US Hypersonic Research and Development: The Rise and Fall of Dyna-Soar, 1944-1963 (Space, Power & Politics Series)

US Hypersonic Research and Development

Series: Space Power and Politics Series Editors: Everett C. Dolman and John Sheldon, both School of Advanced Air and Space Studies, USAF Air, Maxwell, USA

The Space Power and Politics series will provide a forum where space policy and historical issues can be explored and examined in-depth. The series will produce works that examine civil, commercial and military uses of space and their implications for international politics, strategy and political economy. This will include works on government and private space programs, technological developments, conflict and cooperation, security issues and history. Space Warfare: Strategy, Principles and Policy John J. Klein US Hypersonic Research & Development:The Rise and Fall of Dyna-Soar, 1944–1963 Roy F. Houchin II The US Military and Outer Space: Perspectives, Plans, and Programs Peter L. Hays Chinese Space Policy: A Study in Domestic and International Politics Roger Handberg and Zhen Li The International Politics of Space: No Final Frontier Michael Sheehan

US Hypersonic Research and Development

The Rise and Fall of Dyna-Soar, 1944–1963

Roy F. Houchin II

First published 2006 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 1YG Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada by Routledge 270 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2006 Roy F. Houchin II This edition published in the Taylor & Francis e-Library, 2006. “To purchase your own copy of this or any of Taylor & Francis or Routledge’s collection of thousands of eBooks please go to www.eBookstore.tandf.co.uk.”

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data Houchin, Roy F. US Hypersonic research and development: the rise and fall of DynaSoar, 1944–1963 / Roy F. Houchin II. p. cm. – (Space power and politics) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 0-415-36281-4 (hardback: alk. paper) 1. X-20 (Space glider) 2. Aerodynamics, Hypersonic–Research–United States–History. 3. Astronautics, Military–Government policy–United States–History. 4. Space shuttles–United States–History. 5. Aerospace planes–United States–History. 6. Space Weapons–Research–United States–History. I.Title. II. Series. TL789.8.U6X65 2006 629.132´306–dc22 2005035309 ISBN10: 0-415-36281-4 (Print Edition) ISBN13: 978-0-415-36281-8

Acknowledgements

My wife, Terry, and my two children, Lee Ann and Roy III, gave me the love and inspiration to complete this journey. My father’s patient guidance and insightful wisdom transformed me along the way. My mother-in-law’s encouragement was a wellspring of inspiration and a pillar of support. I am grateful for the sponsorship of the Office of Air Force History; specifically, Dr Richard H. Kohn and Dr Richard P. Hallion, the late Colonel John F. Shiner and Colonel David A. Tretler (USAF, retired). While at Auburn University, Dr W. David Lewis, Dr James R. Hansen and Dr William F. Trimble provided mentorship and sustainment. I wish to thank William E. Lamar, Colonel Albert H. Crews, Jr (USAF, Retired) and Colonel William J. ‘Pete’ Knight (USAF, Retired), for their contributions. Similarly, Colonel Phillip Meilinger (USAF, Retired), Colonel Michael Wolfert (USAF, Retired) and Major Michael Terry (USAF, Retired) freely shared their expertise. Special thanks to Tom Lubbesmeyer, Boeing Historical Archives; Joe Carver and Micky Russell, Air Force Historical Research Agency, Maxwell AFB, AL; Clarence Geiger, Al Misenko and Lieutenant Colonal Laura Romesburg, Aeronautical Systems Center, History Office, Wright Patterson AFB, OH; and Roger McCormick, Air Force Space and Missile Museum, Cape Canaveral Air Force Station, FL. Dr Everett C. Dolman, my friend and colleague, deserves a grateful thank you. His faith in my manuscript and encouragement over the years made this book possible. I thank God for my family and these friends. They deserve the credit; I’ll accept the blame. Roy F. Houchin II

Contents

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

Acknowledgements

v

Introduction

1

Establishing a vision for the future: forecasting potential enemy threats, 1944–1952

5

Pushing the state-of-the-art: justifying the need for routine access to space, April 1952–May 1955

23

Continuing to push the state-of-the-art: the gathering consensus on hypersonic flight, May 1955–October 1957

47

The debate over manned military spaceflight: the spaceflight revolution and Dyna-Soar, October 1957–May 1959

77

Struggling to maintain the manned military mission: gaining the confidence of officials within the office of the Secretary of Defense, June 1959–December 1960

114

Manned military space programs: interagency rivalry, January 1961–June 1962

139

The Dyna-Soar cancellation

176

Conclusion: the legacy of Dyna-Soar

217

Endnotes Bibliography Index

224 229 253

Introduction

Secretary of defense Robert S. McNamara announced the cancellation of Dyna-Soar on 10 December 1963.1 Two months later, before the Senate Subcommittee on Department of Defense appropriations, the secretary summarized his reasons for Dyna-Soar’s demise: The X-20 [Dyna-Soar] was not contemplated as a weapon system or even as a prototype of a weapon system … it was a narrowly defined program, limited primarily to developing the techniques of controlled reentry at a time when the broader question of ‘Do we need to operate in near-earth orbit?’ has not yet been answered. ... I don’t think we should start out on a billion dollar program until we lay down very clearly what we will do with the product, if and when it proves successful (US Congress 1964b: 171–5).2 Contrary to McNamara’s statement, Air Force leaders had specifically defined DynaSoar’s role as a weapon system, and had long been charting its potential for routine access to space within the context of their aerospace doctrine. In the minds of these officials, it was designed to act as a strategic deterrent by performing nuclear bombardment, interception, logistics missions, or by providing critical reconnaissance information from orbit in the latter phase of the program (such missions were classified secrets at the time). Accordingly, officials within the Office of the Secretary of Defense (OSD) denied the Air Force an opportunity to extend its airpower doctrine hypersonically into space because they believed the program’s military objectives were incompatible with the administration’s space policy, and moreover, would duplicate the ability of existing national reconnaissance satellites. When the US and the Soviet Union began negotiations to formally limit the military use of space, having informally insured the mutual acceptance of satellite overflight, Dyna-Soar represented a threat to international stability. Ultimately, the Air Force lost DynaSoar, and the opportunity to inhabit the ‘high ground’ of space, for these two primary reasons: the service’s doc-

2

Introduction

trinal rivalry with defense department officials, and the increasing operational capabilities of the National Reconnaissance Office’s satellites. Having risen from the aspirations of the Air Force’s early leaders, DynaSoar’s fall was certain when a subsequent generation of those leaders, consistently pressing for a manned role in space, failed to persuade McNamara of the spaceplane’s ability to out-perform or complement existing unmanned reconnaissance assets. These automated diplomats had become so crucial to administration officials that they could not afford to allow anything to threaten the satellite’s operation (Mattingly 1955).3 While administration officials believed they had hooded the Air Force’s falcon by canceling Dyna-Soar, they never eliminated the belief, held by Air Force leadership, that military operations in space were solely their responsibility. Strict oversight of space operations appeared incongruent to an Air Force tasked with the protection of the nation’s space assets. Coming to terms with this legacy remains vital, as the reasons for Dyna-Soar’s cancellation continue to haunt military space initiatives today, raising questions regarding the need for manned military spaceflight, the viability of routine, low cost, access to space, and the nature of military space operations in general. From 1981 to 1992, I compiled information about these themes from a wide range of institutional sources. As I gathered this data, I was very fortunate to meet William E. Lamar. In 1952, he had been the civilian chief of new developments for the Air Force’s bomber branch at Wright Air Development Center in Dayton, OH. His duties included organizing the Air Force’s initial investigations into hypersonic flight. Continuing his association with this technology, Lamar would become the director of Dyna-Soar’s engineering team shortly after the program began in 1957. Bill introduced me to a number of his colleagues who were previously involved with the program. The personal recollections of these Air Force and civilian managers, engineers, contractors, and pilots were invaluable to my research and analysis. In addition, a wealth of declassified Air Force, National Reconnaissance Office (NRO), and contractor documents provided insights that had never been available to previous authors. Each of these resources expressed the importance of one or more of the program’s legacies, providing the foundations for the themes of this book. Over the years, few authors have recognized these important legacies to hypersonic boost-glide research and development. In fact, one has averred that Dyna-Soar was but ‘one small program that did not succeed for whatever reason’ and, as a consequence, did not have a ‘major historical impact’ (see Sunday and London (1995) and Day (1996a) for two of the most recent articles with arguments similar to McNamara’s). Therefore, understanding why the program was canceled and tracing its political and technological legacies has been deemed ‘of little value’ (Sunday and London 1995; Day 1996a). In fairness, this observation has its roots in McNamara’s

Introduction

3

cancellation announcement and subsequent Congressional testimony. Believing the secretary of defenses’ pronouncements, authors have treated Dyna-Soar as but a footnote in the history of hypersonic research. In articles devoted to its history, the contextual milieu so critical to its cancellation has only been shallowly explored, if explored at all. For example, when discussing Dyna-Soar, historians and aviation writers remain reticent about concurrent developments in Soviet hypersonic programs. Nor have they addressed the consequences of Eisenhower’s freedom of space policy, or calculated the costs—in terms of what programs would receive support – of Eisenhower’s and Kennedy’s decisions to keep the nation’s unmanned reconnaissance satellites ‘deep black’. Most authors writing after 1976 have seemed content to restate Clarence Geiger’s 1964 overview (Sunday and London 1995; Day 1996a). Geiger, an Air Force historian, wrote the first official history of the Dyna-Soar program. Declassified 12 years after its completion, Geiger’s history remains an extremely valuable source for its chronology, supporting documents, and contemporary details. However, Geiger’s work is not contextual or interpretive. On the other hand, a more recent history of the space age, Walter A. McDougall’s Pulitzer Prize winning … the Heavens and the Earth, is contextual and interpretive. However, as a political history of the space age, its broad scope understandably leaves little room for a detailed examination of Dyna-Soar, although McDougall believes it is a story that ‘deserves a telling’ (McDougall 1985: 339–41). While the current work is not as wide-ranging as McDougall’s, it is contextual and interpretive. Moreover, as a case study in the dynamic interaction between military requirements, technology, and political decision-making, this book chronologically places the program and its antecedents into their broader contextual milieu and endeavors to tell the complex story of DynaSoar’s evolution and legacy – a legacy which continues to influence hypersonic research and development today. Chapter 1 describes the roots of Air Force hypersonic research and development from 1944 to 1952. Chapter 2 examines the Air Force’s contribution to the continuing quest for high-speed and high-altitude technologies from 1952 to 1955. It also explores what contemporaries envisioned this technology might mean for future warfare. Chapter 3 discusses how the Air Force encouraged optimum exploitation of advancing technologies from 1955 to 1957. It ends with the Air Force research and development community’s consolidation (after 5 years of hypersonic boost-glide research in as many as three different divisions) of the various hypersonic studies into a single development plan that called for the creation of a dynamic soaring spaceplane – Dyna-Soar. Chapter 4 analyses the ramifications of the October 1957 launch of Sputnik on the Air Force’s hypersonic boost-glide program from 1957 to 1959. Chapter 5 explores how the Air Force addressed this challenge as the service attempted to give OSD officials what they wanted – proof of the utility of a military man in space from 1959 to

4

Introduction

1960. The chapter also explores the consequences of trying to furnish this proof. Interagency strife between the Aeronautical Systems Division (ASD) and the Space Systems Division (SSD) – two divisions within the Air Force Systems Command (formerly Air Research and Development Command) – marked an escalating effort inside the OSD to maximize its interpretation of cost effectiveness and to continue the previous administrations space for peace policy from 1961 to 1962. These struggles are highlighted in Chapter 6. Chapter 7 examines McNamara’s continued efforts to set rigid controls on funding during the last year and a half of Dyna-Soar’s existence and its impact on the final decision to terminate the program. The concluding chapter details the continuing contextual legacy of Dyna-Soar. As the Air Force’s quest for a reliable, routine, low-cost means for manned military space operations transitions into additional programs directed towards hypersonic vehicles, the Air Force resides in the shadows of NASA because the civilian institution takes the lead in hypersonic research and development. In this lesser role, the Air Force has been hard-pressed to build the kind of political constituency needed to support a fully-fledged military program like Dyna-Soar. Instead, the Air Force has had to rely on the incremental evolution of hypersonic technology via ‘technology demonstrators’ to further specific components of this unique technology and on concepts of military space operations for the future application of a spaceplane to justify these expenditures rather than a specific vehicle to fulfill a specific geographic combatant commander’s requirement.

Chapter 1

Establishing a vision for the future: forecasting potential enemy threats, 1944–1952

If defenses which can cope even with such a 3000-mile-per-hour projectile are developed, we must be ready to launch such projectiles nearer the target, to give them a shorter time of flight and make them harder to detect and destroy. We must be ready to launch them from unexpected directions. This can be done from true space ships, capable of operating outside the earth’s atmosphere. The design of such a ship is all but practicable today; research will unquestionably bring it into being within the foreseeable future (Arnold 1945; This report can be found in The War Reports of General George C. Marshall, General H.H. Arnold, Admiral Ernest J. King 1947: 463).

In the final months of World War II, General Arnold wondered how the high quality of scientific thought the Army Air Forces (AAF) garnered during the war could be sustained in peacetime. Many of the brightest minds in industry and academe had made invaluable contributions to American air power by increasing the speed, range, payload, and accuracy of strategic bombing, as well as multiplying the destructiveness of armament. While their work transformed the nature of America’s air arm by advancing the existing technologies of propulsion, materials, fuels, radar, and explosives, the pre-eminent state of German technology uncovered by Theodore von Kármán’s intelligence gathering missions in 1944–1945 illustrated the need for America to continue its airpower research in peacetime. Failure to do so could cause American technology to lag behind the enemy’s in any future war. Indeed, Arnold believed this lack of vision forestalled the creation of a comprehensive forecasting capability for the Army Air Forces before 7 December 1941 and contributed to America’s lack of preparedness for World War II (Baucom 1976; Stanley and Weaver 1976; Missenko and Pollock 1978; Sigethy 1980; McDougall 1985; Gorn 1989; Daso 1997). In the aftermath of World War II, the US would not be the only nation receiving the windfall of technical information provided by Nazi Germany’s wind tunnel research, rocketry, jet, and boost-glider concepts. From the ashes of

6

Establishing a vision for the future

World War II, the US and the Soviet Union emerged as the two dominant military and industrial powers. As their world interests and ideologies began to clash, a Cold War of competing industrial and military capabilities emerged. Arnold was convinced that America could not afford to stop its airpower research and development. To the contrary, it would need to significantly expand its research and development to meet the technological capabilities of an enemy who most likely shared the same technical knowledge coming out of World War II. Based on his years of experience, Arnold believed if a foe obtained the knowledge and technical capability to create a new airpower weapon system, it certainly would. In turn, the Army Air Forces would need to match or counter this threat. Hoping to establish a vision that would inspire, direct, and capitalize on years of expanding expenditures during the war – as well as public sentiment awakened to the potential dangers of a Cold War Soviet Union – Arnold sought to create an institutional means for forecasting the development of airpower weapon systems. He wanted organizations devoted solely to aerospace research and development. As enemy nations acquired the means to attack the US directly, the technological superiority of the nation’s airpower would be decisive in determining the outcome of future wars (Smith1966; Futrell 1974; Gorn 1988). Timing proved serendipitous. By 1952 hypersonic flight seemed feasible and Bell Aircraft Corporation proposed a hypersonic rocket-boosted glider (boost-glide) weapon system to the Air Force. As a weapon system that could overcome the projected technological capabilities of the enemy, Bell’s 1952 Project BOMI (Bomber-Missile), represented one of the fruits of Arnold’s belief in the benefits of forecasting.

Forecasting to meet future requirements In the summer of 1944, Arnold turned to his close friend, Dr Robert Millikan of Caltech, for help in selecting someone with sufficient reputation to bring the best minds in the nation together and construct the first longrange forecast of airpower technology to guarantee America’s continued supremacy (Arnold 1949). After discussing the matter at some length, Arnold and Millikan agreed on Dr Theodore von Kármán of the Guggenheim Aeronautical Laboratory at the California Institute of Technology (GALCIT), already a part-time consultant to Arnold and special advisor to the Army Air Forces’ Air Material Command (AMC) at Wright Field, Ohio (Arnold 1949; Gorn 1988, 1992; Misenko and Pollock 1978). On 7 November 1944, Arnold established the Long Range Development and Research Program. Soon after, he named von Kármán its director. A month later, the program acquired the title Scientific Advisory Group (SAG). The group would assemble and evaluate existing data from around the world and then prepare a long-range research and development plan for

Establishing a vision for the future

7

the AAF. In short, Arnold wanted the nation’s leading aeronautical scientists to ‘divorce themselves from the present war’ and look 20 years into the future; to prepare a workable timetable for creating the airpower technology needed to meet any future threat (Arnold 1949; Gorn 1988). Both von Kármán and Arnold believed the report would achieve true comprehensiveness only if a SAG team of scientists first traveled to the European war zone and interviewed their counterparts in both the Allied and Axis nations. Early in December 1944, they compiled a list of 11 countries to survey and, in late April 1945, departed for Europe. They arrived in London on 28 April. Creating a forecast Von Kármán’s itinerary was extensive. His personal knowledge of the scientists and their equipment proved instrumental in what would become OPERATION PAPERCLIP, the relocation of key German scientists like Major-General Walter R. Dornberger – Chief of the Peenemünde rocket facilities – and Dr Werhner von Braun – Chief Engineer for the V-2 rocket (referred to as the A-4 by the German scientists) – to America. Additionally, it would be very important to see Soviet developments at Moscow’s Central Aero-Hydrodynamic Institute (TsAGI) (Sturm 1986; Gorn 1988). From Aachen – the seat of the aeronautical institute von Kármán once directed and of Göttingen University, where his mentor, Dr Ludwig Prandtl, still presided over long-term aeronautical research – a portion of the SAG team proceeded south to Munich to meet over 400 engineers and technicians who had made their way there after evacuating the Peenemünde rocket facility. Central among them were Dornberger and von Braun. From these engineers and technicians the SAG scientists learned much about the V-1 ‘robot buzz bomb’ and the V-2 long-range rocket. Yet, perhaps the greatest achievement of the Peenemünde scientists – in the minds of von Kármán and the SAG – was their work with the winged A-4 variant (A-4b) and their calculations regarding winged multi-stage transcontinental rockets, the planned A-9 through A-12 series (Neufeld 1995). At the end of 1944, as the Allied armies marched across Europe, the operational demand for increased range from the A-4 rocket made it necessary for Dornberger to resume work on the A-4b his team had shelved earlier to focus their attention on the ballistic A-4. By 24 January 1945, the A-4b/A-9 test-bed successfully reached a peak altitude of 50 miles at a maximum speed of 2700 miles per hour (Mach 4.09). This unmanned remotely-controlled rocket-powered aircraft proved the feasibility of their design. For Dornberger, the problem of designing a boost-glider to extend the range of the A-4 ceased to be a problem. Adding a second stage to the A-9 rocket, creating the A-10, would yield intercontinental range, enabling it to reach America. By working out the technical details and devoting enough time to

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Establishing a vision for the future

development, Dornberger believed he could achieve his goal: landing a manned rocket aircraft after a flight into airless space (Neufeld 1995). Not only would this enable Nazi Germany to bomb the US directly, it would give postwar Nazi Germany the capability for routine access to space. Indeed, the practicality of the winged transcontinental version had been substantiated – to the SAG’s satisfaction – by extensive wind tunnel tests, ballistic calculations, and the test flights of the A-4b. von Kármán (1945a: 9–17) understood that such a capability, once linked to an atomic bomb, would mean ‘future methods of aerial warfare [would] call for a reconsideration of all present plans’ (see also Dornberger 1955; Ordway and Sharpe 1979). The American scientists were equally interested in the published studies of the Sänger-Bredt boost-glide concept. While the work of Viennese engineer Eugen Sänger and his mathematician wife, Irene Bredt, preceded the efforts of Dornberger and von Braun, the Allies did not receive a report on its capabilities before May 1945. The Sänger-Bredt team proposed launching their hypersonic boost-glider with a rocket-powered sled. After releasing the sled, the laundry-iron-shaped craft would coast upwards until the pilot ignited the ‘silver bird’s’ (the nickname of the Sänger-Bredt glider) rocket engine, boosting it into space at Mach 24. The vehicle would then reenter the atmosphere ‘... by the application of a semi-ballistic flight technique ... later know as “Rickoschettier” or “Hupf” flight ... the aeroplane ricochetted from the dense layers of the atmosphere like a stone flung at a flat angle across the surface of water’ (Sänger-Bredt 1977: 195–228), until it entered a final supersonic glide just before landing (Sänger and Bredt 1944). Packaging their design as a global rocket bomber – RABO (Raketenbomber) – carrying a one ton warhead, the Sänger-Bredt team offered their design to Nazi Germany in 1941. Because of the tremendous thermodynamic loads Sänger expected the vehicle to endure as it skipped, or ricocheted, through its re-entry, his ideas earned a cool reception from the Third Reich. Although Sänger and Bredt had accomplished promising wind tunnel tests, their design never garnered the Reich’s support like Dornberger’s A-4b. Subsequently, Sänger’s RABO never attained the hardware stage. Dornberger’s A-4b (revived A-9) did. Embittered by the Reich’s rejection, Sänger stopped work on the project (Neufeld 1995).1 Instead of witnessing the launch of an intercontinental boost-glider, by 1945 Dornberger found himself caught in a struggle between two factions vying for the spoils of war. In the aftermath of Germany’s surrender, groups of British and American specialists began scrambling for German scientists and engineers. For the most part, the Americans got the rocket experts they wanted. The British, however, did win a token victory: over the protests of Dr Wernher von Braun, they convinced their ally to relinquish any claim on Dornberger. The Americans considered him a ‘menace in the first order’ that deserved to be ‘left on the dust heap’. As one

Establishing a vision for the future

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Englishman explained to his American friend, the military commander of Peenemünde ‘will ever have in mind the desirability of returning to a resurrected Reich carting with him the knowledge accumulated by the German rocketeers while working under Allied patronage’ (Letter, M. Payer to H. P. Robertson, 15 September 1945, as quoted in Lasby 1971: 113). Under such encouragement, the Americans were not anxious to import the general. Nor did Dornberger help his own cause. After listening to monitored conversations between Dornberger and fellow inmates of detention centers, the Americans concluded he had an ‘untrustworthy attitude in seeking to turn ally against ally’ and that he would indeed be a ‘source of irritation and future unrest’ among the Germans if he were sent to America (ibid). With American attitudes fixed, the British were free to carry out their own plans for the general. They imprisoned him for 2 years hoping to find some legal basis to place him ‘in the dock’ at the Nuremburg trials. Only upon his release in 1947 was Dornberger free to accept contract importation to America under Operation PAPERCLIP. Released from prison, he flew across the Atlantic and soon acquired a job as a consultant on guided-missiles for the Air Material Command (AMC) at Wright-Patterson AFB, Dayton, OH. Von Kármán spent the last leg of the SAG’s fact-finding tour in the Soviet Union, where he reviewed a military parade with Josef Stalin. The trip revealed more about the way the Soviets organized their science than it did about their science. Unlike wartime Germany, Soviet scientists received both high salaries and top military honors for their war service. The extent of the Soviet laboratory system also impressed von Kármán. From the Urals to the eastern Ukraine, he saw laboratories specializing in chemistry and nucleonics. Yet, he did not observe any military equipment or research laboratories of the TsAGI, nor did he find it easy to meet scholars or students for informal discussions, as most of his contacts had been arranged in advance (von Kármán 1967).2 The initial von Kármán forecast On 22 August 1945, 6 weeks after his return to the US, von Kármán submitted a report entitled Where We Stand. The work summarized the existing relationship of the state of aeronautical knowledge and to Arnold’s vision for the development of future technology. While this effort constituted an interim report, and not the long-term plan Arnold still wanted von Kármán to create, it did crystallize eight fundamental conclusions. Of these, two stand out for their emphasis on supersonic and, ultimately, hypersonic research. First, the report suggested that aircraft, whether piloted or unpiloted, would fly at speeds far beyond the velocity of sound. Secondly, only aircraft or missiles moving at these extreme speeds could penetrate an enemy’s target-seeking missile defense (von Kármán, 1945b, 1967).

