Wernher von Braun

1921 Eastern Time, December 8, 1953

The Von Braun Residence, Huntsville, Alabama

”The World of Tomorrow rests on the shoulders of atomic pioneers, who's visions of a brighter future for all of humanity are the most brilliant in the glow of peace and cooperation.”

Dr. Wernher von Braun sat with his wife and two daughters in the family den, as President Disney’s voice carried over the television’s speaker. Iris, the oldest Von Braun child, turned to her father, looking up at him from her seat on the carpet. The pale light of the television flickered across her face.

“Papa, did he talk like that when you met him?” she asked.

“He’s, uh…” Wernher searched for the right word, “...more animated in person.”

Maria looked back towards the screen. “He sounds nice, like Mr. Harrison at the drugstore.”

“I suppose he-” Wernher began, before the telephone began to ring. Maria von Braun gave her husband a quizzical look, then went back to rocking little Margrit to sleep as Wernher stood to answer the phone. Iris curiously peared around Wernher’s recliner with hopeful eyes. Wernher smiled at her and pointed to the TV, then picked up the telephone. Before he could say his usual greeting, the voice on the other line cut in.

"Mr. Braun? Von Braun? Yes hello, this is Allen Dulles. I'm calling from Washington. How are you doing today?"

Startled, Wernher responded, "Uh, I'm well, thank you, sir. For what do I owe the pleasure of your call?"

"I hear you've been doing some excellent work down in Huntsville. Very admirable. The President is very pleased with your work."

"Thank you, Mr. Dulles,” said Wernher. He was somewhat concerned that the Director of the Central Intelligence Agency was calling him so late, but his new-found popularity with the Disney administration had led to a number of strange occurrences. “I am proud that my efforts have caught the President's interest."

"Yes, quite.” Allen said in a curt tone. ”Listen, I've got a report here sitting on my desk regarding some… former work of yours. Would you happen to have some time in the coming days to speak to me about the nature of this? I will be sure to take as little of your time as possible, so as to not distract you from your current work."

Wernher felt his hair stand up on the back of his neck. "Former work? I- well, I can ask my superiors for time to visit Washington, if that's needed. I cannot stay away from Huntsville for long, though."

"No no, I wouldn't take you away from your work, Mr. Braun. I don't mind making the visit. I've never seen the Arsenal before."

"Oh!” exclaimed Wernher, glad to at least be spared another trip to the capital. However, he was concerned that Director Dulles found this meeting important enough for a sudden flight to Alabama. “Well, that works excellently. I must say I love giving tours of our little rocket city. I will await your arrival eagerly, Mr. Dulles."

"Excellent! I will be there tomorrow. How does ten in the morning sound?"

A knot tightened in Wernher’s gut. "Tomorrow?” He asked, his already-high-pitched voice cracking slightly. “I'll need to push back a meeting, but yes, ten is as good as any time."

"Very good, Mr. Braun. I will see you then. I look forward to meeting you in person."

CLICK

Wernher turned to Maria, who had put Iris and Margrit to sleep and stood now in the kitchen doorway.

"It seems I've become a true American celebrity."

Wernher von Braun

0915 Eastern Time, December 9, 1953

Redstone Arsenal, Huntsville, Alabama

KNOCK KNOCK

Wernher looked up, startled by the knock. He had cleared his calendar for the entire day, but, never one for idleness, he'd been working on fuel calculations for RS-2. If it were one of his staff at the door, or a supervisor, they’d have announced themselves by now, so Wernher expected only one individual could be waiting. He cleared his desk of graphing paper, slide-rules, and a compass, before composing himself and walking to the door. He breathed deeply, then reached for the handle..

Standing on the other side of the doorway, Allen Dulles greeted von Braun in nearly perfect German, with a strong Swiss accent.

"Guten Morgen, Herr von Braun. Wie geht es Ihnen heute?"

Von Braun stared at the CIA director, speechless, for several seconds. Another German scientist who happened to be walking down the hall did a double take, then continued on to his duties. After a few awkward moments passed, Von Braun answered in kind with a smile.

"Willkommen, Herr Dulles! Mir geht es gut, danke. Treten Sie bitte ein!"

Dulles switched to English as he stepped past Wernher.

"Thank you very much, Mr. Braun. I do hope I am not too early."

"No, no,” said von Braun, “I've made sure I'm not needed for the day. I was just doing some 'busy-work,' as Americans say. How was your flight?"

"Quite comfortable.” Allen admired a scale model of a V-2 with a WAC Corporal perched on top displayed on Wernher’s filing cabinet. “Those Constellations are quite the aircraft."

