One Small Step Read online

  Yangel’s group was competing with Korolev to build a new generation of ballistic missiles, so he had brought his first missile, the R-16, to Baikonur in mid-October for its maiden launch. After the relative failure of Korolev’s R-7 rocket (now being modified to carry the first cosmonaut) as an operational ICBM, there was a lot of pressure to bring the technically superior R-16 to operational status. It would finally justify Premier Khrushchev’s bluster and bragging about Soviet rocket might. Just days before the planned launch, in a speech at the United Nations, he boasted that strategic missiles were being produced in the USSR “like sausages from a machine,” even though this was not true. Many important officials were at Baikonur to witness the first R-16 launch, among them Strategic Missile Forces Commander-in-Chief Nedelin, who chaired the State Commission for the R-16.

  There had been problems with the highly toxic propellants prior to launch, the worst of which involved fueling procedures. These not only caused great consternation but also resulted in a whole day being lost due to a leak being discovered. On the orders of the State Commission, all repairs to the missile were to be carried out when it was fully fueled—a very dangerous situation. After they were completed, and just 30 minutes before the launch on October 24, there were approximately 200 officers, engineers and soldiers near the launch pad, including Marshal Nedelin, who scoffed at suggestions that he leave the area, saying: “What’s there to be afraid of? Am I not an officer?” Yangel had gone into a bunker to smoke a last cigarette before launch. It saved his life.

  An inquiry later determined that the second stage rockets of the R-16 ignited due to a control system failure. The flames cut into the first-stage fuel tanks beneath, which then exploded. Automatically activated cinema cameras filmed the explosion. People near the rocket were instantly incinerated, while those further away were burned to death or were poisoned by the toxic gases. When the engines fired, most of the personnel ran to the perimeter but were trapped by the security fence and then engulfed in the fireball of burning fuel. Deputy Chairman of the State Committee of Defense Technology, Lev Grishin, who had been standing next to Nedelin, ran across the molten tarmac and jumped onto a ramp from a height of 3.5 meters (11.5 ft.), breaking both legs in the process and dying later of burns. As usual the incident was kept secret and Marshal Nedelin was said to have died in an aircraft accident, a deception the Soviets maintained until early 1989. About 130 people perished as a result of the explosion, many of whom were identified only by medals on their jackets or rings on their fingers.

  Vostok Fails

  Keen to forget the accident, the authorities granted Korolev permission to launch the fourth and fifth in the Vostok test spacecraft series. The first was launched without incident on December 1, 1960, into an orbit exactly mimicking the one planned at the time for a manned mission. Aboard were two dogs, Pchelka and Mushka. After about 24 hours the main engine fired to begin reentry, but it fired for a shorter period than planned and the indications were that the landing would overshoot Soviet territory. To prevent it from falling into the wrong hands a self-destruct system operated, blowing up the spacecraft and its passengers. Soon the fifth Vostok test spacecraft, carrying the dogs Kometa and Shutka, was sent on its way, but the third-stage engine prematurely cut off at 425 seconds. The emergency escape system went into operation, and the payload reached an altitude of 133 miles (214 km) and landed about 2175 miles (3500 km) downrange in the region of the Podkamennaya Tunguska river, close to the impact point of the 1908 Tunguska meteorite. There had been two consecutive failures of Vostok test flights and it was not possible to launch a cosmonaut by February 1961. Would the Americans, with their Mercury capsule, win after all?

  Preparation for the First Manned Flight

  In January 1961 the commission recommended the following order for flights: Gagarin, Titov, Nelyubov, Nikolayev, Bykovsky, Popovich. Gagarin was the favorite. One engineer said of him: “He would never try to ingratiate himself, nor was he ever insolent. He was born with an innate sense of tact.” Earlier the Medical Commission had described his personality:

  Modest, embarrasses when his humor gets a little too racy: high degree of intellectual development; fantastic memory; distinguishes himself from his colleagues by his sharp and far-ranging sense of attention to his surroundings: a well-developed imagination: quick reactions: persevering, prepares himself painstakingly for his activities and training exercises, handles celestial mechanics and mathematical formulae with ease as well as excels in higher mathematics: does not feel constrained when he has to defend his point of view if he considers himself right: appears that he understands life better than a lot of his friends?