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Establishing a vision for the future

Despite the enormous efforts of Where We Stand in illuminating the realities of postwar air power, von Kármán believed his investigations of some subjects were incomplete. As well as expanding his research data base to the Far East, he wanted more information on the German transoceanic rocket – the V-2 and its promising follow-on studies (Sturm 1986; von Kármán 1967). The Cold War technological imperative Concurrently, the Truman administration struggled to establish a national strategy for waging a war of conflicting interests and ideology against the Soviet Union (Hewlett and Anderson 1962; Hall 1986). The communist take over of Poland and other East European states, disputes over the administration of Germany, apparent Soviet unwillingness to demobilize its military, Soviet-supported destabilization of Greece and Turkey, communist incursions in democratic Czechoslovakia, the Berlin Blockade, the steady build-up of Soviet military technology, and the failure to stop the proliferation of nuclear weapons through cooperative actions within the UN combined with American reactions to these events to solidify a ‘Cold War’ environment between the US and the Soviet Union. To visionaries like Arnold, now retired, these actions highlighted the need for the administration to increase funding for the AAF’s infant research and development programs (US Congress 1945; May 1973; Neufeld 1990). Toward New Horizons and the establishment of RAND Realizing that wartime levels of research and development spending would not be sustained as America adjusted to a peacetime economy, Arnold and Donald Douglas, chairman of the Douglas Aircraft Corporation, committed the aviation industry and the AAF to a long-term study of future intercontinental warfare that would supplement the SAG’s efforts. As a result of their September 1945 luncheon agreement, Douglas and Arnold created Project Research and Development (RAND), composed of civilian scientists and engineers (Arnold 1945; Smith 1966). In mid-October 1945, Arnold suffered a serious heart attack. From his bed in Washington, DC, he called von Kármán and urged him to hasten his draft of the long-range Scientific Advisory Groups’s report. They agreed on a 15 December deadline (Sturm 1986; von Kármán 1967). von Kármán’s 13-volume survey, Toward New Horizons, arrived on time, as promised. In volume one, Science, the Key to Air Supremacy, von Kármán called attention to the increasing scientific and technological nature of warfare. In surveying the two world wars, he posited that human endurance decided victory or defeat only in World War I. Early in World War II, Germany’s technological superiority secured brilliant successes, but

Establishing a vision for the future

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on the Western Front, the Allies countered with a coordinated strategy coupling incremental improvements in air power technology and increased production. Meanwhile, in the East, the Soviets mounted an equally impressive effort with their armor (von Kármán 1945b). Although popular at the time, von Kármán discounted notions that atomic weapons would eliminate the need for conventional forces. Indeed, he proposed a large proportion of the AAF’s peacetime budget (as much as one third) be invested in a 10-year program of scientific exploration leading to a number of technological innovations. To achieve these objectives, ‘only an Air Force which fully exploits all the knowledge ... science has available now and ... in the future, will have a chance of accomplishing these tasks’ (Gorn 1988, 1992). The Air Staff’s initial reaction to Toward New Horizons could not have been more positive. Arnold praised the report as the first of its kind and a boon to future research and development planning. In February 1946, Arnold appointed Major General Curtis E. LeMay to the new office of Deputy Chief of Air Staff for Research and Development and tasked him to create a permanent Scientific Advisory Board (SAB). In ill-health, Arnold retired on 6 February 1946, naming General Carl ‘Tooey’ Spaatz as his successor (Mets 1998). A SAG conclusion and a RAND forecast While the duties of the SAG ended in the early months of 1946, LeMay and von Kármán met to work out the details for permanently establishing a SAB to advise the Air Staff. Although LeMay’s final plan differed from von Kármán’s earlier ideas, a SAB with von Kármán as its chairman was created to continue the SAG’s outstanding reporting on many thought provoking technological questions and insightful scientific research (Sturm 1986; Gorn 1988). However, as the Truman administration reduced research and development spending, Arnold’s successors were forced to make difficult decisions on whether to concentrate on maintaining the AAF’s readiness and force structure at the expense of research and development programs (von Kármán 1945b; Futrell 1974; Sturm 1986; Neufeld 1993). In addition, interservice rivalries flared up in the spring of 1946 as the Navy sought partners for its Earth Satellite Vehicle Program, the Army continued its V-2 activities (achieving hypersonic flight with its Wac Corporal/V-2 two-stage vehicle), and administration officials ridiculed the importance of ICBMs and satellites. Amid the turbulence, the AAF requested an assessment of the military prospects and value of an Earth satellite (Douglas Aircraft Company 1946; Bush 1949; Hall 1964, 1995c). In chapter 2 of RAND’s report, released on 2 May 1946, Professor Louis N. Ridenour of the University of Pennsylvania’s Nuclear Physics and Electronics Department identified several significant satellite missions.

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These included invulnerable observation platforms for attack assessment or weather, communications relay stations, and orbital bombardment (as Arnold had suggested in 1945). Still, the participants understood the limitations of their vision. ‘In making the decision as to whether or not to undertake construction of such a [space] craft now, it is not inappropriate to view our present situation as similar to that in airplanes prior to the flight of the Wright brothers. We can see no more clearly all the utility and implications of spaceships than the Wright brothers could see fleets of B-29s bombing Japan and air transports circling the globe’ (Davies and Harris 1988). James E. Lipp, head of RAND’s Mission division, managed the continuation of the first study. In the final section of their 1 February 1947 report (RA-15013), Lipp considered (in addition to three other classes of benefits) the political and psychological factors of satellite reconnaissance program – a US satellite would inflame the imagination of humankind, producing international repercussions comparable to the first atomic bombs. Still, such a politically and militarily potent vehicle would cost some 150 million dollars and take 5 years to build (Davies and Harris 1988). AAF leaders like Major General Laurence C. Craigie (soon to replace LeMay as the Air Staff’s research and development director) and Brigadier General Donald L. Putt (he would follow Craigie as commander of the research and development center at Dayton, Ohio) saw the military potential of satellites, liked what they read in the RAND reports, and argued for exclusive AAF development (Gorn 1992). These officers wanted to include satellites as a strategic aviation payload aboard the AAF’s MX 774 ICBM, under development by Convair. On the other hand, Dr Vannevar Bush, chairman of the Joint Research and Development Board for the armed services (and responsible for clarifying the jurisdiction of each service’s role and mission), believed the technological problems associated with the weight and kill radius of existing atomic bombs (as well as the development of a booster to carry RAND’s orbital weapon – however lightweight) made ICBMs technologically impractical. In a hearing before a special Senate subcommittee he stated, ‘... technically I don’t think anybody in the world knows how to do such a thing and I feel confident it will not be done for a long period of time’ (US Senate 1958). In addition, Bush (1949) argued for the economic savings of manned bombers, suggesting the expense of a ballistic missile weapon system would bankrupt the American economy before a similar Soviet program exhausted its funds. When faced with the fiscal realities that the Truman administration’s budget dictated and the research and development philosophy inherent within Bush’s sentiments, LeMay chose to spend the service’s scarce research and development funds on evolutionary, near-term technology rather than investing in revolutionary, long-term technology. The deputy

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chief of staff for research and development conceded that ICBMs might be more efficient in the future and could even replace manned bombers: ‘… as the science progresses, tactics change, [and] new weapons will be employed, but destruction of enemy industry and means to wage war calls for large quantities of destructive power. It may well be that in the future this [atomic] power may be more efficiently delivered by rockets or guided missiles than by heavy bombers; however, it is not here yet and the science of strategic bombing and the development of bombing equipment will keep pace with the defensive missiles used to stop it’ (LeMay, as cited in Futrell 1974: 239). LeMay argued that even after missiles had been perfected there would still be a need for manned systems because, ‘military flexibility may still demand the existence of manned vehicles capable of delivering tremendous blows on spots inaccessible to rocket fire ... or to conduct mopping up operations after guided missile attacks, or to conduct operations against targets of opportunity. No one weapon will meet all the requirements of modern warfare, and it can be safely assumed that warfare in the future will become even more complex’ (LeMay, as cited in Futrell 1974: 239). In the budget-cutting context of the late 1940s, manned bombers would continue to be the primary delivery platform for atomic weapons, and the tone of LeMay’s perceptions about the need for manned operations to complement automated unmanned systems would resonate throughout the history of Air Force hypersonic research and development.

An independent Air Force On 26 July 1947, Congress passed the National Security Act, creating a layer of centralized civilian control over the competing services, separating the Air Force from the Army, replacing the non-statutory Central Intelligence Group with the Central Intelligence Agency, and establishing the National Military Establishment Research and Development Board (with Bush as its chairman) to coordinate the research and development programs of all the services (Department of Defense 1949). In response to budgetary reductions made by Bureau of Budget director James E. Webb, research and development board chairman Bush contemplated limiting the entire Defense Department budget, beginning in FY 1949, to an arbitrary ceiling of 500 million dollars a year (Rosenberg 1979). This meant that while the Soviets were fashioning an intense ICBM program and continuing their investigations of a manned hypersonic boost-glider to carry an atomic bomb, the US would not sustain its ICBM program – in part because the administration failed to perceive the depth of the Soviet’s technological capabilities. Subsequently, the administration felt it could offset the Soviet threat by other, less expensive, means (Prados 1982). While the nation searched for a coherent nuclear strategy to cope with the Soviet threat in a period of fiscal restraint, State Department official

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George Kennan’s ‘X’ article appeared in the July 1947 edition of Foreign Affairs. Kennan (1947) effectively focused American perceptions of the Soviet threat, and defined the proper American response of ‘containment’. When the president’s Air Policy Commission (known as the Finletter Commission because of its chairman, Thomas K. Finletter) published its recommendations in a report entitled Survival in the Air Age on New Year’s Day 1948, the importance of nuclear deterrence through a strong air force became apparent to the president, Congress, and the public, as did the costs of a national strategy (Yergin 1977; Watson 1993). Simultaneously, Air Force deputy chief of staff Hoyt S. Vandenberg signed a policy statement on 15 January stating, ‘… USAF, as the Service dealing primarily with air weapons – especially Strategic – [USAF] has logical responsibility for the satellite. Research and development will be pursued as rapidly as progress in the guided missiles art justifies and requirements dictate. To this end, the program will be continually studied with a view to keeping an optimum design abreast of the art, to determine the military worth of the vehicle – considering its utility and probable cost – to insure development in critical components, if indicated, and to recommend initiation of the development phases of the project at the proper time’ (Vandenberg, as cited in Futrell 1974). Four months later at a meeting in Key West, Florida, the Joint Chiefs of Staff (JCS) delegated responsibility for strategic air warfare to the Air Force (Wolf 1987). The following month, the JCS responded with a new war plan, calling for an offensive stance in Europe, a defensive stance in Asia, and a powerful air offensive to exploit the destructive and psychological power of atomic weapons (ibid; Rosenberg 1979). By June, the Navy, no longer believing it could attain an ICBM role, transferred its satellite funds to more pressing programs, terminating its Earth Satellite Vehicle Project. Despite the service’s posturing for a satellite program, its efforts failed when the National Military Establishment Research and Development Board (chaired by Bush) decided satellites, while feasible, had no military or scientific utility commensurate with the required expenditures (Department of Defense 1949; Self 1951; Schwierbert 1965; Hall 1995c). As the near-term prospects for satellite and ICBM programs vanished, a national strategy of containment developed. The administration would enforce it through a strong manned bomber force capable of delivering the nation’s atomic weapons. Accordingly, Air Staff members began to realize they would have to enunciate a clearer strategic military mission for satellites, or any new weapon system, before attempting to justify the system in terms of the national economy or codified military doctrine. With regard to satellite studies, RAND took the lead in exploring satellite missions and feasibility, but with the mission of supporting triservice needs, not just the Air Force. This new focus reflected the assignment of the satellite mission to the Air Force as a triservice responsibility and emphasized RAND’s new charter to further and promote scientific, educational,

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and charitable purposes, all for the public welfare and security of the US (Davies and Harris 1988). While most Air Force planners concurred with LeMay’s opinions about the primacy of manned bombers and the need for strategic intelligence for targeting information, others agreed with the reforms proposed by Brigadier General Donald L. Putt, director of research and development at the Wright Air Development Center in Ohio, and by the SAB. They believed technological innovations would eventually reduce the size of the atomic bomb, increase its yield, and decrease its cost – not to mention the cost of the requisite boosters to deliver the weapon to its target. Although a minority, this group of Air Force planners championed accelerated research and development in rockets and a more ambitious military role in the future development of astronautics. They wanted Air Force leaders to promulgate a military space doctrine in line with General Vandenberg’s 15 January 1948 statement and to ensure that an increased share of DoD appropriations went to Air Force missile programs (Perry 1961). As a result, they continued to work closely with RAND, refining their studies of the military utility of reconnaissance satellites and their understanding of their accompanying geopolitical advantages. The Ridenour Report and a reassessment of the Soviets When the Soviet Union exploded an atomic device on 3 September 1949, the news publicly shocked administration officials and the JCS. Despite French reports in 1947 and 1948, as well as a 1948 statement by Soviet deputy foreign minister Andrei Veshinsky regarding the imminent collapse of the American atomic monopoly, administration officials did not envision such a rapid advance of Soviet atomic technology – nor did they forecast for a response in their military research and development funding. Why plan and spend for a Soviet threat in 1949 when it would not exist until 1952? (Prados 1982). Because the Army Air Forces had flown RB-29 reconnaissance aircraft along the Soviet Union’s northern borders in late 1946, a concerned Lt. Gen LeMay, now commander of the Strategic Air Command, recommended that the US employ pre-hostilities strategic overflight reconnaissance to detect Soviet preparations for a surprise attack and adopt a pre-emptive war policy (Coffey 1986; Ziegler and Jacobson 1995; Bissell 1996; Hillman and Hall 1996). Soviet possession of an atomic device forced a reassessment of American strategy. In March 1950, a State Department report recommended a rapid and sustained build-up of multinational free-world strength to counter existing Soviet capabilities. Estimating America’s lead in atomic weapons would disappear by 1954, the report argued that reductions in the national budget were secondary to the need for effective counter-measures against existing and potential Soviet threats (NSC 1950).

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Two months later, Walter Dornberger left the Air Force to become a missile design consultant for Bell Aircraft. Not long after joining Bell, he asked for a private meeting with Lawrence D. Bell, the company’s president, to discuss a special matter. Before the meeting, one of Dornberger’s assistants dragged a footlocker into Bell’s office while juggling three briefcases bulging with papers. He distributed the material in front of Bell’s desk and left. Shortly afterwards, Dornberger popped in and, grinning broadly, said in his thick Prussian accent, ‘I didn’t show them [the US Army] everything’ (Walter 1992: 2–3). He had a cache of hypersonic boost-glide data, select material he had brought with him from Germany, covering every aspect of the A-4b and A-9/A-10 programs: technical reports, blueprints, engineering designs, test reports, photographs, and motion picture film. ‘No other American has seen this material’, Dornberger said to the fascinated Bell. Amid the backdrop of hypersonic hopes, Communist North Korea tested the Truman administration’s policy of containment by launching a surprise attack against the South Koreans on 25 June 1950. By September, the State Department’s March report would become national policy and America’s defense spending tripled. A month after the North Korean invasion of South Korea, RAND analysts, continuing their research on space-based reconnaissance systems, again reported how satellites could serve a primary role for national security through strategic and meteorological reconnaissance. By gathering intelligence information of acute military value, unavailable from alternative sources (such as the near-term solution of high altitude balloons then under investigation by RAND and Air Force Colonel George W. Goddard, director of the Photo-Reconnaissance laboratory at Wright Field), satellites would provide a novel and unconventional form of reconnaissance while giving the US a psychological edge in the Cold War. Because of the political implications, what Americans did not say about the satellite overflights would be as important as what they did say. Because their launches could not be kept secret, satellite deployments would need to be handled shrewdly. Soviet reaction could not be predicted. Additionally, Soviet propaganda would make it advisable for the US to sidestep the military potential of satellites and instead stress the peaceful nature of this new space technology. The legality of space-based reconnaissance hinged on international acceptance of the peaceful right of innocent passage – a concept never adhered to by the Soviets. ‘Perhaps the best way,’ suggested the RAND report, ‘to minimize the risk of countermeasures would be to launch an ‘experimental’ satellite on an equatorial orbit [to prevent an overflight of the Soviet Union] ... The operation would have to be carried out mostly in territories not under US sovereignty. This raises legal questions connected with ‘air space’ sovereignty. Indeed, the Soviets might construe orbital overflights as an act of aggression’ (New York Times 1947,

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1950; Kecskemeti 1950). On the other hand, they could also develop reconnaissance satellites, but the ability to gain information readily from America’s ‘open’ society seemed to pre-empt their development (Kecskemeti 1950). How might the US acquire reliable intelligence about the economic and military activities of the Soviets in the peacetime environment of the Cold War? The first person to articulate what would eventually become a national policy of strategic overhead reconnaissance was Lt. Col. Richard S. Leghorn, the wartime commander of the 30th Photographic Reconnaissance Squadron in the European Theater (Hall 1998). Leghorn’s initial opportunity came on 13 December 1946, when he spoke at the dedication of Boston University’s Optical Research Laboratory. The luminaries attending the dedication, both local and national, suggested the importance accorded the optics laboratory. They represented the colleges and universities along the Charles River, virtually every major photographic and optical facility in the country, and the military services. Army Air Forces leaders in attendance included Maj Gen Curtis E. LeMay, deputy chief of Air Staff for Research and Development, Maj Gen Alden R. Crawford, assistant chief of Air Staff for Material, and Maj Gen Laurence C. Craigie, chief, Engineering Division, Air Technical Services Command. A world in which more than one country possessed atomic weapons, Leghorn asserted, was a world that would demand aerial reconnaissance prior to the outbreak of hostilities. In that world, he continued, military intelligence would become the most important guardian of our national security. The nature of atomic warfare was such that once attacks were launched it would be extremely difficult, if not impossible, to recover from them and counterattack successfully. Therefore, it was essential for the US to have prior knowledge of the possibility of an attack, because defensive action against a nuclear strike must be taken before it is launched. Leghorn believed military intelligence would be the appropriate agency for providing this information. Overhead reconnaissance, conducted with cameras in daylight and (if they could be developed) radars at night and in overcast conditions, would produce the core of this intelligence. Leghorn conceded that unauthorized overflight of a foreign state in peacetime was denied by treaty law, and would be considered an act of military aggression. He felt it unfortunate that peacetime spying was considered a normal function of nations while aerial reconnaissance, another method of spying, was given more weight and defined as an act of military aggression. Unless thinking on this subject could be changed, reconnaissance flights could not be performed in peacetime without permission of the nation state over which the flight was to be made. There was little chance that such overflight permission would ever be granted. Consequently, he concluded, to ensure national security, the US would have to devise means for overflight reconnaissance that could not be detected; a task he felt was close at hand:

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The accomplishment of this objective is not as technically difficult as it might at first appear. Externally long-range aircraft capable of flying at very high altitudes are currently on the drawing boards, and in some cases prototypes have been constructed. Effective means of camouflaging them at high altitudes against visual observations are well known. It is not inconceivable to think that means of preventing telltale reflections of other electromagnetic wave lengths, particularly of radar frequency, can be developed. With such a tool at hand, information can be secured of a potential enemy’s mining of radioactive materials and his plants – necessarily large – for the production of fissionable products, as well as a variety of other essential data (Leghorn, as quoted in Hall 1998: 4–7). The kind of world that Leghorn described for members of the audience, however, did not exist in 1946. The Army Air Forces preferred to modify multi-engine combat aircraft for reconnaissance, and avoided spending scarce funds on single-purpose aircraft tailored solely to that mission. Finally, even with such a tool at hand, international law proscribed unauthorized flight in the airspace of another state. Unless the political and legal restrictions of reconnaissance overflights were changed, any American leader ordering them could trigger a serious international incident, one that might provoke another World War. By November 1950, as communist Chinese forces entered the Korean conflict in force, it seemed as though that time might be at hand. The sequence and pace of these events, coupled with available intelligence of Soviet forces in Eastern Europe, prompted American political and military leaders to believe their Soviet counterparts might launch an attack against Western Europe, possibly concurrent with a surprise aerial attack on the US. On 16 December, President Truman issued a Proclamation of National Emergency, called numerous National Guard units to active duty, and signed an executive order creating an Office of Defense Mobilization to control all executive branch mobilization activities including production, procurement, manpower, and transportation. On the 19th the president advised the nation that General of the Army Dwight D. Eisenhower had returned to active duty as Supreme Commander, Allied Powers in Europe (SACEUR) in charge of NATO forces. While the Joint Chiefs of Staff (JCS) assessed existing war plans and alerted American commanders to the possibility of a global war, they also considered how aerial overflight reconnaissance might determine with certainty Soviet preparations for an atomic surprise attack. The JCS chairman, General of the Army Omar N. Bradley, directed the reassessment of aerial reconnaissance policy and then placed the issue before the president (Hall 1998: 9–10). The threat of a surprise nuclear attack was taken very seriously. National security considerations seemed to demand that the political risks of overflight be accepted. Indeed,

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with the flight of a single reconnaissance overflight in October, photography had established that the Soviets were not massing Tu-4 bombers near Alaska. The world Richard Leghorn had forecasted had arrived. Overflight of the USSR or other belligerents opposing UN peace enforcement would be approved on a case-by-case basis when security interests of the US demanded it.

A hypersonic program for the Air Force The need to know more about the Soviet Union and its closed society was evident when the hot war in East Asia erupted. The conflict in Korean had added substance to the specter of Communist aggression and made new nuclear weapons systems more desirable to the public and the politicians. By the spring of 1951, Convair Aircraft Corporation received a contract to investigate the relative merits of glide and ballistic missiles capable of ranges to 5500 miles with an 8000 pound warhead. Air Force leaders such as deputy chief of staff for development, Major General Gordon P. Saville, favored the creation of a new ICBM. Hoping for DoD approval, he planned to issue a General Operational Requirement (GOR) for an intercontinental missile (Wall Street Journal 1950; Futrell 1974; Beard 1976). Still, the technical requirements associated with a fission bomb (rather than a fusion hydrogen bomb) demanded rigorous specifications for accuracy and distance (0.01° over 5000 miles with a 10,000 pound payload); indeed, they would not be resolved until proof of a compact and more powerful hydrogen bomb emerged (Beard 1976; York 1976). Subsequently, the Defense Research and Development Board did not agree to issue the GOR, approving no more than the continuation of missile studies and the development of various missile system components. In April, as a Douglas Aircraft Corporation technical study for Project Feedback (a program dedicated to studying the design of a military reconnaissance satellite) defined the hardware specifications required, Walter Dornberger outlined his plans for a rocket-powered hypersonic boost-glide bomber. He envisioned ‘missile storage [capacity] in space’ where a ring of hydrogen-bomb-carrying boost-gliders, controlled from a space station command facility, would continually orbit the globe to instantly retaliate. Such a space-based system would eliminate the need for vulnerable ground facilities and advanced warning systems. Its estimated annual maintenance cost, however, would have been a prohibitive $1.2 billion (in 1959 dollars) (Karr 1959; Perry 1961). Meanwhile, the Air Force, the National Advisory Committee for Aeronautics (NACA), and the Navy pooled their limited research and development resources in a combined effort to continue to push the aeronautical state-of-the-art with the X-series of manned rocket planes. By October 1951, these joint efforts formed a solid foundation for hypersonic

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flight. Studies suggested a hypersonic rocket-powered aircraft (capable of Mach 5–7) could be constructed with existing technology and engineering knowledge (Research Airplane Committee 1956). In turn, the technology from this intermediate Round Two program (Round One being the supersonic aircraft) could lead to a winged re-entry Round Three program to explore the higher end of the hypersonic regime, beyond Mach 7 (Houston 1959; Becker 1964; Hallion 1998). Indeed, most Air Force officials wanted to push the state-of-the-art toward space and agreed with deputy chief of staff, General Hoyt S. Vandenberg’s 15 January 1948 doctrinal statement advocating the pursuit of missile and satellite technology for that purpose (Bowen 1960). In turn, the Air Force felt a manned aircraft would someday provide military pilots and observers an opportunity for routine access to space. At this point the quest for space certainly meant a human presence to the Air Force. Rocketing into space without men on board was as unthinkable to the Air Force as conquering the sea without sailors would be to the Navy, or the conquest of the continents without soldiers might have been to the Army. In the stimulating environment of the first X-series aircraft (the XS-1), the former chief of Peenemünde soon persuaded Bell and Robert J. Woods (designer of the X-1, X-2, and X-5 aircraft) to begin a hypersonic boostglide program. Woods carried his enthusiasm beyond the Bell Company through an 8 January 1952 letter to NACA stirring up interest in hypersonic aircraft. A former employee of the NACA’s Langley laboratory, Woods proposed that the Aerodynamics Committee direct part of its organization to address the basic problems of hypersonic and spaceflight. Accompanying his letter was a document from Dornberger’s cache of research material outlining the design requirements of a winged V-2 hypersonic aircraft. As a final recommendation, Woods called on the NACA to define and seek to procure a manned research aircraft capable of penetrating the hypersonic flight regime (Hansen 1987). By the spring of 1952, Bell officials believed their propulsion experience with Shrike and Rascal missiles, as well as their rocket-powered experimental aircraft, made a hypersonic intercontinental rocket-bomber based on Dornberger’s two-stage A9/A10 concept feasible.3 R.J. Sandstrom, vicepresident of Bell Engineering, sent Major General Donald L. Putt, commander of the Wright Air Development Center (WADC), a letter on 17 April 1952 proposing a manned boost-glide bomber, called BOMI (an acronym for Bomber-Missile) (Sandstrom 1952; Karr 1959; Uyehara 1964). Sandstrom believed ‘[t]he glide bomber can be developed to a large extent with known engineering principles and would consist of a two stage rocket. It would operate at altitudes above 100,000 feet and speeds in excess of Mach number 4.0’. Regarding BOMI’s vulnerability, Sandstrom (1952) stated, ‘[b]ased on expected radar capabilities, such a bomber will be, in our opinion, invulnerable to enemy defenses – either manned interceptors,

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guided missiles, or combinations of both’. Concerning the technical problems associated with hypersonic flight, Sandstrom considered, ‘[t]echnical solutions to the above problems [cockpit environment, bombing system for Mach 4+, thermal dynamics and structures, navigation, and landing] and other problems incident to the bomber development are now available or can be available within the time period required for such a development’. Maj Gen Putt forwarded the letter to the chief of his weapon systems division, Colonel Robert L. Johnson. Johnson believed BOMI offered the Air Force an opportunity to combine evolving ballistic missile technology with a manned bomber. Additionally, Dornberger believed other roles, such as various types of reconnaissance missions (then under investigation by RAND, Col. Goddard at the PhotoReconnaissance Laboratory, and Colonel Richard S. Leghorn, the chief of the Reconnaissance Systems Branch of the weapon systems procurement office at Wright Field), might be suitable for BOMI’s boost-glide technology. John W. Rane, Bell’s assistant director of contracts, offered a more refined boost-glide proposal on 26 May and sent it to Colonel E.N. Ljunggren, the chief of the bomber and reconnaissance research and development branch at WADC. Rane believed ‘[t]he use of rocket propulsion in future bomber aircraft assures large performance gains over bombers powered by air breathing engines, and our proposal for investigation [sic] this type of aircraft is the natural result of our development work during the past eight years on both guided missiles and supersonic airplanes’ (Uyehara 1964; Davies and Harris 1988; Pocock 1989; Lamar 1994). In turn, Col. Ljunggren sent the letter to the chief of his new developments branch, William E. Lamar, for review. In September, after reviewing Bell’s two proposals, Lamar and his engineering associates prepared the requirements for a hypersonic manned bombing and reconnaissance weapon system. They wanted it to travel at hypersonic speeds up to Mach 12, have a flight radius of 2500 to 5000 miles and a cruise at a speed of Mach 4. Lamar believed it should be ready in 10 years, and planned for it to carry a 7000-pound warhead (ibid).

