The telephone on the gantry rings. It’s Korolev, sounding displeased.
“Why aren’t you reporting what’s going on up there?” he barks. “Why haven’t you sealed the hatch properly?”
Ivanovsky and his team are puzzled.
“We’ve just sealed it,” he reports.
“But there’s no KP-3 signal from the hatch’s attachment ring. Do it again.”
“You realise this could delay the launch by half an hour?”
“There’s no KP-3. Please remove and reseal the hatch,” Korolev repeats, a touch of imperiousness entering his voice.
Unaware of this problem, Gagarin settles into his ejection seat, keen to familiarise himself afresh with the instruments and dials of his cockpit.
The manned module now enclosing the cosmonaut is joined by steel straps to a service module below it where most of the equipment for the mission is stowed, including high-pressure nitrogen and oxygen bottles. This service module also houses the retrorocket which will be used to brake Vostok 1 out of its orbit as it prepares to re-enter Earth’s atmosphere later. The service module contains attitude control thrusters to assist in directing the spacecraft along its pre-determined flight path.
The cosmonaut stares at the instrument panel directly in front of him, scarcely able to believe this moment in his life has arrived.
A small 3D globe model of Earth protrudes from the large grey dashboard, just above its four dials, and is the most prominent feature of the panel. It symbolises Vostok 1’s mission, which is to rise above Earth and circle it in the conquest of gravity. Data will be fed into the globe from gyroscopes and accelerometers which will allow it to swivel in sync with the spacecraft’s actual orbit.
Gagarin checks the control panel to his left and notes the cabin’s environmental indicators. He recognises the need for accurate data and monitoring as part of aviation. His mission won’t succeed without precision. At the same time, his own body must function like a well-oiled machine, piloted by his strong will, as if the spacecraft is an extension of him.
The cosmonaut’s love of numbers and data had been cultivated at a young age. At school, arithmetic had been his favourite subject. He’d also loved physics. He is, at heart, a numbers man, and, today, at this extraordinary time, precision will be the path to success and salvation.
He checks his two-way radio link and their channels for communication. In front of him, just below the instrument panel, is a television camera pointing directly at his face. There’s also a bright lamp shining at him so that his facial expressions can be observed by doctors at the control centre. Below that is a central porthole fitted with an optical orientation system.
He believes he and his machine are ready.
He notices that the starting crew are still working overhead on securing the hatch properly. Several minutes later, once the technicians have fastened it to the satisfaction of Korolev, the pilot hears the enormous iron girders of the launch tower rumble away from the rocket.
The space machine towers over the people at ground level and in the Cosmodrome, dwarfing, too, the man chosen as the mission commander.
Gagarin requests some music to be played over the radio to keep him in a relaxed state of mind. What he doesn’t know is that the Kremlin have dispatched three envelopes to the TASS news agency in Moscow, each with a different press report. Number one is the scenario of success of the mission. Number two is for a forced landing over a foreign territory. Number three is for a catastrophe.
In reality, Vostok 1 is a fifty-fifty mission.
“Yuri, the fifteen minute mark,” Korolev announces.
Gagarin seals his gloves and shuts his visor.
“Cosmonaut, this is Earth. We can see your face clearly on the television screen. Your cheerful face has made everyone very happy. Your pulse is 64 beats per minute.”
“My heart beats normally,” Gagarin replies to Ground Control. “I feel fine. My gloves are on, the helmet is closed and I am ready for the start.”
The cosmonaut’s positive temperament has always pleased and attracted others. At important times in his life, it has gotten him noticed, including during the selection and training of the first cosmonauts. All along, he’d seemed like the chosen one.
Soon, Ground Control issues the commands for ignition.
“Launch key to ‘go’ position,” they instruct.
“Preliminary stage….. intermediate….. main….. lift off!” Korolev radioes from the control bunker, “We wish you a good flight. Everything is all right.”
This is the Chief Designer’s proudest moment. This spaceship is the masterpiece of the OKB-1 Special Design Bureau.
“Lift off!” the technical flight supervisor cries.
Vostok 1, the beaming Chief Designer hopes, will create an engineering and propaganda coup to surpass even their Sputnik triumph. Vostok means East and this flight today will be a triumph for the East, not for the West.
“Let’s go!” Gagarin exclaims.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
THERE’S A LOUD, high-pitched whistling sound as the fuel pumps ignite and thrust liquid fuel into the rocket’s combustion chambers. Vostok 1’s engines fire up and the ground rumbles and shudders. Flames rip into the trench from the rocket’s base, the blast scattering pebbles, stones, dust and smoke in all directions.
The cosmonaut glances at his watch before bracing himself for the increased g-forces. It’s seven minutes past nine in the morning, Moscow time.
One by one, hold-down clamps of the launch tower break off as the rocket pushes itself off the ground in an inferno of hot, bright energy roaring from its booster engines. Although he’s used to the velocity of fighter jets, this immense propulsion is unlike anything he’s ever experienced. It’s an overwhelming, futuristic experience.
Soon, he’s pinned back in his seat, his face tightening against the g-forces, his arms and legs unable to move, his breath shaken out of him, his very rib-cage trembling with the force hammering his body. Even the concrete bunker near the launch site reverberates as if an earthquake has been triggered.
Everything is shaking, rattling and roaring as Vostok 1 fires its way through the air with supreme velocity.
Gagarin believes this ride will be a leap forward for himself and for his nation, with science pushing progress to the limits.
Two minutes into the flight the four booster sections of the rocket have used up their propellant. They automatically shut down, before dropping away from the spaceship, falling back to Earth. At this point, the next rocket stage accelerates the spaceship, once again rocking Gagarin back in his seat.
“Zarya-1, g-forces are increasing, but everything’s still alright!” the pilot mutters, scarcely able to speak.
“How do you feel?”
“Alright.”
“Everything’s normal.”
Despite the explosive conditions outside the rocket, and the vibrations up and down his body, inside his helmet Gagarin can hear voices from ground radio stations with crystal clarity, as if they’re nearby.
During this ascension, the air is rapidly thinning out and this lessens the forces of resistance against the rocket. The cosmonaut spots through the porthole a wide river snaking across the expanses of Siberia, thawing out in the spring, glinting in sunlight. Earth looks fresh and new below.
“How magnificent!” he cries out. “Earth, I feel well. The flight is proceeding normally. The g-forces continue to increase. I see the Earth, forests, clouds…”