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On the early morning of 20 September1956 just before 2 am the US Armylaunched a Jupiter C intermediate rangeballistic missile from Launch Pad 5 atCape Canaveral. Basically a souped upversion of Wernher von Braun’sRedstone rocket, it had a dummy fourthstage loaded with sand. The missilelifted off successfully, generating athrust of over 35 tons from its first stageengines, which burned for 150 seconds.The upper stages continued to arc overthe Atlantic, climbing to an altitudenever reached before by any manmadeobject, nearly 1,100 kilometres.

The payload itself travelled downrangeabout 5,400 kilometres from the launch sitebefore burning up in the atmosphere. Asradio systems beamed back information tothe blockhouse on the record-breaking flight,von Braun “danced with joy”. Although theArmy did not publicly announce the launch,or the results of the flight, information aboutthe event leaked out to the mainstreampress within a week.

This somewhat obscure missile launchirrevocably changed the course of the‘Space Race’, serving as one of the maincatalysts for what eventually became theworld’s very first artificial satellite, Sputnik.

By the time of the Jupiter C launch,Soviet scientists and engineers had beenengaged in research and development onsatellites for some time. These studies hadbegun in the early 1950s under the tutelageof rocket designer Mikhail Tikhonravov(1900-74) at a secret military organisationknown as the Scientific-Research InstituteNo. 4 (NII-4 or “nee-4”) based in the north-eastern Moscow suburb of Bolshevo.

Tikhonravov had already enoughachievements under his belt to guarantee aplace in the annals of Soviet space history.In 1933 a rocket he designed, the ‘09’,became the very first Soviet rocket to flyusing liquid propellants. Later, at NII-4, heled early design studies on clustered stagingconcepts that ended up being used (in muchmodified form) in the famous R-7intercontinental ballistic missile. More than50 years after he proposed the clusteringconcept, the R-7 continues to be used today,albeit in significantly uprated versions.

The R-7 was designed at the famousExperimental Design Bureau No. 1 (OKB-1)

The launch of the world’s first artificial satellite 50 years ago

Iskusstvennyy sputnik zemli

byAsif A.Siddiqi

until the advent of the ICBM, whichtheoretically could impart sufficient velocityto a small object for it to enter a freefalltrajectory around the Earth. In May 1954,soon after the Soviet government formallyapproved development of the R-7 ICBM,Korolev began lobbying senior industrialleaders to sanction a satellite project.

He depended to a great degree on the‘Tikhonravov Group’ of young scholars at NII-4who, since September 1953, had been busilyworking on a concrete proposal for an artificialsatellite of Earth. Korolev’s projects were givenan imprimatur of legitimacy by the involvementof Academician Mstislav Keldysh (1911-78), abrilliant applied mathematician who specialisedin a wide variety of phenomenon, includingaerodynamics, hydrodynamics and vibrationtheory. Keldysh was an extremely influentialand highly respected scientist, particularlywithin the secret world of weaponsdevelopment. With his help, Korolev managedto get the sanction of the USSR Academy ofSciences for the satellite project and, after alittle over a year of lobbying, the Sovietgovernment approved a modest scientificsatellite programme in August 1955.

There are now many detailedhistories of the origins of Sputnik.Yet, for being one of the mostimportant (if not arguably the mostimportant) event in the history ofspace exploration, few historianshave tried to reconstruct the eventsof 1957, especially those leading upto the launch of Sputnik on 4 October1957. We only have a few scatteredanecdotal accounts, mostly from theheight of the Communist era. Thegoal in this article is less on thepolitical and institutional roots ofSputnik, which have been covered inmany other places, but on the actualevents of 1957. How was Sputnikdesigned? How was it built? Whotracked it? What happened during thelaunch? Who publicised it? The aimis to provide the very first fullyfleshed out account of the ‘openingshot’ of the Space Age based on avast array of original Russian-language sources collected over twodecades of research by the author.

based in the Moscow suburb of Kaliningradunder the leadership of legendary chiefdesigner Sergey Korolev (1906-66). Muchhas been written about Korolev’s life - hisapprenticeship in the 1930s as a youngamateur rocket enthusiast, his arrest andincarceration in the Stalinist Gulag, and hismeteoric post-war rise as one of thegeniuses behind the Soviet missile andspace programmes.

Yet, Korolev’s early successes might nothave been possible without the help ofTikhonravov. They had known each othersince the late 1920s when they bothparticipated in amateur glider competitions,and it was under Korolev’s overall directionthat Tikhonravov had designed the famous09 rocket. In the mid-1950s, OKB-1’sprimary goal was to develop increasinglypowerful ballistic missiles capable ofdelivering nuclear warheads to strategictargets. Although they worked in differentorganisations, Korolev remained close toTikhonravov and followed the latter’s satellitework with keen interest.

The possibility of actually launching asatellite remained more or less a fantasy

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Anxiety about AmericansInitially, the Soviet satellite project was amassive (1.3 tons) scientific observatoryknown as the ‘Object D’. Building thiscomplicated satellite on time, however,proved to be very challenging, especiallysince many of the scientific instruments hadto be redesigned for ‘space’ conditions. Inaddition, ground tests showed that thelaunch vehicle for Object D - known as the“article 8A91” (basically an R-7 ICBM withsome improvements) - would not have thenecessary specific impulse required tolaunch the heavy satellite into orbit.

In this context, in late 1956, news of theAmerican Jupiter C test launch served toguide the Soviet satellite project in aninexorably different direction. Although theJupiter C launch had nothing to do with asatellite launch, by the time news of the flightreached Korolev, it was reported as an“attempted launch of a satellite”. This clearlygarbled piece of information shook bothKorolev and Tikhonravov. There were all thetroubles with the Object D to contend with,and now, this supposed American “space”launch. If they were concerned before aboutlosing first place to the Americans, they werenow seriously anxious.

Korolev had long complained about all thedelays with the Object D to Tikhonravov;usually Tikhonravov remained quiet andKorolev had often seen this as indifference onTikhonravov’s part but, in fact, the latter hadbeen devising an alternate plan, a ‘plan B’.

In mid-November 1956, Tikhonravovsuddenly piped up to Korolev: “What if wemake the satellite a little lighter and a littlesimpler? Thirty kilogrammes or so, evenlighter?”

Korolev pondered over the suggestion,weighing all the options carefully. One of themain problems with the development of theObject D had been the many delays indelivering its component scientificinstruments. Having never designedinstruments to operate in space, thesubcontractors were facing many problemsduring production and testing.

Instead of the complex Object D,Tikhonravov suggested reducing the satellitedown to its most essential components: oneor two radio transmitters, and a powersource to feed them. Finding this plan moreand more attractive, Korolev decided to cutout almost all of the subcontractors and relyinstead on two people he could count upon.He asked fellow chief designer MikhailRyazanskiy (1909-87) of NII-885 to providethe radio equipment and Chief designerNikolay Lidorenko (1916-) of the Scientific-

More than internal dissension, Korolevalso needed to convince the government thatthis was the right thing to do. He knew themilitary would be problematic. They hadalready committed to handing over a militaryweapon, the R-7 ICBM, to launch the“useless” Object D satellite. Now, Korolevwanted more ICBMs to launch anothersatellite. On 5 January 1957, he sent a letterto the government with his revised plan,asking for permission to launch two“simplest satellites”, each weighing about40-50 kilogrammes, between April and June1957, just before the beginning of theInternational Geophysical Year (IGY). As iswell-known, the IGY was sponsored by theInternational Council of Scientific Unions asa planned period of 18 months (1 July to 31December 1958) during which scientistsfrom all over the world would carry out anintense programme of research ongeophysical phenomena.

Korolev’s thinking on scheduling thesatellites was based on the premise thatsince the Americans were planning to launcha satellite during IGY, if the Sovietsmanaged to launch before they wouldprobably come out ahead. Knowing thatgovernment leaders would respond morestrongly to competition with Americans thanany rationale of scientific research, Korolevprominently highlighted the possibility thatthe Americans might easily pre-empt theSoviets.

Top leaders in the Soviet governmentwere convinced and, about a month later on15 February, the government issued a formaldecree approving work on the new plan. Twoidentical satellites, PS-1 and PS-2, would belaunched in April and May 1957 on re-tooledR-7 rockets. According to the governmentdecision, the goals of the PS satellites wouldbe rather simple: “Deliver the simplestunoriented Earth satellite (the object PS) intoorbit, [and] verify the possibility of observingthe PS in orbit and receive signals,transmitted from the object PS.”

Cone or ballLooking at the shape of Sputnik now, itseems obvious that the world’s first artificialsatellite should have such an elegant design.In the beginning, however, designers werenot sure of its form. Long before officialapproval of the PS-1 plan, on 25 November1956, Korolev had tasked a young antennaspecialist in his design bureau, NikolayKutyrkin, to make initial drawings for thesatellite.

Early on, the designers settled on a cone-shape for PS-1, echoing the cone chassis for

Research Institute of Current Sources (NIIIT) to supply the batteries.

Everything else would be built under hisdirect command in-house at OKB-1’sexperimental plant located right next to thedesign bureau premises. True to itselementary nature, the new satellite wascalled PS-1 (Prosteyshyy sputnik-1, SimplestSatellite-1). It was so simple, the idea went,that it could be built and tested in a month ortwo, time enough to “beat” the Americans tothe launch pad. The satellite would not onlybe simple but also cheap - if it wasdestroyed on launch, they could quicklyready another one without much ado.

Not everyone supported the PS-1 plan. Infact, although Korolev and Tikhonravovfirmly believed in the idea, the third man inthe original satellite proposal, AcademicianKeldysh, strongly opposed it. Keldysh hadgood reason to do so: he was, after all, thescientific head of the original Object Dproject. He had also committed theresources of the Academy of Sciences intothe massive scientific observatory and didn’twant to have to tell his scientists that theirbeloved satellite would not be the first.

Others in Korolev’s design bureau alsoopposed the new plan. Il’ya Lavrov, one ofKorolev’s engineers who had invested anenormous amount of energy into bringing theObject D satellite project to fruition, vocallyobjected. Speaking of the “simplest satellite”,he told his colleagues that “this sphere isnonsense and a disgrace to the designbureau” and that they should finish the originaljob that they set out to do on the Object D.

Chief designer Sergey Korolev shown here in afamous photograph taken at the Kapustin Yearlaunch range in May 1953. Asif Siddiqi

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the much larger Object D. They reasonedthat a cone would fit well and naturally withthe shape of the R-7 rocket’s payload fairing.But when Tikhonravov’s deputy YevgeniyRyazanov met with Korolev to show himsome draft sketches of the satellite, Korolevflipped through all of them and didn’t likeany. Cautiously, Ryazanov asked “Why?” towhich Korolev mysteriously answered:“Because it’s not round.”

As one designer later recalled: “Therewere weighty scientific considerations” infavour of a sphere and two factors werecrucial. First, a sphere was an idealgeometric shape with maximum volume inratio to minimum surface area, giving it afavourable trade-off between packing asmuch equipment into as possible versuslimiting surface area exposure to changes intemperature.

Second, a spherical shape (as opposedto more irregularly shaped objects) was idealfor determining atmospheric density on itsorbital path. Korolev also apparently believedthat a shiny metal spherical object wouldbetter reflect light and thus have a betterchance of visibility with telescopes. It was,however, clear that such a small objectwould not be visible to the naked eye.Visually tracking a moving object at about1,700 kilometre range (the distance of thesatellite from an observer as the satellitewas above the horizon) was practicallyimpossible.