Conclusion By 1952, as the Air Force seemingly stood on the threshold of manned exoatmospheric hypersonic flight, its leaders believed the history of military aviation showed that any nation capable of developing a reconnaissance system would also develop a weapon system to protect its valuable reconnaissance resources. Because they thought these technologies were inevitable, Air Force leaders such as LeMay believed a manned weapon system offered the best solution in the near-term, and would allow the greatest flexibility for alternate missions, like reconnaissance, in the long-term. By sustaining a manned strategic role within its doctrine, embracing ballistic missile technology and ensuring that the Air Force remained the domi-

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nant missile service within the DoD, LeMay and other Air Force leaders hoped to ease the growing concerns of many traditional Air Force officers about the replacement of manned bombers and reconnaissance aircraft by unmanned ICBMs or pilotless cruise missiles. Air Force planners understood these issues and believed tight budgets for ICBMs and their payloads would ease if the feasibility of a space-based mission could be proven. In turn, new Soviet aerospace technology would further justify these previously forecasted weapon systems. For these Air Force aspirations to reach fruition, however, the administration had to be willing to promote and secure the international acceptance of reconnaissance satellites and be equally willing to promote the similar acceptance of a manned weapon system capable of military space operations (Covault 1988). Arnold believed the post-World War II forecasts the SAB and RAND produced would become the visions that Air Force planners needed to gain additional insights and justifications for the timely development of seemingly revolutionary technologies. However, forecasts alone were not enough for the Air Force’s leadership to begin development of a new manned hypersonic weapon system. Even with a clear Soviet threat, administration officials as well as some Air Force leaders would remain reluctant to fund expensive new long-term aerospace research and development if it meant curtailing the incremental development of existing systems or the evolutionary development of near-term aerospace technology that might benefit the administration’s Cold War containment policy. The development of a manned high altitude reconnaissance aircraft to collect information well within the confines of the closed Soviet society was one of those capabilities the administration sought for the near-term (Tuttle 1997). Because intelligence experts believed Soviet radars could not detect an aircraft flying at an extremely high altitude, they pushed for the rapid development of high altitude reconnaissance aircraft. This concept drove Lockheed to begin designing the CL-282 (ultimately known as the CIA sponsored U-2 program) as well as to encourage Lamar and his assistant Major John D. Seaberg to seek modification of the B-57 (Canberra) bomber. At the same time, the office philosophy for Lamar and Seaberg became, ‘if we could marry the speed and range of a rocket engine to the manned bomber then we might be able to reduce the vulnerability of the bomber and its corollary reconnaissance systems’ (Lamar interview, 1–8 June 1994). Such increases in speed and range would reduce the enemy’s response time and insure the survivability of the new weapon system. Higher altitudes would yield greater areas of visibility. In the middle of this philosophical milieu, Casey Forrest, Bell’s BOMI representative, briefed Lamar on a refinement of the company’s revolutionary plans for a hypersonic weapon system. While Lamar thought the plan was ‘way out,’ he also believed it offered the Air Force the kind of high altitude, high speed, and long range opportunity it would need in the future. BOMI merited further consideration.

Chapter 2

Pushing the state-of-the-art: justifying the need for routine access to space, April 1952–May 1955

We were looking for a way of getting [a bomber] from Omaha to Moscow [because a refueling capable did not exist]. ... We began looking at high speed and began to realize that by going higher and faster, we could get the range we needed (William E. Lamar, Chief, New Developments Office, Bombardment Aircraft Branch, Wright Air Development Center, Dayton Ohio, April 1952 (Gafney 1986).

During the spring of 1952, Bell solicited the Air Force for the development of a hypersonic bomber that would fulfill Lamar’s vision. So much had happened to advance aerospace technology in the postwar years (progress with rocket engines, prospects for a smaller thermonuclear or hydrogen bomb, favorable RAND reports on the feasibility of ICBMs and satellites, and the increased range of ballistic missiles) that the Air Force was ready to reconsider the next step in bomber technology. This development gave Bell’s boost-glide concept a chance to compete for research and development funding, based on its promise as a manned intercontinental bomber. Such a craft was potentially far superior in speed, altitude, and range than any existing – or planned – intercontinental jet bomber or guided missile, and Bell believed his company’s project would find an eager sponsor in the Air Force. Bell sent Casey Forrest, his chief engineer for the project, to Lamar with Dornberger’s concept. If the Air Force needed an enemy threat to justify boost-glider or ICBM development, it did not need to look far in 1952. Soviet efforts to develop an intercontinental boost-glide rocket-bomber, an ICBM, and a spacecraft were known within the administration (Lasby 1971). As early as 1949, secretary of defense Louis Johnson knew about Soviet intentions to develop these programs (US Congress 1958c; NSC 1958). By 1951, excerpts from several US government top-secret reports leaked to the press highlighted the Soviets’ vision of a military space station, an Earth satellite, and a planned lunar landing attempt, all of which were to unfold in the next 10 to 15 years (Washington Evening Star 1951; New York Times 1951, Washington Post 1951).

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Nevertheless, the exigency of the Korean War and China’s intervention focused Air Force research and development actions on short-term objectives, and limited its fiscal ability to fund long-term research and development objectives like an ICBM (the Atlas program would be resumed in 1951, after a 4-year delay in funding) or a reconnaissance satellite, much less a boost-glider (Bowen 1964). Additionally, these long-term programs competed for funding with the Navaho and the Snark guided missile programs. Still, boost-glide technology offered something the other systems did not: a simultaneous breakthrough in speed, altitude, and range as well as a sophisticated reusable payload capacity. However, before it could become operational, boost-glider technology – like satellite technology – required the maturation of booster technology. After gaining the opportunity to develop the Atlas ICBM and a reconnaissance satellite, Air Force leaders appeared the victor of the interservice struggles to control the development of this technology. Although the Air Force began to gain the lion’s share of strategic defense appropriations, boost-glide technology did not receive a proportionate share. Many within the DoD and Congress, a majority of aeronautical engineers, and the public at large did not share this hypersonic aspect of the Air Force’s vision of the future. In the early 1950s, technical problems and the unanswered questions surrounding a safe return made manned spaceflight seem like a 21st Century enterprise. Yet by 1954, a growing number of aeronautical experts felt hypersonic flight extending into space could be achieved; indeed, Air Force officials would extend their doctrine of higher, faster, farther, into the realms of space with a revised aerospace doctrine in 1959 (Bowen 1964). Doctrine or not, proponents of boost-glide technology knew that several critical elements needed to be achieved before a program of manned controlled hypersonic re-entry from space could begin. First, proponents would need to show how a hypersonic boost-glider weapon system could perform its mission better than or complement other, less futuristic systems, or show how Soviet research and development might lead to a challenging equivalent weapon system. Secondly, they would need to gain the confidence of top Air Force leadership. While Dornberger had already demonstrated one way the inherent technical difficulties could be overcome, actually doing so would require resources that the youngest military service might not have, or could not commit, without altering its extant long-term research and development priorities. To sustain the necessary technological breakthroughs in aerodynamics, thermodynamics, structures, and materials, enormous resources would in fact have to be committed. If the Air Force could demonstrate an immediate need for a boost-glide program and give it high priority status, the requisite technological breakthroughs would come much easier; but that was a big if. Without high priority for the boost-glider, a delicate balance among these three critical elements of success (and the desires of other divisions within Air Research and Development Command (ARDC) to under-

Pushing the state-of-the-art

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mine this balance) would need to be maintained while proponents scrambled to sustain the step-by-step support required to complete the program. It would not be an easy task.

Bell’s bomber-missile proposal Nevertheless, R.J. Sandstrom, Bell’s vice-president of engineering, suggested a ‘glide bomber can be developed to a large extent with known engineering principles’ (Rane 1952; Sandstrom 1952). At Lamar’s suggestion, Forrest extended the range of the boost-glider to global by using the third stage rocket to increase the aircraft’s initial altitude and speed rather than using it to bring the aircraft back after it turned around over Moscow. Using Lamar’s method, BOMI would circumnavigate the globe by making a smooth, gradual ‘equilibrium’ glide descent (unlike Eugen Sänger’s ‘skipglide’ proposal) similar to today’s space shuttle (Gaffney 1986). Sandstrom and Forrest had made preliminary examinations of the technical problems, dividing them into five areas: personnel environment problems of rocket flight, a bombing system capable of operation at Mach 4, structural problems of acceleration and temperature, navigational problems, and slow speed problems of hypersonic landing. In their opinion, ‘technical solutions to the above problems and other problems incident to the bomber development are now available or can be available within the time period required for such a development’ (Rane 1952), If the program were funded at their suggested levels, Bell engineers felt the first BOMI would meet Lamar’s expectations and be available by 1962, 10 years after the initiation of their proposed feasibility study. As far as their preference for a piloted aircraft versus an unpiloted guided-missile, the engineers believed no mechanical means could substitute for the human brain. A human being could evaluate defense weapons locations, operate and monitor mapping and photographic equipment, identify targets, guide missiles to their destinations, and provide battle damage assessment of targeted installations. The crew would be able to execute evasive maneuvers to ensure mission success and provide a recall option should the mission need to be aborted. On long duration missions, the crew would also be more reliable than a machine. While Lamar’s New Developments Office, one of many offices within the Bombardment Aircraft Branch of Wright Air Development Center (WADC), supported Bell’s proposal, some controversy arose over even considering such an advanced system. When Dornberger briefed a less openminded audience of HQ Air Force and DoD personnel, abusive and insulting remarks against the proposal came fast and furious. In the middle of the turmoil, a red-faced Dornberger rose from his chair and reportedly declared, ‘I wish we had shot down more of your bombers in World War II’ (Walter 1992). Despite the high-level criticism, Lamar found the concept

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‘intriguing’ because, at the very least, ‘the aircraft would have to reach the edge of space to reduce drag’ (Lamar, as quoted in Gaffney 1986). Reaching the edge of space represented the ‘final point’ in his evolutionary strategy for the development of bomber and reconnaissance aircraft for the New Development Office. It was a strategy the Strategic Air Command eagerly supported even if the Air Staff did not. In addition to the growing number of bomber aircraft, the Strategic Air Command also controlled the lion’s share of Air Force reconnaissance assets. Only long-range jet-turbine-powered aircraft like the RB-47E (which could be refueled in flight) were configured for deep penetration electronic and photographic reconnaissance missions. None of them, however, was designed to operate above 45,000 feet. Flying at these restricted altitudes made them susceptible to Soviet air defenses. To assess the state of the art and recommend new or improved collection systems for reconnaissance, Air Force leaders turned to a group of scientific consultants who had previously gathered to assist in development planning. Among them were Carl F. J. Overhage, chief of Eastman Kodak’s Color Laboratory, James Baker and Edward Purcell from Harvard University, Edwin Land, president of Polaroid, Louis Ridenour of International Telemeter, and Allen F. Donovan of Cornell Aeronautical Laboratory. At the request of the Air Force in early 1952, these men, along with Richard Leghorn – recalled to active duty in the Air Force during the Korean conflict – participated in what became known as ‘the Beacon Hill Study,’ named for the Boston locale where they convened. In the years afterward, these same scientist-consultants would reappear on the Air Force’s Scientific Advisory Board and on other government panels (Sturm 1986; Davies and Harris 1988; Hall 1998). Several months after Bell’s BOMI proposal, the Beacon Hill Report appeared. Having evaluated pre-hostilities reconnaissance requirements, the group recommended improvements in sensors and identified vehicles that could fly them near or over Soviet territory. The latter included high altitude balloons (then Project GOPHER), high-altitude aircraft, sounding rockets, and long-range Snark or Navaho air-breathing missiles employed as drones (Peebles 1991; Hall 1995b). Although aware of the contemporary reconnaissance satellite studies at RAND, members of the Beacon Hill group believed automated satellite technology would require an enormous investment as well as the development of rockets to boost them into space. While promising, these machines would not be operational in time to meet the current national intelligence demands. Both Leghorn and Land favored immediate development of balloons and aircraft that would operate at the extreme altitudes of 70,000 feet or higher (Hall 1998). By September 1952, Colonel Jules C. Maxwell, chief of the Bombardment Aircraft Branch of Wright Air Development Center, felt optimistic enough about the long-term military possibilities of hypersonic boost-gliders that he established the program objectives and requirements

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for a preliminary feasibility study of Dornberger’s BOMI (WADC 1952). Maxwell agreed with Lamar’s strategic vision for the development of a hypersonic glider capable of a reconnaissance and a bombing mission at the speeds, altitudes, and range established in Bell’s 17 April and 26 May proposals. He believed the new weapon system would carry a 7000-pound nuclear bomb and meet its projected operational date of 1962. To facilitate development, Casey Forrest and his co-engineers at Bell would determine, by extrapolating from existing guided-missile and jet data, precisely what tests could be made, what the effects of high temperatures would be on the operating life of the system, what functions the crew would need to perform, and what the reliability of a rocket power plant would be ‘under hypersonic conditions’ (Seaberg 1952). Additionally, Forrest would conduct limited operational analysis for the two military missions. Both Lamar and Forrest hoped exploring these new avenues might lead to an early manned spaceflight, as general opinion about this advanced system considered how the various phases of analysis, design, and experiment should be pursued rather than focusing on why. Ironically, the administration would later reverse these roles when the Air Force began to earnestly develop a boost-glide system. When Lieutenant Colonel Donald H Heaton, acting director of aeronautics and propulsion, deputy for development at the Air Research and Development Command’s headquarters, learned of Forrest’s proposal to Lamar, he was excited. Heaton hoped to use BOMI as a means to evaluate future boost-gliders while advancing the state-of-the-art in manned bombers and reconnaissance vehicles. He recognized, however, that the vehicle’s missions ‘appear to duplicate’ the strategic missions of the Atlas ICBM as well as the reconnaissance satellite program outlined by RAND in Project FEEDBACK (Heaton 1952). Knowing it could also complement these systems, he felt the program would ‘increase our technical knowledge’ and authorized a limited study in ‘consonance with Projects Atlas and Feedback’ (ibid). The acting director also acknowledged the fiscal consequences should all three programs prove promising. Unwilling to sacrifice the long-term capabilities of BOMI for these programs, he authorized a quarter of a million dollars for a limited study (ibid).

The political potential of reconnaissance satellites The election of President Dwight D. Eisenhower on 4 November 1952 followed the detonation of America’s first thermonuclear bomb by 3 days. Seemingly secure behind the strength of this potent new weapon and the ability of the Strategic Air Command’s manned bombers to deliver it against the enemy, the new president approved drastic cuts in defense spending (Gorn 1989). The atomic option offered other opportunities as well. Even before Eisenhower’s inauguration, the Air Force’s science board

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had come to the conclusion, based on the successful detonation of the hydrogen bomb, that the accuracy and distance guidelines initially established for ICBM development could be relaxed (US Congress 1959f; Dehaven 1962). The technological limitations Vannevar Bush and Curtis LeMay cited in 1946 as factors for encouraging the continuation of manned bombers while limiting the development of ICBMs were vanishing. Additionally, the president-elect appreciated the concept of Leghorn’s ‘preD-day photography’ (Hall 1998). As a Commander-in-Chief intent on thwarting, if not eliminating, the threat of an atomic surprise attack, he embraced the concept and conduct of prehostilities strategic reconnaissance. Soviet developments and the Korean War offered him rationales to continue the overflights begun by his predecessor. Alternately, an armistice would end the legal justification for them. Eisenhower considered the importance of strategic reconnaissance to national security, the political risks of continuing overflights for that purpose in peacetime, and the precedent set by Truman. He was determined to continue periodic reconnaissance overflights of the Sino-Soviet bloc and, critically, the means to sustain this type of crucially important intelligence gathering capabilities (ibid). By the end of 1952, Alan Waterman, director of the National Academy of Science (NAS), appointed a national committee for the International Geophysical Year (IGY) to lobby the White House for a civilian satellite program. If the American committee could persuade the Special Committee for the International Geophysical Year (SCIGY) to promote worldwide launchings of Earth satellites for global science, then a stalking horse for the international acceptance of overflights by reconnaissance satellites – requested in the RAND and Grosse reports – would be a fait accompli (Green and Lomask 1970). To accomplish his goals, the president placed increased reliance on nuclear strength, a lower defense budget, and arms control initiatives; yet he would not risk falling behind the Soviet Union in nuclear arms. To balance nuclear and conventional defense spending, domestic inflation, and ensure verifiable arms control treaties, Eisenhower needed accurate, reliable, and timely intelligence about Soviet ICBM developments (Alexander 1975; Gielhoed 1979; Griffith 1982; Hall 1995a). As a consequence of these objectives several important themes in the administration’s missile and space policy were established: eliminate the gap between American and Soviet missile development through the steady development of an ICBM, maintaining continuous surveillance of the Soviet Union, and ease the nation into the space age through an overtly civilian, covertly military, space program. At the Pentagon in early January 1953, Leghorn completed his work on an intelligence and reconnaissance Development Planning Objective (DPO) for Colonel Bernard A. Schriever, assistant for Air Force Development Planning. At month’s end, he left active duty to return to Eastman Kodak,

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temporarily removing himself from the prehostilities reconnaissance plans and concepts he helped formulate. The DPO called for high-altitude balloons and eventually Earth satellites to provide a wide-area search of the Soviet Union. Close-area surveillance would be provided by high altitude airplanes and second generation satellites. To achieve close-area surveillance, the planning objective identified a requirement for a special purpose, single-engine, lightweight (unarmored) reconnaissance airplane to be employed expressly for peacetime strategic reconnaissance at altitudes of 70,000 feet or higher (Hall 1998). The consequences for BOMI On 10 April 1953, almost a year after Bell’s first BOMI proposal, Colonel Omar E. Knox, the assistant chief of the weapons system division, deputy for operations at the Wright Air Development Center’s headquarters, enumerated nine reasons why he would no longer support BOMI (Knox 1953). Essentially, Col Knox did not believe Sandstrom and Forrest’s year-long design studies justified their optimism about BOMI’s near-term ability to perform its designated missions of bombing and reconnaissance (although the concept of hypersonic boost-gliders offered interesting long-term strategic possibilities). What caused Knox’s reaction? Certainly the Eisenhower administration’s fiscal policy did not lend itself to a lot of speculative weapons technology. Funding for long-term ‘Buck Rogers’ objectives had to wait while shortterm consequences of the Korean War and the Strategic Air Command’s efforts to maintain a credible nuclear deterrent got the primary attention. Although the Korean War seemed to be on the verge of a truce, no one could be certain. Within the Air Research and Development Command, the program managers and engineers of the Bombardment Aircraft Branch at the WADC remained focused on the evolutionary development of the Strategic Air Command’s B-36 and B-47 long- and medium-range manned bombers, the backbone of US strategic striking power. In addition to BOMI, Bill Lamar oversaw the development of the new long-range B-52 bomber and the first supersonic manned bomber, the B-58 Hustler. His New Developments Office (NDO) also supervised the conceptual phases of the Mach 3, B-70 program as well as a new high altitude reconnaissance aircraft, the X-16, and the evolutionary development of a high altitude reconnaissance version of the British Electric Canberra bomber offered under license by the Martin Company – the RB-57D. As the NDO balanced its limited funding between these programs, a young captain and future program manager for Dyna-Soar, Russel M. Herrington, Jr., was selected as the X-16’s program manager. Meanwhile, until someone placed a higher priority on BOMI, or Air Force research and development funding generally increased, the program remained an interesting long-term option requiring more studies.

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Outside the purview of Colonel Maxwell’s bomber branch, the Atlas ICBM program of the air development center’s Bombardment Missile Branch began to receive heftier funding because of the administration’s growing broad-based belief in the potential of the missile. Perhaps surprisingly, the Air Staff insisted that the missile branch’s Snark and Navaho guided-missile programs continue to garner the lion’s share of missile funding (Snark received almost 10 times as much funding as Atlas’s 26.2 million dollars, while Navaho received over 10 times as much. In contrast, BOMI received less than half a million) (Uyehara 1964; Perry 1967; Neufeld 1990; Builder 1994). Senior Air Force officers were still convinced that guidedmissiles were better near-term than ICBMs prospects and that new bombers (the B-52 and B-58 were due for delivery over the next 3 years) were still more desirable. They clung to a concept of ‘orderly evolution’, believing guided-missile development would, in time, lead to further missile development. Such cultural resistance to the development of ballistic missiles was slow to change. BOMI, like guided-missiles, offered a long-term cultural and technological solution to this dilemma, albeit a decade away. Although BOMI would potentially venture beyond the capabilities of manned bombers and travel into the fringes of space, such a ‘step-into-space’ label at the time would have further degraded BOMI’s chances for survival. Manned space systems, like ballistic missiles, were considered too advanced and beyond Bell’s technical capability. To counter Col Knox’s ‘Buck Rogers’ claims, Dornberger solicited Eugen Sänger, a consulting engineer for the Arsenal de l’Aéronautique, and Krafft Ehricke, chief of the Gasdynamics Section of the Army Ballistic Missile Agency in Huntsville, to join him at Bell (Peebles 1980). While Sänger declined the invitation, refusing to move his family from France; Ehricke accepted. Personnel considerations aside, an additionally damaging factor to Bell’s reputation involved their practice of underbidding the costs of a program by a substantial margin then creating sizeable cost overruns, often as much as 100%. Yet, Bell’s successes with their X-series research aircraft, as well as with the Rascal and Shrike missiles, demonstrated their unquestionable ability to obtain tangible results while pushing the state-of-the-art (Uyehara 1964; Sánger-Bredt 1977). As Bell’s engineers regrouped, the Soviets demonstrated the tangible results of their thermonuclear research and development. On 12 August 1953, the Soviet Union detonated its first hydrogen device, demonstrating (once again) that the US did not hold a monopoly on nuclear weapons technology (Zaloga 1993). Subsequently, Eisenhower approved NSC-162/2, a national security report later referred to as his ‘New Look’ policy (Smith 1966; Freedman 1981; Herken 1985). Rather than preparing for a conventional war against a communist offense anywhere and at anytime, America would maintain unmistakable strategic nuclear superiority and assure the Soviets, through diplomatic channels, of its willingness to use it. The US would rely first on indigenous forces to combat communism, supporting

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them with tactical air and sea power, including nuclear weapons. Ultimately, America would deter aggression through massive retaliatory power. The Air Force, the only service spared from the proposed 30% drop in spending and 25% cut in personnel, would carry the responsibility for delivering the nuclear weapons with their manned bombers. Another appeal for BOMI On 26 August 1953, Sandstrom and Forrest again urged officials at Wright Air Development Center’s headquarters to initiate development of BOMI, believing that their studies demonstrated astonishing potential for an investment of less than 300,000 dollars. After hearing their briefing, Colonel Marvin C. Demler, the commander of the center, agreed. In evaluating BOMI and presenting it to Lieutenant General Donald L. Putt, commander of the Air Research and Development Command, Demler compared it to the Bombardment Missile Branch’s Atlas program and RAND’s FEEDBACK proposal for a reconnaissance satellite program. Atlas would be available earlier than BOMI and, as an established program, would have a higher probability of success. However, BOMI offered a unique capability for several missions. As a multi-sensor platform and booster combination, it could supplement the speeds, altitudes, and intercontinental range of the Atlas and Navaho rockets to deliver a nuclear weapon while incorporating more reconnaissance sensors than Rand’s proposed Project FEEDBACK reconnaissance satellite. ‘Further study may make this system appear more or less competitive with [the] Atlas [ICBM] as a bombing system’ and superior to the Project FEEDBACK satellite (Demler 1953). ‘The [FEEDBACK] satellite will not be able to obtain the detail reconnaissance [resolution] that could be obtainable with BOMI due to the distance from the vehicle to the ground (30 miles for BOMI and 300 to 500 miles for the satellite)’ (ibid). Nor would any other vehicle be able to provide the aerodynamic testing information BOMI offered. It would be useful in studying several hypersonic flight regimes not under investigation by any of the services or by the NACA, it would serve as an introductory means of routinely accessing space, it would illuminate some of the inherent problems associated with hypersonic flight and space travel, and it would serve as a foundation for gathering the fundamental knowledge required to go to more advanced hypersonic systems. While Demler believed there was not enough existing data to recommend an extensive development program, ‘the potential value of BOMI as a reconnaissance system and the intangible values that a study would provide to the research and development program’ convinced him of the need to study BOMI in greater detail (ibid). In his report to Lt Gen Putt, Demler suggested emphasizing two key values: the value of a human crew and the potential value of a reconnaissance version. A 250,000 dollar 2year program to investigate the operational desirability and technical feasi-

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bility of BOMI seemed justified. Demler did not believe a BOMI weapon system was outside the realm of possibility for the US or the Soviet Union. New solutions to old technological problems often bear fruit, thus no proposal appearing to have merit should be overlooked. In responding for Lt Gen Putt, Brigadier General L.I. Davis, the acting deputy chief of staff for development at the Air Research and Development Command’s headquarters, endorsed Demler’s recommendation. Davis believed ‘[t]he strategic requirements for a truly intercontinental operating aircraft without refueling or staging should be considered strongly. Rocketpropelled vehicles, such as BOMI, in covering a segment of the globe, approach the speed requirements for satellite operation and suggest that more range than 10,000 nautical miles might be feasible’ (HQ WADC 1953). The general requested that studies under BOMI and MX-2145 (a rocket powered cruise missile designed for the B-58 weapon system) include investigation of ranges up to 25,000 nautical miles to permit bombing and reconnaissance missions on a truly intercontinental basis (ibid). As Lt Gen Putt continued the Air Research and Development Command’s hypersonic boost-glide re-evaluations, DoD officials would re-evaluate the need for ICBMs as a means to deliver thermonuclear bombs (Boeing Aircraft Company 1954; HQ WADC 1954).