"Yes, they're fine machines,” answered the rocket scientist. His anxiety brought his voice up another pitch. “So, I believe you mentioned something about my 'former work' on the telephone."

"Yes, I did."

Dulles sat down at von Braun's desk, and crossed one leg over the other, with his hands on one knee. He then cracked a wry smile.

"Do you remember the work you did in Peenemünde? Lovely little town on the Baltic coast. I think it's in Poland now - no, no, Usedom is on the German side."

Dulles gave a forced chuckle.

"In any case, I'm sure you remember your time at the research facility there."

Wernher smiled slightly, attempting to calm his nerves. He wouldn’t be here for anything nefarious, he knows what Walt thinks of me, he told himself.

"Of course, Mr. Dulles. I remember my time there quite well, though the unfortunate nature of my employers has scarred those memories."

"Yes, I am sure. Do you remember the night of the 17th of August, 1943? Something like 600 bomber aircraft of the RAF dropped bombs on the facility, destroying it."

Wernher didn't immediately respond. He drummed his fingers on his desk briefly.

"...Yes, I do. I spent that night cowering in a bunker while colleagues of mine perished. It set us back months."

"Yes, it is rather tragic. There was a priest in the town by the name of Heinrich Maier. Austrian fellow. Very kind. He passed information from your facility to the OSS. Of course, the Gestapo caught him and sent him to a death camp to be tortured to death - filthy business. In any case, from all of that suffering, some good silver linings did come from it."

Dulles reached into his coat pocket for a cigarette. He gestured for von Braun to take one

With a flat expression, Wernher said, "The destruction of the Nazi regime is something mankind will always be grateful for."

Allen Dulles smiled. Spurned on his offer of a cigarette, he returned the cigarette to his pocket.

"Yes, quite. Silver linings though, Mr. Braun. If it had not been for that awful night in the bunker - and every subsequent awful night after that - you and your team would not have been transferred to Mittelbau, and you, perhaps, would be speaking to Comrade Kruglov about this business, and not myself. If Mr. Maier had not gone through great lengths to give that information to the OSS in Switzerland, I do not think I would be sitting here as head of the CIA."

Wernher nodded slowly.

"I am forever thankful that it was the Americans that found my team. There are many friends who I have lost behind the shadow of the Iron Curtain."

"This brings me to the nature of my visit,” said Allen. “When you and your friends were brought in by us Americans, some of your equipment fell into...other hands. Of course, there are those behind the Iron Curtain, but there is one specific concern that interests me. What do you know of the British Interplanetary Society?"

A wave of relief flooded over Wernher. Allen wasn’t asking about communists, at least not Soviets, and the topic had changed from the scientist’s Nazi past.

"Well, I know quite a lot about it,” said Wernher, his voice gaining confidence. “I am an Honorary Fellow of the BIS, and I've had a correspondence with them for several years now. I've watched their work passively, and they appear to be an enthusiastic group of engineers."

"Well, we have received reports of certain sonic activity occurring in the Welsh countryside. According to reports, it sounds almost exactly like one of your Vengeance Rockets. What might the BIS be doing with these weapons?"

Wernher raised his eyebrows slightly.

"I've received no word of any V-2 flights by- well…” Wernher paused and rubbed his bare chin. “That could explain some rather specific queries I received from them. But I was told the British did not capture enough equipment for true launches. Could it not be smaller, English-made rockets?"

"We have two specific reports - one from the British government, involving a modified V-2 which was allegedly a strictly military test. The second, well, that one is from Wales. No press, no government acknowledgement, and launched in the dead of night. We've been able to figure out that it is in fact affiliated with the BIS. Now, what would the BIS be doing with a V-2?"

"Hmm." Wernher scratched his chin again, thinking. "Secret launches aren't unheard of in early testing. No need to excite the public over a prototype, of course. But night launches? That creates a great cost in lack of data. If you can't see the missile from the periscope, you lose crucial information that early flights need to progress. Hmm.”

Allen leaned in closer.

“Well,” Wernher continued, “I can think of several reasons for such secrecy, but I can't imagine they'd be accurate. If the British are trying to build a military missile design, they lack the production capacity and resources to do so effectively. They would be better off working with us here in Huntsville jointly, as they do with other Ordnance research projects. Additionally, the BIS is a civilian organization. There is no reason for them to try to build a weapon of war, at night. Their concerns lie... elsewhere. You said Wales, correct? Launching southwest over the Celtic Sea?"

"That's correct, yes,” replied Dulles.