  Indeed, when the cosmonauts carried out an informal survey to choose who they would like to fly first, all but three named Gagarin. Also in the running for the first flight was 25-year-old Gherman Titov, who had served as a pilot in the Leningrad region. He struck many as being the most well-read of the finalists, liable to quote Pushkin or refer to Prokofiev. The last of the top three, 26-year-old Grigori Nelyubov, was perhaps the most talented and qualified of the group. He had influential supporters but was extremely outspoken. The cosmonauts were working hard, spending long periods away from home, and when they were home they could not talk about what they did. Gagarin’s wife Valya later said that if she ever asked him what he was training for he would dismiss it with a joke. Once, when Yuri brought some of his cosmonaut friends home, she heard them saying that soon it would either be Yuri or Gherman.

  In January and February 1961, preparations for the launches of the remaining two Vostok test missions progressed. Each was identical to the actual piloted Vostok, but would carry a single dog into orbit and a life-sized mannequin would be strapped into the main ejection seat. The mission was to last a single orbit, the same as planned for the first human flight. Khrushchev announced on March 14 during an interview:

  The time is not far off when the first space ship with a man on board will soar into space.

  The first human-rated Vostok spacecraft lifted off successfully just days later, carrying the dog Chernushka together with mice, guinea pigs, reptiles, seeds, blood samples, cancer cells and bacteria. The ejection seat was taken up by a life-sized mannequin (called Ivan Ivanovich) dressed in a Sokol spacesuit. The main purpose was to test radio communications with the capsule; however, they knew the Americans would be listening. So it was decided to tape a popular Russian choir, then, if the Americans heard it they would not know it was a recording and not think it was a real human voice. The successful mission had lasted only one hour and 46 minutes. The way was now open for a manned flight.

  The six key cosmonauts flew to the Baikonur complex on March 17 to witness the prelaunch operations of the final test, which went well. All reentry procedures were conducted without any problems. Shortly afterward a press conference was held in Moscow that relayed little information except that a successful test flight had occurred. In the audience were foreign journalists as well as, in the front row, Gagarin, Titov and the other cosmonauts, but of course none of the press knew that one of them would fly in space in just a few days.

  Knowing that the time was near, Korolev, in a touching move, invited some of the original GIRD veterans to his offices just a month before the first manned launch. Many of them had not seen him for many years. Over vodka they spoke of the old times and their dreams of space travel. His guests knew nothing of his secret work, but when they had reminisced a while he ushered them into a nearby workshop. There, in the corner, was the polished silver cockpit of the Vostok spacecraft. As they beheld it, knowing that the age of manned spaceflight was about to dawn, some of them wept for joy.

  Who Would be the First Cosmonaut?

  Things were moving quickly. Leaving for Baikonur for the last time before the manned flight, the cosmonauts were ordered to tell their spouses that the launch was set for April 14, three days later than actually intended, so they would not worry as much. But who was to be the first spaceman—cosmonaut numbe
r one?

  The State Commission had addressed the question at a meeting on April 8. Both Gagarin and Titov had performed without fault, with Gagarin ahead in the January examinations. Nikolai Kamanin, the air force’s representative in the space program, wrote in his journal:

  Both are excellent candidates, but in the last few days I hear more and more people speak out in favor of Titov and my personal confidence in him is growing, too. The only thing that keeps me from picking Titov is the need to have the stronger person for a second one-day flight.

  Photographs and details of Gagarin and Titov were sent to the Central Committee. Khrushchev replied: “Both are excellent. Let them decide for themselves.” Finally Kamanin, perhaps with the more arduous second flight in mind, nominated Gagarin as the primary pilot and Titov as his backup for the first flight, whose launch date was set as April 11 or 12. Later Kamanin invited Gagarin and Titov to his office and told them that Gagarin was going to fly and that Titov would serve as his backup. Years later, when asked how he felt, Titov said it had been unpleasant. He had wanted to be the first, but somehow could see why they made the choice they had: “Yuri turned out to be the person that everyone loved. Me, they couldn’t love. I’m not lovable.”