The push for Atlas and the U-2 In November 1953, the Air Force Strategic Missiles Evaluation Committee held the first of three meetings to determine the nature of Soviet hydrogen bomb technology and ICBM capabilities. Established at the request of Trevor Gardner, special assistant for research and development to Harold E. Talbott, the Secretary of the Air Force, and under the direction of computer pioneer John von Neumann, the committee confirmed – based on reports from over 200 German scientists that Stalin had allowed to leave the Soviet Union – that the Soviets were slowing the development of their intercontinental boost-glider program in favor of ICBMs. In fact, while sustaining the continued development of their intercontinental strategic bombers, they were well on their way to developing an operational ICBM. By forecasting the probable growth of Soviet ICBM technology in combination with their demonstrated thermonuclear capability, the committee placed the Soviet’s capacity to develop ICBMs significantly ahead of America’s lagging ICBM development (Schriever 1957; US Congress 1963b). Still, the committee felt a rapid strengthening of Soviet defenses against SAC’s manned strategic bombers would not occur until the last half of the decade. However, if the Soviets made rapid progress in the field of hypersonic flight, or they made rapid progress in the ICBM field, it would provide a compelling political and psychological reason for the US to make parallel efforts. Additionally, the committee did not believe any single com-

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pany had across-the-board technical competence to manage an ICBM program. It proposed creating a special management group by drafting competent individuals from universities, industry, and government. Gardner, feeling that the strategic necessity of an ICBM equalled the wartime urgency of the atomic bomb’s development, worked diligently to gain top-level support for an ICBM (US Congress 1959c; Schwiebert 1960). As Gardner worked to gain a higher priority status for an ICBM, officials at Lockheed Aircraft Corporation in Burbank, CA, became aware of the X16 design competition. The design requirements for the X-16 were the brain child of Bill Lamar’s assistant, Major John D. Seaberg. Although conceived independently of Leghorn’s concepts of overhead reconnaissance, the closed procurement competition called for acquiring an airplane similar to the one Leghorn had urged the Air Force to embrace – a jet-turbine-powered aircraft that would perform ‘pre- and post-strike reconnaissance’, possess a combat radius of 1,500 miles unrefuelled, and fly at an altitude of 70,000 feet or higher (Sloop 1978). In March 1954, about the time the Air Research and Development Command selected the X-16, Lockheed sent Brigadier General Bernard A. Schriever an unsolicited proposal for a different reconnaissance airplane. Called the CL-282, it did not contain an ejection seat and featured a single jet engine, an unpressurized cabin, bolted on high-aspect ‘wet’ wings (fuel tanks in the wings), and a payload bay between them that could carry some 500 pounds of fuel in 15 cubic feet. It was designed to attain an altitude of 70,000 feet and fly for 2000 miles at an airspeed not to exceed 390 knots indicated (any greater speed would tear the wings off). This fragile, single-purpose, high-altitude vehicle would tolerate only very low maneuver loads (about 2.25 Gs) far below the military requirements for the high altitude reconnaissance aircraft competition (Miller 1983; Johnson and Smith 1985; Pocock 1989; Rich and Janos 1994). Regardless, Schriever was interested. Although the X-16 promised to meet the military specifications required for the competition, the CL-282 appeared to meet all the needs of Leghorn’s intelligence and reconnaissance planning objectives. Accordingly, he invited Kelly Johnson to Washington, DC. In late March or early April 1954, Johnson and his Lockheed associates would present briefings to Trevor Gardner, assistant secretary of the Air Force for research and development, General Donald Putt, deputy chief of staff for research and development, and others. Bill Lamar, Major John Seaberg, and David Shore, the chief of the WADC’s plans office, represented Air Research and Development Command at these briefings (HQ Air Force 1953).1 Responsible for acquisition of the counterpart X-16, Lamar successfully opposed the unsolicited Lockheed proposal, but not before it came to the attention of former members of the Air Force’s Beacon Hill group now serving on James Killian’s Technological Capabilities Panel (TCP), and, through Philip Strong and Schriever, to the CIA (Sloop 1978; Hall 1998).

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Schriever knew a Yale-trained economist named Richard M. Bissell, Jr., who had joined the Central Intelligence Agency as one of Allen Dulles’s principal managers. Late in May or in early June 1954, Schriever telephoned Bissell and invited him to the Pentagon. At the meeting, two members of Schriever’s staff, RAND economist Burton Klein and Capt. Eugene Kiefer (both of whom continued to refine the intelligence and reconnaissance development planning objective), briefed Bissell on the technical prospects and potential of the CL-282. Klein, working on loan to Schriever, recalled that ‘Bissell was immediately impressed and showed great interest in this airplane’ (Bissell 1996; Klein, as quoted in Hall 1998).

Atlas gains the highest priority From 23 March to 15 August 1954, Air Force leaders acted on the committee’s recommendations, creating a Western Development Division of the Air Research and Development Command (WDD/ARDC) under the command of Brig Gen Schriever (Lieutenant General Thomas S. Power would be the new Air Research and Development Command commander). This move finally gave the Atlas missile program the highest priority. Schriever would manage all phases of the Atlas’ development and operational requirements. Additionally, Air Material Command commander General Edwin W. Rawlings created a Special Aircraft Project Office to handle all his command’s responsibilities for Project Atlas and co-located it with the Western Development Division. By September, Schriever contracted with the Ramo-Wooldridge Corporation, a pioneering civilian management team of former Hughes Aircraft Company employees (the future TRW, Inc.), to augment existing Air Force teams with their scientific and technical expertise. Together they formed a new development and management team with a unique style of concurrent development for the major components of the revitalized weapon system. These initiatives rounded out the Air Force’s implementation of the committee’s suggested response to the growing Soviet threat (Futrell 1974; Neufeld 1990). In creating a specific division for ICBM research and development, Air Force leaders also set the stage for an ongoing appropriations and technology acquisition battle between the Bombardment Aircraft Division (by 7 May 1954 all Air Research and Development Command branches changed to divisions) and the Western Development Division over which organization should control the largest share of missile and satellite funding. Because hypersonic studies like BOMI were concrete manifestations of the Air Force’s warfighting vision of extending its airpower doctrine of strategic bombing into edges of space, they were politically different from the service’s satellite programs that were designed for peaceful pre-hostility reconnaissance and long-term surveillance in the medium.

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As the nation gave Atlas its highest priority, ARDC commander Lt Gen Power made a decision about BOMI. On 1 April 1954, he contracted with Bell for a 1-year study to investigate the technological feasibility of BOMI as an advanced boost-glide bomber-reconnaissance aircraft (after 23 August 1954 the title BOMI would actually be replaced with the project name MX2276 – for continuity I will continue to use the term BOMI). The principal objectives of the contract mirrored Lamar’s earlier operational concerns: hypersonic aerodynamics, temperatures, structural cooling and insulating, navigational systems, pulse radars at high-altitudes, ionization problems, missile launch and control capabilities, materials, and optimizing the strength to weight ratio of the boost-glider to minimize weight and maximize strength. Under the new 1-year contract (it would eventually be extended to 1 December 1955), Bell engineers reconfigured BOMI as a three-stage boosted glider and a guided missile, requiring two pilots plus their navigational, reconnaissance, guidance, and control equipment. As a continuing measure of its invulnerability, Bell engineer Casey Forrest calculated BOMI would be 140 miles beyond an enemy defense sector before the defenders could react. Flying the same mission, a Mach 2 bomber or Mach 4 ramjet missile would encounter heavy enemy attack (Uyehara 1964). Only an ICBM would be as unassailable. On 4 October 1954, against this backdrop of increased concerns about Soviet anti-aircraft potential, the Special Committee for the International Geophysical Year (IGY) made a recommendation. It proposed the launching of an Earth satellite in participation of the upcoming IGY (Green and Lomask 1970). While this may have seemed like a logical solution to the legal dilemma of satellite overflight, a satellite launch presented a grave problem. Under the guise of such an international launch, the Soviets could actually be pushing the development of their ICBM, enabling them to say that their ICBM was simply the booster for their IGY satellite. Also in October, at the request of Air Force chief of staff General Nathan F. Twining, members of the Aircraft Panel of the Scientific Advisory Board submitted their forecast of the major technological breakthroughs in aviation that should occur over the next 10 years. Although they considered the status of research in several technological fields, Chairman Dr Clark B. Millikan focused most of the panel’s attention on hypersonic flight (Aircraft Panel 1954).2 In essence, they indicated how and in what form hypersonic research should proceed. In aerodynamics, they believed the most vital subject would be ‘the field of hypersonic flows and, in particular, flows with temperatures in the thousands of degrees’. In this area the ingenious and clever application of the laws of mechanics would not be adequate. In fact, they believed much of the necessary physical knowledge still remained unknown and would need to be developed (ibid). While Air Force leaders saw the value of the panel’s suggestions, they questioned investing too much of their scarce research and development

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funds into the long-term investments of hypersonic flight. When the Eisenhower administration pressed for the more conservative near-term technology of unmanned satellite reconnaissance, this feeling intensified. The administration believed overhead reconnaissance, like ICBMs, merited the highest priority. Researching the military potential of manned hypersonic flight in and out of the atmosphere did not. Understanding this, ARDC commander Lt Gen Power attempted to focus hypersonic research by issuing System Requirement 12 (SR 12) on 4 January 1955. It called for a reconnaissance aircraft or missile with a range of 3,000 miles and an altitude of 100,000 feet. SR 12 stimulated WADC commander Major General Albert Boyd to create a new weapon system designation (WS 118P) to fulfill this reconnaissance requirement.

Overhead reconnaissance and national policy As Maj Gen Boyd pushed for a new reconnaissance program to tie the first developmental steps of hypersonic flight to a politically supportable military mission, Eisenhower was alerted to the existence of the new Soviet Myacheslav-4 intercontinental bomber (referred to as the Bison by NATO allies). The president reacted by challenging MIT president James Killian and other members of the Office of Defense Mobilization’s Science Advisory Committee to advise him of new ways to protect America from sneak attack. Killian’s acceptance coincided with the previously discussed reports of Trevor Gardner’s Strategic Missiles Evaluation Committee and the 10-year forecast of the Air Force’s Aircraft Panel subcommittee of their Scientific Advisory Board. Killian’s Technological Capabilities Panel brought the best minds in the nation together. James Baker and Edward Purcell, both members of the intelligence sub-panel chaired by Polaroid’s Edwin ‘Din’ Land, had served on the SAB (Baker served as the second chairman of SAB’s intelligence panel) (Killian 1976; York and Greb 1977; Gorn 1989).3 While a variety of options existed, based on various timetables for American and Soviet capabilities, all depended on the early deployment of ICBMs by one opponent or the other. Thus, the TCP recommended giving the highest priority to Air Force ICBM development, an IRBM suitable for land or shipboard launch, rapid construction of a distant early warning line in the Arctic, a strong and balanced research program to determine the feasibility of ICBM interception and destruction, a greater application of science and technology to fighting limited wars, and, finally, an increase in intelligence gathering capabilities (York and Greb 1977). It was obvious to the panel members that the Atlas ICBM would be ideally suited as the main booster in a multistage rocket system capable of launching the 1000 pound satellite described in RAND’s FEEDBACK report. The report’s editors estimated the system would use existing state-of-the-art technology and require 7 years to complete at a cost of 165 million dollars. From an altitude of 300 miles, the res-

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olution was projected to be 144 feet (York and Greb 1977; Davies and Harris 1988). In the near-term, however, something else would be needed. Word of Lockheed’s ‘special aircraft’, the CL282, had reached members of the TCP’s intelligence committee, including Alan Donovan and James Baker, who had just returned from an Air Force consultant’s visit to the Royal Air Force. The committee asked Bill Lamar and Major John Seaberg to make a comparative analysis of all four designs: the Martin RB-57D; the single engine Fairchild MX-2147; the Bell MX-2147 (X-16) twin-engine; and Lockheed’s CL-282. All the Air Force designs used the more powerful General Electric J-57 engine while Lockheed relied on the J-73. As Seaberg recalls, ‘I showed the relative high altitude performance capabilities of all four. I pointed out that aerodynamically the Bell, Fairchild and Lockheed were close. Martin’s RB-57D being a modification was not quite as capable. I stated that in my opinion the J-73 would not be good enough to do the job in Kelly’s airplane. And further, I overlayed a curve showing that with the J-57 installed in Kelly’s airplane that it would then be competitive with the Bell and Fairchild designs’ (Seaberg 1976). Composed mostly of members who had served together previously in the Beacon Hill Group, Land’s TCP intelligence committee soon became convinced that Kelly’s airplane with the more powerful J-57 engines, rather than the Air Force’s RB57D or X-16, would be the best. Believed to be nearly invisible to radar, the committee felt Kelly Johnson’s CL-282 was the near-term answer to acquiring pre-hostilities strategic overflight reconnaissance of the Soviet Union at a minimum of risk. They were attracted by the notion that the CL-282 was a ‘mosquito, manifestly less hostile than something bigger’ and, contrary to Air Force thinking, they insisted that it be unarmed (York and Greb 1977; Johnson and Smith 1985; Beschloss 1986; Davies and Harris 1988; Brugioni 1990; Rich and Janos 1994; Bissell 1996). At a time when Eisenhower was vitally concerned about Soviet fighters shooting down American reconnaissance aircraft, the prospects of a minimum risk aircraft were inviting (ibid). Indeed, only a few months before Soviet fighters had attacked and nearly shot down an Air Force RB47E jet bomber, modified for reconnaissance, which had flown over the Soviet Kola Peninsula. Because military aircraft might again be called on to perform such provocative and illegal missions, the risk of triggering a conflict had increased. In late 1954, to provide the nation with warning against a surprise attack, the president decided to build and send high altitude unarmed, single-engine Lockheed airplanes over the ‘denied areas’ on a case-by-case basis. However, at the operating levels of the CIA and the Air Force (except for Richard Bissell, Trevor Gardner, and Generals Bernard Schriever and Donald Putt), the leadership of the CIA and of the Air Force disagreed with the intelligence committee’s recommendation for the CL-282. They believed a more traditional reconnaissance aircraft, based on a converted bomber, would be better because it

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would provide more protection for its crew. Nonetheless, Eisenhower agreed with the close-knit group of scientific advisors that had been earnestly working to create a national technical means ‘to increase the number of hard facts upon which our intelligence estimates are based, to provide better strategic warning to minimize surprise in the kind of attack, and to reduce the danger of gross overestimation or gross underestimation of the threat’ (ibid). Accordingly, suggests retired General Andrew Goodpaster, the president’s staff secretary, Eisenhower gave the CL-282 mission to the CIA for four reasons. First, he thought it would be less provocative if a civilian pilot, rather than a military one, flew the aircraft into foreign territory. Secondly, he wanted the product – the reconnaissance photographs – to be evaluated at the national level rather than by the military services. Thirdly, he was concerned about not antagonizing the Soviets by pursuing a provocative program in the open. Finally, he believed the military would attempt to modify the program in such a way, like attempting to add a weapon system for protection, that it would exacerbate tensions between the superpowers (ibid; Day 1996b; Hillman and Hall 1996). With these national policy factors in mind, it was felt that the airplane should be procured outside of established channels and with the greatest secrecy. The Air Force would provide all of the technical support. At the White House early on 24 November 1954, Eisenhower met to discuss the proposition with the secretaries of state and defense, the secretary of the Air Force, the director of Central Intelligence Agency, and senior air force officers. Secretary of state John Foster Dulles ‘indicated that difficulties might arise out of these operations, but that ‘we could live through them’. All agreed to proceed with the project in secrecy, along the lines of shared management. For this joint civil-military project, the CIA would provide the funding, overall direction, and security procedures. Select elements of the Air Force would provide the facilities infrastructure, trained technical personnel, and, eventually, the pilots (Bissell 1996; Hall 1998). The director of central intelligence, Allen Dulles, named Richard Bissell as the director of Project Aquatone, the development of the CL-282. Just as these deliberations marked the impending demise of military aircraft overflights of the USSR, they unquestionably established strategic overflight reconnaissance as a national policy and created the institutional framework for the approval of future strategic reconnaissance programs and operations. Programs falling outside the nature and context of this national policy, such as a dual-rolled hypersonic boost-glider like BOMI, would find limited, if any, support from the administration. As the CL-282 program began, the Air Force and the CIA also made their first moves towards the development of a reconnaissance satellite. On 16 March 1955, Major General George E. Price, director of requirements, at the Air Force’s headquarters in the Pentagon, issued General Operations Requirement (GOR) 80 for an advanced reconnaissance satellite to provide

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continuous surveillance of preselected areas of the Earth. By August, Lieutenant Colonel William G. King, Jr., had become the program manager of Weapon System 117L (WS 117L). He recalls a critical meeting at Air Research and Development Command headquarters. Joining with the president’s Scientific Advisory Committee (PSAC), General Donald L. Putt, former commander of the Air Research and Development Command and now the Air Staff’s deputy chief of staff for developments, realized that as long as the WS 117L remained a part of the ‘aviation-oriented staff’ of WADC’s New Development Office, it would compete for some of the same launch facilities as Schriever’s ICBM program. Simon Ramo argued for placing the satellite program under the direction of Schriever’s Western Development Division (WDD). Putt agreed. In October, ARDC commander Power transferred WS 117L to the Western Development Division, consolidating its management of space satellite programs under Schriever. The WDD commander assigned responsibility of the satellite program to Navy Captain Robert C. Traux (Klass 1971; Davies and Harris 1988).4 Like the sensor array envisioned by proponents of boost-glide reconnaissance technology, Air Force planners foresaw a large, sophisticated satellite, integrating the latest technology from dozens of American industries (Perry 1961). Although they believed in a working relationship between the first-generation ICBMs and the development of space-based military technology (for a variety of defensive and reconnaissance roles), secretary of defense Charles E. Wilson and other officials within the Office of the Secretary of Defense (OSD) and the administration did not fully agree on the details. The ‘Killian Report’, highlighting all three of the sub-panel’s findings (in addition to the intelligence sub-panel, there were ones for strategic weapons and air defense) would eventually be briefed to the NSC on 14 February 1955. Because the Killian Report recommended top priority for ICBMs and alternative means to increase intelligence gathering capabilities, DoD and administration officials did not believe a satellite should be employed as an offensive atomic weapon system or orbital bomb (Killian 1976). As the importance of the WDD’s missile and satellite programs increased within the administration’s national defense strategy and overhead reconnaissance policy, so did its share of the Air Force’s research and development budget. Additionally, because of this belief and the administration’s overhead reconnaissance policy, the closer BOMI or any future hypersonic weapon system’s development approached the speeds it needed to be operationally successful (orbital velocity); ironically, the closer it would approach a capability the Eisenhower administration would be less likely to support.

Diffusing development responsibility Maj Gen Price issued General Operational Requirement 92 (GOR 92) for a piloted, high-altitude, reconnaissance system on 12 May 1955, 2 months

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after issuing the Air Force’s requirement for an advanced reconnaissance satellite. In turn, because the director of Air Force requirements had previously shown an interest in BOMI’s reconnaissance capabilities, WADC commander Maj Gen Boyd initiated a special reconnaissance system (Weapon System (WS) 118P) on the following day to fulfill GOR 92 (Karr 1959). Because programs for WS 118P would also satisfy the SR 12 objectives outlined by ARDC commander Lt Gen Power on 4 January 1955, North American Aviation and Northrop Aircraft seized the opportunity to expand their existing guided-missile and aircraft research by investigating the adaptability of boost-glide rockets for Phase III of the Air Research and Development Command’s proposal. Bell managers, already working on BOMI, asked for and received an additional 125,000 dollars in June 1955 to extend their existing contract through December and focus it on hypersonic boost-glide reconnaissance. Through additional testing, Casey Forrest hoped to validate the assumptions he and other Bell engineers had made during their previous analytical studies as they focused a portion of their hypersonic design data on a boostglide reconnaissance version of BOMI (Directorate of Systems Management 1955a, b). As these new developments in hypersonic weapon systems unfolded, an organizational change occurred. Lt Gen Putt elevated the WADC’s Directorate of Weapon Systems Operations (of which the Bombardment Aircraft Division was a part) by making it directly responsible to the Air Research and Development Command. While the new Directorate of Systems Management (Detachment 1) would still be physically co-located with WADC at Wright-Patterson AFB in Ohio, all Air Research and Development Command weapon system development was now the purview of Detachment 1 (HQ ARDC 1956d). Additionally, this reorganization created a Directorate of Systems Plans under the deputy commander, weapon systems, Brigadier General Howell M. Estes. Estes would wear an additional ‘hat’ because he would also be the commander of Detachment 1. The long-term planning function of the Directorate of Systems Management would be the responsibility of the new Directorate of Systems Plans and its commander, Colonel Ernest N. Ljunggren. Instead of being physically separated from the Air Research and Development Command, like Detachment 1, the Directorate of Systems Plans would be co-located with Air Research and Development Command at Andrews AFB, near Washington, DC, and not with its commander, Brig Gen Estes, at Wright-Patterson AFB, Dayton, OH. In essence, this new arrangement, though initially workable, required a detailed planning function to be performed by a directorate not normally associated with the command headquarters. Proving unwieldy, the Directorate of Systems Plans would be rejoined with the Directorate of Systems Management in late 1957 (HQ ARDC 1956d, e).

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The Directorate of Systems Plans was composed of several divisions, three of which dealt directly with hypersonic flight: Strategic Systems, Reconnaissance and Intelligence, and Research and Target Systems. In early 1956, these three divisions, all located at Andrews AFB, Maryland, took over the management of hypersonic boost-glide studies. Before the reorganization, Bill Lamar treated BOMI as a whole weapon system; but, ‘[u]nder the new arrangement, an artificial compartmentalization by mission occurred to parallel each new division: bombardment, reconnaissance, and research, respectively’.5 Even though a single weapon system might be under contract to perform any one or several of these missions, a separate division would now consider each mission without any coordination between the other divisions. While the responsibility of coordinating the study programs within these divisions would belong to the deputy chief of technical operations at Air Research and Development Command, this compartmentalization forced Bill Lamar’s New Developments Office to become the unofficial coordinator of all the hypersonic studies (ibid). Even with this organizational complication, Brig Gen Estes was confident about Bell’s efforts to apply its hypersonic boost-glide research on bombing to a reconnaissance mission. In fact, he did not believe it would be necessary to invite other contractors to participate in these early studies. Casey Forrest’s satisfactory progress meant the next step would be to emphasize tests rather than parceling out various study efforts to the aviation industry. No advantages would accrue to the Air Force through such diffusion (ibid). However, Col Ljunggren and others within the Directorate of Systems Plans believed otherwise. They felt the industrial base for hypersonic studies should be broadened to make it competitive and assure that the Air Force received additional solutions to the problem. This group felt Bell’s solutions were not conclusive. ‘For future purposes’, stated Joseph R. Trueblood of the Offensive Mission Plans Division, ‘certain elements within the plans directorate at Air Research and Development Command believed the Air Force should be ethical with industry’.6 Trueblood’s division advocated additional feasibility studies to determine ‘additional requirements’ for a hypersonic-glide vehicle, even though Lt Gen Putt, the Air Staff’s deputy chief of staff for developments, had already established a requirement (GOR 92) and Bell’s studies for both a bomber and a reconnaissance boost-glide vehicle were available. On 1 July 1955, Brig Gen Estes received a letter from the ARDC commander, Lt Gen Power. It directed him to give Douglas Aircraft Company a contract for a feasibility study of a manned hypersonic boost-glide weapon system similar to Bell’s BOMI project. Estes believed Douglas’s effort would not necessarily contribute to the advancement of hypersonic boost-glide technology and noted that the Air Research and Development Command’s verbal instructions already transferred the proposed Douglas study to Col Ljunggren’s Strategic Systems Division. Additionally, the Directorate of

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Systems Management commander maintained it would be inconsistent to duplicate Bell’s studies without first providing additional support to the bomber portion of their BOMI study. Estes urged Lt Gen Power to reconsider his original request and show more confidence in the research capabilities of Bell. Because of this exchange, the responsibility of pre-GOR studies for hypersonic boost-glide vehicles shifted from the Directorate of Systems Management to the Directorate of Systems Plans, and the Air Research and Development Command contract was expanded to include more companies besides Douglas (Uyehara 1964). In line with Power’s decision to broaden the base of boost-glide technology, Captain David A. Fleming at the Strategic Systems Division sent another request for a strategic bomber boost-glide system to ten companies: Boeing, Republic, General Dynamics (Convair Division), Northrop, Chance Vought, Lockheed, McDonnell, Douglas, North American, and Martin (Fleming 1955). Only Boeing, Republic, Convair, McDonnell, Douglas, and North American responded to the Air Force request.

