Spacemaster 1

By John Ball

THERE WAS JUST ABOUT one chance in a million that young Dick Simmons could win a place in the Spacemaster Project, but it was the chance he wanted to take more than he had ever wanted anything in his life. It changed his whole life, made a new person of him.

How he studied, trained, and dedicated himself to the greatest of the American projects for adventuring into space is the story of SPACEMASTER I. It shows how one boy overcame odds a million to one against him.

All of the details of testing and training programs in this story are based on real-life situations. This is the second boys’ book by the former Director of Public Relations of the Institute of the Aeronautical Sciences; his first was OPERATION SPRINGBOARD.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Thunderchild Publishing
• Release date: Feb 14, 2024
• ISBN: 9781479476053

John Ball

John Ball was an American writer best known for mystery novels involving the African-American police detective Virgil Tibbs. Tibbs was introduced in the 1965 novel In the Heat of the Night, which won the Edgar Award for Best First Novel from the Mystery Writers of America and was made into an Oscar-winning film of the same name.

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Table of Contents

SPACEMASTER 1

COPYRIGHT INFORMATION

DEDICATION

INTRODUCTION

CHAPTER 1 — First Flight

CHAPTER 2 — Spacemaster Selection

CHAPTER 3 — Challenge in the Desert

CHAPTER 4 — Dick Makes His Choice

CHAPTER 5 — Prelude to Space

CHAPTER 6 — Roll-out

CHAPTER 7 — The Enemy Appears

CHAPTER 8 — Time of Decision

CHAPTER 9 — Take-off!

SPACEMASTER 1

John Ball

COPYRIGHT INFORMATION

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this

novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Copyright © 1960 by John Ball.

This edition published by arrangement with Kesang Ball.

All rights reserved.

Edited by Dan Thompson

A Thunderchild eBook

Published by Thunderchild Publishing

First Edition: 1960

First Thunderchild eBook Edition: July 2013

Cover design by Dan Thompson.

DEDICATION

For RAY AND MARY BALL

TO WHOM THE INFINITE REACHES OF OUTER SPACE

HAVE LONG BEEN FAMILIAR.

INTRODUCTION

THE successful launching of Spacemaster I into orbit was both a major historical event and the climax of one of the most concentrated scientific undertakings of all time. I may say this because, while I headed the project from its inception to its final success, the actual work was done by the many hundreds whose untiring and inspired efforts translated a bold idea into an unprecedented reality. To them the credit, all of it, properly belongs.

One of the most remarkable contributions to the whole effort was made by the young man whose story is told in the following pages. It is all the more striking because for some time he did not appear to be any more than a determined and willing student of perhaps a bit more than average ability. Then, at a very critical time, he brought an unusual talent into use and got us over what was to prove our last and most challenging hurdle.

I hope that this account will take you backstage on the Spacemaster Project to the point where you, too, will be able to experience some of the tense excitement we all knew in those last days before the launching.

GEORGE W. OSBORNE, Ph.D.

Major Gen. USAF (Ret.)

CHAPTER 1 — First Flight

ON a crisp, bright fall day a tiny white sports plane knifed its way through the sky at close to two hundred knots true air speed. As it neared a private airport which served a medium-sized Midwestern city, the pilot applied the carburetor heat, pulled back on the power, and dropped below the deck of broken cumulus clouds which hung like a layer of thick cotton puffs a mile above the ground. As soon as the plane entered the air below the clouds, it began to buck sharply in the rough air. A stiff wind was blowing and the frequent sharp gusts kept the pilot busy holding the little ship on course.

When a particularly strong thermal caused the plane to jump sharply in the air, the pilot leaned his head back and laughed. He had a lean narrow face and, although he was only twenty-five years old, hard lines had already formed around the corners of his mouth. His eyes were dark and fairly close together; right now they betrayed the unusual stimulation which the rough air was having on him. He had the peculiar type of constitution which, even when frequently abused, is characterized by a stomach that can endure almost anything. The rougher the air became, the more he appeared to enjoy it. As the plane swept down closer to the ground, the pilot dropped the wheels and, after a quick look around at the sky, dipped his right wing to turn into the runway. Halfway through the turn he put on the flaps; a few seconds later he felt the wheels sink onto the runway at seventy miles an hour.

Smiling to himself, as though proud of his achievement in setting the plane down crosswind on a day when the surface gusts were Beaufort six, he taxied swiftly on his tricycle gear up toward the gas pump where he could see the line boy waiting, ready to signal him into position.

His lips curled into a slight, tight smile, the pilot ignored the line boy and swung his plane onto the gas-pit apron and cut the switch. Once the engine was still and the prop had stopped turning, he paused to light a cigarette, and then stepped out onto the ground.

I’m sorry, sir, the line boy told him. There’s no smoking on the flight line and especially in the gas-pit area.

Look, the pilot asked, are you telling me what to do?

The line boy flushed but stood his ground. No, sir, I’m informing you what the field rules are. Will you please put out your cigarette so I can get the gas hose out for you?