Initially, the sphere was quite small,weighing in at about 40-50 kg but at somepoint in January 1957, the satellite’s designmass doubled to about 80 kg (although themass margin was about 100 kg). Based onthe new calculations, Korolev signed off onthe specifications for the PS-1 satellite on 25January.

Sputnik inside outThere were six major guidelines followed inthe construction of PS-1 and, according toTikhonravov, Sputnik’s primary designer,they included the following:

•· the satellite would have to be of“maximum simplicity” and reliability whilekeeping in mind that methods used forthe spacecraft would be used in futureprojects,

•· the body of the satellite would bespherical in order to determineatmospheric density along its orbitaltrajectory,

•· the satellite would be equipped with radioequipment working on at least twodifferent wavelengths of sufficient power

overall pressurised sphere was held togetherby 36 bolts. The front half-casing wassmaller than the rear half-casing, although itwas covered by a 1 mm thermal shield. Italso had four fittings with support projectionsfor inserting the long external antennae.

The pressurised internal volume of thesphere was filled with nitrogen (at 1.3atmospheres) which maintained an electro-chemical source of power (three silver-zincbatteries), two D-200 type radio-transmitters,a DTK-34 type thermal regulation system, aventilation (fan) system to regulate thetemperature of the satellite, a commutator,temperature and pressure sensors, andassociated wiring.

The power source unit was shaped likean octagonal prism (450 mm by 270 mm)attached to the front half-casing. The unithad a cavity into which the radio equipmentwas embedded. An octagonal shape waschosen both to ensure symmetricalcirculation of the nitrogen gas inside thepressurised sphere and to efficiently removeheat produced by the radio transmitters. Ofthe three batteries (each shaped like arectangular block), two provided power to theradio equipment while the third suppliedpower to the ventilation fan which regulatedthe temperature within the satellite, and alsothe commutator. By means of a switchoperated by a temperature sensor (athermocouple), the fan was designed tooperate when temperatures were higher than30C and turn off when values were between20 and 23C.

The two D-200 type radio transmittersoperated on frequencies of 20.005 and40.003 megacycles at wavelengths of 15and 7.5 m. These transmitters (whichobviously used vacuum tubes) each had apower intake of 1 watt and provided thefamous “beep-beep-beep” sound to Sputnik.The signals on both the frequencies werespurts lasting 0.2 to 0.6 seconds, andcarried information on the pressure andtemperature inside the satellite; one setwould transmit during the “pauses” of theother. The frequency of the signal, as well asthe relationship between the length of thesignals and the pauses in between, wouldchange according to changes in temperatureand pressure within the satellite hull. Thesatellite had simple pressure andtemperature pickups that would close acircuit, given certain ranges of temperatures(>50C or <0C) and pressures (<0.35atmospheres), thus changing the signals’parameters. The radio equipment packageunit, shaped roughly like a rectangular block(100 X 130 X 390 mm), was hooked to a

Mikhail Tikhonravov, shown here in 1970, wasone of the pioneers of Soviet rocketry andspace exploration. His ground-breaking studieslaid the groundwork for the R-7 ICBM, Sputnik,the early lunar and interplanetary probes, andthe Vostok spacecraft. Boris Chertok

to be tracked by amateurs and to obtaindata on the propagation of radio wavesthrough the ionosphere,

•· the antennae would be designed so asnot to affect the intensity of the radiosignals if the satellite were to spin,

• the power sources would be onboardchemical batteries ensuring a life of twoto three weeks, and

• the attachment of the satellite to the corestage would be designed in such a wayas to minimise the possibility of a failurein separation or a failure in thedeployment of antennae.

Tikhonravov also listed the five primaryscientific objectives of the mission as:

• to test the method of placing an artificialsatellite into Earth orbit and to verify itsseparation from the launch vehicle,

• to provide information on the density ofthe atmosphere which would be useful forcalculating the orbital lifetime of futuresatellites,

•· to test radio and optical methods of orbitaltracking,

•· to determine the effects of radio wavepropagation through the ionosphere, and

•· to check principles of pressurisation usedon the satellite.

The satellite, as it eventually took shape,was a pressurised sphere, (see images ofthe satellite on the following pages), 58 cmin diameter made of a 2 mm thick aluminiumalloy (a particular kind known as AMG6T inRussia). The sphere was constructed bycombining two hemispherical casingstogether with a ring-like rubber seal. The

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joint on the front half-casing and cushionedby a shock-absorber.

The antennae system was situatedoutside of the main body of PS-1. Thesystem comprised four metallic rods, twowith a length of 2.4 m each and theremaining two with a length of 2.9 m each.All four would spring open into their unfurledposition at separation from the launchvehicle, at an angle of 35 degrees with thesatellite’s main axis.

When the satellite was actually stackedon the launch vehicle, these antennae werefolded inside a cone-shaped adaptor (46degrees angle) and held down by eight smalllatches. The total mass of the satellite was83.6 kg, of which 51.0 kg was the powersource.

The PS-1 satellite was designed in OKB-1’s Department No. 9 under Korolev andTikhonravov’s direct supervision. The coregroup who designed the world’s first artificialsatellite were V.I. Petrov and A.P. Frolov(design and layout), O.V. Surguchev(thermal mode support), M.V. Krayushkinand Yu.A. Bogdanovich (calculation onantennae systems), N.A. Kutyrkin (design ofantennae systems), F.V. Kovalev, B.G.Shumakov, Yu.S. Karpov and V.K. Shevelev(the power control system), B.M. Popov(pressure and temperature measurementsystems), A.M. Sidorov (pressurizationmaintenance), V.V. Molodtsov (installation ofPS-1 in the nose cone and conceptualdrawings of the payload shroud), and V.P.Kuz’min (payload shroud jettisoning systemand system for separating PS-1 from thelaunch vehicle).

Radio transmittersThe development of Sputnik’s radiotransmitter package was fraught withuncertainty. Korolev visited Ryazanskiy’sinstitute several times in the late winter andearly spring of 1957 to discuss the nature ofthe instrument and was adamant that signalsfrom the transmitters should be picked up by“the most dilapidated receiver, [and] that thewhole world should hear them!”

Yet, Korolev was also well aware thatthere was really no way to predict thebehaviour of radio waves, let alone thelifetime of the satellite in orbit. Ryazanskiyresisted putting a firm limit on the workinglifetime of the radio transmitter buteventually guaranteed that it would provide a“decent signal” for at least two weeks. Basedon these discussions,, Korolev andRyazanskiy signed an agreement on 15February 1957 (which included the technicalspecifications) for the latter to deliver a

Vyacheslav Lappo, who spent day and nighttrying to make the deadline and laterconfided in Soviet journalist YaroslavGolovanov that he built the system withoutreally knowing whether it would function inouter space.

Since a radio transmitter had never beenin space before, there was no hard data onwhat to protect. As Korolev’s deputyKonstantin Bushuyev (1914-78), who wasclosely involved in the satellite’sdevelopment, later recalled: “In developingand preparing the satellite for launch, wewere faced with many questions whichremained unclear. The level of ourknowledge about the physical conditions ofthe upper atmosphere and the space aroundEarth was totally insufficient.”

Lappo tried to account for sharptemperature fluctuations, cosmic radiation,even meteorites, but not with muchconfidence. In the end, PS-1’s designersunder Tikhonravov decided to sheath theradio transmitter within the battery system,almost as if to “protect” it from the elements.

Overall, Lappo made six transmitter units,the extra ones for testing. One was used ona Tupolev Tu-16 aircraft which flew overground-based tracking stations so thecontrollers could get familiar with PS-1’stransmissions. A second was suspendedfrom a helicopter on a 200 m long cable toverify the operation of the long antennas.They worked excellently, and trackingstations in the Far East were able to picksignals up.

Of the remaining transmitter sets, twowere for reserve and two were prepared forthe launch. Lappo later recalled a humorous

A schematic side view ofthe PS-1 satellite. The

legend for the diagram is:(1) Duplex thermal sensor

of the DTK-34 temperaturecontrol system; (2) D-200

radio transmitter; (3)temperature and pressuresensors; (4) pressure seal

intake; (5) antenna; (6)batteries; (7) socket

junction point; (8) heelcontact; (9) ventilator fan;(10) diffuser; (11) remote

control switch; (12) screen.RKK Energiya

functioning radio transmitter unit for use onPS-1.

In conceiving the basic design of thetransmitter, Korolev and Tikhonravov tookthe advice of many, including AcademicianVladimir Kotel’nikov (1908-) who was thedirector of the Academy of Sciences’Institute of Radiotechnology and Electronics,as well as scientists from other Academyinstitutes such as the Institute of EarthMagnetism and Propagation of Radio Wavesand the P.N. Lebedev Physical Institute.

The actual hardware was built in asubdivision of Ryazanskiy’s NII-885 institute,the Laboratory for the Propagation of RadioWaves, headed by Konstantin Gringauz(1918-93). Already for a year, Gringauz hadbeen developing a radio transmitter for theheavy Object D satellite, work that wassuspended when Ryazanskiy ordered him todevelop a transmitter for the smaller PS-1.

Despite objections from just abouteveryone (including Korolev), Gringauzinsisted that PS-1 carry a high frequencytransmitter (the 20.005 MHz transmitteroperating in the decameter waveband) inaddition to the VHF transmitter (which hadbeen commonly used on Soviet ballisticmissiles). Many believed that having a high-frequency transmitter would delay thesatellite launch since it would have to bemuch larger than its twin. In the end,Gringauz won over his opponents, partlybecause everyone agreed that a high-frequency transmitter would ensure that theradio transmissions would be heard aroundthe world.

The transmitter hardware was built by oneof Gringauz’ youngest engineers,

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incident when Korolev showed up suddenlyat his laboratory late at night and asked tolisten to the signals from the satellite. Theyoung designer described the operation ofthe transmitter to Korolev, explaining howthe “beep-beeps” would change in frequencyand length according to the internal pressureand temperature of the satellite. Lappo toldKorolev: “You understand, Sergey Pavlovich,that in the hour of its death, it will squeakdifferently.” Korolev seemed very pleasedwith this, and afterwards, almost bashfullyadded, “Couldn’t you make it squeak a wordof some kind…”? Testing on the entire radiotransmitter system was completed by 5 May1957, ten days before the first attemptedlaunch of the R-7 ICBM.

Sputnik’s rocketMuch has been written about the R-7 (morecommonly and affectionately known as theSemyorka or “the number seven”). Its basicconceptual design was derived from studiescarried out in the early 1950s underTikhonravov which indicated that it would betechnically feasible to fashion a very long-range rocket by clustering stages in parallelrather than in tandem. In such aconfiguration, all the engines would firesimultaneously at lift-off. Thus, engineerscould avoid the challenges of designing high

autonomous inertial guidance and remoteradio control for trajectory control, bothdeveloped at the NII-885 institute based inMonino. The former was designed underchief designer Nikolay Pilyugin (1908-82)and the latter under chief designerRyazanskiy (also responsible for Sputnik’sradio transmitters). The inertial systemoperated during the entire part of poweredflight and ensured angular stabilisation(along the axes) and centre-of-gravitystability, using several different subsystems -for normal and lateral stabilisation, foradjusting apparent velocity (RKS), for thesimultaneous depletion of tanks, and forsynchronising the depletion rate of the tanks.The RKS was capable of throttling enginethrust up or down (within limits) as wasneeded.