National space policy and unmanned reconnaissance satellites As companies began to forward proposals under Lt Gen Power’s request, the Eisenhower administration realized it must secure international acceptance for the concept of overhead reconnaissance to assure continuous surveillance of the Soviet Union’s military facilities. Only a handful of Eisenhower’s closest advisors knew about the TCP report, the U-2, and WS 117L. The US National Committee on the IGY at the National Academy of Sciences did not. On the other hand, Donald Quarles, the assistant secretary of defense (research and development), did. In charge of virtually all defense research projects, Quarles lobbied Allen Waterman, director of the National Science Foundation, to suggest the IGY satellite mission to the National Security Council (NSC). Following Quarles’ further coordination with Allen Dulles, the director of central intelligence (DCI), and Percival Brundage, the director of the bureau of budget, the NSC approved a highly secretive policy document known as NSC-5520 on 20 May 1955 (NSC, Satellite Program, NSC-5520, as cited in McDougall 1970). Under this policy, the National Science Foundation would be responsible for directing the program, with ‘logistics and technical support’ to be furnished by the DoD. Once again underlining the prestige and psychological benefits for the first nation to launch a satellite, the report asked for a small scientific satellite program to be launched in 1958 under the auspices of the IGY. It would demonstrate peaceful purposes and test the administration’s principle of ‘Freedom of Space’. The IGY program should not, however, jeopardize any other satellite programs. Thus, through NSC-5520, the assistant secretary of defense for research and development would give unquestionable primacy to the protection of the Air Force’s WS117L reconnaissance program

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as he approved the IGY satellite. In essence, the IGY satellite program would be a stalking horse for military reconnaissance satellites (Hall 1977, 1995a; Davies and Harris 1988; Bissell 1996). By 28 July, the peaceful, scientific-civilian character of the administration’s policy was reported to the press and became public knowledge. As Quarles and his Advisory Group on Special Capabilities debated the merits of the Army’s Project Orbiter over the Navy’s Project Vanguard for the IGY satellite (and selected the latter), they continued to give the Air Force’s Atlas ICBM research and development program the highest priority. While the DoD and the Air Force remained totally committed to insuring research and development funds for the perfection of this valuable weapon system, they were also insuring that the administration perfected a means to perform the overhead reconnaissance mission. In turn, Eisenhower continued to press for an international arms control agreement with the Soviets (Finletter 1954).

Conclusion From the initial forecasts highlighting the hypersonic boost-glide technology through the Eisenhower administration’s ‘Freedom of Space’ declaration in NSC-5520, Air Force leaders believed advances in aerospace technology would insure their continued independence from the other services while providing the best possible means for national defense. Yet, contrary to Dornberger’s belief in 1945, technological solutions to boost-glide weapon systems did not crystallize quickly or appear to be within easy reach. Even ballistic missile technology seemed elusive in the early 1950s when problems relating to accuracy and thrust could not be quickly resolved. Still, with the development and evolution of the hydrogen bomb, the need for accuracy and the problems of weight seemed to be solved. Equally important, the increasing threat of Soviet bomber and ICBM capabilities highlighted the need for timely and accurate overhead reconnaissance information. The Eisenhower administration responded by seeking new technological means to obtain information about the closed Soviet society. Initially, the U-2 would fill the void. Yet, even its high-altitude capabilities could not keep it out of harm’s way indefinitely. To avoid an international conflict and still obtain the necessary pre-hostility information, a follow-on would be necessary. A satellite reconnaissance system would yield the necessary information, but it needed powerful ballistic missile technology and international acceptance of reconnaissance overflights to protect it from eventual destruction. Boost-glide technology offered a complementary ability to gather information from the sanctuary of space. It also offered something else – a sophisticated reusable vehicle with a payload bay (for weapons, reconnaissance, or logistics missions) and the ability to land on a runway.7 When it re-

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entered the Earth’s atmosphere, the boost-glider and its valuable cargo would not require a squadron of aircraft and a fleet of ships to support the recovery of its payload, nor would its sensor system disintegrate into a fiery ball upon re-entry. However, like the first reconnaissance satellite, it too awaited the maturation of ballistic missile technology. Several questions remained. Had proponents of controlled re-entry been able to demonstrate the feasibility of the critical elements they needed to begin by May 1955? Boost-glide technology promised several advantages over the Air Force’s reliance on ICBMs, WS 117L, manned bombers, or combinations of these weapon systems (Directorate of Systems Plans 1957). It offered a simultaneous breakthrough in speed, altitude, and range. Because it would use rocket propulsion, it could fly the entire Mach spectrum to orbital velocity, allowing it to use the Earth’s centrifugal force to improve its lift to drag (L/D) efficiency and range. Further, a boost-glider would fly in the upper altitudes of atmospheric flight or space. While it would experience considerable aerodynamic heating upon re-entry, an equilibrium glide path (a gradual decent through the atmosphere rather than the skip-glide decent suggested by Sänger’s studies) would reduce these adverse effects and maintain an acceptable amount of gravitational pressure (or ‘Gs’) on its crew. Because it would not carry the added weight of fuel and an engine, a boost-glider’s wing loading would remain low, also contributing to its increased range while reducing its aerodynamic heating. Since the development of the B-17 before World War II, two primary reasons for replacing a weapon system had existed: first, the need to increase range, and secondly, the need to decrease vulnerability by increasing speed or altitude. As missile systems become available, two other factors come into consideration: the yield-accuracy combination of the weapon system and the total system cost of performing the mission. To evaluate these factors against a boost-glide weapon system, Bill Lamar and Maj John Seaberg made several assumptions. First, the B-52 would remain in the inventory until at least 1970. Next, the supersonic B-58 would be in the inventory by 1962. Thirdly, the pilotless Snark guided missile would be phased in by 1959, and the Atlas ICBM would be operational by 1962. A chemicallypowered nuclear bomber would be phased in beginning in 1965, and, finally, a nuclear powered bomber would not be operational until 1970, if at all (ibid). Given these assumptions regarding future weapons systems, could the strategic bombing mission be performed with the existing manned weapon systems or ICBMs? If ICBMs capable of striking within the radius of a 500 foot circular error probability (CEP, wherein half of all the weapons targeted for the center of that circle can be expected to land) could be operational by 1970, there would not be a need for a boost-glide bomber to fulfill the strategic bombing mission, but proponents of hypersonic technology did not believe this could be assumed. The problems of previously unlo-

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cated targets, hardened targets, expected CEPs, warhead yields, and lack of reliability made an all-ICBM force after 1970 equally unlikely. Thus, a manned system would be needed to augment ICBMs. Preliminary investigations by RAND suggested that, by 1965, bombers capable of Mach 2 or 3 speeds would have considerable difficulty penetrating the Soviet Union without decoys or other countermeasure technologies. By 1972, all manned bomber systems would have difficulty penetrating enemy defenses. Equally worrisome, ICBMs would have difficulty destroying hardened, dispersed, or inaccurately mapped targets. By pushing the state-of-the-art, suggested Lamar, ‘a manned hypersonic boost-glider would offer a practical alternative. In addition to requiring no refueling, it promised global range, multiple-attack trajectories, a 3000-foot CEP, recall capability, and the speed to reduce detection warning time from 15 minutes (an ICBM’s warning time) to 3 minutes’.8 Hypersonic technology fit the strategic equation of the New Developments Office very nicely. Equally vital would be the boost-glider’s strategic reconnaissance capability. It’s high-resolution photographic camera, ferret, radar, and infrared sensors, plus its capacity to detect and identify ancillary targets with its human crew, offered a tremendous yield of mission flexibility and reliability (Herrington 1960). Proponents envisioned the vehicle providing an immediate reaction capability, making a wide range of reconnaissance data from its multi-sensor suite available to military leaders. While WS 117L and its follow-on unmanned reconnaissance technology might meet some of these requirements, they would achieve different, albeit complementary, objectives. WS 117L would be continuously collecting routine surveillance data on a predictable schedule. A hypersonic boost-glider would collect detailed tactical information of any area, hopefully, on demand. Its recoverability added an additional element of security and cost effectiveness. Indeed, Lt Gen Power did not view the two systems as competitive. Instead, he believed they served two separate aspects of the Air Force’s strategic reconnaissance mission. Regardless of the potential advantages, proponents of the hypersonic boost-glider found it difficult to gain an edge for their system over the competition. Lt Gen Putt’s decision to elevate WADC’s Directorate of Weapon Systems Operations to Air Research and Development Command and to divert the organization’s planning function into several newly formed divisions combined with Lt Gen Power’s decision to broaden the industrial base for hypersonic research and development. Nonetheless, these actions delayed design decisions for hypersonic weapon systems by 2 years, yielded precise little new technological data, and divided available funding. Having studied the problems of hypersonic flight for almost 3 years, Bell engineers, in cooperation with Air Force and NACA engineers, had found what they believed were feasible solutions to these problems. Still, their concept seemed too radical. Such beliefs drove Power’s decision to broaden the

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industrial base in hopes of finding the most promising and the quickest solution. While Air Force planners from the Air Staff to the New Developments Office fully supported the long-term promise of hypersonic boost-glide technology to perform bombing or reconnaissance missions, they also understood such advanced technology would not be ready to answer the near-term exigencies of the Soviet threat or the administration’s requirement for overhead reconnaissance.

Chapter 3

Continuing to push the state-ofthe art: the gathering consensus on hypersonic flight, May 1955–October 1957

Since the general objectives of these programs represent milestones towards which aeronautical technology is obviously proceeding, attainment of the necessary state-of-the-art is a matter of time, the amount being determined principally by the strength and effectiveness of the attack on the associated general technical problems (Colchagoff 1956a).

Major Colchagoff’s memo came on the heels of ARDC commander Lieutenant General Thomas S. Power’s 15 February 1956 presentation on ‘radical’ technology. A growing anxiety lingered throughout the Air Force because of Soviet technological achievements: the detonation of an atomic bomb in 1949 (4 years ahead of American intelligence estimates), the detonation of a thermonuclear device in 1953, and the development of a new long-range bomber. Dissatisfaction, stemming from concern about long development cycles, was rampant within the defense department. American weapons systems needed to be developed quicker if they were to match or exceed similar Soviet achievements and meet the administration’s national policy expectations. In turn, General Power encouraged optimum exploitation of the rapidly advancing technological state-of-the-art. He called for ‘imaginative, creative, and positive action in applying novel configurations’ (General Thomas S. Power, 15 February 1956, as quoted in Uyehara 1964). He admonished the audience saying, ‘development projects must be constructively created if funds were to be obtained’ [CITE]. This was especially applicable to hypersonic research and development because he felt the X-15 research program was already ‘in-the-bag’. Subsequently, he told them that ‘any promising system beyond the X-15 should start immediately’ (ibid). To increase the pace of development, Power suggested space vehicles with, and without, wings should be considered as possible follow-ons to the X-15. ‘It would be worthwhile to start two or three systems at a cost of one half a billion dollars even if only one [weapon] system resulted’ (ibid). He believed the most pressing near-term requirement was for a cargo transport.

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Major Colchagoff also believed two research programs offered the greatest promise for quick development and superior capabilities: the manned glide rocket research system (MGRR) and the manned ballistic rocket research system (MBRR). MGRR would be a purely research system based on the speed and initial altitude of Dornberger’s BOMI but without the military sub-systems. Feasibility studies of BOMI, extensively studied since 1951 by Casey Forrest at Bell and Bill Lamar at the New Development Office, underwent formal evaluation in the fall of 1955. Because this concept still represented a major technological breakthrough (simultaneous increase in speed, altitude, and range) in weapon systems development, Colchagoff believed ‘whether or not the relatively bold programs recommended in this memo succeed in achieving their exact objectives, a major result of incalculable value will still accrue to the USAF research and development mission. Since the general objectives of these programs represent milestones towards aeronautical technology is obviously proceeding, attainment of the necessary state-of-the-art is a matter of time, the amount being determined principally by the strength and effectiveness of the attack on the associated general technical problems’ (Colchagoff 1956a). A solution to the technical problems associated with hypersonic boost-gliders needed to be found as quickly as money and research would permit. Colchagoff continued to work on these problems under his division’s Hypersonic Weapons Research and Development System (HYWARDS) studies. Colchagoff’s second proposal, MBRR, would be a manned, powered, controllable final stage to an ICBM, providing Gen Power the kind of research data and experience required for the military transport and cargo system he proposed in his speech. It could also be used to provide data for manned suborbital spaceflight as well as data for reconnaissance and bombing missions. A follow-on model of the same basic system could then be used as a transition vehicle for manned orbital flight and perform military missions on a similarly advanced scale (these objectives would eventually be incorporated into Dyna-Soar’s abbreviated development plan in October 1957) (Directorate of Systems Plans 1957). Colchagoff believed sound long-range programs, like HYWARDS and its follow-on, would enable a general acceleration of the aeronautical state-of-the-art. Aligning technical development with long-range objectives would also facilitate the existing research and development funding problem. In turn, more funding would lead to a healthier technical base to develop more advanced weapon systems to meet the increasing capabilities of the Soviet threat. As funding for ICBMs improved in 1955, and administration’s concerns over a means to gather continuous and timely intelligence of the Soviet Union’s nuclear capability increased, Air Force leaders favorably considered ICBMs as a supplemental weapon system. ICBMs offered the service an opportunity to extend its operations into space through unmanned satellite reconnaissance and manned boost-glide technology (Futrell 1974). While

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Dornberger’s unsolicited 1952 BOMI proposal fostered confidence and support, the uncertainties of manned space operations still kept Air Staff planners such as Gen Putt cautious. Air Force leaders preserved their scarce research and development funds for conservative weapon systems to assure near-term responses to known Soviet threats rather than expanding their technological horizons by funding long-term, beyond the state-of-the-art, weapon systems to address perceived Soviet threats. As administration officials attempted to balance the requirements for new military weapon systems with domestic initiatives according to Eisenhower’s ‘Great Equation’ of spending priorities, they also sought international agreements to limit the arms race. In addition, they preferred to bring America into the missile age without public panic and, subsequently, without destabilizing the president’s concept of economic balance. For FY 1955, Eisenhower cut defense spending by 20% (Huntington 1961; Alexander 1975). When new Soviet strategic capabilities threatened the New Look policy, Eisenhower responded with a second New Look, downgrading massive retaliation in favor of upgrading conventional, limited war capabilities. As the Atlas ICBM budget grew, other ballistic missiles suffered under the cutbacks; yet, the US, as suggested earlier by the Killian report, maintained its nuclear superiority until November 1955 when the Soviets successfully tested a hydrogen bomb small enough to be used as an ICBM warhead. With 2 years of focused research behind them, the Soviets were on the verge of demonstrating the capability of attacking the US from Soviet missile bases. Wanting to gain a closer look at Soviet capabilities, Eisenhower publicly announced plans for launching a small satellite as part of the America’s participation in the International Geophysical Year, scheduled between July 1957 and December 1958. His statement hinted at the underlying purpose of this enterprise – the establishment of the principle in international law of ‘freedom of space’ with all that implied for strategic reconnaissance at altitudes above the ‘airspace’ to which the states beneath claimed exclusive sovereignty. Crafted in response to recommendations made early in 1955 by Donald H. Quarles, Eisenhower’s assistant secretary of defense for research and development, this tentative space policy established a precedent during the IGY, became a cardinal principle in public space law, and would be incorporated into treaties a decade later (Hall 1998). Such a possibility would foster increased fiscal support of Atlas as a deterrent and of WS 117L as a means of constantly, albeit predictably, monitoring the Soviet Union. A second benefit of WS117L would be the opportunity for plausible denial should one be lost over Soviet territory. Losing an automated reconnaissance satellite would not be the same as losing a military aircraft and its crew. Still, in the long-term, hypersonic boost-glide technology promised to fuse the best characteristics of both these unmanned strategic systems with the best qualities of the manned strategic bomber and reconnaissance systems. The Air Staff, however, gave the short-term objective of

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meeting the Soviet ICBM threat the highest priority. To achieve the promised potential, proponents of hypersonic boost-glide technology would need to maintain a delicate long-term balance among three critical elements: technical feasibility, the system’s mission, and funding priority. By sustaining a step-by-step approach to the Air Force’s hypersonic research and development efforts, Bill Lamar hoped to make a boost-glider weapon system operational within the decade.

Hypersonic boost-glide technology Also in November 1955, at the request of the assistant secretary of the Air Force for research and development, Trevor Gardner, ARDC’s deputy commander for weapon systems, Brig Gen Howell Estes, Bill Lamar, and Bell’s Casey Forrest gave several presentations to ARDC commander, Lt Gen Thomas Power, and to the deputy chief of staff for Air Force research and development, Gen Donald Putt, on the BOMI concept. Everyone agreed that BOMI’s hypersonic boost-glide technology promised a major breakthrough in weapon system capabilities. Its speed, altitude, and range (for both strategic bombing and reconnaissance missions) would be unsurpassed. Until now, it had appeared that two of these three factors would always be compromised to achieve the third. Because Forrest’s engineering team had ‘accurately defined the technical problems that would need to be solved before a detailed design and development program could begin’, Lamar felt Bell’s proposed solutions to the problems of hypersonic flight were sound.1 Still, both Lamar and Forrest admitted that ‘additional tests would be needed to prove and substantiate these solutions’ (ibid). There was a need to verify the aerodynamic theory of hypersonic flight with more emphasis on control and stability. In addition, Bell engineers needed to solve the problem of aerodynamic heating. Solving this problem was crucial because, to a large extent, aerodynamic heating was the governing factor in determining the structural design and resultant airframe weight. Casey Forrest figured that a boost-glider would attain its maximum temperature at the start of the vehicle’s glide path and then decrease as the flight time lengthened. He believed ‘a double-walled structure would serve both as heat insulation system and as a cooling system’ (ibid; Uyehara 1964). A light outside skin structure consisting of 11 inch square panels separated from the inside skin by a layer of fibrous insulation. In principle, the outside skin would be allowed to absorb the heat of the glide path conditions while the inside skin structure remained at the desired temperature by insulation and an ‘active’ water cooling system. While outside skin temperature could be expected to reach as high as 5000°F in some localized areas, a special cooling system between the outer and inner layers (in addition to the insulation) could maintain temperatures at 1750°F at the inner wall. In turn, inside structural temperatures (where there were

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no critical components) could be kept at 300° (ibid). This study advanced and improved the 1930s research of Sänger-Bredt by developing, for the first time, a detailed ‘hot structures’ concept. Non-load-bearing flexible metallic radiative heat shields (‘shingles’) and water-cooled leading-edge structures would protect the wings while passive and active cooling systems would keep cabin temperatures within human tolerances (Hansen 1987). After a year’s study, Forrest and his team of engineers felt the existing state-of-the-art in propulsion was sufficient to support BOMI, but accelerated advances in fluorine propellant technology would be required. Development of large thrust fluorine-based engines and enriched oxidizers would enable the engineering team to use higher performance engines in all three booster stages. By using these high performance engines, improved propellants, and making the first two stages expendable, they could reduce the original 851,000 pound lift-off weight by almost half. To confirm these estimates, First Lieutenant Bill Walter, chief of Bill Lamar’s BOMI program, suggested the adoption of a three-step approach to investigate the hypersonic flight regime: first, a 5000 mile range system, then a 10,000 mile range system and, finally, a global system (Estes 1955). Brig Gen Estes agreed. Forrest and Lamar felt a hypersonic boost-glide aircraft would be more practical than a conventional aircraft, given the same development time and funding. Additionally, ‘the speed of the Earth’s rotation would increase the boost-glider’s overall range beyond a conventional aircraft’. Because the increased speed from the last stage would push the boost-glide aircraft to near orbital velocity, ‘the centrifugal force generated by the aircraft could be used to obtain additional lift, allowing drag to be appreciably reduced, and range increased’. With a little additional energy, orbital velocity could be reached. Such a global BOMI would eliminate the need for foreign bases. Additionally, a descent could be made at the maximum lift coefficient rather than the maximum lift/drag ratio. This would increase its range and ‘this would also help reduce the aircraft’s aerodynamic heating’ (Bell Aircraft Company 1955). In addition to aerodynamic, structures and material studies, Bell spent considerable time evaluating the role of a human crew in BOMI. They believed, as they had earlier, that a manned system increased mission reliability. In 1955, a reusable unmanned vehicle could not fly a high altitudehigh speed precision bombing mission, gather detailed reconnaissance information, and land on a runway of its choosing. A manned system could. A human crew would also provide mission flexibility. They could select alternate targets and reduce the need for elaborate automated equipment (which could not predict, or be designed, for all contingencies). In addition, they could report on enemy tactics and assess bombing accuracy. With an all-inertial navigational system the exact knowledge of a target’s latitude and longitude would not be required before lift-off. Although the boost-glider’s bombs would be guided by a self-contained radar-monitored inertial navigation system, provisions for post-launch command targeting corrections from

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the pilot would be incorporated (Bell Aircraft Company 1955). Lamar and his team of Air Force engineers agreed. Nevertheless, over the coming years, the question of ‘why a military man in space’ would repeatedly be asked by officials within the Office of the Secretary of Defense (OSD). As the administration’s highly secretive automated reconnaissance satellites became operational, OSD officials were less willing to accept Lamar’s justifications for using a man over a machine. This political legacy would be carried over to the military’s use of the shuttle; indeed, many suggest that it remains an issue today (Covault 1986, 1988, 1991a, b; Foley 1987; Loftus 1987). Meanwhile, engineers and officials from the NACA and the Air Force Cambridge Geophysical Laboratory also evaluated Bell’s results and drew several conclusions. They, too, considered the work done by Bell’s and WADC’s engineering teams practical and promising. While John W. Crowley, the associate director for research at the NACA, questioned the optimism of Forrest’s data, he felt BOMI should be continued to determine the feasibility of a hypersonic boost-glide weapon because of the scarcity of information available on the Mach numbers BOMI would achieve. The X15, he pointed out, ‘would indicate the relative importance of different problems which would need to be studied more extensively by other means of aerodynamic and structural testing’ (Abbott 1955; Crowley 1956; Hansen 1987). Additionally, information from H. Julian Allen’s (chief of high speed research at NACA’s Ames Laboratory) ballistic missile research would help solve the difficulties related to BOMI’s aerodynamic heating problems (ibid). James E. Gallagher, chief of the programs and requirements branch at the Geophysical Research Directorate of the Cambridge Research Center, concluded there was ‘no single or combination of natural geophysical factors which would make the operation of a BOMI-type vehicle unfeasible’ (Gallagher 1955). Because the rocket boosters would be so critical to the ultimate success of a hypersonic aircraft like BOMI, Brig Gen Estes established a liaison with Brig Gen Schriever’s Western Development Division (WDD) to discuss technical problems common to Project Atlas and BOMI. Both hoped their organizations would cooperate, reducing the amount of duplicated tasks. This would not be the case. As Lt Walter relates, ‘[w]e got as far as the lobby in WDD and there we sat for several hours. Suddenly an inner door opened and out leaped a very officious looking USAF officer in civilian clothes. He turned out to be a Major. He strode to the center of the room with a dedicated air of self importance, whereupon he delivered a short speech while he proceeded to pace in little circles. “We wouldn’t give you a wooden nickel for your damned winged, boost-glide bomber concept. The Intercontinental Ballistic Missile is the ultimate weapon! All you guys are doing is whistling Dixie and wasting the taxpayers’ hard earned money! We aren’t about to jeopardize the security of our program by giving you guys any of our data on Titan. You can all wait till Hell freezes over!” With that,

