate by memory through the dark shadows, working more by feel, which was a challenge in his bulky gloves. Come on, Tom, you can do this.

Tom had practiced strapping himself onto the AMU hundreds of times, even doing it weightless aboard a cargo plane flying in arcing parabolic dives. But he was not prepared for the full effects of Newton’s laws. Every time he tried to turn a knob, his body would rotate instead of the knob. He was forced to work with only one hand while he held himself steady with the other, something he had rarely practiced. The overall job was made even more taxing with his suit wanting to stay in its designed ballooned position, fighting every simple move he made. Easy tasks were becoming practically impossible.

After five minutes of struggling, he was finally on the AMU’s saddle seat, secured by a common seatbelt fastened around his lap. He was going wherever this wild bull rocketed.

The moment of truth had arrived. This baby had to power up, or he wasn’t going anywhere. He clenched his jaw before clicking the power switch. Through his fogged visor, Tom could see flickering lights glowing off the machine’s small control panel, triggering a surge of relief through his body. Yes!

Tom spent the next fifteen minutes struggling to replace the ship’s umbilical cord with the AMU’s smaller cord. This was an exercise he had often completed in a couple minutes on Earth. Staying calm, he eventually unhooked himself from the ship’s lifeline and connected up to the machine, relying on it to feed him the needed oxygen, communications and electrical power. The AMU umbilical cord connected to a two-way radio that only worked by a line of sight signal, which only his commander, Sam Cunningham, could hear. Sam was fully suited up, sitting in the left seat of the spacecraft, monitoring the controls and keeping NASA updated on Tom’s progress. The radio was designed to work perfectly when Tom was flying around on the jet pack. But behind the ship, it was practically useless.

Tom went about working through the many steps he needed to complete before the bird could fly. His commander occasionally broke his concentration, checking on his progress. Because of the terrible radio transmission, Tom often had to yell or repeat his response several times, which was always the same, “Going as planned.” The fact was, he was already wiped out, but he couldn’t let on. If Sam knew how dire things were, he would call off the test.

When Tom finished the last step, he couldn’t believe he had beaten the sun. But he was too beat to celebrate. His heartbeat was probably triple his normal rate and his visor was completely fogged over. The only good news was that after hooking up the AMU umbilical cord, NASA was no longer receiving readings from his body sensors. Mission control was completely in the dark on how bad his physical condition was. If they knew, they would scrub the test. But since they had no idea, flying the machine would be his call.

Tom finally had a moment to relax and catch his breath. He collapsed backward against the machine’s supports while waiting for daybreak. He needed a miraculous second wind to kick in if he was going to have any success flying the machine, let alone make it back safely into the spacecraft. He rubbed the tip of his nose on his visor to clear a circle the size of a dime in the condensation, allowing him a small spot to see through clearly. The predawn Earth glowed with a few scattered lights. Soon the Gemini spacecraft would be on the daylight side. By then he should be flying the jet pack. He was certain that the feat would cause celebratory toasts among all his family and friends partying at his house.

Tom closed his eyes and tried to calm down, doing his best to reduce his heavy breathing. He hoped thinking of his nine-month-old boy might do the trick. But sadly, he couldn’t come up with a clear image of Peter’s face in his mind. Because of Tom’s endless hours training for the mission, he had hardly been around since his son’s birth. Disappointed, Tom opened his eyes. He convinced himself he was doing the right thing putting work before family. There would be time down the road to be a part of Peter’s life.

Sam’s garbled transmission came in over the radio. “Mission Con…l h…s given you okay to fly A…U.”

Tom opened his eyes and clenched his gloved fist in a minor celebration. He repeated the message to confirm he heard it correctly. “Roger, I have the okay to fly the AMU.”

“Rog…”

The sun started rising behind Tom, giving him an unbelievable view of his planet waking up in front of him, its wondrous colors beginning to shine brilliantly. He stared through the small wiped area, mesmerized by the slow, turning Earth.

“Re…se in th…e min..s”

Shaking his head, Tom focused back in on his job. “Please repeat.”

“Release in …ree m…utes.”

“Roger, release in three minutes.”

Sam had to flip a switch in the cabin to release the jet pack, shearing a bolt behind Tom that held the AMU securely to the ship. As Tom patiently waited, a part of him questioned if he was doing the right thing. He couldn’t see out of his visor, and he was still so doggone tired. His hope was the sun would warm up his shield and defrost away some of the moisture, but flying the machine would still be a major challenge in his current condition. His concern was not only successfully flying the AMU back to the ship, but also having enough energy to get off the contraption and crawl back into the spacecraft, which, based on lessons learned during NASA’s only other EVA, was one of the toughest tasks of all.

If Tom could not make it back into the ship for whatever reason, Sam had orders to cut Tom loose. The commander did not have an umbilical cord of his own to attempt a rescue. NASA felt one astronaut returning home was better than none. The grim possibility of Sam closing the hatch and leaving Tom to die in space was never discussed between the two friends. It was just an accepted risk that came with the job.