"Well, that precludes an attempt at an orbital rocket. There is little chance a V-2 derivative, made without its designers present, could reach an orbital velocity in such a short research time. That chance becomes null when they launch west, against the Earth's rotation. No, they cannot be trying to place a satellite into the orbit. That leaves only one real option, and, frankly, it seems laughable to me."

"Please enlighten me, Mr. Braun."

Wernher sighed, not believing the words he was about to say.

"They could be - and I mean this only as a hypothesis - they could be attempting to put a man into space via a V-2 rocket."

"Is such a thing even possible? Do we have that kind of capability?"

"Possible?” Wernher chuckled dryly. “Certainly, though I doubt they have the equipment and resources to do so the right way. We are years away from such a milestone, I fear, because the only driving force behind these rockets is military need. But, given time, we will have such a capability."

"Well, Mr. Braun, I've known of you for quite some time. 20 years, if you can believe it's been that long since Peenemünde. Every time somebody has mentioned you, they've mentioned how smart a man you are. Sitting here today, I am glad to have finally been able to confirm that in person."

Allen Dulles stood up, and extended a hand to shake with von Braun.

"Now how's about you show me around your 'Rocket City', hmm?"

Wernher instinctively shook Allen's hand, though he found the sudden shift in the conversation jarring.

"Thank you, Mr. Dulles,” said Wernher, “you are too kind. Let us head to the laboratories, where I can introduce you to some veterans of Peenemünde."

"I look forward to meeting the men I've heard so much about."

Wernher von Braun

2303 Eastern Time, December 9, 1953

The Von Braun Residence, Huntsville, Alabama

Wernher tossed in his bed, unable to fall asleep. Every time he looked at the clock, another half-hour ticked by without any respite from his restlessness. The conversation with Allen Dulles had jarred his nerves, and the thought of a British Space Program shook something deep inside him. Worried his fidgeting would wake Maria, Wernher eventually got up and moved to his recliner in the den. An hour passed, and he still couldn’t fall asleep. He stood, shuffled to the bathroom, and grabbed an allergy medication to try to induce any kind of sleep. Twenty minutes later, he had finally managed to drift off in the recliner.

Peenemünde

wrrrrrRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRrrrrrrrrrrRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

”Bomber kommen! Zum Bunker!”

All around Wernher, scientists and soldiers ran for cover. He stood at his missile test range on the Baltic coast, in the dead of night, looking for someone. Where is he? he thought, not sure of who he was looking for. A fellow Peenemünder, Major-General Walter Dornberger, frantically waved at Wernher and pointed at the bunker doors.

”Doktor Von Braun! Geh in den verdammten Bunker, du Verrückter!”

“Thiel! Wo ist Thiel?”

A high-pitched set of whistles joined the siren in the cacophony of sound.

“Bomben, Wernher! Bomben! Thiel ist in Gottes Hand, komm rein!” Dornberger grabbed Wernher’s wrist and dragged him towards the bunker as quickly as he could. Suddenly, Wernher was sitting on the cold, damp ground of the bunker, surrounded by his team of scientists. He looked up at Dornberger, who wasn’t Dornberger after all, but Albin Sawatzki, production director on the V-2 program. Albin turned to Wernher, smiled knowingly, and walked out of the bunker’s now open door. Wernher tried to rise and flee with him, but he couldn’t move. The door slammed shut once more with an ominous bang. He frantically tried to find help from his fellow engineers, but they were gone, replaced by the manufacturers of his rockets. Malnourished, weak arms grasped for him, and Wernher recoiled in disgust.

“Bite…. Helf mir,” called one of the ghosts, before a hissing noise emanated from the ceiling.

“Nein!” cried Wernher, throwing his hands up to shield his face. Seconds later, a hand grabbed him from the dark. He opened his eyes to see a familiar, uniformed man sporting a close-cropped toothbrush mustache. A new, unique feeling of dread, like that of a schoolboy before an imposing headmaster, blossomed in his chest. He blinked, then saw that it was in fact President Disney, and not der Führer, congratulating him on his successful launch. He looked around and saw the British Union Flag waving from the flagpoles around him. A V-2 soared in the skies above.

“The Brits did it, huh?” said Walt, “A man in space. Quite the wonder, though it’s a shame you did it for them, not for us.”

Suddenly, the V-2 carrying the would-be first spaceman exploded into brilliant flames. Shrapnel and gore fell all around Wernher, and before he could look away, a burnt, yellow fabric star floated in front of his eyes. Wernher screamed, but no sound came out.