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he stepped back through the inner door and we were again alone’. All information, except data, obtained for Schriever by the WADC Material Laboratory would become available for Air Force contractor use only after being placed in the public domain by WDD. Specifically, Walter’s contact with the Ramo-Wooldridge Corporation was discouraged and Casey Forrest’s was prohibited (Directorate of Systems Management 1955c; Walter 1992). This lack of cooperation between Atlas personnel at WDD (and its successor the Ballistic Missile Division [BMD]) and BOMI personnel (and eventually the Dyna-Soar program Office) would continue through the life of the Air Force’s attempts to field a hypersonic boost-glide vehicle. This political legacy would center not only on what constituted the primary mission for the booster’s development, but also about whether lifting body (wingless vehicle) technology rather than boost-glider technology should be used and whether WDD’s automated satellite programs didn’t make any manned military weapons system obsolete. Nevertheless, Lieutenant General Curtis E. LeMay, the commander of the Strategic Air Command, was highly receptive to the BOMI concept for future strategic air warfare and seconded the idea of further feasibility studies. Trevor Gardner, the assistant secretary of the Air Force for research and development, agreed with LeMay and approved Bell’s summary report. Almost 4 years after Walter Dornberger conceived of Bell’s first proposal and after 18 months of feasibility studies lead by Casey Forrest, the value of the BOMI concept was being accepted, even enthusiastically pushed. Research and development problems inherent in hypersonic flight were not regarded as insurmountable. The value of a human crew had been justified. While everyone believed additional data would be needed before a full-fledged weapon system could begin to be developed, the Air Force and the NACA supported further research and looked forward to starting the development of a hypersonic boost-glide weapon system (Abbott 1955). The completion of the BOMI studies marked the Air Force’s first attempt to push man’s flight experience to near satellite speeds, enter the fringes of space, and prepare for combat in that medium. As the Air Force anticipated manned strategic warfare in space, administration officials close to the president began to scrutinize this concept in relation to Eisenhower’s national space policy and the need for the unchallenged overflight of unmanned reconnaissance satellites. BOMI’s contract completion also coincided with Lt Gen Power’s organizational change at HQ ARDC in the fall of 1955. With renewed interest in ICBM development and strategic planning, the ARDC commander felt a reorganization of the command’s planning function might revitalize the way the command thought about strategic concepts. Subsequently, the responsibility for monitoring the nature of follow-on phases to BOMI was transferred to three separate divisions: Reconnaissance and Intelligence (BRASS BELL), Strategic Systems (ROBO), and Research and Target Systems (HYWARDS). Whereas the BOMI program had been treated as a whole

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weapon system to systematically push the state-of-the-art and investigate the high-end of the hypersonic flight regime of a potential boost-glide weapon system, the diffusion of its follow-on programs resulted in the artificial compartmentalization of its missions – reconnaissance, bombing, and research. What had originally been conceived as an evolutionary, three phase approach to developing a hypersonic weapons system would now be officially isolated and uncoordinated. Unofficially, Bill Lamar would continue to maintain the spirit and intent of the BOMI program within the Air Force until the beginning of the Dyna-Soar program when multi-phased planning for a hypersonic weapon system was once again officially reunited with its management function. Additionally, the administration would also begin its efforts to openly restrict the program to its research phase while cautiously allowing studies for the program’s military missions to proceed (Close 1955; Uyehara 1964).2

BRASS BELL Shortly after the termination of the BOMI studies, the Reconnaissance and Intelligence division urged Lt Gen Power to continue and expand Bell’s BOMI contract that terminated on 1 December 1955 with the completion of Casey Forrest’s final report for their supplementary contract. Brig Gen H. M. Estes, commander of Detachment 1 and assistant deputy commander for weapon systems at HQ ARDC, estimated that ‘some $4 million was needed to continue BOMI for the next 12 to 18 months’ and requested an additional one million dollars for FY 1956 for its continuation (Crowley 1956; Directorate of Systems Management 1956b). Concurrently, Bill Lamar and Casey Forrest visited NACA’s Langley facility in Virginia to obtain additional views about BOMI follow-ons from NACA engineers (ibid). Early in January 1956, Colonel Ernest N. Ljunggren, chief of the directorate of systems plans, informed Lamar that the Intelligence and Reconnaissance division would be allocated 800,000 dollars for the continued investigation of BOMI’s reconnaissance capabilities. Lt Gen Putt believed a BOMI-like vehicle should be focused towards fulfilling the Air Force’s General Operational Requirement (GOR) 92. Accordingly, a contract with Bell was concluded on 20 March 1956 for Reconnaissance System 459L – BRASS BELL – to adapt the BOMI system for reconnaissance. BRASS BELL should fly at Mach 15, attain an altitude of 100,000 feet, and achieve a 5000-mile radius. Operationally, it would pioneer reconnaissance and surveillance missions. To accomplish this, BRASS BELL needed to collect photographic (search and detail coverage with a resolvable surface resolution of no greater than 20 and 51 feet to accomplish the reconnaissance and surveillance missions, respectively), ferret (in the bandwidth of 1000 to 4000 megacycles per second), and radar (high resolution with resolvable ground dimensions no greater than 100 feet) data. The con-

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tract also called for design studies (the general layout of a hypersonic boostglider and its reconnaissance subsystems) and systems analysis (logistics, operational, and human factors analysis, as well as test programs in aerodynamics and structures) (Uyehara 1964). Concurrently, John W. Crowley, associate director of research for the NACA, reported ‘BOMI’s application to BRASS BELL will not create any new research problems’ (Crowley 1956; Directorate of Systems Management 1956a; HQ ARDC 1956c; Uyehara 1964). Its investigations corroborated Forrest’s definitions of the problem areas and his methodology for the solutions. Confident of their approach, Bell engineers began subcontracting with industrial corporations, university research centers, and governmental agencies for analytical studies in the navigation (General Electric) and ferret systems (Airborne Instrument Laboratories), hypersonic tests (University of California, Princeton University, Ohio State University, Cornell University), heat source tests (University of Florida), dissociation (University of Michigan), liquid metal test circuits (MSA Research Corporation), model fabrication (Wall Colomony Corporation, Trinity Tool Company, Kinzig Tool Company, Wind Tunnel Instrument Company), and wind tunnel tests (transonic, supersonic, hypersonic, and free-flight – Langley, Ames, and AEDC) (Bell Aircraft Company 1957). Agreeing with these determinations, assistant secretary of the Air Force Dudley C. Sharp would sign a contract with Bell on 20 March 1956 (Moore 1956). As the Reconnaissance and Intelligence division pushed forward with BRASS BELL, the Strategic Systems Division picked up another thread of BOMI’s feasibility studies. ROBO (rocket bomber) Before the end of February 1956, Col Ljunggren’s Strategic Systems division evaluated ten proposals it received for a strategic bomber and reconnaissance weapon system similar to Bell’s BOMI. Interestingly, Casey Forrest’s team of Bell engineers was not invited to make a bid because it had already done much of the work under their BOMI contract and was currently under contract for BRASS BELL. Ljunggren signed contracts with three of the ten companies offering proposals: Douglas, North American Aviation, and Convair (Uyehara 1964). While the agreements covered a period from May to December 1956, the companies would be obligated to continue their studies through the end of FY 1957 (October 1957) with their own funds. The contractor’s studies were to emphasize hypersonic flight characteristics, stability and control from take-off through landing, and insure the appropriate technology for an operational system would be available between 1965–1970. The boost-glider should have an intercontinental range to eliminate the need for refueling or forward basing. The vehicle

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could be manned or unmanned. While not specifying a specific hypersonic speed, an altitude of 100,000 feet, and a 5500 mile range (although Col Ljunggren preferred a global range) would be required to fulfill the requirements of its mission. The craft would also need to carry a 6400-10,000pound bomb (HQ ARDC 1956a; Uyehara 1964). Although his Reconnaissance and Intelligence division’s BRASS BELL contract with Bell was devoted to reconnaissance, Ljunggren wanted the Strategic Systems Division’s contractors to investigate photographic, ferret, and radar reconnaissance techniques as well. While the studies needed to emphasize the problems of hypersonic flight (stability and control), the human environment, and the design and performance consequences of selecting various boosters, engineers at the Strategic Systems Division estimated the severity of the aerodynamic heating problem also merited serious study. Additionally, the contractors would need to place particular emphasis on an accurate weapon delivery system. Ljunggren believed a 3000-foot CEP would be reasonable. By 12 June 1956, Lt Gen Power published System Requirement 126 – ROBO – to sanction the requirement outlined by Ljunggren’s Strategic Systems Division (ibid). HYWARDS Regardless of published requirements, Lt. Gen. Power believed development projects would need to be pragmatically created to obtain funding. Because he believed ‘a hostile and unimaginative political environment’ existed toward the long-term investments that winged spaceflight required, Power directed ARDC engineers and program managers to investigate the possibility of recovering a man from orbit without the use of a winged vehicle (HQ ARDC 1956d). This could be accomplished by developing a manned final stage (capsule) to an ICBM currently under development. In turn, this effort could provide design data and operational experience toward subsequent ballistic rocket systems for military transport and cargo (ibid). These suggestions implied an emphasis on a manned ballistic missile (it would later evolve into Brig Gen Schriever’s Man In Space Soonest [MISS] program and lay the ground work for further struggles between the Space Systems Division at Los Angeles, CA, and the Aeronautical Systems Division at Wright-Patterson AFB). Yet, Power’s optimism aside, any new research systems would still be competing with the fiscal needs and mission requirements of existing systems such as the X-15, BRASS BELL, Atlas, Titan I, Vanguard, and WS 117L as the administration judged their merit against its emerging national space policy. As such, new research would be difficult to fund unless the administration increased research and development funding or believed a specific weapon system merited higher priority. Air Force leaders like SAC commander Lt Gen LeMay and ARDC commander Lt Gen Power were conscious of the recall capability, the greater

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flexibility in target selection, and the increased options manned systems provided over unmanned systems. As Bill Lamar recalls, ‘They also knew the 15-minute detection warning time inherent with an ICBM increased the missile’s survivability by decreasing the enemy’s response time’ (Directorate of Systems Plans 1957).3 Subsequently, LeMay and Power felt ‘a manned boost-glide weapon system would encompass the best attributes of a manned bomber and would shorten detection warning time to 3 minutes. This reduced reaction time, coupled with the spacecraft’s proposed operational altitude, would make the system virtually invulnerable to Soviet attack and a vital element in deterring aggression’ (ibid). While the Air Force’s logic appeared sound, the ultimate success of any manned military space system would depend on the administration’s perception of its utility within its national space policy and the new system’s compatibility to other instruments of that policy such as unmanned reconnaissance satellites. Months before Sputnik, this element of Eisenhower’s vision remained clouded in the Air Force’s hopes to offset perceptions of renewed Soviet boost-glide developments (Ley 1961). In this milieu of optimism and restraint, Lieutenant Colonel Carleton G. ‘Stretch’ Strathy, chief of Col Ljunggren’s Research and Target Systems division, proposed a four million dollar manned rocket boost-glide vehicle for research (WS 455L) to Lt Gen Putt in March 1956 (HQ ARDC 1955). Even though ‘Stretch’ received limited responses from his queries to other sections of HQ ARDC regarding the future need for his boost-glide system, Lt Gen Putt approved the further development of Strathy’s hypersonic research and development and asked for a full development plan. Emphasizing the purely research nature of the vehicle, Strathy briefed Lt Gen Putt. After listening to his briefing, Putt believed WS 455L could help in fulfilling GOR 92–BRASS BELL. Subsequently, he issued System Requirement 131 for HYWARDS (WS 455L) on 6 November 1956 (HQ ARDC 1956b). The manned research boost-glider would serve as a testbed for component and subsystem equipment; provide information on aerodynamics, human factors, structural and component problems; and details for future hypersonic military missions. HYWARDS would travel at Mach 12 and attain 360,000 feet (in comparison to the X-15’s Mach 7 and 250,000 feet). With the addition of two boosters, HYWARDS would be able to attain orbital velocity. The new research system would support all other hypersonic boost-glide programs; therefore, Lt Gen Putt directed that BRASS BELL and ROBO would not contain research phases as part of their development plans. WS 117L and the U-2 In early 1956, Richard C. Raymond, a physicist who had joined RAND’s electronic division in 1953, proposed a re-examination of RAND’s advo-

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cacy of an electro-optical reconnaissance satellite. Rather than use a reconnaissance satellite that electrically scanned an on-board image and sent the data back to Earth, Raymond suggested using a vertical strip camera with a separate, recoverable film canister that would send the exposed film back to Earth. ‘Film recovery’, Raymond calculated, ‘would yield at least two orders of magnitude more data’ in a given period of time (Davies and Harris 1988). Raymond was not alone in his beliefs. Amrom H. Katz, an Air Force physicist who participated in the 1946 CROSSROADS atomic bomb tests and later joined RAND, was a recognized camera expert and a champion of simple technical solutions over complex ones. Katz and another RAND associate who shared his views, Merton E. Davies, embraced Raymond’s answer to a fast-paced space reconnaissance project. Some months later, while attending the annual meeting of the American Society of Photogrammetry in Washington DC, Davies encountered Frederic Wilcox of Fairchild Camera and Instrument Corporation. During the conversation, Wilcox described a new Fairchild panoramic camera developed for an aerial drone. It fit inside a pod and the entire camera rotated in a drum. Davies thought about the complexity inherent in this design. By the time he boarded a plane with Amrom Katz for the flight back to Santa Monica, he had a ‘hot idea’ – fix the camera to the satellite and spin the entire ensemble (Hall 1998). By late spring Davies and Katz were advocating the spinning camera and film recovery scheme in briefings for all scientific and military officials who visited RAND, including Col Fritz Oder, Air Force director of WS 117L, his deputy, Navy Captain Robert C. Truax, and eventually members of the Reconnaissance Panel of the Air Force’s Scientific Advisory Board (SAB), the SAB’s ad hoc Panel on Advanced Weapons Technology and Environment, the Defense Department’s Advisory Group on Special Capabilities (Stewart Committee), and the Science Advisory Committee of the Office of Defense Mobilization. James Killian and Edwin Land numbered among the members of the last group. The two RAND champions of a recoverable space reconnaissance capsule system would complete their formal study, with the assistance of other RAND co-authors, and issue it on 12 November 1957 (ibid; Davies et al. 1957). Based on the Raymond concept, Brownlee W. Haydon and RAND president Frank Collbohm wrote a formal RAND recommendation to the Air Staff for a recoverable reconnaissance satellite and submitted it to HQ Air Force in March. However welcome this recommendation may have been to elements within the Air Staff, RAND soon withdrew it. Raymond, who (in addition to his RAND work) served on Duncan Macdonald’s Reconnaissance Panel of the Air Force’s Scientific Advisory Board, recalls how some Air Force officials were committed to obtaining near-real time reconnaissance for targeting and pre-hostility early warning missions. Storing images on film spools to be recovered from satellites entailed delays

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far beyond those associated with the earlier FEEDBACK (TV) satellite concept (Davies and Harris 1988). Contemporary planning for the space reconnaissance mission featured a second stage booster satellite to be launched into a near polar orbit by an Atlas ICBM adapted for that purpose. At first designed for a long-life mission of 1 year at an atmospheric drag-free altitude of 300 miles, the WS 117L Lockheed satellite (later known as ‘Agena’) was based on the FEEDBACK study and originally was conceived to be gravity gradient stabilized. That is, the vertically-oriented Agena moved on orbit with its fixed nose-mounted Eastman Kodak strip camera pointed toward the Earth, thus aligning the long axis of the satellite’s mass distribution radial to the Earth. The gravity gradient stabilization method eliminated the expendable weight required for gas jets and made possible long-lived, very high-altitude orbital operations. It required only electricity for its momentum wheel dampening and rate sensing gyroscopes; the electricity was supplied by batteries recharged through solar cells. Film would move across the camera slit in the opposite direction of vehicle motion. The exposed film was to be processed on board, scanned electronically with a CBS ‘flying spot scanner’, and the video signal transmitted to Earth when the satellite passed within sight of a ground station in the US. Then the signal would be reformed into a photographic image of the original scene. The WS 117L ‘pioneer’ version of the Eastman camera was designed to deliver a resolution of 100 feet; a more advanced version could yield a resolution of 20 feet (Katz and Davies 1958a; Hall 1998). This approach to space reconnaissance, in the view of some at the Air Force-funded RAND Corporation in Santa Monica, had significant drawbacks. First, the satellite had to carry film to be used over a 1-year lifetime. Secondly, without a recorder for storing the images, the film had to be readout on each pass and discarded on orbit. Thirdly, the limited radio bandwidth and data transmission rate, coupled with the brief time available to communicate with the satellite as it remained in line-of-sight of a ground station as it passed overhead, seriously restricted the number of images that could be relayed to Earth. In fact, RAND calculations yielded a daily figure equivalent to five or six 9 × 9-inch photographs whose quality was 100 lines per millimeter (ibid). Not until the summer of 1956, after the conclusion of Caltech professor Robert Bacher’s second DoD study on the feasibility of missile-launched payloads to successfully re-enter the Earth’s atmosphere, did Raymond’s alternative become widely perceived as possible. As John H. Huntzicker and Hans A. Lieske focused RAND’s efforts on identifying all the requirements for the payload recovery method, others within RAND worked to partly satisfy Air Force officials who wanted near-real time reconnaissance the FEEDBACK system promised. Ultimately, as engineers solved the problem associated with the atmospheric re-entry of missile warheads and the service procured ICBM systems, economic considerations favored the

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recovery of images stored on spools of film over the TV concept (Huntzicker and Lieske 1956; Katz 1957; Davies and Harris 1988). Although they had been apprised of the two approaches to space reconnaissance systems, Killian and Land still favored the ongoing U-2 overflights to meet the nation’s immediate intelligence requirements. Both had recognized the future need of reconnaissance satellites during the creation of the 1955 Technological Capabilities Panel report. In fact, they had recommended that the nation prepare for this activity by publicly establishing in international law the principle of ‘Freedom of Space’. With ever increasing confidence, Eisenhower embraced the advise of his council of scientific advisors. Accordingly, the president approved the IGY satellite project and its related space policy (see note 73 of Hall 1998). If these advisors approved of a new system, it would receive the best support the nation could provide. Conversely, without their support, a new system could languish on the edge of survival while its proponents attempted to prove its worth without ever being able to fully develop the necessary elements. As Eisenhower began to reduce the number of high altitude balloon reconnaissance flights over the Soviet Union (known as GENETRIX – WS 119L), he approved the first operational flight of Project AQUATONE (Crouch 1983; Davies and Harris 1988; Peebles 1991; Hall 1998). On 4 July 1956 a camera-equipped U-2 took off from Weisbaden, West Germany, to survey the USSR’s naval shipyards and especially its submarine construction program. It overflew Poland, Byelorussia, Moscow, Leningrad, and the Soviet Baltic states. Contrary to American expectations, Soviet radar detected and tracked this first U-2 at its operational altitude of 70,000 feet, and the overflight caused considerable consternation among the post-Stalin Kremlin leaders. Strategic reconnaissance, to be sure, furnished not only indications and warning but also targeting data for a nuclear attack. Soviet Communist Party Chairman Nikita Khrushchev had rejected Eisenhower’s 1955 ‘Open Skies’ proposal, according to his son Sergei, because he believed Americans were ‘really looking for targets for a war against the USSR. When they understand that we are defenseless against an aerial attack, it will push the Americans to begin the war earlier. ... [if] the Americans realized that the Soviet Union would become stronger and stronger, but was weak now, this [intelligence] might push them into a preventive war’ (Bissell 1996; Hall 1998). The event triggered Kremlin orders for new surface-to-air missiles and high performance fighters, while accelerating work to perfect an intercontinental ballistic missile (ibid). While Eisenhower used the U-2 to collect intelligence of Soviet military capabilities and warning of an impending nuclear Pearl Harbor, these overflights forcefully reminded Khrushchev and other Kremlin officials of the Luftwaffe reconnaissance overflights that preceded Germany’s surprise attack on the USSR in 1941. Ironically, fears of a surprise attack among

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Soviet authorities mirror-imaged those shared by their American counterparts. As funds flowed into U-2 operations, BRASS BELL, ROBO, HYWARDS, and WS 117L continued to labor under the strict funding restrictions imposed by secretary of the Air Force Donald Quarles. Interestingly, the value of having a pilot onboard was dramatically demonstrated to the intelligence community on one of the U-2’s early flights. In an interview with John Ranelagh, Richard M. Bissell, Jr. – director of the U-2 and CORONA programs – emphasized just how important this capability had been. ‘In one case a [U-2] pilot used his authorization to deflect from his course. He was flying over Turkistan, and off in the distance he saw something that looked quite interesting and that turned out to be the Tyuratam launch site – and unlike almost every other target we went after, not even the existence of that had been suspected’ (Ranelagh 1986).

Economic realities Anticipating the coming election, the Eisenhower administration drastically cut research and development funding for FY 1957, stopping the further development of all new weapon systems. Lt. Gen. Power notified Lt Gen Putt of the tremendous impact of these cuts. Such severe reductions precluded aggressive exploration of new research vehicles, shattering the atmosphere Power was attempting to foster. Still, the administration’s restrictions did not deter Lt Col ‘Stretch’ Strathy from submitting a revised and abbreviated development plan for HYWARDS to Lt Gen Putt in January 1957. Strathy urged immediate approval and adequate funding. With this new plan, he coordinated his division’s efforts through Bill Lamar’s office at Wright Patterson AFB, where an informal technical and management cooperation capability for all hypersonic boost-glide vehicles continued. In fact, the specific degree of coordination could be seen in the double-wall construction techniques and booster selections Strathy considered for HYWARDS (Bell Aircraft Company 1956). As Lamar suggested, ‘there was an urgent need for a hypersonic research system. A letter to ARDC commander [Lt] Gen Power from Bell pointed out that “the race for most improved weapon system is primarily against time!” Such [a research vehicle] could serve as a test bed for evaluating reconnaissance and navigation equipment. Also [it could] provide design information for future vehicles, including intercontinental systems, which cannot be obtained from laboratory tests alone’ (Lamar 1956). By planning sufficient design flexibility into the research vehicle, an ‘extension of speed capabilities to orbital velocity could be obtained by a minimum of modifications and addition of a booster. It is expected that by minimum compromise this [research] airplane could serve as a prototype for development of an operational system (unlike previous range-limited research aircraft)’ (ibid). Furthermore, NACA Langley wind tunnel research

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identified the optimum hypersonic speed as Mach 18. John Becker, chairman of NACA Langley’s study group, had learned that ‘at this speed boost gliders approached their peak heating environment. The rapidly increasing flight altitudes at speeds above Mach 18 caused a reduction in heating rates; at satellite speed, of course, on the outer fringe of the atmosphere, the heating rates became negligible’ (John V. Becker, as quoted in Hansen 1987). Below this speed boost-glide vehicles approached their maximum heating environment. Additionally, the research of NACA engineers Becker and Peter Korycinski revealed critical advantages for a configuration having a flat bottom surface and delta wing form with the fuselage located in the cooler shielded area on the top side of the wing rather than placing the wing in the middle of the fuselage as suggested in Dornberger’s original design and carried forward by Bell engineer Casey Forrest. A flat-bottom configuration provided the lowest critical heating area for a given wing loading, reducing the amount of heat shielding required. This discovery represented the first clear indication that aerodynamic design could significantly alleviate some of the heating and structural concerns associated with hypersonic flight. In fact, the aerodynamic design features and re-entry operations of the shuttle are a direct result of these ongoing debates (Hansen 1987). At Ames, Alfred Eggers and H. Julian Allen, arriving at different solutions to the same technical problem, believed their earlier research at Mach 10 confirmed the need for an alternate approach. Using the increased interference lift generated from an under-slung conical fuselage impinging on the aircraft’s wings, they believed they could reach 2000 miles. Yet, this configuration placed the entire fuselage in the hottest region of the hypersonic flow, increasing cooling requirements. The added weight required to keep the airframe cool, suggested Becker, quickly outweighed any advantages the higher L/D ratio earned (Hallion 1978). The ebb and flow of NACA’s internal struggle over the hypersonic design merits of a boost glider with a medium lift/drag ratio versus a lifting-body configuration with a high L/D ratio (that would provoke a continuing technological legacy carried over into the Air Force community through the boost-glide and lifting-body studies supported by these two camps of NACA hypersonic theory) had begun in earnest. Regardless of the administration’s cuts for FY 1957 research and development funding, this new information helped keep optimism for hypersonic flight high. In turn, Lamar and other Detachment 1 officials predicted the Air Force would not have to plan and develop additional boost-glide research systems if HYWARDS could be implemented. Consolidating research The development plans for HYWARDS and BRASS BELL (a development plan was not prepared for ROBO) aroused interest and controversy at the

