The Mammoth Book of Space Exploration and Disasters

The ground wind came up cold now, clearing the mist away as we pulled to a stop. The deep blue of the sky was fading as the light of the morning brightened. The exact moment of sunup the plane was to leave the ground. The cars parked around the trailer a safe distance from the take-off point – the noise from the rocket engine would be loud enough to pop eardrums. Doors opened, the mechanics jumped to the ground and the Skyrocket was laboriously unloaded. Grotesquely the trailer “knelt” at the rear wheels so that the ship could be rolled off with its umbilical-cords still intact. Above the desert the only noise was the putt-putt-putt of the motors on the trailer and the incessant whistle escaping from the plane. Carder’s orders were spoken quietly, the mechanics spoke softly to one another, as if to keep from startling the restrained energy they worked around.

Every other minute the men who read the pressure gauges, intently as submarine captains, called out the pressures in the nitrogen tanks: “2,000 pounds” was called and verbally relayed to Carder – “2,000”… “2,000”… and down the line… “2,000.”

“Hold it at 2,000,” the order echoed back. By sunrise the white plane sat into the wind, still fed by its cords, not yet free. Now the pilot was called; he emerged from the radio car. A gladiator heading for the pit, he swaggered with confidence; the wind whipped his flight jacket around his tightly laced G suit. The size of his head was accentuated by the melon-shaped heavy crash helmet. It was a costume weird enough for the role he played, the narrowness of this body, in the form-fitting, olive drab covering was congruent with the uncluttered, narrow bullet waiting for him, steaming and puffing on the ground.

Gene May gave his orders, climbed the portable ladder into the tiny cockpit and yelled, “Okay, let’s wind this thing up.” The jet engine assisted in take-off with two of the four rocket tubes, was started whirling by the electric motor plugged into the side of the plane. A gentle, thin wheeeee-eee from the engine as the compressor started going and then the loud explosion that spit the flames out the tailpipe like red adders’ tongues. The hurricane blowing out the fanny dug a long rut in the lake bed in back of the Skyrocket. She shrieked like a pig in a slaughterhouse. Sign language was used now; the noise from the plane smothered all other sound. Above an F-80 shot over – the “chase” plane was in the air. He would follow the rocket ship, looking for trouble to report to its pilot. He was an eyewitness in case the ship didn’t come back. May made a sign, the canopy was closed. A loudspeaker was used now to communicate to the ground crew from the sealed cockpit in the Skyrocket. Carder sat with his assistant in the radio car holding the speaker that connected him directly to the pilot in the cockpit. He watched intently the last-minute activity around the plane – his runner would quickly deliver orders to the hustling men if he saw trouble.

From the cockpit radio Gene announced, “I’m pressurizing.” The news was repeated down the line: “he’s pressurizing”… “he’s pressurizing”… “he’s pressurizing.” Again from the howling plane came the magnified and unnatural-sounding voice, “Al, I’m ready to prime.” This announcement increased the tension in Al Carder; he leaned forward. Quickly the mechanics removed the lines and holes from the Skyrocket and for the first time this morning she was unleashed with her load. She steamed heavily – ready to go.

“What’s holding things up?” May’s sharp, rapid words fell.

Into the mike one of Carder’s men advised promptly, “Okay, Gene, you’ve got a good prime.”

The plane would climb with its jet engine, assisted by the two rocket tubes in take-off only, until 40,000 feet. May would then fire all four tubes to make his high-speed run.

He was ready for take-off; he gestured, the crew stood back, and the engineers and technicians ran for the cars standing by. They started the motors so they could follow alongside the plane during take-off, watching the tail for a successful rocket “light.”

A roar and she rolled rapidly, picking up speed, the green cars barreled alongside her at close to 100 miles an hour for over a mile of the lakebed. Into Carder’s car the pilot called, “Okay, I’m lighting one.” A 20-foot streak of orange fled into the air.

Carder called back, “One is good.”

And immediately: “Here goes two.”