The pilot took his time, committing himself to nothing, while he carefully studied the line boy as he might have looked at a force diagram on a blackboard. He saw a young man who might be eighteen. He observed that the line boy was perhaps five feet nine, moderately well built, and had an average, undistinguished sort of face. At the same time the pilot sensed that this particular line boy would not back down from his demand that the cigarette be put out before the gas-pit cover would be lifted. Although it was still early in the morning, the pilot needed gas and the line boy had the advantage.

Carelessly the pilot took a long draw on his cigarette, blew the smoke out through his nose, and then crushed the cigarette slowly under the sole of his shoe. The line boy lifted the pit cover, pulled up the hose, and asked, Shall I top you off on both sides?

Slowly the pilot nodded his consent. You know enough to allow some room for expansion, don’t you?

The line boy nodded calmly. Yes, I do. He snapped open a gas cover and began to feed fuel into the left-wing tank.

The pilot watched him for a moment and then asked, What’s your name, kid?

Dick Simmons.

You ought to know enough, Simmons, to be more diplomatic with the customers who fly in here. Pilots don’t like to have line boys tell them what they are supposed to do.

The line boy stopped the gas flow at the nozzle and turned around to face the pilot squarely. If it comes to that, he replied, a pilot ought to know better than to light up in a gassing area, especially on a gusty day. And when I reminded you, it was to protect you and your plane against what could be a serious accident.

The pilot did not answer. The line boy pulled the hose farther from the pit, snapped the cap off the right-wing tank, and began once more to feed gas into the plane. The pilot stood and watched him as he secured the caps. Working calmly, the boy rolled the hose onto the reel and then checked the oil. After he had replaced the dipstick, closed the cowling, and carefully brushed the windshield with a soft cloth, he picked up his order pad and began to make out the bill.

Do much flying? the pilot asked casually.

Dick Simmons looked up. None, as a matter of fact, he admitted. I’ve never been in an airplane.

Just don’t care about it, the pilot suggested.

I care about it, Dick replied. That’s why I’m working here. It pays for my tuition in the ground-school classes.

The pilot nodded and looked up at the still broken deck of cumulus which hung some five thousand feet above the airport. That’s fine, but how come no fly? he asked.

Dick flushed a little before he replied. I’m new on the job; this is only my third weekend out here. The first two were so busy I didn’t have a chance to do anything but stick right on the job. We have a big student program here, and weekends they do a lot of flying. Just as long as there is any daylight left, the training program goes on.

The pilot thought a moment. There doesn’t seem to be much doing at the moment, he commented. Suppose we take a hop right now. A short one. I guess I gave you a hard time. Let’s call it quits and I’ll give you a ride. Climb in.

Dick paused, wondering if he should leave the field for even a few minutes. No one was flying and no planes were expected in. And he wanted very much to fly. The pilot seemed very young, but he had made a good landing under difficult wind conditions. And if he could invite a passenger to ride with him, then it followed he was properly licensed and knew what he was doing.

How long would it take? Dick asked.

The pilot shrugged his shoulders. "Ten minutes. Less if you say so.

That decided it. Thanks a lot. I’d like to go. But I can’t stay away very long.

Fine. Climb in.

As Dick walked around the wing and began to fit himself awkwardly into the tight little airplane, he felt a sense of suppressed excitement. He was frankly a little scared, which, he told himself, was certainly natural for a first flight. Then he made a conscious decision: he would relax and enjoy the adventure that lay before him. It was time he got off the ground.

The pilot climbed in, fastened his seat belt, checked Dick’s, and closed the cabin door. The plane was so compact that the cabin barely held them both. Dick found himself crowded close to the pilot, and there was hardly any place to put his feet where they would not interfere with the duplicate set of rudder pedals on his side. For a moment he considered backing out on the basis that he should not leave the field even briefly, but the thought came too late; the pilot was holding the starter button and in a moment the engine barked sharply into life.

Despite the brisk wind the pilot taxied rapidly toward the end of the runway. Dick decided that he must be very good indeed to be able to handle the plane so confidently on the ground. Once more he determined to relax while the pilot quickly ran up the engine, checked the mags, and turned into take-off position.

As soon as the pilot released the brakes, the little plane began to bounce impatiently down the runway, fighting the crosswind, anxious to get into its own element. Dick was surprised at the speed with which it got off and began, at once, a steep upward climb. The pilot snapped the wheels up just as a sharp gust hit the wings.

The effect in the tight little cabin was unpleasant. Dick could not look down, because of the low wing design, but he estimated that they were high enough now to swing around the traffic pattern on the downwind leg and get into position for a 180-degree approach and landing. He didn’t know too much about it, but that basic procedure had already been taught him in ground school.

The pilot, however, showed no signs of halting the climb. Dick searched the instrument panel until he found the altimeter. By the time he had figured out how to read it, it was showing more than two thousand feet. And the constant bumping of the rough air was making him a little uncomfortable. What was worse, the higher they climbed, the rougher the air seemed to become. Dick decided to take action.

If you don’t mind, he requested, I’d like to go back down. The rough air is beginning to get me a little, and there are things which I ought to be doing.

The pilot reached under his seat and fished out a wax-lined paper bag. Here, he said. Use this if it gets to be too much for you. The little ship continued to climb, chopping its way through gust after gust, some of which shook its whole structure violently. Dick now was beginning to feel alarmed. Where was this pilot taking