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highest levels of the Air Force. As commander of the Air Research and Development Command Lt Gen Power presented the development plans for both HYWARDS and BRASS BELL to a number of officials gathered in Lt Gen Putt’s deputy chief of staff for research and development office (mostly members of his reconnaissance committee) on 27 February 1957. By 6 March, after 2 years of feasibility studies throughout the aviation industry and three divisions within HQ ARDC, Lt Gen Putt decided that the two plans complemented each other and considered consolidating them. This would create ‘one program with two objectives, instead of two separate programs with two distinct objectives’ (Lindell and Dillion 1957). In turn, this would make it ‘... easier to justify one program rather than two at the level of the Secretary of the Air Force and Department of Defense’ (ibid). Ironically, Lt Gen Estes’ May 1955 insights regarding the validity of Bell’s research proved true. Indeed, after several years of investigation, none of the other companies found any feasible alternative approaches to the fundamental problems of hypersonic boost-glide technology. If this decision seemed difficult for Lt Gen Power to obtain, funding proved more difficult. Col A.M. Prentiss, Jr.’s two divisions (Prentiss had replaced Col Ljunggren early in 1957) wanted five million and 4.5 million dollars, respectively, for HYWARDS and BRASS BELL. Putt reduced these requests to 5.5 million dollars for a combined plan. His funding reduction did not reflect a lack of confidence in hypersonic boost-glide technology. Rather, it reflected the overall lack of research and development funds and the need to consider political factors. Putt told his director of research and development, Major General Ralph P. Swoffort, that ‘the advanced reconnaissance system [WS 117L] must be adequately funded before any funds are put on the boostglide vehicle’ (Grimes 1957). The Air Force and the administration keenly felt the absence of an effective strategic reconnaissance capability and the subsequent absence of reliable intelligence about the closed Soviet state. Eisenhower needed to replace the politically risky U-2 overflights of the Soviet Union (Uyehara 1964). Furthermore, Putt believed the X-15 program would provide a near-term source of hypersonic research data for the boost-glide programs, even though Lt Gen Power assured him the limitations of the X-15’s power plant, the method of construction, the type of equipment used, and its top speed of almost Mach 7 meant it could not serve as a viable test-bed for the higher speeds and temperatures encountered by HYWARDS. The anticipated design flexibility of HYWARDS to fly the entire hypersonic flight regime to orbital velocity and its relevant adaptability as a system research test-bed – designed for multi-purpose operational systems in addition to pure research – were added advantages. The X-15 would not be able to provide data about the unknown types of hypersonic flow phenomenon predicted for the Mach 10+ flight regime. Additionally, the speed and altitude of HYWARDS would permit exploration of human factor aspects up to

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orbital speeds. Finally, the first flight test of the research vehicle was anticipated (based on favorable funding levels) in 1961, only 2 years after the projected first flight of the X-15. Because of the predicted closeness of these two dates, data from the X-15 would be of little value to HYWARDS; the latter’s airframe fabrication would have to be virtually complete by 1959. In essence, no system under development would provide data on HYWARDS’ flight regime. As Maj Colchagoff (1956b) pointed out, ‘HYWARDS was not a competitive system with the X-15 but represented one big step forward’. Considering the amount of progressive thinking that had been stimulated through these feasibility studies by several companies, Maj Gen Swofford, recommended one million dollars for the two programs. He wanted time to consider the options hypersonic flight would give the Air Force. How would the existing X-15 program and the need for the near-term development of WS 117L relate to the near-term development of HYWARDS and BRASS BELL? Could the Air Force justify the near-term development of two hypersonic research programs? Although HYWARDS seemed to offer some transitional design flexibility for its evolution into an operational weapon system, how could the Air Force be certain? Would, as proponents suggested, the reconnaissance capability of BRASS BELL compliment WS 117L’s abilities? Because there was considerable political support for WS 117L within the administration, could the Air Force garner the same for BRASS BELL? On 30 April Putt informed Power that two development plans would not be approved, and that he should ‘consolidate all of ARDC’s hypersonic boost-glide programs into a single plan’ (Culbertson 1957). The reconnaissance and bomber versions of this new system were to include the use of a prototype vehicle to acquire data to determine the feasibility of developing a complete weapon system. As evaluations of the three contract studies for hypersonic boost-glide systems began at ARDC, Lt Gen Power ordered the preparation of a new consolidated hypersonic boost-glide development plan. At HQ USAF, Lt Gen Putt continued to review the hypersonic research and development situation and debate the future of boost-glide development. His greatest concern was over the political and fiscal ramifications of supporting the WS 117L reconnaissance satellite while supporting boost-glide systems as weapon systems. ‘This is not’, suggested Putt, ‘the time to launch into a system hardware program’ (ibid). While he fully understood the military potential and technological feasibility of boostglide systems, a cohesive plan for their near-term development, given the political and fiscal realities of the administration, seemed lacking. The absence of formal coordination between Col Prentiss’s divisions led him to believe that further study was required to see how a combined system could be justified in the near-term, how it might relate to existing and projected programs in the long-term, and how it would influence the national econ-

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omy. Until these questions had answers, he believed investment in boostglide concepts should be kept at a low level until financial requirements for the X-15 tapered off. Putt did not want other concepts or systems to endanger the successful completion of the X-15 and the continued development of WS 117L. Evaluating ROBO Before the new plan could be completed, an Ad Hoc Committee of 125 scientists, engineers and technicians from 14 government agencies met to evaluate ROBO. There were representatives from ARDC, WADC, the Air Force Cambridge Research Center, and the Air Material Command (AMC), as well as advisory personnel from SAC, the NACA, and the administration’s Office of Scientific Research. Because of the anticipated costs of a fully developed boost-glide weapon system, the evaluators needed to determine system costs, rate the contractors in order of preference, recommend the direction and magnitude of the effort for the next few years, disseminate study results, and indicate new directions of thought for any advanced plans (HQ ARDC 1957a, b). WADC officials thought a manned boost-glide concept would be feasible and wanted initial operational capability by 1970. They also suggested several unknowns: ‘research in materials still needed to be accomplished; lack of hypersonic wind tunnels would delay ramjet engine development (if used) until 1962; rocket engines still needed to be man-rated for safety; and finally, questions regarding the pilot’s physiological environment remained unanswered’ (ibid). Cambridge officials focused on other problems. They observed how all the proposals employed an inertial auto-navigational system requiring nonexistent and detailed gravitational and geodetic information to strike the target accurately. Additionally, the Earth’s rotational motion at hypersonic speeds, as previously investigated in Bell’s BOMI study, would need to be considered in determining the accuracy of the boost-glider’s guidance systems. Research center scientists also emphasized how communications would be hindered because of the ion sheath created when the aircraft reentered the Earth’s atmosphere. Accurate studies of this atmospheric phenomenon and thermal heating would need to be conducted, as would determination of the effects of wind turbulence and meteor dust impacts. Subsequently, the presence of ionization trails, infrared radiation, and vehicle contrails could facilitate hostile detection. If this last conjecture proved accurate, countermeasures would need to be developed. Material command officials believed the contractor studies on ROBO made it clear that an additional 6 to 8 years of basic research might be needed for such a system to perform its mission. Even more detailed knowledge of the hypersonic boost-glider’s design would be required before accu-

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rate logistical problems and the complexity of its launching facility could be determined. They estimated the overall cost of the program would be extremely high. After surveying the contractors’ proposals and the analyses from the various agencies, the Ad Hoc Committee concluded ‘a hypersonic boost-glide system [like ROBO] would be technologically feasible’. Although no major technical breakthroughs were believed required to build the system, much additional research in certain areas, ‘such as materials, manufacturing processes, guidance and control, human factors, power plant reliability’ were admittedly required. The committee emphasized the promise of hypersonic boost-glide technology for research and as a weapon system, but cautioned against ‘consideration of a specific strategic bombing or reconnaissance vehicle production [design] or prototype programs until the test vehicle had raised technical confidence’ (ibid).4 Its recommendation called for Lt Gen Power to submit a comprehensive preliminary development plan to Lt Gen Putt that covered the entire range of boost-glide systems as well as start a pre-Phase I study and testing program that incorporated (now Captain) Bill Walter’s idea of a conceptual test vehicle. This would be a new type of craft. It would combine the attributes of experimental research and a pre-production prototype vehicle into a single plan (ibid). Evaluating BRASS BELL As HQ USAF and administration officials evaluated the merits of ROBO’s hypersonic research, Bell reported five major problem areas in the Mach 17–18 hypersonic flight regime, discovered as a consequence of more than a year’s study of the BRASS BELL program. Casey Forrest stated, ‘First, verification of fluid flow for this regime will be critical because of the lack of facilities to simulate simultaneously the temperature, density, and speed environment the hypersonic glider will encounter. Because of this initial shortfall, only theoretical methods can be used to design the weapon system’ (Bell Aircraft Company 1957). Determining the actual temperature of the environment posed a second problem. Designing and testing a heat-protected aircraft would be a third. The effects of the atmospheric boundary layer on the resolution qualities and the operation of the aircraft’s reconnaissance sensors would constitute yet another difficulty. The last problem area would be defining the performance requirements of the subsystems (ibid). Although questions arose about the probability of WS 117L being completed before BRASS BELL, about its importance to the administration as a means of maintaining a seamless reconnaissance capability, and about the possibility that BRASS BELL would duplicate some of WS 117L’s missions, Forrest reiterated his and Lamar’s beliefs that two systems complemented one another. ‘Unlike WS 117L, BRASS BELL’s flight path will not be predictable’ (Moore 1956). Additionally, it would yield reconnaissance infor-

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mation on demand (when the target was known) rather than as available (at the specified time when the satellite’s orbital flight transited the target). The exact location of the target would not need to be known before launch; it could be passed to the pilot in flight or the pilot could make an area (rather than detailed) surveillance of the target. Additionally, BRASS BELL would increase the probability of routinely retrieving the reconnaissance information safely, because it physically returned the valuable data rather than delivering it through a less secure means (ibid). Forrest highlighted three notable achievements of the BRASS BELL study. ‘First, [BRASS BELL has] increased knowledge of the structural design of materials under high temperature and heat exchange to reduce the temperature of leading edges and wing sheeting during hypersonic flight’ (ibid). Similarly, Bell engineers improved the development of its double-wall construction to facilitate the outer wall’s radiation of re-entry heat back into the atmosphere, eliminating the need for the airframe to have high strength under high temperatures. They estimated the weight of the double-wall construct ‘to be equal to the weight of current aircraft fuselage construction’ (ibid). Having worked with Lt Col Strathy at the Research and Target division (through Bill Lamar’s office of New Development Weapon Systems), Forrest believed data from HYWARDS would provide timely research information for BRASS BELL. Because Col Prentiss’s Strategic Systems division did not invite Bell to present a ROBO proposal, nor did it coordinate its research through Bill Lamar’s office, Forrest did not mention ROBO (ibid). Ironically, much of Bell’s work could have helped answer many of the questions raised by the ROBO Ad Hoc Committee. On 1 June 1957, as Col Prentiss’s three divisions finalized their hypersonic boost-glide initiatives, Lt Gen Power redesignated Schriever’s Western Development Division as the Ballistic Missile Division (BMD). The new designation centralized the responsibility of the Air Force’s growing missile defense systems into a single agency. With control of one of the logistical means to place payloads into orbit, BMD officials began to stake their interagency claim to the high ground of space. During an Air Force Scientific Advisory Board Ad Hoc Committee meeting to study advanced weapons technology, a spokesperson for Maj Gen Schriever presented a summary of follow-on ballistic missile systems and advanced space programs for initiation (Air Force Ballistic Missile Division 1957). If BMD could gain high-priority status for a manned Earth orbital or lunar flight, a commensurate program, then Brig Gen Estes’ boost-glide approach to the routine access of space would pay the price in its priority status (ibid). Focusing hypersonic boost-glide technology on Dyna-Soar Before Sputnik, Brig Gen Estes, commander of Detachment 1 and assistant deputy commander for weapon systems at HQ ARDC, envisioned the three

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boost-glide roles as plausible ways to incorporate the reconnaissance capabilities of satellites, the strategic bombing role intrinsic to the Air Force’s independence, and the latest developments in ballistic missile technology into Air Force doctrine to begin the human exploitation of space. Yet the cost of three parallel programs could not be justified given Eisenhower’s budgetary policy and the national security priorities of his New Look strategy. Therefore, Lt. Col. ‘Stretch’ Strathy called on Bill Lamar at the New Development Weapons System office to consolidate HYWARDS, BRASS BELL, and ROBO into a single program (Directorate of Systems Plans 1957; Walter 1992). Even with this consideration, Bill Walter, Lamar’s project manager for the BOMI and BRASS BELL studies, still questioned whether the consolidation would yield any boost-glide hardware because ‘[v]ehicle system development programs were authorized under budget line items according to the tightly defined mission they were to perform: research or prototype’ (Walter, no date). Almost everyone was thinking in terms of a hypersonic pre-production prototype vehicle, the ‘Y’ category of DoD vehicles. As the largest research and development investments, they represented the nearterm future of the Air Force. ‘X’ category research vehicles, on the other hand, tended to be one-of-a-kind. For a pre-production prototype vehicle to be approved, however, the Secretary of Defense would have to agree to enter the weapon system into the inventory at a specific time. Before the secretary of defense would make such a decision, certain questions would need to be answered to his satisfaction. Could proponents unequivocally guarantee that the operational boost-glide system would resemble the pre-production vehicle? What kind of logistical support would be required for the launch and recovery facilities? Should Maj Gen Schriever’s BMD be tasked with booster acquisition? What would the total costs actually be? What kind of operational precedent could proponents turn to for the answer to these questions? To address these inevitable concerns, Walter suggested that ‘[w]e knew how to conduct routine military operations with atmospheric manned vehicles. They may fly higher, faster, and farther, but once the research vehicle (X-series) gave us the answers to technical design problems, it was relatively easy to design a manned aircraft (bomber, fighter, or reconnaissance vehicle) and build a [pre-production] prototype (Y-series) for flight testing’ (ibid). Based on this precedent, the exploration of the hypersonic flight regime with a boost-glider in 1957 required a different approach. What was needed, therefore, was a manned hypersonic boost-glide vehicle which would gather information on the affects of hypersonic flight on man, machine, and equipment during ascent to orbit, in orbit, and during reentry from space and landing at a pre-determined landing site. Perhaps more importantly, the same vehicle system was to be employed ‘to develop routine operating techniques’ in space and gain experience for a whole host

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of military space missions (orbital and re-entry phase bombing, reconnaissance, logistic supply for space stations, as well as the inspection, interception, repair, refurbishment, recovery, replacement, and refueling of unmanned satellites)’ (Directorate of Systems Plans 1957; Walter 1992). The new boost-glider weapon system needed the research attributes of the ‘X’ category vehicle and the military attributes of a ‘Y’ category vehicle. It needed to be a combination of both; it needed to be a conceptual test vehicle (ibid). If Lt Gen Putt approved a development plan based on the new tenet of an evolutionary conceptual test vehicle, Lamar and Walter believed all the secretary of defense’s eventual questions could be answered. Equally important, deputy chief of staff for Air Force research and development’s approval might eventually bring a higher funding priority for their approach to manned military spaceflight. After reviewing the two boost-glide development plans and the single summary study from the three divisions of the Directorate of Systems Plans, Lt Col Strathy, with the assistance of Lamar and Walter, created a single abbreviated development plan for a dynamically soaring conceptual test vehicle (hence Walter’s suggestion of the name Dyna-Soar) to push the stateof-the-art in hypersonic technology while creating an operational weapon system. The first phase (Step I – development) of Dyna-Soar, derived from the HYWARDS program, would be a manned research vehicle to obtain aerodynamic, structural, and human factor data at speeds and altitudes significantly beyond the reach of the X-15. Dyna-Soar would operate in a hypersonic flight regime of 10,800 mph and 350,000 feet altitude, well above the X-15’s planned 4000 mph and 250,000 feet. In addition, Step I would provide a means to evaluate military subsystems. In establishing test criteria for Dyna-Soar, Lamar highlighted the clear distinction between experimenting with a research or pre-production prototype vehicle (X/Y designations) and a conceptual test vehicle. ‘Unlike the X-15, designed to provide information for research application, or the YB-52, designed to provide information for pre-production prototype, Dyna-Soar Step I would be designed to provide information for the development of a future weapon system’ (ibid; Hallion 1978; Uyehara 1984). The second phase of Dyna-Soar (Step II – expansion) would produce a vehicle derived from the outline of the BRASS BELL study, a manned reconnaissance spacecraft capable of obtaining an altitude of at least 170,000 feet over a distance of 5000-10,000 nautical miles at a maximum velocity of 13,200 mph (HQ ARDC 1956c). The final phase of Dyna-Soar’s development (Step III – exploitation) incorporated the ROBO design specifications to create a more sophisticated vehicle. It would obtain an altitude of 300,000 feet at 15,000 mph. During this phase Dyna-Soar would become an operational weapon system capable of orbital nuclear bombing, improved reconnaissance capabilities, and, eventually, satellite inspection (identification and neutralization).

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Lt Col Strathy planned to have the first test vehicle ready for flight in 1962 and the completed weapon system ready for the Strategic Air Command system in 1974. The close inter-relationship between the test vehicle and its military follow-on missions was a deliberate decision not to make Dyna-Soar a pure research, X-15-style program. Lamar and Walter knew ‘an experimental hypersonic boost-glider would be too expensive to develop without some specific mission in mind’ (Sloop 1978). From the many bomber programs they had molded into reality, they also knew it would be easier to make an existing weapon system conform to an alternate mission (like modifying a bomber to perform a reconnaissance mission as Lamar and Major John D. Seaberg had done for the Air Force’s high-altitude reconnaissance aircraft that was dropped in favor of the U-2). Such a conceptual test vehicle approach championed the military potential of Dyna-Soar’s hypersonic flight while it afforded the program’s engineers some measure of political protection and gave them the fiscal opportunity to validate their theories (ibid). As long as their funding remained steady, even if it was at a low level, hypersonic boost-glide technology could progress. It was a delicate balance. If the winds of change altered the political climate, Dyna-Soar’s future, based on the principle of a conceptual test vehicle that would evolve to accomplish a specific military mission, would be in doubt. Because Col Prentiss believed ‘not enough detailed pre-production research data’ had been accumulated, development of the Dyna-Soar Step I vehicle could not begin immediately (Directorate of Systems Plans 1957). Instead, two intervals of preliminary investigations would have to occur. The initial interval would involve validation of various assumptions, theories, and data gathered from all the previous boost-glide studies. It would also provide additional design data and determine the optimum aerodynamic flight profile for the conceptual test vehicle. The second interval would refine the vehicle’s design, establish its performance specifications, and define its research subsystems. In the 12 to 18 months it would take to complete these two intervals of preliminary investigation, studies for the Step II and Step III military missions could be started. Under this plan, flight testing for the conceptual test vehicle could begin in 1966, Step II would be operational in 1969, and Step III in 1974 (ibid). Sputnik: A change in the intensity of national priorities When the Soviets launched Sputnik on 4 October 1957, the question of establishing an international legal precedent for reconnaissance satellite overflight became moot, lost in the enormous repercussions of the event (Stares 1985). The orbiting of Sputnik shocked, then galvanized, the American people and Congress into committing vast resources to the nation’s missile and space programs. While a hypersonic boost-glide

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weapon system had not become a Soviet reality, concerns about American prestige and security from Soviet space threats seemed to call for military countermeasures on the order of hypersonic boost-glide systems like Bell’s BOMI or BRASS BELL. Because the Soviets provided Eisenhower with the international legal precedent for overhead reconnaissance he wanted, the administration advocated a peaceful response to the Soviets’ incursion into space, even as the public and Congress clamored for dramatic action (Killian 1976). To placate the proponents of space weapons systems and provide some insurance against potential Soviet threats, Eisenhower allowed research on a variety of space weapon systems. Yet Sputnik did not fundamentally alter the existing high priority status of ICBMs or WS 117L, and the administration did not increase research and development funding for hypersonic boost-gliders (Schriever 1964; Stares 1985). In fact, on 9 October 1957, SAB Ad Hoc Committee chairman H. Guyford Stever urged the near-term development of a second generation of missiles for use as ICBMs and space boosters. The next priority would be reconnaissance and weather satellites, not hypersonic boost-gliders. Finally, the Ad Hoc Committee believed ‘the military value of the moon merited an Air Force plan for a manned landing’ (SAB Ad Hoc Committee 1957). Accordingly, Stever urged Lt Gen Putt to recognize Maj Gen Schriever’s BMD as ‘the Air Force’s permanent organization for all future ballistic missiles and satellites’ (ibid). On 17 October 1957, Lt. Col. Strathy presented the three-Step plan for Dyna-Soar to Lt Gen Putt at the Air Staff. Brig. Gen. D. Z. Zimmerman, Deputy Director of Development Planning also at Air Force headquarters, gave his enthusiastic endorsement. Zimmerman believed ARDC commander Lieutenant General Samuel E. Anderson (Lt Gen Power had been promoted to the commander of SAC after Gen LeMay became the vice chief of the Air Force on 1 July 1957) should, in the wake of Sputnik, ‘take a more courageous approach’ to hypersonic flight by immediately considering what he could do with more funding than originally requested (Boushey 1957; Walter 1957). Another attendee at the briefing, associate director for research at NACA headquarters John W. Crowley, strongly endorsed the conceptual test vehicle approach as a logical extension of the X-15 program. In fact, ‘the NACA’s research in hypersonics focused on the refinement of the boost-glide concept’ and the agency planned new facilities for future research in the field (ibid). WS 117L and RAND The launch of Sputnik on 4 October 1957 also helped set the international legal precedent for satellite overflight. Following its launch, the President had to decide who would control and direct US astronautical activities, now certain to be much larger and more diverse than anyone had imagined.

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Working with his advisors and the Congress, Eisenhower began to evolve answers to these questions between late 1957 and 1961 (Hall 1995b). Galvanized by Sputnik, members of the President’s Board of Consultants on Foreign Intelligence Activities (PBCFIA, formed by executive order the year before to review and report to the President on activities of the government’s intelligence organizations) recommended an evaluation of overhead reconnaissance systems, including satellites (Hall 1998). This eight-member board was chaired by the ubiquitous James Killian and included among its members Edwin ‘Din’ Land. After hearing satellite briefings by RAND and WS 117L officials, they advised Eisenhower that neither a new reconnaissance aircraft under study at the CIA (Project OXCART, the A-12) nor the Air Force WS 117L readout reconnaissance satellite (FEEDBACK) under contract to Lockheed would achieve operational status before l960. They recommended evaluating the interim solution proposed for an advanced reconnaissance system: the film recovery satellite advocated at RAND and now supported by Col ‘Fritz’ Oder and his engineers at the Ballistic Missile Division’s WS 117L office (Greer 1973; Ruffner 1995). Col Oder could count himself among the first Air Force converts to the Davies and Katz recoverable reconnaissance satellite concept. Indeed, by August he had sold the concept to his superiors, Maj Gen Bernard Schriever, commander of the Ballistic Missile Division, and his deputy, Brigadier General Osmond I. Ritland. The three men would also confer with Richard Leghorn, the reconnaissance specialist, former Air Force colleague, and now a member of the Aerial Inspection Subcommittee of the President’s Arms Control and Disarmament Group. All agreed. If this effort were to proceed and succeed quickly, it would require Presidential approval, the highest national priority, and must be prosecuted covertly like Project AQUATONE. Schriever would soon approach select members of the Air Staff, as well as his connections in Washington, to discuss this project and the need for a ‘second story’ that might be devised to provide a cover. Meanwhile, Oder’s WS 117L program office in Inglewood, CA, included the Thor-boosted reconnaissance satellite (identified as Program IIA–in its 1957 WS117L Development Plan to deputy chief of staff for Air Force research and development Lt Gen Putt). Lockheed would be instructed to plan for this additional element of the WS 117L (Hall 1998). Importantly, both Killian and Land shared Eisenhower’s complete confidence. Project AQUATONE’s U-2s had proved a stunning technical success and an intelligence bonanza. If a satellite ejecting a film capsule from orbit for recovery on Earth appeared promising to Killian and Land, the President would have it investigated. A few days later, ‘the Executive Secretary of the National Security Council on 28 October notified the Secretary of Defense and Director of Central Intelligence [DCI] that the President had asked for a joint report from them on the status of the

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advanced [reconnaissance] systems’ (Hall 1998). On 5 December, undersecretary of defense Donald Quarles, another trusted Presidential confidant, replied on behalf of the Defense Department and DCI Allen Dulles. ‘Because of the sensitivity of the subject’, he said, ‘this review would be conducted through oral briefings’ (ibid). Held later in the month, the technical evaluation confirmed the views of Killian and Land. The WS 117L satellite approach for taking pictures, developing them on board, then scanning the film electronically and radioing the images down to stations on Earth, faced daunting, long-term technical challenges and questions of resolution quality. If, based on proven ICBM warhead technology, atmospheric re-entry techniques could be perfected, then film exposed on 1-or 2-day missions might successfully be returned to Earth for developing and analysis. It was not real-time reconnaissance and considered a big technological ‘if’, but the equipment required for the air–sea recovery system, already perfected to retrieve GENETRIX cameras and film, added to the overall confidence in this approach over FEEDBACK’s more complex readout methodology (ibid). The interim reconnaissance satellite system Quarles compared with the Air Force’s WS 117L readout system was the same plan described earlier in Davies and Katz’s 12 November 1957 RAND report: A Family of Recoverable Reconnaissance Satellites. The spin-stabilized satellite contained a Fairchild transverse panoramic slit camera with a 12-inch focallength f/3.5 lens, which could cover a narrow angle of approximately 21°. Wide-angle scanning, accomplished by spinning the satellite, moved the lens across the field during the exposure time. Pictures would be taken only when the lens, mounted perpendicular to the roll axis, swung past the Earth below. At 135–140 miles altitude, the camera would produce a resolution on the surface of 60 feet at 40 lines per millimeter resolution on film (Davies et al. 1957). In Washington, assistant secretary of the Air Force for research and development, Richard E. Horner, added his own technical assessment of the system for secretary of defense Neil McElroy. If the nation wanted a space reconnaissance system quickly, he affirmed, a film recovery satellite would reach operational status at least a year before the Air Force’s WS 117L’s readout satellite. On 15 November, in the aftermath of another, and more spectacular Soviet satellite launch, Eisenhower named James Killian his special assistant for science and technology and chairman of the President’s Science Advisory Committee, or PSAC. In his new capacity as Presidential science advisor, and chairman of the PBCFIA, Killian conferred at the White House with Polaroid’s Din Land, the CIA’s Richard Bissell, Eisenhower’s staff assistant Army Brig General Andrew Goodpaster, and Maj General Schriever in early December. The men reviewed aircraft strategic reconnaissance capabilities and the potential options of satellite reconnaissance. A film recovery satellite acquired through a covert program, they concluded,

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represented the nation’s best near-term choice to augment the U-2. ‘A Thor IRBM and the Lockheed liquid-propellant Agena booster satellite developed for the WS 117L’, they agreed, ‘assured a heavier payload’ (Hall 1998). The larger and more powerful Lockheed upper stage, which could be stabilized on all three axes in space, would be substituted in place of the smaller solid-propellant Aerobee 75 suggested by RAND and eventually considered by Quarles (ibid).