The radio control package (whichincluded a transponder) installed at the topof the core booster contained equipment forprocessing signals and control commandssimultaneously from two ground stationslocated about 250 km to the ‘left’ and ‘right’of the nominal trajectory. These electroniccommands would be converted to firings ofthe verniers on the main engines to alter thetrajectory as needed. In essence, duringflight, ground control would monitor theactual trajectory of the rocket and compare itto planned parameters and issue commandswith the goal of minimising the differencebetween nominal and actual values.

One major function of the radio controlsystem was near the end of the poweredsegment. About 20 to 30 seconds prior to allengine burnout, the core’s main enginewould shut down, and the four vernierswould continue to fire, adding a little bit morevelocity to ensure that the missile reachedits required speed and to further trim thedirection of the rocket. At main core engineshutdown, the RKS from the inertial systemwould be switched off and the radio control

performance rocket engines for an upperstage (which would have to fire in near-vacuum conditions).

By the time the R-7 design was frozen inJuly 1954, the rocket was a one-and-a-halfstage missile, composed of a coresurrounded by four identical strap-onboosters, each powered by a similar rocketengine. The central hammerhead-shapedcore (known as the Block A) was 26 m longwhile each of the conical strap-ons (knownas Blocks B, V, G, and D) were each 19.2 mlong. The strap-on boosters, each containingabout 40 tons of propellant, tapered up to apoint at the top and were connected to thecore by ball-and-socket joints at the apexand by tension bands at the bottom. With thefour strap-ons, the total base diameter was10.3 m and total length of the missile(including the early nuclear warheadpayload) was 34.22 m. The launch masswas 270 tons, of which about 253 tons (93.7percent) was propellant. At lift-off, the fivemain engines (core + four strap-ons) wouldgenerate a total thrust of 403.4 tons.

After a typical launch, at an altitude of 50km and about 100 km downrange from thelaunch site, pyrotechnical devices wouldloosen the tension bands at the base of thevehicle which connected the four exteriorstages to the core. With the four strap-onsstill firing, albeit at much lower thrust bythen, the lateral boosters would, by theirnatural force, move away from the core, androtate upwards and away from the base. At acertain angle, the mountings at the apex ofthe four boosters would automaticallyrelease. Oxygen valves would alsoautomatically open to exert gentle pressureon the strap-ons to move themindependently away from the core.

The core stage (called the “second stage”by the Soviets) would then continue tooperate until reaching an altitude of 170 kmand a range of 700 km, at which point enginecut-off would occur. For the remainingportion of the flight, the payload, a cone-shaped object weighing about 5.5 tons,would coast on a ballistic trajectory until re-entry. The maximum slated range for theearly R&D versions of the R-7 was about8,000 km and a total flight time to target wasaround 18 minutes.

The R-7 missile used a combination of an

This exploded view of the PS-1 satellite clearlyshows its constituent parts. From the top: thethermal shield, the “front” half-casing, thebatteries, radio transmitter system, and the“rear” half-casing.National Air & Space Museum

This schematic shows two systems to separatethe PS-1 satellite from the launch vehicle, a

pyrotechnical system and an oxygen jet system.The legend for the diagram is: (17) pyrotechnical

cartridges; (18) igniter; (19) valve; (20) electro-pneumatic valve; (22) choke washer.

RKK Energiya

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system would correct any major deviationsof the core stage from the planned trajectory.When the desired velocity was reached, theradio control system would shut down theverniers, and the missile would continue on aballistic trajectory.

Three autonomous Tral telemetrysystems (augmented by many subsystems)on each R-7 communicated information tothe ground about more than 700 differentparameters from the missile.

In all paperwork related to the new ICBM,bureaucrats simply used the term ‘article8K71’ as a way to obfuscate the true natureof the system being described. The 8K71was the basic ICBM version of the R-7, themost important priority weapon developedfor the Soviet armed forces in the 1950s.Yet, the basic ICBM required some changesbefore it could be used to launch Sputnikinto orbit. Besides removing the warheadcontainer (about 5.5 tons) and associatecables connecting the warhead to the rocket,the missile’s 300 kg radio control systeminstalled on top of the core booster (whichwas necessary only for the final stage ofpowered flight on a normal ballistic flight)was removed and replaced by a set ofsystems designed to separate theconstituent parts of the payload from thelaunch vehicle at orbital insertion. Theseincluded a mechanical ‘pushing’ system toimpart a relative velocity of 2.73 m/second tothe satellite.

As a backup, the rocket also included apyrotechnical system (probably with a smallamount of explosive) to separate the satelliteat a relative velocity of 1.45 m/s. Finally,there was a spring-loaded mechanism thatwould separate the protective nosecone at arelatively velocity of 0.643 m/s, ie, aboutone-fourth of the velocity of ideal separationvelocity of the satellite from the rocket. Theprotective nose fairing contained a heatshield to protect the payload againstaerodynamic heating during the poweredphase up to orbit.

The seriousness with which engineerstook the issue of booster separation from thesatellite is underscored by the use of yetanother system that involved a nozzleinstalled on the upper surface of the oxidizertank that would fire a jet of oxygen (ventinggas from the oxidizer tank) at the moment ofsatellite separation, not only to slow downthe core booster but also to change itsattitude to prevent the core from collidingwith the payload after separation.

The R-7’s engines were created by thedesign bureau named OKB-456 headed bythe powerful Chief Designer Valentin

engine thrust to 75 percent of nominalvalues at 17 seconds prior to strap-onseparation. (The lower thrust would ensureless propellant consumption and therefore alonger burn time and a higher altitude). Thehigh altitude of separation - with its thinneratmosphere - would put less dynamicpressure on the stack, reducing the risk ofcollisions.

A propellant sensor on the core wouldmonitor propellant levels in the tanks throughpowered ascent. When the sensor detectedpropellant levels in the core stage were downto 50 percent of the ‘guaranteed propellantreserve’ the sensor would issue a commandto shut down the engine. The desired orbitalvelocity determined the level of nominalpropellant consumption. According to initial

Glushko (1908-89), a colleague of Korolev’sfrom the 1930s. For the satellite launchvehicle, Glushko’s engineers altered thefiring regimes of the main engines of the R-7. In the original ICBM, the core used oneRD-108 (or 8D75) while the strap-ons eachused a single RD-107 (or 8D74).

With slightly altered firing regimes, theseengines were renamed the 8D75PS and8D74PS respectively. In particular, the thrustof the engines of the core booster wasreduced to 60 tons (from 74 tons). Becausesuch a change might result in the separatingstrap-ons and the booster colliding with eachother due to smaller relative velocities,engineers decided to increase the altitude ofseparation of the strap-ons and the core byprogramming a throttle down of strap-on

These images show an exploded view of the PS-1 satellite on display at the RKK Energiya Museumin Korolev outside of Moscow. Clearly visible in these images are the two casings of the satellite, thelarge battery package, and components of the radio transmitter. Seiji Yoshimoto/NPO InterCoS

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projections, the booster was also designedto orbit the payload even if the sensor failedand the engines burned to propellantdepletion.

Because of the peculiar configuration ofSputnik’s launch vehicle (which had no Fakeltrajectory monitoring package), there wouldbe no way to precisely measure and verifythe satellite’s actual orbit using radioinstrumentation.

In this case, there were only two ways todo this - by telemetry signals (from Tral)indicating the actual moment of main enginecut-off of the core booster of the R-7, and bynoting the moment that the satellite startedits signal transmission. The orbital trajectorycalculations were carried out and completedin two separate phases, in March andAugust 1957. Based on their results, theoriginal plan was to deliver PS-1 into an orbitwith parameters of 223 X 1,450 km and anorbital period of 101.5 minutes.

There were three other changes to thelaunch vehicle from the ICBM version - thenumber of onboard batteries was reduced,the launch vehicle carried no sensors tomonitor vibration measurement (the RTS-5),and the missile’s engines used a morepotent mixture of hydrogen peroxide to drivethe turbopumps.

The new PS-1 version of the R-7 ICBM,now named ‘article 8K71PS’, had a length of29.17 m (almost 4 m shorter than the earlyversion of the ICBM) and a fully loaded massof 272.83, over seven tons less than aregular R-7. The whole cluster wouldgenerate a total lift-off thrust of 398 tons.These days, the Russians officially call thislaunch vehicle ‘Sputnik’, a name thatwesterners typically reserve for the satelliteand not the launcher.

Manufacturing SputnikThrough the first half of 1957, the PS-1satellite’s form changed significantly fromthe early design that Korolev had approvedin January. On 24 June, Korolev’s deputyBushuyev called the chief designer - whowas at Tyura-Tam overseeing continuinglaunches of the R-7 ICBM - to tell him thathe had just signed off on the new and finalconfiguration of PS-1. It was now time tomanufacture all the parts and assemblethem into one flight-worthy unit.

For every project at Korolev’s designbureau, there were two major phases -design and production. For PS-1,Tikhonravov had led the design phase(although many others had participated). Interms of transitioning from design toexperimental production, Korolev usually

appointed a lead designer, a mid-levelengineer who would be responsible forconverting the designers’ drawings intometal.

They would also be Korolev’s eyes andears in the production shop, reporting backany glitches to the chief designer himself. Inthe case of PS-1, Korolev appointed MikhailKhomyakov (1921-) to be lead designer ofPS-1. Khomyakov, on his initiative, askedanother man, Oleg Ivanovskiy (1922-), toserve as his deputy.

Unlike Khomayakov, who has remainedlargely silent, Ivanovskiy has written amemoir of his time as a designer, which hasbeen published in many editions in Russian.Yet, strangely, Ivanovskiy’s memoirs provideonly glimmers of the development of Sputnik- a few random details and generaliseddescriptions that say little. Vaguenessseems to characterise the recollections ofmany with regard to the world’s first artificialsatellite.

Famous Soviet space historianGolovanov wrote: “I have had occasion tospeak about our first satellite with many ofthe assistants at S.P. Korolev’s experimentaldesign bureau, and also with specialists fromthe factories that were producing accessorycomponents. It is strange but they don’tremember it clearly. The work on the rocket[the R-7 ICBM] was so voluminous andintensive that in people’s memory, itovershadowed the little sphere with the‘feeler’ antennas.”

The basic details do, however, provide afairly colourful picture of the preparationsleading up to the launch of Sputnik, and anumber involve Korolev himself.

At some point, probably in the latesummer of 1957, when many of the satellitecomponents had been manufactured andtested, Korolev convened a meeting of theleading Sputnik designers and announcedthat the satellite must be larger - that thediameter be increased from 0.6 to 1 m!Evidently, he was concerned that thesatellite would not be visible with the nakedeye. Naturally, many designers were upset,not the least because they had spent monthsbringing the project to fruition. One ofKorolev’s senior aides, deputy chief designerSergey Okhapkin (1901-80), was the mostperturbed since he was afraid that a changein the design so late would mean they wouldmiss the launch date. A bigger satellitewould also mean a more powerful launchvehicle, meaning more changes and moretime. Eventually, even the mighty Korolevwas convinced that this was a bad idea.

PS-1 was assembled at Factory No. 88

located right next to Korolev’s design bureauin Kaliningrad (or Podlipki). Most factoryengineers involved in the creation of Sputnikdid not perceive it as anything more or lessimportant than any other object created atthe plant. The factory’s chief engineer, ViktorKlyucharev, later recalled that constructingPS-1, especially in comparison to theimmensely complicated R-7 ICBM, was arelatively painless job for the workers.