Wernher woke covered in sweat. None of it had been real. He was still in his recliner, with a strange glow somehow lighting up part of the den. After a few moments of grogginess and eye-rubbing, Wernher leaned up to see the Indian-head test screen on the television, shining a pale glow across the room. He must have habitually turned the television on in his sleep. The clock on the wall showed 3:17. It was clear to Wernher that tonight was going to grant him little rest. He stood up, walked to the television, and turned it off.

Walter Elias Disney

8:15 AM Eastern Time, December 10, 1953

White House, Washington, D.C.

President Disney sat at the Resolute Desk, looking over transit maps of the Rocky’s when his desk phone began to ring. The sudden noise startled the President, who was not used to being called up out of the blue.

"Margaret!" he shouted to his secretary, "Who the hell is meant to be calling me right now?"

^{"I dont' know, Walt,"} she called back, ^{"you don't have a call scheduled until nine."}

"Goddamnit, Roy! Did you set me up to talk with another damn senator today?"

"No Walt," came the voice from the other room, "not today at least."

Meanwhile the phone continued its infernal ringing. Disney stared at it for another moment, collected himself, and picked it up. Few people had this number anyway, surely it couldn't be too bad.

"Walt Disney here, and who do I have the pleasure of speaking to so early in the morning?"

"Good morning Mr. President - I hope I haven't disturbed you. It's Mr. Dulles calling."

"Oh John, why the hell are you calling?” asked Disney, relieved it was a cabinet member and not some wacko. “We aren't supposed to talk until this afternoon."

"Oh- my apologies Mr. President, it's Allen Dulles calling. From down on E Street."

"Oh Allen, so sorry!" Disney was taken aback for a moment - he did not speak to Allen Dulles much, and while he didn't dislike the guy, something always rubbed him the wrong way about him. Maybe it was the chin.

"Well, it's certainly good to hear from you - did I forget we had a planned call this morning, or has something occurred?"

"No, no, no planned call. I was calling to let you know that I was down in Huntsville yesterday, visiting your friend, von Braun."

"Wernher? Oh God, is he OK? Is something wrong?"

"No, Mr. President. Everything is fine. We had a lovely visit. Have you been down there? It's quite the facility."

"I am relieved to hear it. And no, I have unfortunately not yet had the time to make my way down to Huntsville yet, though I plan to visit sometime next year."

Disney paused for a moment. "Why were you down there, Allen? I didn't think that the boys over at the Company had such an interest in experimental rocketry."

"I didn't, until I received a certain report on my desk. Strange things happening in the Welsh countryside these days, Mr. President. It would appear our cousins across the pond are playing with toy rockets - I thought, who better to ask than the man who made them himself. It would seem the British are having a go at playing Buck Rogers."

"Buck Rogers? Allen what the hell are you talking about - the Brits are trying to destroy the Statue of Liberty?"

"Space, Walt! The Brits want to go to Space. I'll let von Braun give you the full details - I expect he'll be calling you within the next 10 minutes."

"What? They want... how... never mind, it doesn't matter. Why are you bringing this out now all of a sudden, Allen? Have they done it somehow? Have they weaponized it somehow? I know how much you boys want everything to be able to kill at least a dozen Reds before it gets approved."

Disney paused again. "It is strange that they haven't told us about this yet, though. Why would they not share, or at least try to work with us on it? They barely have the cash to afford feeding their people, let alone putting one into space!"

"It seems the Truman administration was sitting on this information. The report I have is 2 years old. If they've done it, they would've made headline news from here to Beijing and back. I'm of the opinion that they aren't-"

The phone began to ring.

Disney was first startled, then annoyed, then relieved by the sudden cutoff of Allen. He thought about it some more. Definitely the chin.

"Margaret! Who the hell is it now?"

^{"Once again, Walt, I do not know,"} answered the secretary in an exasperated tone. ^{"Maybe if you answer the phone you could figure it out."}

Disney sighed. "Thank you for the words of wisdom, Margaret." Composing himself again, he put his Disney face back on and picked up the new line.

"Walt Disney here, to whom do I owe the pleasure so early this morning?"

"Good morning, Walt. It's Wernher."

Disney immediately perked up. "Oh Wernher! I am so happy to hear from you. I heard that a certain Allen Dulles paid you a visit the other day - I hope he and his chin were not too much of an interruption to you and your boys in the lab."

"His.. chin?” Wernher sounded confused. ”No, Walt, he was a delightful guest. However, and I hope this isn't a breach of trust, we talked about some things you might find rather concerning."