A devil seemed to be standing on one of Tom’s shoulders, trying to convince him to fly the machine. On the other shoulder was an angel, trying to stop him. The devil made a valiant effort, pointing out how hard Tom had worked to get to this point and how the feat would help his career. The angel simply said, think of your wife and son.

“Sw…ch fl… in ten sec…”

“Roger, switch flipped in ten seconds.” Tom shook his head, clearing the angels from his mind. It was time to focus. He convinced himself he was doing the right thing. The love for his family was strong, but he had a job to do.

ANNE NOVAK CLOSED the curtains of her master bedroom to prevent any reporters from seeing up inside the second floor room. Though most of the media were stationed on the front lawn waiting for her to step out and make a statement, some occasionally walked around the perimeter of the home, peering over the fence. The sun still penetrated through the closed sheer curtains, lighting up the room. She turned to her dresser drawers, reaching for an ashtray, lighter, and a pack of cigarettes. She caught a quick glance of herself in the dresser mirror, clad in her best cocktail dress with her hair up in her favorite bouffant hairstyle. Being new among the astronaut wives, she felt the pressure of trying to look glamorous for the press. Without it ever being said, it was understood that the NASA bigwigs expected the astronauts’ wives to look and act a certain way when speaking to the media. Their husbands’ futures depended on this perfect image, regardless if it was a facade.

Anne walked over and sat down on the side of her bed next to her baby who was lying calmly, propped up against a pillow. She set the ashtray on the opposite side and pulled out a cigarette. Her son’s eyes widened as he reached out his arms at the sight of the red plastic-wrapped pack. She smiled as she handed it to him. She had switched brands because Peter liked the red pack. He grabbed it eagerly and began sucking on it. Anne lit up the cigarette and eagerly inhaled a lungful of the velvet smoke, holding it in for a while before releasing a cloud of tension.

Anne needed this quiet moment away from the crowd downstairs. The home was packed with family and friends who were all watching the live news reports of Tom’s spacewalk on the black and white television set. With her bedroom door closed, she had turned up the volume of the futuristic squawk box that NASA had installed so she could keep track of the mission. All the communications between mission control and Tom’s Gemini spacecraft were being piped into the Nassau Bay home. As long as the speaker crackled with voices, she knew everything was okay. If the transmission was ever cut off, then there was trouble.

Another speaker was located in the living room. Though the voices came through scratchy, she could still make out most of what was being said. She always left the volume turned up on all the boxes, even through the night, allowing her to always hear Tom’s voice. Though she didn’t understand much of the technical jargon being used, she could always tell how Tom was doing by the tone of his voice.

Hearing her husband struggling over the last forty-five minutes during his spacewalk had made her nervous. She could hear in Tom’s voice that he was exhausted, yet he still had to fly the AMU jet pack. She worried he might push himself too far and get into trouble. She knew how important the space program was to him, and no way would he quit voluntarily in the middle of a spacewalk, no matter how dire the situation. The only way Tom’s EVA would be cut short was if NASA insisted on it, and even then, she wondered.

Anne took another deep drag as she lovingly rubbed Peter’s belly. After exhaling the cloud of smoke away from her son, she turned to look into Peter’s blue eyes. “We need to make certain your daddy doesn’t do anything silly. We want him to make it back into his spacecraft safely so he can come back home to us.”

A knock on the door broke Anne’s attention. She called out, “Yes?”

A soft voice came through the closed door. “Hey Anne, it’s Virginia. I was just checking in to find out if you’re okay.”

Virginia was Tom’s little sister. Anne had gotten to know her better over the last few days. She found the thirty-one-year-old brunette to be a warm, down-to-earth Southern girl. Anne put out the cigarette in the ashtray. “Come on in, Virginia.”

Virginia slowly cracked opened the door before hesitantly sticking her head in. “Are you sure? I don’t want to bother you if you need some time alone.”

Anne leaned over the bed, setting the ashtray on her nightstand before turning down the volume on the squawk box, softening the voices coming out. “No, it’s fine, come on in.”

Virginia gradually walked over, sitting close to Anne. “I was a little worried something might be wrong since you weren’t downstairs.”

“I just needed to get away.” Anne looked over toward the squawk box. “I’m a little worried about Tom.” Feeling comfortable with Virginia, she opened up. “There seemed to be some uneasiness in his voice, which is making me a little nervous.”

Virginia patted Anne’s leg. “You don’t have to worry about my brother. He won’t do anything stupid.”

Anne smiled. “I’m afraid he might overexert himself, possibly push himself too far.”

“With the sensors NASA has all over his body, they’re very aware of how he’s doing physically. If they have any worries, he’ll be ordered back in.”

“Think he’ll listen?”

Virginia reached over and turned up the speaker sound. “Because of you and Peter, he will.”