For the factory foremen, the mostchallenging job proved to be manufacturingand assembling the hemispherical casings ofthe hull of Sputnik. These half shells weremade by ‘stamping’ which produced manydefects (or folds) typical of ‘deep drawing’which took great skill to eliminate from thefinal operational models.

Technologists also had to ensure that thesatellite was as shiny as possible to fulfillparticular coefficients of absorption andreflection (to make it as visible as possible).Shop workers spent a lot of time ‘finishing’the aluminium outer shell of the satellite. Inthe summer of 1957, Korolev andAcademician Kotel’nikov had discussedways to increase the reflectivity not only ofthe satellite payload but also the corebooster, which would also be inserted intoorbit with PS-1.

Kotel’nikov, the director of the Academyof Sciences’ Institute of Radiotechnologyand Electronics, assigned one of hisscientists, V.M. Vakhnin, to develop adeployable angular reflector that would laterbe installed on the core, making it possiblefor Soviet ground-based radar stations totrack the core for several weeks after launch.

Production culture changed quite a bitafter Korolev’s first visit to the assemblyshop. Khomyakov later recalled that Korolev“demanded that everything, beginning withthe atmosphere in the building ... and endingwith quality of manufacture be changed”.

Korolev was particularly aghast thatworkers were trying to weld the satellite’scasings by hand. Emphasising the importanceof full internal pressurisation, he insisted onautomatic welding, as well as recommendingnew methods to check the air tightness of thehull. Factory workers eventually used a specialhelium leak detector (known as the PTI-4) totest the integrity of the satellite. But mostimportant for Korolev was a cleanenvironment. He told his foremen: “In threedays everything here must shine. Hang whitegloves on the windows, dress everyone whoworks here in white coats and gloves. Paint thestand under the satellite white and line thepedestal in velvet.”

After Korolev's visit things changed.

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Klyucharev recalled: “All of those who cameinto contact with the ‘little ball’ literallycarried it in their arms. They worked in whitegloves, and the rigging on which the satellitewas assembled was covered in velvet.Korolev kept track of all the operationsinvolving the satellite, and he demanded thatthis article be given special treatment.

Flight and test models of the PS-1 weremanufactured in August 1957 in parallel withassembly of the R-7 rocket that would deliverit into orbit. Ivanovskiy recalls that becausethe two systems were manufactured inadjacent halls, PS-1 workers wouldfrequently run over to see the R-7 beingassembled to make sure that they were notlagging behind, since they did not want to bethe source of any delays.

Before launch, engineers thoroughlytested the satellite and its associatedsystems. Full, dry run static tests of PS-1 inconjunction with an R-7 booster were carriedout at the factory in Kaliningrad on 31August 1957 ten days after the firstsuccessful long-range flight of the R-7 ICBM.

The following week, there was a fullcourse of testing of PS-1 in a thermalchamber and vibration stand. The total set oftests conducted in August and earlySeptember were challenging, partly becauseit was very difficult to simulate particularconditions, such as increasing g-loads,vibration and weightlessness in theexperimental factory at Kaliningrad.Engineers devised some “specialattachments and equipment” to repeatedlysubject a mock-up of PS-1 to docking andseparation from the R-7 launch vehicle.Khomyakov recalled: “The pneumatic locksoperated reliably, the nose fairing separated,the antennae came out, and, afterseparation [of the nose fairing], themechanical [separation system] moved thesatellite in a forward direction.”

Other post-assembly tests includedinstalling the internal equipment, cabling,and mechanisms in mock-ups, verifying thepressurisation of the flight model using leakdetectors, investigating the thermalconditions of the satellite to project actualtemperatures during flight, and checking thesimultaneous process of both fairingseparation and satellite ejection from thecore booster of the launch vehicle.

In early September 1957, once all theassembly and testing operations on PS-1 hadbeen finished, Korolev invited all thoseinvolved in the satellite’s assembly and testing- about 40 people, including his deputies,department chief, and factory shop foremen -to discuss the status of the satellite.

Khomyakov provided a detailed statussummary, but twice mistakenly referred to PSas SP. The latter was the nickname many atKorolev’s bureau used to informally refer to thechief designer (SP for Sergey Pavlovich).Korolev interrupted Khomyakov, saying: “Iknow that many of you call me ‘SP’ but this isnot our ... simplest satellite, that’s ‘PS’! Don’tconfuse the two.”

In September, the PS-1 was finallydelivered to the launch range at Tyura-Tam.The satellite was shipped in two separatecontainers, one containing the main bodyand the other carrying the four longantennae. The launch vehicle had alreadyarrived earlier. Soon after, a group of themain production personnel, including bothKhomyakov and Ivanovskiy, left Kaliningradon Korolev’s orders.

Pre-launch publicityKorolev and Tikhonravov disseminatedinformation about the planned satellitelaunch to the general Soviet public viaindirect links. In one particular case, theymanaged to galvanise the energies ofthousands of young amateur radioenthusiasts all across the Soviet Union tohelp the engineers track the satellite once itwas in orbit. Beyond its public relationsdimension, such a campaign could alsosupport the Sputnik designers’ own hopes oftracking the satellite in orbit. At the time,there were few professional observationposts spread across the Soviet landmass -the few existing ones belonged either to theair defence forces or a few scatteredastronomical observatories. Making use ofamateurs was a clever and effective way to“fill in the blanks”.

Here, Academician Kotel’nikov, who hadcounselled Korolev’s engineers in thecreation of PS-1’s radio transmitters, playeda key role.

On Korolev’s instructions some ofKotel’nikov’s scientists at his institutepassed on details of the satellite’s radiotransmitters, including its transmissionfrequencies, to the Central Radio Club of themajor Soviet paramilitary youth organisation,DOSAAF. Soon, DOSAAF, in coordinationwith Kotel’nikov’s scientists, deliveredspecial tracking instruments (tape recorders,signal generators, etc) to 28 separateamateur radio clubs across the country, whoall reported to the central club back inMoscow. The particular clubs were chosenaccording to their location - spread along aline from the Baltic states all the way toChukotka in eastern Siberia.

Nikolay Kazanskiy, president of the

Soviet Amateur Radio Federation,remembers that he actually attended ameeting at which Korolev was present wherethey asked him how many minutes it wouldtake for the DOSAAF people to relayinformation on positive identification of thesatellite to Moscow. Kazanskiy assured themthat he could get news from any of theoutlying clubs to the central location atRastorguyevo (in Moscow) within 15minutes.

Simultaneously, in the summer of 1957,DOSAAF published information about thesatellite in its amateur ham journal Radio,which had a circulation of about 200,000.There was no information on the actualsatellite nor about when or how it would belaunched, but there was data useful toamateur radio enthusiasts - how the satellitemight fly, how its signals might transmitthrough the ionosphere and, of course, thetransmission frequencies (20 and 40 MHz).

DOSAAF also funded test runs on theequipment delivered from Kotel’nikov’sinstitute. At the Central Club they used aYakovlev Yak-12 airplane, a tiny singlepropeller vehicle capable of carrying one ortwo extra passengers, to send out signalsfrom a makeshift transmitter which radiohams tracked from the ground. ByOctober, there were many thousands ofyoung Soviet citizens who were ready forthe “real” thing.

Success with the R-7Although Korolev had obtained permission tolaunch PS-1 back in February, the launchwas not a foregone event. In his letter to thegovernment in January, he had noted that“two rockets upgraded for [satellite] launchescould be ready in April-June 1957 andlaunched immediately after the firstsuccessful launches of the intercontinentalmissile”.

More precisely, the military had agreed toallow Korolev to indulge his fantasies onlyafter two successful launches of the R-7ICBM. As is well-known, there were severalconsecutive failures of the missile in thesummer of 1957 - one missile on May 15exploded 104 seconds into its ascent, asecond rocket never left the pad despitethree consecutive attempts on 9, 10, and 11June, and a third R-7 was destroyed 33seconds after launch on July 12.

If there had been hope of launching twoPS-1-type satellites in the summer, thathope was lost. The mood at Tyura-Tam washitting rock bottom by the time that a fourthR-7 was brought out to the pad. Engineers,soldiers, and even government bureaucrats

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were all desperate for a success. One ofKorolev’s principal deputies, AnatoliyAbramov (1919-98), later remembered:“Now, if ever, was the time to despair, tolose faith in the whole programme.”However, S.P. Korolev’s composure and theabsence of any attempt to find scapegoatsmade people realise that we had embarkedon a new level of scientific-technicalcomplexity where no one had gone before.To have fallen into confusion or becomemired in apportioning blame would havedestroyed the team, its unity and self-confidence. The weight of responsibilityresting on Korolev’s shoulders wasenormous, especially when you consider thathe had still not been formally rehabilitated[after his imprisonment]. Arrest, prison andexile were still fresh in his mind.

Luck favoured them in this dark hour. AnR-7 lifted off on its first (relatively) successfulflight on 21 August. To the delight ofthousands of engineers, the R-7’s engines,combustion chambers, strap-on boosters,hybrid guidance system and launch complexworked with clockwork precision. The missileflew 6,500 km, and its warhead entered theatmosphere over the Kamchatka peninsulain the far-eastern coast of the Sovietlandmass. Although the actual warheadcontainer disintegrated about 10 km abovethe target, the flight was considered a majorstep forward in the R-7 programme. Korolevwas so animated by the event that he kepthis deputies awake until three in themorning, talking without end about all thedoors opened by this success.

As for the missile, a quickly dispatchedsearch party of about 500 men spent almosta whole week gathering the remains of thedummy warhead and its thermal coating. Itwas only after the search party returned thatthe State Commission wrote up an officialcommunique on the launch, a statementwhich was published in the Soviet media onAugust 27.

“A few days ago a super-long-range,intercontinental multi-stage ballistic missilewas launched. The tests of the missile weresuccessful; they fully confirmed thecorrectness of the calculations and theselected design. The flight of the missiletook place at a very great, hithertounattained, altitude.

“Covering an enormous distance in ashort time, the missile hit the assignedregion. The results obtained show that thereis the possibility of launching missiles intoany region of the terrestrial globe. Thesolution of the problem of creatingintercontinental ballistic missiles will make it

Secretary of State John Foster Dulles “hadno reason to doubt the veracity” of the Sovietclaim but cautioned that the test did notfundamentally alter the balance of powerbetween the two Cold War enemies.

Between the August announcement andthe October launch of Sputnik, a number ofmajor media speculations on the state ofSoviet missile power were published. Somesuggested that the Soviet success wasentirely due to German technical know-howwhile others argued that a totalitarian systemcould galvanise a lot of resources to achievesingular goals such as missile development.Some of these pieces peripherally touchedon the various and vague Sovietannouncements on satellites.

The public announcement of the R-7success certainly helped Korolev’sreputation, which had come under attackwith the repeated failures in the summer.With one R-7 success under his belt,Korolev now needed final permission from abody known as the ‘State Commission’ toproceed with an orbital launch.

In the Byzantine organisational world ofthe Soviet missile programme, thesecommissions were another layer ofbureaucracy to deal with. State commissionshad been a standard tradition in the Sovietdefence industry since the 1930s. Inprinciple, the idea was organisationallyinnovative - when a new weapons systemneeded to be tested and certified foradoption as a mass produced weapon, itmade sense to organise a commission tooversee the process of testing andacceptance.