  Launch Day Approaches

  In the early morning hours of April 11 the huge doors of the main assembly building at Baikonur rolled open to reveal the R-7 booster positioned on its side on a converted railway carriage. Very slowly it moved out into the dawn air. Alongside, and watching every movement, strode a nervous Sergei Korolev. He walked around the rocket many times on its 2.5-mile (4-km) journey to the launch pad. This was his “child.” This was history. In a couple of hours it reached the pad and was levered into an upright position with an access gantry positioned alongside. Korolev would not leave it until it left the Earth. Early in the afternoon Gagarin and Titov arrived for a last-minute rehearsal. Korolev was on the point of nervous and physical exhaustion. More than once that afternoon he had to be helped to a chair for a rest. Meanwhile, an army general at a base on the outskirts of Saratov received a phone call from the Kremlin telling him to organize the recovery of the world’s first spaceman, who would be landing in his region tomorrow.

  The night before launch Gagarin and Titov were assigned to a cottage near the pad area, which had previously been used by Marshal Nedelin. After a light meal they were in bed by 7:30 pm. Korolev checked on them periodically, being unable to sleep himself. Medical sensors were attached to both cosmonauts to monitor their vital systems, and strain gauges were attached to their mattresses to see how well they slept. The official history states that they both had a good night, but that is not true. Gagarin later said that he did not sleep a wink but worked hard to stay perfectly still lest the strain gauges on the bed indicated that he was restless and the mission be given over to Titov. Evidently Titov did the same. It was hardly the best preparation for the first manned spaceflight.

  So many things were going through Korolev’s restless mind; so many failure modes. Among the many worries perhaps the most troubling was the prospect of the rocket’s third stage failing during the ascent to orbit, depositing the Vostok spacecraft in the ocean near Cape Horn on the southern tip of Africa, an area infamous for its constant storms. Korolev had insisted that there be a telemetry system in the launch bunker to confirm that the third stage had worked as planned. If the engine worked correctly, the telemetry would print out a series of “fives” on tape; but if it had failed, there would be a series of “twos.”

  Preparation for Launch

  Prelaunch pad operations began in the early hours of April 12. By dawn officials and controllers had taken up their positions. Gagarin and Titov were woken at 5:30 am to be presented with a bunch of early wild flowers, a gift from the woman who had previously owned the cottage. After a short breakfast of meat paste, marmalade and coffee, doctors examined the cosmonauts, and assistants helped Gagarin and Titov into their cumbersome Sokol spacesuits followed by a bright orange coverall. Titov was dressed first since they did not want Gagarin to overheat. Soon they were on the bus to the launch site accompanied by 11 others including cosmonauts Nelyubov and Nikolayev and two cameramen. The film shows Gagarin taking his seat behind a small table. Titov walks past and sits behind Gagarin; hardly anyone seems to notice him.

  Yuri Gagarin on his way to the launch pad on the morning of April 12, 1961. Seated behind him is backup pilot Gherman Titov.

  At the pad, Gagarin and Titov were greeted by Korolev, Kamanin and other officials. Korolev, having not slept at all, looked fatigued as he watched Gagarin. After the embraces Gagarin went to the service elevator, where he halted and waved before the two-minute ride to the top. Vostok lead designer Oleg Ivanovsky helped him into the spacecraft and switched on the radio communications system. The ejection seat Gagarin was strapped into would have been of only limited use during the launch, even though ejection was the planned response to a catastrophic problem with the R-7 on the launch pad. In truth, Gagarin would never have gained sufficient altitude for the seat’s parachutes to work. Because of this, a huge net designed to catch the ejector seat was positioned some 1500 meters (4900 ft.) from the pad.