"Concerning? Is this about those British rocket tests? I can't imagine those would be anywhere near able to work - with what we have talked about in terms of time and investment, even we are years away from such a thing, and the Brits are nearly broke! Surely it can't be that much of a concern."

"I fear that they may be rushing a secretive program to reach a milestone we have not even set for ourselves. The night launches, the westward ascent path, it smells of urgency and a disregard for safety. Walt, if they do this, I'm not concerned about a loss of prestige. Sure, I want to say I- we put the first man into space. But if the British are rushing a poorly-tested, manned space program using my scraps from Germany, we very well might see the first spaceman killed. Such a tragedy would ground all future flights. Walt, I couldn't sleep last night. This is... it's not good."

Disney felt the realization dawn on him. "Wait... Wernher, you don't think they could actually do it, do you?"

"Could they strap an Englishman into a rusty V-2 and launch him into space? Yes. An upscaled version with a more efficient engine variant could put over two thousand pounds into a high ballistic trajectory. Could they do it and not kill the human payload in the process? I cannot say for certain. Remember our call last month? What I said about 'space medicine?' We have barely begun to scratch the surface on such a field. Unless they have sent dogs and monkeys up in those night tests, they will not know for certain if a mammal can survive the transit without significant support."

Disney thought about this for a moment. "Werner... if that, albeit primitive showing, is what the Brits would be able to do on a farm, in Wales, with a box of scraps, then what the hell does that mean the Reds could be up to with actual investment and access to a number of your colleagues from the War?"

The line went silent for several long, ominous seconds.

"I had thought that the Soviets would have been at the level the English appear to be at now. With this British revelation, we must assume that the Communists have some sort of Redstone equivalent. And with the Soviet emphasis on scientific advancement that we have heard so much about, there is a chance they have already begun plans for an orbital launch within the next few years. And that level of scientific capability would, of course, translate to bombing capability."

"Bombing capability...? Wernher, you've been spending too much time with the military boneheads, I couldn't give a rat's ass about the bombing capability. No, I am worried that they would beat us to SPACE! THE GREAT UNKNOWN!"

Disney was standing at this point, extremely agitated. "Wernher, America prides itself on being the land of opportunity, of progress, of innovation! It is the entire basis of the success of capitalism as a system! If the goddamn COMMUNISTS beat us going to space, how the hell could we claim that mantle any longer? They can beat us in the military race by a few years and we can live with that, but if they steal the mantle of progress and innovation from us? Well that would be the death of the American way of life as we know it!"

The President sighed, then sat back down. "Wernher, we can't let that happen. I can't let that happen. I know we had talked a bit before about starting a parallel research area for manned space flight, but I think we need to hit the gas on that, now. I'll talk to Roy, he knows how to get those meatheads up on Capitol Hill into line, and we can try and do some sort of hearing, or committee, or a goddamn party for all I care, something to make them realize how much we need this. And I need you with me on that, I can sell the vision to the American people, but you can sell the idea. Get it?"

Wernher didn't speak for a moment after, unsure if the President would continue.

"...Yes, Walt. I am with you on this as I have been since last year. A committee would be a perfect idea. There's a few people at the NACA I've had a correspondence with, and I know they would be willing to participate. One thing, though. This cannot be only for manned flight. We require artificial satellites, interplanetary probes, lunar robots…. Without those, manned spaceflight will never be anywhere beyond Britain's hops over Ireland. It will be years before a sensible program puts a man into space, but we must use robotic and boilerplate systems first if we are to succeed."

"Of course, of course,” said Walt, patting the air appeasingly as if Wernher were standing there with him. “You have to understand though, the public needs a face. It's one thing to celebrate putting a robot on the moon, but if we have an AMERICAN in SPACE? You're gonna have every schoolboy from here to Kalamazoo wanting to be the next. Congress won't be able to STOP us from pushing further! You get an American into space before 1960, and we will have so much support that we will have the stars and stripes waving on the moon by '65."

"I understand, Walt. If you let me put a satellite into the orbit of Earth by, say, 1956? Or, perhaps the International Geophysical Year in 1957? Then, a man in space by 1960 would be feasible."

"Wernher, I make you this promise - I shall make it my personal mission to ensure that you receive all the approval and funding you need to put a satellite into orbit by December 1956."

"Thank you, Walt. And I will have your man in space before the end of the decade."

CLICK

TL;DR: The pioneers of America’s nascent space program have become worried at the news of British attempts to put a man into space with a V-2 rocket. The missile’s creator, Wernher von Braun, has urged President Disney to jumpstart a civilian space program in response. Privately, the President has given Wernher a deadline of 1960 to send an American into space.