Members on these state commissionshad regular jobs and usually represented adiverse array of interests - senior militaryofficials, chief designers (or their deputies),ministers, deputy ministers and, often,respected scientists. A particular statecommission ceased to exist once theweapon was declared operational.

In the case of the R-7, the Sovietgovernment had organised a statecommission on 31 August 1956 comprising14 highly placed individuals, including the sixchief designers who represented the majorsystems on the ICBM. The composition ofthe commission changed over time but itwas expected that the core group ofmembers would remain to supervise thelaunch of PS-1 if and when it happened.

The chairman of the State Commissionfor both the R-7 and PS-1 was VasiliyRyabikov (1907-74), who arguably played asimportant a role in the birth of Sputnik asKorolev, Tikhonravov and Keldysh - the other

Mikhail Khomyakov was the lead designer ofthe PS-1 satellite. Barring a few short essays,he has kept relatively silent about hisexperiences as the head of the team thatmanufactured, tested, and delivered Sputnik forlaunch. By the 1970s, he had risen to a seniorposition at RKK Energiya before retiring.

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possible to reach remote regions withoutresorting to strategic aviation, which at thepresent time is vulnerable to modern meansof anti-aircraft defence.”

It was extremely unusual for Sovietauthorities to publicise successes in anymilitary field at any point during the Cold War,let alone in the 1950s. But without access toarchival source material, it is difficult tospeculate on the rationale behinddisseminating this particular statement whichpublicly announced the possession of anICBM.

Some Western analysts reflexivelyassumed that the statement was intendedfor a foreign (ie, American) audience,especially since there were armamentsreductions talks on-going in London at thetime, focusing especially on means ofverification. It is as likely that Khrushchevorchestrated the release of the communiquefor domestic reasons, aimed at officials highup in the Communist Party, the governmentand the military, who had strongly expresseddoubt about the massive amounts ofresources that Khrushchev diverted fromconventional forces to strategic (particularlymissile) weapons.

The announcement was picked up anddiscussed widely in the West althoughopinion was divided as to its veracity. Manywere sceptical. British defence officials -including the Royal Air Force chief - wereopenly doubtful that the Soviet Union wascapable of mastering the sophisticatedtechnology required for intercontinentalflight. Similarly, in the United States, thesecretary of the Army, Wilber E. Brucker,echoed these comments, no doubt partly tobuttress criticism of the Army’s own missileprogramme.

Yet others saw the Soviet announcementas worrisome if not outright ominous.

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three big players. Yet ironically, Ryabikov isalmost absent from the many stories on thehistory of the world’s first satellite.

Ryabikov was originally a protégé of thefamous armaments minister Dmitriy Ustinov(1908-84), the powerful defence industrialistwho would go on to reign over the Sovietspace programme for a quarter of a century.Although Ryabikov began his political careerin 1939 working under Ustinov, after the warin 1951, he was abruptly promoted to ahighly sensitive and powerful position as themanager of the massive Moscow air defenceproject where he worked closely with thedreaded Soviet security services chiefLavrentiy Beriya. Ryabikov reached the apexof his career on 14 April 1955 when NikitaKhrushchev appointed him to head asupervisory body that would hitherto manageall long-range missile development(including, of course, the ICBM programme)in the Soviet Union. As head of this body,Ryabikov not only out-ranked Ustinov butbecame the man who reported directly toKhrushchev on all matters related to long-range and strategic missiles.

According to one reliable source, back inFebruary 1957 it was Ryabikov whosupported Korolev’s argument to switch thesatellites from the big Object D to the smallPS-1. On behalf of Korolev, he lobbied forthe new plan with top Soviet leaders. As itgot closer to commit to a satellite launch, itmay have been Ryabikov who played thedeciding role to push ahead.

Soon after the first ICBM launch success,the State Commission convened at Tyura-Tam to review the state of the R-7 testseries. After a discussion of the results ofthe 21 August launch, Korolev - toeveryone’s surprise - proposed that theyshould immediately start preparations for thelaunch of an artificial satellite of the Earth,the PS-1.

He claimed that he would require amonth-and-a-half to two months to geteverything ready for the launch. The Tyura-Tam launch range’s chief of staff at the time,Konstantin Gerchik (1918-2001), later

launch? In the end, the Commissionunanimously approved Korolev’s proposal,with the caveat that there be a second R-7success first. The satellite launch was on.

Korolev returned briefly to Moscow on 31August before heading back to Tyura-Tamon 5 September for his fourth trip that yearto the launch range. The subsequent launchof the R-7 two days later was as successfulas its predecessor, and the missile flewacross the Soviet Union before depositing itsdummy warhead over the skies ofKamchatka. Like the previous time, thewarhead container disintegrated. It was clearthat while the rocket itself was performingwithout fault, it could still not effectivelydeliver a warhead to any target. The problemrequired some serious research on thedynamics (shape, angle of entry, materials,aerodynamic quality) of the warheadcontainer. Yet, the second failure of thewarhead container actually helped Korolev’scase in launching a satellite.

Korolev’s first deputy Vasiliy Mishin(1917-2001) later wrote:“To determine the reasons for thedestruction [of the warhead containers]required time and, on S.P. Korolev’ssuggestion, a decision was taken onlaunching [PS-1] in the course of flight-design testing of the R-7 missile and gatherstatistical data on the flight of this rocket onthe powered portion of its trajectory.”

In other words, it would take weeks,perhaps months, to determine the precisecause for the destruction of the warheadcontainers. Engineers might have to producean entirely new container (which is what theydid). In the meantime, might not Korolev andhis engineers continue flying R-7 missiles to

Vasiliy Ryabikov waschairman of the StateCommission for thelaunch of Sputnik.Ryabikov not onlyapproved the Sovietsatellite programme in1955 but also oversawthe launch in 1957. Hedied in 1974.

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recalled that for many members of theCommission, this was a total surprise.Several had not even heard of the PS-1option; they had assumed that the plan wasstill to wait for the Object D satellite to beready before attempting an orbital launch.

The response to Korolev’s request was“uproarious ”. Some members objected tothe new plan, citing the more compressedand intense regime of work that manyindustrial enterprises were about to transitionto because of numerous planned rocketlaunches - there would hardly be time towork as well on a satellite launch. Korolevpersistently continued to press his case, butthere was no unanimous support at themeeting. Perhaps sensing that he needed totry a different approach, he switched gears.

Gerchik recalled: “The fate of the launchof the [satellite] was determined by S.P.Korolev’s second suggestion, ‘I proposesending the question of national priority inthe launch of the world’s first [satellite] up toa meeting of the Presidium [the Politburo] ofthe Communist Party’s Central Committee.Let them settle it’.”

The notion that Korolev’s idea be sent up tothe Presidium completely changed the tenor ofthe meeting. No one on the Commissionwanted this question to be passed up thathigh, and certainly no member wanted to bethe one whose stubbornness had dragged thePresidium into this discussion. But for Korolev,the most powerful argument was the spectre of“national priority” - what bureaucrat would wantto take a misstep and end up undercutting“national priority”? Perhaps Korolev was right?Maybe there was something to this satellite

One of the last photos of Sergey Korolev andMikhail Tikhonravov before the launch ofSputnik. The photo dates from 15 September1957 when the two men visited Kaluga, thehometown of Russian space patriarchKonstantin Tsiolkovskiy to celebrate his onehundredth birth anniversary. Pictured are (fromleft): Mikhail Ryazanskiy (designer of Sputnik’sradio transmitters), Mikhail Tikhonravov,Sergey Korolev, Nina Koroleva (Korolev’ssecond wife), and Konstantin Trunov (acolleague of Korolev’s from his Gulag days).

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The famous Council of Chief Designers on theday of the Sputnik-2 launch on 3 November1957. Pictured are (from left): AlekseyBogomolov (telemetry systems), MikhailRyazanskiy (guidance systems), NikolayPilyugin (guidance systems), Sergey Korolev(missile and satellite), Valentin Glushko (rocketengines), Vladimir Barmin (launch complex),and Viktor Kuznetsov (gyroscopes).

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gain more data on its other systems?Launching a satellite would be an ideal testin that sense, for the warhead would bereplaced by the satellite, but everything elsewould largely be the same. For this reason,military representatives allowed Korolev toindulge his space dreams and handed over aperfectly “good” ICBM to launch a spacesatellite.

Tsiolkovskiy interludeKorolev few back to Moscow on 10September. A major anniversary wasapproaching, the one hundredth birthday ofRussian cosmonautics pioneer KonstantinTsiolkovskiy, who was born on 17September 1857. In the postwar years,Tsiolkovskiy had been canonised by theSoviet scientific community even though,during his lifetime the Academy of Scienceshad patently ignored him. The tributes toTsiolkovskiy attained a natural crescendoaround the time of his centennial.

On 15 September Korolev and a numberof major designers and scientists (includingGlushko, Tikhonravov, Ryazanskiy, andBlagonravov) travelled by train to Kaluga, thetown south of Moscow where Tsiolkovskiylived in the last decades of his life. In theregional (oblast’) theatre there was afunction and later the guests all made theirway to Peace Square (Mirnyy ploshchad’)where a stone was laid for a futuremonument to Tsiolkovskiy. Finally, theprocession walked to School No. 9 whereTsiolkovskiy had taught for many years. Onestriking photograph from the day showsKorolev and Tikhonravov uncharacteristicallysmiling, almost happy. They, the two primaryauthors of Sputnik, knew what few of theircolleagues in attendance knew - that thespace age would begin within a few weeks.

The ceremonies in Kaluga were merely aprelude to a major event in Moscow two dayslater, on Tsiolkovskiy’s actual birthday. At 7pm, in the Hall of Columns at Union Housein Moscow, hundreds of eminent scientistsand designers arrived to pay tribute toTsiolkovskiy. Both Korolev and Glushkogave prominent speeches, hailingTsiolkovskiy as not only one of the greats ofRussian science but as a luminary on parwith the greatest names in the history ofscience.

In his lecture, Korolev noted pointedlythat “in the near future, for scientificpurposes, the first trial launches of artificialsatellites of the Earth will take place in theUSSR and the USA”. Only a few in theaudience really knew that these words, farfrom being bluff and bluster, represented

cottage close to the main area of activity atthe range, Site 2. Activity at the assembly-testing building nearby was quicklyaccelerating as a mere 11 days remaineduntil the planned launch. All operations withPS-1 were carried out in a hall room on thesecond floor adjacent to the main (andmassive) assembly hall for R-7. This roomlater became the testing station for futurespacecraft payloads, including the Vostoksthat carried cosmonauts into orbit.

Sputnik’s deputy lead designer Ivanovskiyremembers a few glitches in thepreparations. Before stacking the PS-1 withthe R-7 booster, the designers carried out afinal test of all of the satellite’s systems.

Vyacheslav Lappo, the young designer ofthe radio transmitter repeatedly - and somewould say obsessively - checked and re-checked his handiwork, making sure that thetransmissions correctly communicatedinformation about internal temperature andpressure. Others verified “their” systems.

The last separate item to be checked wasthe heavy battery installed in the metal ball.The flight model was brought in and hookedup to a voltmeter. There was dead silencewhen it showed zero volts. There was clearlya problem since electrolyte was apparentlyleaking, yet no one could immediately figureout the precise source. Everyone presentknew that the stakes were high since notonly Korolev but State Commissionchairman Ryabikov were already at Tyura-Tam.