  The officials walked back to the main command bunker. A small table with a green tablecloth had been laid out specifically for Korolev. There was a two-way radio for communicating with Gagarin in the capsule and a red telephone for giving the password to fire the rockets on the escape tower in case of an emergency during the first 40 seconds of the mission. Only three people knew the password. Gagarin’s call sign was “Kedr-Cedar,” while the ground call sign was “Zarya-Dawn.”

  The flight was designed to be automatic. Ideally Gagarin would have nothing to do. But in the event of a malfunction he could take over command of the spacecraft by punching numbers into the keypad to release the controls, enabling him to use the thrusters to manually orientate it for reentry. The numbers were in an envelope in the capsule but Oleg Ivanovsky said they were three, two and five. Gagarin replied, to Oleg’s surprise, that he knew because Kamanin had already told him. Checks showed the hatch was not sealed properly. So engineers removed all 30 screws and then shut the hatch again; this time all the indicators were positive. Just as they finished, the gantry started to retract automatically toward its 45 degree angle for launch with the engineers still on it. A frantic phone call to the control room stopped the retraction for a few minutes while they descended. They finally left the vicinity about 30 minutes prior to the scheduled launch.

  Ground Control: Yuri. You’re not getting bored there, are you?

  Gagarin replied: If there was some music, I could stand it a little better.

  Ground Control: One minute. Station Zarya, this is Zarya. Fulfill Kedr’s request. Give him some music. Give him some music. Did you read that?

  At T–15 minutes Gagarin put on his gloves, and ten minutes later he closed his helmet. Korolev took tranquilizer pills. Of 16 launches involving this rocket, eight had failed. Of the seven Vostok spacecraft flown, two had failed to reach orbit because of booster malfunctions, while two others had failed to complete their missions. There was no American-style three, two, one countdown—just a checklist, which was soon completed.

  A Historic Flight

  At 9:06 and 59.7 seconds on the morning of April 12, 1961, the Vostok spacecraft lifted off with its 27-year-old passenger. “We’re off,” he cried. Korolev had the abort codes ready in case the booster did not achieve normal performance, but the launch trajectory was on target. After 19 seconds, the four strap-on boosters separated. The capsule’s shroud broke away 50 seconds later. At about 5 G, Gagarin reported some difficulty in talking, saying that all the muscles in his face were drawn and strained. The G-load steadily increased until the central core of the launcher ceased to operate and was detached at T+300 seconds. Gagarin’s pulse reached a maximum of 150 beats per minute.

  Launch of the Vostok 1 spacecraft carrying Yuri Gagarin into space.

  Korolev was visibly shaking
as the dramatic event proceeded. Incoming telemetry began to stream in a series of “fives,” indicating all was well. Then they changed to “threes.” There were brief seconds of terror—a “two” was a malfunction, but what was a “three”? After a few agonizing moments, the numbers reverted back to “fives.” Feoktistov remembers that: “these interruptions, a few seconds in length, shortened the lives of the designers.”

  Gagarin: I see the Earth. The G-load is increasing somewhat. I feel excellent, in a good mood. I see the clouds. The landing site. It’s beautiful. What beauty. How do you read me?

  Ground Control: We read you well. Continue the flight.

  Orbital insertion occurred at T+676 seconds just after shutdown of the third-stage engine. The orbit was much higher than had been planned for the flight; the apogee—the furthest point from the Earth in the spacecraft’s orbit—was about 43.5 miles (70 km) over the planned altitude, indicating a less than optimum performance by the rocket. Korolev had been right to worry.

  Gagarin reported that he had been in good shape:

  I ate and drank normally. I could eat and drink. I noticed no physiological difficulties. The feeling of weightlessness was somewhat unfamiliar compared with Earth conditions. You feel as if you were hanging in a horizontal position in straps. You feel as if you are suspended. Later I got used to it and had no unpleasant sensations. I made entries into the logbook, reported, worked with the telegraph key. When I had meals I also had water. I let the writing pad out of my hands and it floated together with the pencil in front of me. Then when I had to write the next report. I took the pad but the pencil wasn’t where it had been. It had flown off somewhere.