Quickly, the testers formed a group todebug the problem. They put the battery ona work station, and “with the gravitas ofdoctors doing a heart operation”, techniciansbegan dismantling the battery under thesupervision of Vladimir Bogotskiy, the manresponsible for the system, who currentlylooked like his world had caved in.

Finally, a technician found that somewires had come off due to bad soldering. Aplug socket had come undone. RimmochkaKolomenskaya, a young mechanic, quicklyrepaired it on the spot. By this time,Ryabikov had apparently showed up wantingaccountability. He railed at Bogotskiy whodesperately tried to defend himself byexplaining that the problem would not occuragain, that they had applied a new coating ofepoxy. Korolev, standing next to Ryabikov,kept silent the whole time.

After the debacle with the battery, all thesystems were re-tested, the satellitecomponents were reintegrated into a wholeand, using pullies and cranes, the payloadwas attached to the top of the horizontallystacked launch vehicle.

hard cold facts.Perhaps Korolev relished alarming the

censors. In his paper, he noted that Sovietscientists were currently working on problemsof sending probes to the Moon, circling theMoon, and even human spaceflight. Thepresentation ended with a slide show thatbegan with photographs of Tsiolkovskiy andended with rare pictures of recent Sovietsuborbital flights that carried dogs to altitudesof 100 and 200 km. Few who attended thefunction knew the true jobs of Korolev andGlushko - they were simply introduced as‘Corresponding Members of the Academy’.Yet, their speeches were given widespreadpublicity. On the morning of the anniversary,Pravda published a full-page spread dedicatedto Tsiolkovskiy that included an abridgedversion of Korolev’s speech. It was the onlyarticle he published under his own nameduring the last three decades of his life. Soonan even darker shroud of secrecy woulddescend over his life.

Preparing for launchHaving made their connection to the past,Korolev, Tikhonravov, and Glushko returnedto their jobs, now looking to the future. On 20September Korolev attended a meeting ofthe State Commission for the launch of PS-1. Based on the current rate of preparationsof the launch vehicle and the satellite, theattendees set the provisional date for thelaunch of the satellite as 7 October. Theydecided that the Soviet press would beofficially informed about the launch of PS-1only after it had completed its first orbit. Themembers also agreed to have ready withinthree days a draft of the announcement thatwould be sent to TASS.

On 24 September, Tikhonravov finallyreadied the internal design bureau documentdetailing all aspects of the launch andmission of PS-1. It was modestly titled‘Technical Account on the Possibility ofLaunching PS-1’. Korolev signed the coverand scribbled in bold ‘Keep Forever’!

A more general document for the coreState Commission members was also drawnup for everybody to sign. In the typicalbureaucratic and dry language of the Sovietera, reading the title, one would never knowthat the five men who put their signatures toit had basically signed one of the mosthistoric documents of the space age - ‘Theprogramme for carrying out a test launch ofa simple unoriented ISZ (the object PS)using the article 8K71PS’.

On 26 September, Korolev flew to Tyura-Tam via Tashkent to supervise the launch ofSputnik. Once there, he stayed in a small

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The ‘long moustaches’ - as the engineerscalled Sputnik’s four aerials - were fixedadjacent to the payload fairing atop therocket. Once the satellite was stackedcompletely, Korolev insisted on a final test ofthe radio transmitter. All the members of theState Commission were there to witnessthis. Lappo gingerly turned on the switch tothe transmitter, and the “beep-beep-beep” ofSputnik eerily echoed throughout the big hallroom of the assembly building. Once thetransmitter was switched off, Ivanovskyclimbed up a step ladder to the satellite andremoved a protective plate from the contactpoint that would supply power to thetransmitter. According to the flightprogramme, at the moment of separationfrom the launch vehicle, the commutator(basically an electrical switch) would switchon the power in the satellite.

The launchOn 30 September a six day conferenceopened at the National Academy ofSciences in Washington DC focusing onrocket and satellite research during IGY.Representatives from six countries, includingthe Soviet Union, attended.

Korolev kept tabs on the proceedings viacables from the Soviet embassy inWashington. Seeing that the title of one ofthe papers was ‘A Satellite Over the Planet[sic]’, he concluded that this meant only onething - that the Americans were timing asecret launch during the conference and thatthe paper would essentially be anannouncement of the event. The fact that thepaper was by John P. Hagen, the Vanguardsatellite programme’s manager, seemed toconfirm his fears. Hagen was apparentlyfamiliar to Korolev.

Golovanov notes that Korolev “read[Hagen’s papers] attentively”. Korolevcontacted KGB representatives to verify ifthe Americans were planning a launch butthe security agency reported back that therewas no evidence to suggest a launch was inthe offing. Stubborn to the core, Korolevrefused to take a chance. Now panickedabout being pre-empted by Americans at thelast minute, he insisted that the PS-1 launchbe brought forward by two days, from earlymorning October 7 to late night October 4.

As a result, at 4 pm on the afternoon of 2October, he signed an order for the newlaunch date and sent it to Moscow for finalapproval. Launch would be in two days. Trueto Korolev’s headstrong character, he didn’tbother to wait for official confirmation to startthe ball rolling. In the pre-dawn twilight of 3October, a diesel train carrying the rocket

going on. This proved ineffective. Eventually,Kobelev set up a hose that released cold airinto the fairing, which evidently reducedtemperatures to tolerable levels.

Fuelling of the rocket had already begunat 0545 hours local time. Korolev, althoughunder pressure, remained cautiousthroughout the proceedings. He told hisengineers: “Nobody will hurry us. If you haveeven the tiniest doubt, we will stop thetesting and make the corrections on thesatellite. There is still time...”

Yevgeniy Shabarov (1922-2003), one ofKorolev’s deputies in charge of flight-testing,later remembered that the launchpreparations for the satellite were conductedat “a slower pace” than was usual. Mostpersonnel at the launch range,understandably enough, did not have time toponder over the historical value orimportance of the upcoming event.

Ivanovskiy later wrote: “Nobody back thenwas thinking about the magnitude of whatwas going on, everyone did his own job,living through its disappointments and joys.”

An early version of the R-7 on the pad at Tyura-Tam (later Baikonur) in 1957. Boris Chertok

and its delicate payload emerged out of theassembly building and slowly headed for thelaunch pad at Site 1. Witnesses rememberKorolev saying, “Well, have a good trip …let’s accompany our first-born”.

Scores of people lined the railway trackall the way to the pad. With Korolev at thefront, everybody slowly escorted the vehicleall the way to its launch site. (The signeddocument from Moscow approving thelaunch was returned on the morning of 4October, launch day).

It was warm at the time, unusual forOctober at Tyura-Tam. On the morning ofthe launch, a Friday, testers at the pad wereconcerned that the high temperatures mightoverheat the tiny satellite, rendering itssystems useless. A quick test seemed toindicate that temperatures were in fact risingunderneath the payload fairing. A youngmilitary officer, Vladimir Kobelev, assignedto work with the designers at the firing range,took the initiative to go up the serviceplatform and cover the payload fairing with alarge white fabric while other tests were

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Although many people from Korolev’sdesign bureau were on hand at Tyura-Tam,most of the personnel involved in carryingout the launch were young men from variousrocket and artillery divisions of the Sovietarmed forces. On behalf of Korolev, thelaunch preparations were directed by hisdeputy, Leonid Voskresenskiy (1913-65), alegend already in his own time, known for hisfearlessness and colourful personality.

For most of Korolev’s time as chiefdesigner, he relied on the trustworthyVoskresenskiy to fix any situation at the pad,who sometimes disregarded even Korolev’sown rules. Commanding the launch withVoskresenskiy was Lieutenant ColonelAleksandr Nosov (1913-60), the same ageas his colleague, whose official title wasdeputy commander of the launch range,which in effect meant that he was personallyresponsible for all missiles that took off fromany pad. A World War II veteran, Nosov hadgained considerable experience with firingrockets during long tours of duty at KapustinYar near the Volga river where the Sovietshad tested their first German V-2s back inthe late 1940s.

For the satellite launch, a young artillerycaptain, Vladimir Nikulin, was put in chargeof maintaining the paperwork - filling out themission goals and flight logs. Unsure of whatto fill in for “goal of the launch”, Nikulinturned to Korolev’s first deputy Vasiliy Mishinwho told him to dispense with such entriesas “target”, and instead write out the launchazimuth (the angle between true north andthe direction of the launch) as 34 degrees37’ 59.2”. The launch azimuth wascalculated based on the desired orbitalinclination of 65.1 degrees, which wouldensure that the satellite would pass overalmost all inhabited areas of the globe,including, most importantly, both the easternportion of the Soviet Union and the UnitedStates.

Nikulin’s job was to get the key militarytesters responsible for each system of thelaunch vehicle and the satellite to sign offthat ‘their’ system was ready for launch. Thiswas a long tradition with military rocketlaunches in the Soviet Union, made doublyimportant with the test flights of the R-7earlier in the year. Unlike all earlier missiles,the R-7 was an expensive and massivepiece of machinery. To lose one of thesedue to a junior army officer’s negligence wasunacceptable. There was one novelty withthe launch of Sputnik — there was anindividual responsible for signing off for thesatellite, a tradition that became establishedthereafter.

Back in the bunker there were sixcommand and control panels, each mannedby one or two individuals responsible for aparticular aspect of the rocket: two panels,each controlling two of the strap-ons, acontrol panel for the core booster, a panelfor charging the onboard batteries of therocket, a panel controlling fire extinguishingsystems on the pad, and a control panel formonitoring the ‘launch’ of PS-1 at the end ofthe R-7’s trajectory.

At T-50 minutes, ground operators gavethe order to spin up the gyroscopes for thelaunch. Commands were issued todisconnect various junction boxes from therocket. The last servicemen around themissile left the area and made their way tothe safety of the bunker where they occupiedtheir respective posts. At this point, the lastpre-launch command was issued to “chargethe batteries to flight time” which lit up thebattery panel in the bunker. The inertialguidance system of the rocket was nowready.

At T-15 minutes, the whole area aroundthe pad was evacuated. Five minutes laterand, finally, Korolev, Voskresenskiy, Nosovand a few others joined the rest of thecommand crew in the bunker. Voskresenskiyand Nosov, in charge of the launch, tooktheir places at periscopic sights. A loudspeaker echoed the announcements in thenow deserted and dark area around thelaunch pad: “T-10 minutes!”

Voskresenskiy’s deputy Shabarov, also inthe bunker, had a vivid memory: “With theexception of the operators, everybody wasstanding. Only N.A. Pilyugin and S.P.Korolev were allowed to sit down. Thelaunch director [Nosov] began issuingcommands. I kept an eye on S.P. Korolev.He seemed nervous although he tried toconceal it. He was carefully examining thereadings of the various instruments withoutmissing any nuance of our body languageand tone of voice. If anybody raised theirvoice or showed signs of nervousness,Korolev was instantly on the alert to seewhat was going on.”

At T-5 minutes, the ‘auxiliary system’indicator suddenly turned on in the controlroom, indicating that a system was notready. A sensor was showing an instability inthe level of liquid oxygen, apparently due tonatural evaporation. Operators quicklyconcluded that this was not a seriousproblem and blocked the sensor signalmanually by turning a key on a panel, andthe launch continued.

Boris Chekunov, the 24-year-oldlieutenant in charge of pushing the ignition

One-by-one, Nikulin got his signatures -Senior Lieutenant Yuriy Chalykh in charge ofprogramming the rocket’s launch azimuth,Lieutenant Colonel Aleksey Dolinin on thereadiness of all the engines of the rocket,and Captain Semyon Grafskiy andLieutenant Vladimir Ganushkin for thepropellants.

All the chief designers involved in theoperation — in particular, the ‘big six’ fromthe famed Council of Chief Designers of the1940s, signed off on the launch: Korolev,Glushko, Pilyugin, Ryazanskiy, Barmin andKuznetsov. The latter two, Vladimir Barmin(1909-93) and Viktor Kuznetsov (1913-91)were in charge of the launch complex andthe rocket’s gyroscope systems respectively.Another chief designer, Aleksey Bogomolov(1913-) - responsible for the R-7’s telemetrysystems - was listed as a ‘technicalsupervisor’ rather than a chief designer sincehistorically he had not been part of theoriginal ‘big six’ but was a new entrant to thebig leagues. Nikulin remembers findingKorolev very close to the rocket. He signedoff on the launch log pensively, in silence.

On the night of the fourth, hugefloodlights illuminated the launch pad asservicemen crowded around the rocketcompleting their various tasks. Korolev wasclearly anxious. About an hour beforelaunch, he abruptly ordered PS-1 leaddesigner Khomyakov and a military testerfrom the launch team to go up to the very topplatform and check everything out. This washighly unusual and probably quitedangerous, but Khomyakov obliged withoutresistance.

Khomyakov had been preceded up to thetop earlier in the day by KonstantinGringauz, the designer of the satellite’s radiotransmitter system. He later recalled: “I hadto do the final check to make sure that thetransmitter was going to work ... there was aspecial cover [hatch] in the nosecone, so Ireached inside, checked the ‘beep… beep…beep’ signal, and I knew everything was allright… Then the cone was sealed for the lasttime.” By his own admission, Gringauz wasthe last person to “touch” Sputnik.

Ivanovskiy, in his memoirs and in variousinterviews, has described an anonymousserviceman stepping out into the launch areaafter dusk and blowing a bugle, as if to markthe solemnity of the event. “The name of thissolder remains unknown to history,”according to Ivanovskiy. Yet, no otherwitnesses of the launch preparations havespoken of this lone bugler and, as good astory as it sounds, it may be closer to myththan memory in the history of Sputnik.

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button for the central core booster, laterdescribed the final moments as the clockticked down to lift-off: “When only a fewminutes remained until lift-off, Korolevnodded to his deputy Voskresenskiy. Theoperators froze, awaiting the final order.Aleksandr Nosov, the chief of the launchcontrol team, stood at the periscope. Hecould see the whole pad. ‘One minute togo!,’ he called.” As the seconds counteddown to zero, an operator announced, “Keyto launch!” (Klyuch na start!). Chekunovturned a key on his panel clockwise from leftto right, a task he would repeat nearly 600times in a career spread over 30 years - butthis was the very first time for a launch intospace.

For Soviet launches, there was nocountdown, only an occasional voiceannouncing “X minutes readiness”punctuated by the announcement of suddencommands. The next command - “Key todrainage!” (Klyuch na drenazh!) - meant thatthe drainage valves were closed afterdisconnecting from the rocket’s propellanttanks.

Operators then waited the few secondsuntil the second hand of the clockapproached the precise time for engineignition indicated on their launch cards. Asthe word “Launch!” (Pusk!) rang out,Chekunov decisively pressed the launchbutton on his panel (known as V-347) tobegin the engine firing cyclogram. There wasa little over a minute now left to the actualdeparture of the rocket from the pad,perhaps the most anxiety-inducing secondsof the whole launch. Voskresenskiy andNosov’s eyes were glued to their periscopesas they watched the launch vehicle ventsteam around it. A panel indicator lit up:“Preliminary” (Predvaritel’naya), meaningthat the engines had ignited and wererevving up to their preliminary thrust regime.All in the bunker began to sense the growingrumbling vibrations. An operator yelled:“Main!” (Yest’ glavnaya!) and almostimmediately “Contact of lift-off! (Yest’kontakt pod’yema!), Lift-off!”

It was exactly 2228 hours and 34seconds Moscow Time, about an hour-and-a-half after midnight local time. Oneparticipant remembered: “At the moment [oflift-off] it seemed to onlookers that the rocketwould burn where it was, on the launch pad,without taking off.”

Flames from the base of the rocket cutthrough the darkness of the Kazakhstandesert steppes as the arms of the launchcomplex pulled back, allowing the rocket tolift off gracefully from its pad. First slowly,

build-up and the rocket returned to its correctattitude within 18 to 20 seconds.

A more serious problem occurred soonafter, at T+16 seconds, when the TankDepletion System, which regulated howmuch propellant was being used for eachengine, failed. The malfunction led to ahigher consumption of kerosene thanplanned and, as a result, the booster did nothave enough propellant to reach the originalburnout point (at T+296.4 seconds). Themain core engine, in fact, shut down onesecond earlier than planned, at T+295.4seconds.

These details were not known at the timeof the launch. In the bunker, only the majorevents were reported back. At T+116.38seconds, the four strap-on boostersseparated as planned, as the rocket madeits way across the Soviet landmass, gainingaltitude and velocity. At main core engineburnout - which was reported back in thebunker with an exclamation of “maincommand!” - the core and its satellitepayload were travelling at 7,780 km/s at aheight of 228.6 km above Earth.

As planned, 19.9 seconds later (atT+314.5 seconds), the PS-1 satellitesuccessfully separated from the corebooster. The separation was effected bymechanical pressure at a speed of 2.73 m/s.Simultaneously, the nose fairing over thesatellite was discarded (using the springsystem) at a relative speed of 0.643 m/s. Atthe moment of separation, PS-1’scommutator switched on the satellite’s powersupply system and pressurisation system.Less than 11 seconds later, the angularreflectors on the core deployed.

From the data streaming into the bunker -principally a signal that was received by IP-1at Tyura-Tam from the booster core’s Traltelemetry system that indicated engineshutdown — it seemed that Earth orbit hadbeen achieved. Shabarov recalled:“Everyone breathed a sigh of relief, andthere was [finally] a minute of silence. Andsuddenly, everyone began talking to eachother, and people began to go up. Thelaunch chief and I were even allowed tosmoke inside the bunker.”

While Korolev was in the bunker,another group of people had beguncrowding around a van stationed near ahouse at Site 2, the main living area of thelaunch range. Inside, Vyacheslav Lappoand Konstantin Gringauz, the men who hadbuilt the radio transmitters, were sittingwith headphones to their ears, waiting for asign from the heavens. People wereconstantly trying to shove their way into

but then quickly, almost too quickly, thenearly 273 ton mass of metal, oxygen andkerosene, gathered speed and shot up intothe warm night sky. The five engines, thechildren of Glushko’s genius, generated atotal of nearly 400 tons of thrust.

There were problems on the outboundflight, in both the engines and in the inertialguidance system. At lift-off, telemetry notedthat the engine in one of the strap-onboosters (Block G) reached its intermediatestage late, ie, it took longer than usual toreach the desired level of thrust. Because ofthis, there was a brief threat of the rocketflying off-kilter at a dangerous angle sincethere was unequal thrust spread across thebottom, but fortunately, at the very lastminute, the engine completed its thrust

A schematic of the 8K71PS launch vehicle thatdelivered Sputnik into orbit. This configurationwas only used twice, for the first and secondSputniks. Sputnik-2 also had a slightly differentpayload shroud.

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A documentary still a showing the launch of thevery first R-7 on 15 May 1957. Asif Siddiqi

the van, to the irritation of the two, whohad to repeatedly tell people to be quiet.Suddenly, there was weak “beep-beep-beep” which slowly grew in volume,becoming louder and louder each second.There was a round of “hurrahs” outside thevan.

Ryazanskiy, Lappo and Gringauz’ boss,immediately got on the phone and calledKorolev, who was still back at the bunker:“There it is! There’s a signal!” This wasapparently a tape recording, evidentlytransmitted from one of the Kamchatkatracking stations. Korolev was notimpressed. He dryly commented, “This couldbe a mistake. Until we hear the signals afterthe satellite comes back after its first orbit ...it’s too early to celebrate.”

In general, people urged caution. Therewas, after all, a chance that the satellite washeading on a ballistic trajectory into thePacific Ocean, helplessly transmitting itsbeep-beep-beeps for all to hear. There wasonly one thing to do now - wait an hour or sofor the satellite to come around again.Korolev, Ryabikov, Keldysh, Glushko,Barmin, Voskresenskiy and Nosov all madetheir way out of the bunker and headed tothe radio operator’s van.

It took a little over an hour for the satelliteto return back around the Earth. Once again,Lappo picked up the signals, the insistent“beep-beep-beep”. He screamed: “It’s there!It’s there! Turn on the tape recorders!”

Ballistics experts brought in their data.According to their calculations, the satellitewas in an orbit with an apogee (high pointabove the Earth) of 939 km and a perigee(low point) of 215 km. These figures wouldbe adjusted later, but at the time, thenumbers must have seemed like a revelation- even if the apogee was much lower thanexpected.

According to the memoirs of Korolev’sdeputy Boris Chertok (1912-), the high pointwas about 80-90 km too low. Compared withthe original planned apogee of 1,450 km,however, the apogee appears to have beenfar below its target range - by as much as500 km. These were minor considerations,since the first object made by humans was ina freefall trajectory, an orbit-around Earth.The space age had arrived.

According to calculations revised overthe night - sharpened by scientists back atthe Computation Center at the NII-4institute near Moscow - PS-1 was in a 947X 228 k m orbit. The orbital period (thetime it took to make one complete circuitaround Earth) was a little over an hour-and-a-half, more precisely, 96 minutes

10.2 seconds. The satellite was circling atan angle of 65.1 degrees to the equator,giving it surface coverage over anenormous portion of Earth’s inhabitedsurface.

Earlier the State Commission hadplanned to inform Khrushchev after the firstorbit, but exercising more than usual caution,Commission chairman Ryabikov waited untilthe second orbit before calling the Sovietleader. According to conventional wisdom,Khrushchev’s reaction to the launch wasunusually subdued for an event of suchmagnitude, indicating that he, like manyothers, did not immediately grasp the truepropaganda effect of such a historicmoment.

He told the press at the time: “When thesatellite was launched they phoned me thatthe rocket had taken the right course and thatthe satellite was already revolving aroundEarth. I congratulated the entire group ofengineers and technicians on this outstandingachievement and calmly went to bed.”

Khrushchev’s son, Sergey, however,recalls his father’s reaction was a little moreenthused. The older Khrushchev at the timewas on visit to Kiev to discuss economicissues with the Ukrainian Party leadership.Around 11 pm - it was already past 2 am atTyura-Tam - these negotiations wereinterrupted by a telephone call. Khrushchevleft the meeting room to take the call, thenreturned without saying anything - at least atfirst.

His son described the scene: “He finallycouldn’t resist saying [to the Ukrainianofficials], ‘I can tell you some very pleasantand important news’. Korolev [sic] just called

(at this point he acquired a secretive look).He’s one of our missile designers.Remember not to mention his name - it’sclassified. Korolev has just reported thattoday, a little while ago, an artificial satelliteof the Earth was launched.”

The Ukrainian Party leaders were a littlebewildered as Khrushchev continued toramble on about the satellite. They, afterall, had important economic issues todiscuss. Yet, the Soviet leader wasanimated the rest of the evening, speakingin glowing terms about the new era ofmissiles which could “demonstrate theadvantages of socialism in actual practice”to the Americans.

For the engineers, scientists, soldiers,and bureaucrats responsible for theachievement - in Moscow, in Bolshevo, atKaliningrad, at Tyura-Tam and at trackingstations all over the country, the feeling wasone of elation and exhaustion. As nightturned to day - the first daylight of the spaceage - people arranged an impromptumeeting where Korolev climbed onto animprovised rostrum and gave a speech thatwas unusually flowery, even for him.

“Dear comrades! Today, that which thebest human minds have dreamed of hastaken place! The prophetic words ofKonstantin Eduardovich Tsiolkovskiy thatmankind would not always remain on theEarth have come to pass. Today the firstartificial satellite in the world has beeninjected into circumterrestrial orbit. With itsinjection into orbit, the conquest of spacehas begun. And the first country to openthe road to outer space has been ourcountry - the land of the Soviets! Allow meto congratulate all of you on this historicoccasion. And allow me to especially thankall the junior specialists, technicians,engineers and designers who took part inthe preparation of the [rocket] and thesatellite, for their titanic labour.... Oncemore I give to you a hearty Russianthanks!”

Soon, Voskresenskiy’s deputy Shabarovordered the chief of the mission at Tyura-Tamto express thanks in a different way by handingout alcohol. So that people would not comeback for more, he stipulated that each manwould get a whole teapot of spirits.

Meanwhile, radio transmitter designerLappo extended one of his speakers rightout into the street and set it at full volume; allover Site 2, one could hear the enigmaticbeep-beep-beep - a tape that ran over andover again. Later in the day, there was acelebration in a small movie theatre at Site10, the main living area at the launch range.

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A film still shows the actual launch of the firstSputnik on the night of 4 October 1957.Unfortunately, there are no high quality stillphotographs of the launch. As a result, all theexisting images are poor quality stills from asingle black-and-white film clip. Asif Siddiqi

Ryabikov made a speech congratulating all,followed by Korolev and Keldysh.

After nightfall, Korolev and a small groupof his co-workers took off in an Il’yushin Il-14aircraft from Tyura-Tam to head for Moscow.Despite the two massive piston engines thatroared through the flight, most wereexhausted and slept through the trip - some,after all, were sleeping the alcohol off.

Soon after takeoff, the pilot of theairplane, Tolya Yesenin, came out of thecockpit and bent over Korolev’s seat to tellhim that “the whole world was abuzz” withthe launch - “in all languages you can hear,‘Russia’ and ‘satellite’.”

Korolev quickly got up and went into thepilot’s cabin. Returning back to thepassenger’s area, he announced gleefully toeverybody: “Well comrades, you can’timagine - the whole world is talking aboutour satellite,” adding with a huge smile, “Itseems that we have caused quite a stir...”

At about 1:30 am Moscow Time on theearly morning of 5 October 5 - just after 7:30pm in Washington DC, the night before - theofficial Soviet news agency TASS releasedthe communique on the launch that the StateCommission had authored in lateSeptember. Published in the morning editionof Pravda, it was exceptionally low-key andwas not even the headline of the day - themain headline ‘above the fold’ was‘Preparation for winter is an urgent task’.Even the text of the satellite launch wasunderstated.

When the authors wrote the original text,they clearly did not play up the event: “Forseveral years scientific research andexperimental design work have beenconducted in the Soviet Union on thecreation of artificial satellites. As has alreadybeen reported in the press, the firstlaunching of the satellites in the USSR wereplanned for realisation in accordance withthe scientific research programme of theInternational Geophysical Year. As a resultof very intensive work by scientific researchinstitutes and design bureaus the firstartificial satellite in the world has beencreated. On 4 October 1957, this firstsatellite was successfully launched in theUSSR. According to preliminary data, thecarrier rocket has imparted to the satellitethe required orbital velocity of about 8,000m/s. At the present time the satellite isdescribing elliptical trajectories around theEarth, and its flight can be observed in therays of the rising and setting Sun with the aidof very simple optical instruments(binoculars, telescopes, etc).”

In the announcement, there was no detail

on the actual orbit of the satellite, just ageneral comment that it was travelling at“altitudes of up to 900 km above Earth’ssurface ”.

The communique nor the Soviet mediaascribed a specific name for the satellite(like the Americans would with Explorer-1),but generically and simply called it “theartificial satellite of the Earth”(iskusstvennyy sputnik zemli). Since theword for satellite in Russian was sputnik,that word acquired a greater resonancethan perhaps intended. In the West,Sputnik became a synonym for the satellitealthough in Russia, even to this day, thesatellite is still simply called “the firstSoviet artificial satellite of the Earth”(Pervyy sovetskiy iskusstvennyy sputnikzemli or Pervyy sovetskiy ISZ).

As the media tumult over Sputnik beganto mount in the West, the Soviet leadershipbegan to capitalise on the utterpandemonium surrounding the event in theUnited States. After everybody’s return toMoscow, on 6 October, one of Keldysh’sassistants at the Academy of Sciences,Gennadiy Skuridin (1926-91), met with asmall group to hammer out a more dramaticand informative announcement. Theyincluded the young scientists led by DmitriyOkhotsimskiy (1921-2005) from theDepartment of Applied Mathematics who haddeveloped the basic equations for orbitalflight earlier in the decade and a number ofKorolev’s representatives. Their draft waspassed around to Korolev, Glushko, Keldyshand others before being sent to Pravdawhere Skuridin and Pravda’s science editorA.G. Azizyan smoothed out any sensitiveinformation. The article was typeset and thenpublished as a major page one story inPravda on the morning of 9 October. Giventhe constraints that its authors were workingwith, the article was actually ratherinformative, especially about the satelliteitself, and included figures of the satellite aswell as its ground track. The partiesresponsible for this great deed were, ofcourse, not named.

Sputnik in orbitHundreds of thousands of people all over theworld visually saw Sputnik (or more likely,the core stage of the R-7 which was morereflective) in orbit. Many heard the famousbeep-beep-beeps. The duo of orbitalpayloads was tracked relatively easilythrough mid-November.

After 15 November, according toTikhonravov, it became much harder toidentify the payloads, apparently due to

“destruction of [material on the] angularreflector” on the core. For a while ionizedtrails from the core (from venting residualpropellants) was visible in the night sky.Newspapers all over the world published theground track of the satellites so that peoplecould plan optical observations.

Although the Sputnik launch had noscientific goals per se, it did contribute tocertain fields. Soviet scientists usedobservational data to try and determine thecoefficient of absorption of radio waves inthe ionosphere and to develop a model ofthe ionosphere’s effect on the diffusion ofradio waves. There were also attempts todevelop methods to determine electronconcentrations above the maximum layerF2 (the F layer has the highestconcentration of electrons and ions in theatmosphere).

The satellite’s radio transmittersprovided useful information during thethree weeks that they successfully sent outtheir beep-beep-beeps. According to the‘data’ that they transmitted, it wasdetermined that while the radiotransmitters were working, the temperatureand pressure inside the satellite remainedwithin design limits. Engineers couldconfidently say that there had been nodamage due to micro-meteoroids.According to Tikhonravov, Sputnik’s radiobeeps were tracked at distances of six toeight thousand kilometres and at somepoints as far as 16,000 to 17,000 km fromthe source.

The satellite was not the only objecttransmitting information. There was aworking telemetry system known as Tralonboard the orbiting core booster. Tral wasoriginally designed for monitoring varioussystems of the rocket during ballistic flight,

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A full-sized model of the PS-1 satellite shownhanging in the main hall of the TsiolkovskiyMuseum of Cosmonautics in Kaluga.

Asif Siddiqi

but was included on this launch, partly toverify whether it could be used on futureorbital missions. (It was later used onSputnik-2). Concern that Tral’s operationwould interfere with the radio transmitters onSputnik proved unfounded.

Observations from the dozens of

DOSAAF amateur radio clubs were useful.Their monitoring equipment had twoantennas - when the satellite entered orexited the zone of radio visibility, the signalreceived on one of the antennas was morepowerful than the other. When the satellitewas equidistant from the two antennas, thenthe signals were of equal strength. Byknowing the exact time of the signalreception, amateurs were able to veryroughly map the location of the satellite.

Besides radio reception, opticalobservations were carried out not only byDOSAAF clubs all but also by otheramateurs, university students, and laypeople. Because the core was the brighter ofthe two objects - it was at magnitude twowhile the satellite was at magnitude 5 to 6 -it was more likely to be visible by the nakedeye. Soviet AT-1 telescopes were madeavailable at select urban settings for regularpeople to observe the satellites.

The Sputnik core booster, given its largerdimensions, had a faster rate of orbital decay.On 2 December, the booster was trackedslowly falling over a trajectory that took it overIrkutsk (in western Siberia north of Mongolia),the Chukotka peninsula, Alaska, and thendown the western coast of the North America.According to Soviet information, the corecircled the Earth 882 times before its untimelydemise. The Sputnik satellite meanwhilecircled the Earth for 1,440 orbits before re-

entering the Earth’s atmosphere on 4 January1958. Thus ended the life of the world’s firstartificial satellite.

The impact of SputnikPS-1’s lead designer Mikhail Khomyakovunderscored that “frankly speaking, many ofus did not understand the full significance ofthis event ”. Not one of the Soviet engineers,scientists or politicians truly anticipated theglobal response. They had expectedsomething but not on the scale they saw.

There was, of course, the political andeconomic dimensions to be considered,which journalists wrote widely about in thedays after the launch. Sputnik punctuatedthe Cold War in a way that was not unlikeanother earlier strike to American self-confidence - some called it a “technologicalPearl Harbour”.

Historians have written many volumesabout the effect Sputnik had upon theAmerican psyche, how it led to the formation ofNASA, how it increased funding for scientificresearch and education, and even how it led tothe creation of the organisation (ARPA) thatwould later create the seed of the internet.

But there was also a philosophical importto Sputnik. It was the first time in the historyof the human race that our handiwork hadmanaged to breach the heavens around usand stay there. Golovanov eloquentlysummed up this notion in his biography ofKorolev: “For the first time on Earthsomething that had been thrown upwardshad not come down again.”

Before Korolev left Tyura-Tam, he had askedKhomyakov to pack up and bring back the entireset of the spare PS-1 model, “an exact copy ofthe one which was now in orbit around the Earth”.When Khomyakov returned to the design bureaunear Moscow, he checked in with Korolev, sayingthat he was back from his “business trip”. Thiswas the usual way engineers spoke about goingto the launch range - an assignment to Tyura-Tam was a “business trip”, a strange euphemismthat was accepted as part of the culture of intensesecrecy around the missile industry.

Korolev confused Khomyakov with hisresponse: “What business trip?”. The chiefdesigner raised his voice: “What’s this yousay, a business trip, a business trip... Tellyour comrades that you have participated inthe preparation and launch of the world’sfirst artificial satellite of the Earth.”

A still from a documentary on Sputnik shows a technician working on PS-1. More than likely this wasa “re-enactment” staged soon after the Sputnik launch rather than the actual flight-model.

Don Mitchell

AcknowledgementThe author would like to thank Bart Hendrickxfor his helpful comments. A complete list ofreferences for the article are available from theauthor on request.