Conclusion The technological Pearl Harbor of Sputnik caused Air Force leaders to reshape their thoughts about space as a medium for warfare, and of the nature of warfare in space. While Maj Gen Schriever’s ballistic missile technology offered a near-term logistical solution to the first technological step to military space operations, the long-term solution was open to debate. On 17 October 1957, Bill Lamar gave the first of many Dyna-Soar presentations to the Air Staff, urging the acceptance of the ARDC’s development plan and requesting the first three million dollar installment. To gain the support they needed, proponents had to convince the administration of the immediate need to push the hypersonic state-of-the-art for boost-gliders at a faster pace. Using a low level of funding initially would insure the timely evolution of technical knowledge. Furthermore, should the two forthcoming preliminary studies prove a boost-glide weapon system unsatisfactory, expenditures would be minimized. Should the boost-glider prove satisfactory, costs would still be minimized because the program could indeed be funded step-by-step. The combination of the historical precedent for replacing an older weapon system with a newer, more capable system, 5 years of boost-glide feasibility studies, and apprehension about Soviet achievements created a favorable atmosphere for boost-glide technology. With Dyna-Soar, the Air Force maintained its institutional affinity for a manned strategic bomber, while it incorporated ballistic missile technology and reconnaissance satellite technology into a single system. Almost a month after Lamar’s presentation, Brig. Gen. Homer A. Boushey, deputy director of research and development, HQ Air Force, approved ARDC commander Lt Gen Anderson’s abbreviated development plan for WS 464L, Dyna-Soar. On 25 November, Boushey issued Development Directive 94, allocating three million dollars of FY 1958 funds to fulfill the previously established requirements for Anderson’s hypersonic boost-glide research and development. The boost-glide concept fostered by Lt Col ‘Stretch’ Strathy, Bill Lamar, and Capt Bill Walter offered the promise of pushing manned hypersonic flight into space. Following Brig. Gen. Zimmerman’s philosophy, Boushey advocated abandoning ‘a minimum risk, minimum rate of expenditure’ (HQ Air Force 1957).

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However, he warned against a ‘crash program’ based on a minimum of technical information. Boushey believed ‘by the end of 1959 sufficient data should be available to make a definite decision on Dyna-Soar’ (ibid). If the concept appeared feasible after the expenditure of FY 1958 and 1959 funds, the boost-glide program should be accelerated. Because of the lingering perception of technological uncertainty associated with piloted hypersonic flight, as well as the cost, he directed them to ‘study both a manned and an unmanned bomber and reconnaissance weapon system’ during the two intervals of preliminary investigation (ibid). Although there appeared to be preponderant support for a manned vehicle, validation of these previous justifications would be made after studies for an unmanned reconnaissance and bomber version, done with ‘equal aggressiveness and complete objectivity’, had been completed (ibid). Boushey re-emphasized the need for ‘cradle-to-grave’ cost analysis, an innovation mentioned earlier in Col Prentiss’s ROBO evaluations. Finally, the deputy director of research and development stressed, ‘the only objective for the [Step I] conceptual test vehicle would be to obtain research data on the hypersonic boost-glide flight regime. Early and clear test results must be obtained before hardware development for a military [Step II] version could proceed’ (ibid). To obtain these results, Boushey recommended one contractor be selected to conduct the research required for the pre-Phase I program. The data would be non-proprietary and the contractor would be funded by the Air Force. Design studies and system analysis, the second part of the prePhase I effort, would be competitive between two or more contractors and funded by either the Air Force or on a voluntary basis. Data from these studies would be proprietary. The deputy director believed this management philosophy should govern the development schedule of all subsequent steps within Dyna-Soar’s development. Lt Gen Putt approved the program on 14 November 1957. Shortly afterwards, Air Force Chief of Staff, General White, received a briefing and authorized the immediate initiation of a pre-Phase I study. Subsequent funding, he cautioned, would be contingent upon favorable technological progress as well as favorable cost-time forecasts that paralleled the ‘military-political requirements atmosphere’ (Lawrence 1957; Uyehara 1964; Heaton 1957). The fiscal costs of Dyna-Soar, the technological complexity of the system, its radical departure from the conventional means of accomplishing strategic reconnaissance and bomber forced its proponents to continually balance their boost-glide methodology against existing, planned, or potential weapons systems with the same or similar missions. Maintaining a favorable balance within the ‘military-political requirements atmosphere’ would be difficult. Meanwhile, Maj. Gen. Schriever completed a 10 to 15-year plan for future manned spaceflight exploration. Like his reconnaissance satellite programs, his plan envisioned manned spaceflight in a minimum of time

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and with a minimum of new development. By using existing missile technology and facilities within his organization, or currently under development within his organization, the Air Force could begin to investigate manned military astronautics and space technology at the earliest possible time (Ely 1957; Air Force Ballistic Missile Division 1965). By moving along both a boost-glide and a ballistic approach to manned spaceflight, Lt Gen Anderson believed the Air Force could put the first human into space. Alternately, the Air Force’s concept of pushing the state-of-the-art for hypersonic flight to achieve manned military space presence did not fit easily, if at all, into Eisenhower’s space-for-peace policy. Only a select few within the Air Force knew of the administration’s unquestionable commitment to automated reconnaissance systems as the means of obtaining overhead reconnaissance and of the pivotal role reconnaissance satellite technology played as the administration’s benchmark for all its military space policy requirements. No one at Lamar’s level would be privy to this critical assessment unless someone ‘at the top’ told them.5

Chapter 4

The debate over manned military spaceflight: the spaceflight revolution and Dyna-Soar, October 1957–May 1959

It is my view that once we have adopted a new development project, it is our responsibility in the Air Force to get solidly behind it and push for its completion with minimum delay and interference (Sessums 1958).

With the approval of the abbreviated development plan, the direction of the Dyna-Soar program appeared clearly marked. A research space glider, a reconnaissance vehicle, and a bombardment system comprised a solid threestep progression. Nonetheless, throughout the life of Weapon System 464L, officials within the DoD subjected the program to severe criticism, largely due to the administration’s decision to pursue a space policy of unrestricted overhead reconnaissance from space. As Eisenhower’s policies and programs matured, the technical feasibility of a boost-glide weapon system and the necessity of orbital flight in Dyna-Soar’s program plan came under fire. By November 1959, the project office had to undertake an exacting investigation of its approach to manned spaceflight. Under this heightened scrutiny, certainty of the program’s objectives momentarily disappeared. If Air Force planners intended to keep Dyna-Soar under their authority, they would need to convince administration officials that they should retain control of the program and that the program would conform to the administration’s space policy. During this chaotic period, administration officials calmly resisted domestic political pressure to make sweeping changes to their space-for-peace policy while they re-examined their international and domestic space strategy. Ultimately, Eisenhower’s advisors considered the most influential determinant for space policy was the preservation of the principle and practice of unmanned satellite reconnaissance. Such capabilities would give the US the opportunity to gain crucial information about the closed Soviet state, and, hopefully, guard against an arms race in space. Subsequently, they would not allow any program to jeopardize those principles and practices (Bamford 1982). Indeed, these highly classified ‘black’ satellite programs did not ‘go through all the formal budgetary and contracting procedures prescribed for open or just ordinarily secret programs’,

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like Dyna-Soar (York and Greb 1977). This secretive policy meant boostglide proponents could not know the extent of the administration’s determination to insure the predominance of automated systems. The paradox of Sputnik’s undeniable importance, yet imprecise significance, made everything about space policy quite disturbing. Without question the spaceflight revolution meant change was imminent, but without the clairvoyance of knowing what changes were about to happen, no one was absolutely sure which way to go. Criticism of America’s missile and space programs filled the month between Sputnik and Sputnik II, from 4 October to 3 November 1957. It was a pivotal time in the nation’s history. The demand for action could not be ignored. Time and again the public and Congress raised the questions: why had the American missile and space programs failed to produce a winner, and how could these programs be revitalized to assure one in the immediate future? Eisenhower did not believe a space race with the Soviets was the answer. On more than one occasion the president declared that interservice rivalry had to stop, implying that eliminating bickering over roles and missions was one of the more practical solutions. Newsweek magazine offered another. It called for a designated ‘Czar’ of the military services to end the divisiveness and put the nation ahead of the Soviet Union in technology (Newsweek 1957). To this critique, Trevor Gardner provided a counterpoint. He placed the failure on national policy. America did not have a vigorous space program in 1957 because of its preference for fiscal economy, an insistence that space programs offer returns commensurate with their costs, and a determination to keep the military out of space for the sake of foreign relations. National policy had said ‘No’ to both the Navy and the Air Force’s efforts between 1946 and 1948, rejected Project Orbiter in 1955, held back the Vanguard effort for two critical years, and refused permission for the ABMA to launch its satellite (Gardner 1957). The answer, according to Gardner, could be found in a new national space policy centered on the military. Air Force chief of staff Gen White believed, ‘[t]he US must win and maintain the capacity to control space in order to assure the progress and preeminence of the free nations. If liberty and freedom are to remain on the Earth, the US and its allies must be in a position to control space. We cannot permit the dominance of space by those who have repeatedly stated they intend to crush the Free World’ (White 1958b, c). Air and space, he opined, were an ‘indivisible field of operations’ for airmen (ibid). Just as the Bell X-2 rocket research aircraft carried man 25 miles above the Earth, the ‘X-15 rocket research plane which is now in the works, is designed for speeds and altitudes much greater than those of the X-2’ (ibid). As a manned system, Dyna-Soar’s Step I research phase was a natural extension of this logic. There would also be an important complementary role for automated systems. In fact, White argued, the security of America would require the

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‘integrated forces of manned and unmanned systems ... for missiles [and satellites] are but one step in the evolution from aircraft to true spacecraft. It will take both types, that is, both manned and unmanned systems to perform our missions because in the future the essentials for success will still be quick reaction, reliability, flexibility, and versatility ... Unmanned systems and manned spacecraft join together in compatible and complementary roles to form a functionally complete system’ (ibid, emphasis in original). The chief of staff believed the Air Force, as an institution, was uniquely qualified to wield this as ‘a single instrument’ through a continuous environment of air and space in the defense of the nation. While the other services knew they did not want the Air Force to be the nation’s lead service for space operations, they also believed ‘as did Congress and much of the population’ that appointing Czars would not solve the problem (US Congress 1957b). Adding more layers of bureaucracy to the existing missile organizations would further slow the development process. Instead these critics called for streamlining the existing procurement system to facilitate space policy management (ibid). In this unfolding public debate between opponents and proponents of various space policies and programs, no one denied the essential need for civilian programs. Too little was known about space to build a military space program without the participation of civilian agencies. For that very reason, however, many administration officials denied the need for a military space program beyond unmanned reconnaissance satellites, and refused to allow the Air Force to develop a manned system until the service could prove its utility. While they admitted ignorance regarding the exact nature of space warfare, they refused to accept the Air Force’s concept of military space operations. Proponents of space weapon systems believed that space – as a medium – would eventually shatter the older military concepts about the control of the land, sea, and air. As such, the US should not seek only the civilian exploration of space. The services believed America should explore the full promise of military operations in space and examine the opportunities provided by the civilian exploration of space. For military leaders, the inability of strategists and tacticians to quickly prepare handbooks on space warfare did not detract from what they believed to be the seemingly obvious significance of space as the ultimate high ground. In the first 2 years after Sputnik, the services knew they must reconcile their requirements for national security in space with the president’s spacefor-peace policy, a policy that secretly favored a civilian program as a ‘stalking horse’ for a covert unmanned military reconnaissance satellite program. As the Air Force and its sister services formulated their space policies, Eisenhower calmly orchestrated his solution to the spaceflight revolution. He stayed on course by firmly re-establishing, through bureaucracy and legislation, his authority over the military’s desires, particularly the Air Force’s,

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to lead the nation into the space age. Amid the administration’s reorganization and redistribution of military space programs, Air Force leaders retained control of Dyna-Soar by assuring OSD officials that Step I would initially not have orbital capability. Nevertheless, Dyna-Soar’s development directive clearly stated that the Air Force intended to create a conceptual test vehicle in Step I for a weapon system capable of orbital flight in Step III. This concept was strengthened by proponents like Maj Gen Sessums, vice commander of the Air Research and Development Command, who believed Dyna-Soar would make man’s first step towards the routine access of space possible. Although he did not realize it, such military requirements conflicted with Eisenhower’s space-for-peace policy. As such, a day of atonement would be coming (Bowen 1964).

Reactions to the Sputnik flights On 7 August 1957, Eisenhower announced the resignation of Charles Wilson and the nomination of Neil H. McElroy as his new secretary of defense. McElroy, like the president, considered the horrors of a possible nuclear holocaust in space unacceptable. The chief executive and his foreign policy advisors clung tenaciously to their space-for-peace policy begun in 1955. Indeed, the president would not compromise his position on launching a civilian satellite with a civilian (not a military) booster until after Sputnik and the failure of Vanguard in December 1957. Following these events, he openly conceded the need for studies of military space programs. In turn, if a military program needed to be developed, he wanted it small. Eisenhower hoped to focus world attention on America’s interest in peace by emphasizing the civilian character of space exploration rather than its control by military means (New York Times 1957a). In keeping with these sentiments, deputy secretary of defense Donald H. Quarles surprised and chagrined Air Force leaders who briefed him on the military satellite program and the potential of satellites for offensive applications. In fact, ‘Mr Quarles took very strong and specific exception to the inclusion in the presentation of any thoughts on the use of a satellite as a (nuclear) weapon carrier and stated that the Air Force was out of line in advancing this as a possible application of a satellite. He verbally directed that any such applications not be considered further in Air Force planning. Although both General LeMay and General Putt voiced objection to this ... on grounds that we had no assurance that the USSR would not explore this potential of satellites and could be expected to do so, Mr Quarles remained adamant’ (Oder 1957; Eisenhower 1995; Hall 1995a). In answering the public outcry for action, the president would certainly look to his new defense secretary and his deputy to help control the military’s desires to establish a number of space programs in addition to the highly secretive automated reconnaissance satellites he felt were so vital to national security.

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On 17 October General Putt, the Air Staff’s deputy chief of staff for development, directed ARDC commander Lieutenant General Samuel E. Anderson to assemble an ad hoc committee to consider ways for the Air Force to assist in countering America’s loss of prestige in the wake of Sputnik. Composed of the service’s Scientific Advisory Board members, aircraft industrialists, and a small group of ARDC personnel as technical advisors, the committee met on 21–22 October under the chairmanship of Dr Edward Teller, the internationally known physicist who helped develop the atomic and hydrogen bombs. The report specifically stated that America’s technological decline resulted from ‘administrative and management’ practices. These practices kept either civilian or military agencies from establishing a stable, yet imaginative, research and development program. Indeed, ‘[e]ver since the dawn of recorded history, man has been constrained to spend his life within the ten miles of mean sea level; human life has been, in effect, a two-dimensional affair. This limitation on human activity has constricted many important aspects of human capability, both peaceful and military ... Historically, man has been unable to foresee the future in detail – he could conceive flights in the air long before he could conceive its use. We are now in the same position – we can conceive of space flight, we cannot conceive of all of its applications’ (Teller 1957). Specifically, the problem was ‘... the attainment of space flight will result only from a considerable national effort over a long period of time, and yet judgment based on historical evidence indicates that breakthroughs of military importance that are not anticipated will probably be achieved. The danger lies in the fact that, if such breakthroughs are achieved by Russia and she continues to score achievements in absence of activity in the US, we could be in a defenseless position for an extended critical period while frantically trying to catch up and regain an adequate posture. There are many excellent historical examples of new weapons, tactics, or strategies swinging the balance in this way’ (ibid). The committee made suggestions. First, it recommended simplifying management through the consolidation of existing research and development organizations and the decentralization of ballistic missile and spaceflight program operations from the Office of Secretary of Defense to the services. Secondly, it wanted to put ballistic missile and spaceflight programs on a maximum basis, without reservation to time, dollars, or people. Finally, and most important, it wanted to ensure the entire effort had the top priority of governmental and national interest (ibid). Just prior to the Teller committee meeting, a Round III meeting of the NACA took place on 16–18 October at the Ames Aeronautical Laboratory. NACA officials intended to discuss and coordinate the four NACA laboratories’ work on HYWARDS because the merits of high L/D (lift to drag) ratios versus medium L/D ratios for hypersonic flight had polarized the labs’ opinions. A. J. Eggers championed Ames’s preference for the high L/D ratio. His research suggested their boost-glider would have a range advan-

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tage of some 1300 miles if launched at the same speed as the Langley medium L/D ratio glider. John Becker championed Langley’s alternative view. Having initiated a systematic analysis of the coolant requirements of their glider design 2 months earlier, he and fellow Langley engineer Peter Korycinski believed that if a boost-glider employed a flat-bottomed wing designed for a particular loading and maximum lift, and if the glider was then operated at a specific high angle of attack (about 45°) to produce a specific re-entry attitude, the need for surface coolant (as proposed by Bell engineers for BOMI and BRASS BELL) would be virtually eliminated, at considerable weight savings. Becker’s radiatively cooled concept would eventually make it possible to design the metallic Dyna-Soar Step I vehicle without skin coolant, the same privilege the shuttle enjoys because of its advanced ceramic tiles (Hansen 1987). Understanding the implications of weight reduction, Becker showed how the weight associated with Eggers’ higher L/D ratio, for equal system weights, nullified their range advantage. By using a 40% smaller wing, the range of Becker’s glider increased from 4700 to 5600 nautical miles. The associated 4000-pound reduction in weight from the reduced wing size depreciated the importance of the lower L/D design. Additionally, as Ames engineers began to realize their high L/D designs would be fraught with enormous heat protection problems, high L/D ratios began to fall from favor (Hallion 1987). Coming just 11 days after the Sputnik launch, everyone at the meeting felt a mounting pressure to solve the critical re-entry problem of manned spacecraft. Joseph G. Thibodaux, one of the notoriously free thinking Langley engineers, remembered: ‘It really turns out, I guess, that a lot of the concepts that the shuttle had were kind of looked at in the Dyna-Soar program: a fully reusable, hypersonic glide vehicle. [During the meeting] ... we got into a big argument about if we [the NACA] were going to do a manned space program what would it look like? Would it look like a ballistic missile re-entry thing [like Schriever’s Man-in-Space-Soonest proposal that was circulating through the engineering offices at Ames and Langley] or would it have wings on it, you see, and fly like the Dyna-Soar?’ (Thibodaux 1983; Hansen 1987). While ‘ballistic re-entry would certainly be the quickest and easiest way to do it’, NACA was supposed to be advising the Air Force on the feasibility of Dyna-Soar, ‘but in the process of doing that we wanted to get in on the act ourselves, you see’ (ibid). The Ames view, again expressed by Eggers, suggested the NACA should be working on the satellite problem rather than on the HYWARDS hypersonic boost-glider issue. Very low L/D ratios would work quite well for ballistic satellite re-entry, making its technology easier to develop than hypersonic boost-glider technology. Ira Abott of NACA headquarters, a longtime Langley employee, mediated this new Langley-Ames dispute. At the close of the Round III meeting, he voiced the majority opinion that the NACA should immediately begin to study the satellite re-entry problem for non-lifting or slightly-lifting vehi-

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cles. It should be ‘in addition to continuing R&D on the boost-glide system, however, not its alternate’ (Abbott, as quoted in Hansen 1987, italics in original). There was good reason for this rationale. In spite of the growing reaction to Sputnik, the Air Force’ s work on Dyna-Soar – the operational follow-on to the research work of the X-15 – was more immediate and urgent from a military point of view. The dispute continued, despite mediation. Ultimately, as Ames engineers began to focus on non-lifting or slightly lifting re-entry vehicles, Langley engineers would be left to pursue boost-glider re-entry technology in support of Dyna-Soar’s proponents within the Air Force as well as provide the logic and the legacy for boostglider systems within the NACA, and then the soon to be formed National Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA). SPUTNIK II As NACA engineers pondered the merits of L/D ratios for HYWARDS, Air Force officials found McElroy’s interest in the Army’s Explorer distressing. On 29 October, as the secretary of defense examined the Army’s proposal, Air Staff representatives briefed him on the background and status of WS117L, urging a small increase in funding for FY 1959 that would enable them to orbit the reconnaissance satellite in 1960. Assistant deputy chief of staff for Air Force development Major General John S. Mills suggested that ‘[t]he natural extrapolation of Air Force flight is into space. The present Air Force ballistic missile program is a springboard into space’ (Mills 1957). Regarding Dyan-Soar, he stated, ‘[t]he development of such manned weapon systems will represent a major technological breakthrough in performance and mission capability for manned bombardment and reconnaissance. As weapons systems, they [the Dyana-Soar boost-gliders] will represent the first step in manned spaceflight ... The schedule for this program, assuming initiation of development programs as planned, calls for first flight of Dyna-Soar I, conceptual test vehicle, in 1963 under very austere funding conditions; a 5500 nautical mile reconnaissance system, DynaSoar II in 1966 and a global range system, Dyna-Soar III in 1971’ (ibid). Yet, Sputnik had unwittingly paved the way for the administration’s plan for international acceptance of unmanned satellite overflight for reconnaissance purposes and Eisenhower wanted to make sure America’s first satellite was not a military reconnaissance vehicle, much less a weapons system of Dyna-Soar’s proposed caliber. No one addressed the Air Staff representatives’ requests until after the first US satellite launch on 31 January 1958. Prior to the launch of Explorer I, the Soviets launched Sputnik II. In turn, the media protested for action to counter the Soviet ‘threat’ envisioned by the launches of Sputnik I and II (Sputnik II consisted of a dog and capsule weighing 1,121 pounds, the equivalent of a nuclear weapon, into orbit on 2 November 1957). Meanwhile, the services and Congress pressed for

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an active military weapon system (NSC 1958). In the midst of this chorus of criticism from the services, Congress, and the press, the debate over the appropriate course of action continued. Eisenhower announced the first of his solutions with the appointment of a missile ‘Czar’, MIT president Dr James R. Killian, as the Special Assistant to the President for Science and Technology. The President’s Science Advisory Committee (PSAC) would aid Killian in formulating a national space policy that would publicly integrate a subordinate military space program into the dominant civilian program, while covertly placing primary emphasis on the administration’s highly secretive reconnaissance satellite programs. ‘I appointed a panel of PSAC members consisting of General Doolittle, Edwin Land, Herbert York, and Edward Purcell, the gifted Harvard physicist and Nobel laureate, serving as chairman’ (New York Times 1957b; Killian 1976). The Purcell panel worked with great speed, considering the merits of the Army, the Air Force, and OSD’s Advanced Research Projects Agency (ARPA) as well as other studies within the scientific community. When its conclusions had been reached, Purcell chose not to write a report. Instead, he wanted to present a statement to educate and inform the layman about the true nature of Sputnik. The committee concluded ‘the major military uses of space lay in the fields of weather, communication, and reconnaissance’ (Killian 1976). The members ‘took a dim view of space as a theater of war in the immediate years ahead. Even the most sober proposals for satellites as bomb carriers or military bases on the moon ‘do not hold up well on close examination or appear to be achievable at an early date ... In short, the earth would appear to be, after all, the best weapons carrier’. When Purcell and York presented the statement at an NSC meeting, Killian noticed the president ‘nodding his head in agreement when the section on the military uses of space was presented’ (ibid). If he wanted to insure automated American reconnaissance satellites could safely pass over the Soviet Union, Eisenhower would need to gain international acceptance for those overflights. While reconnaissance satellites were military space systems, they were passive. They gathered information; they did not deliver a weapon to a target like active military weapon systems. By not protesting Sputnik’s overflight, the US took a step toward international acceptance. Keeping active military space systems from being developed would be another step. The administration hoped Killian’s strategy would quiet the cries for action to surpass the Soviet’s space achievements or suppress Soviet satellites with military weapon systems like Dyna-Soar (ibid). As the president continued to increase his authority over the service’s space programs and champion his space policy, Langley researcher John Becker (who, after the Round III debates with Eggers and other Ames engineers, had begun to apply ‘the surprising results of his and Korycinski’s coolant study to the design of a one-man satellite vehicle with wings’) began preparing a paper for the last NACA Conference on High-Speed

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Aerodynamics scheduled for March 1958 (Hallion 1998). Expanding on this research, Becker noted that radiation from the boost-glider’s hot wing surface would balance the peak frictional heating of its skin temperatures up to 2200°F. Additionally, if these boost-gliders operated at high angles of attack, no cooling would be required for skin temperatures up to 2000°F. It would be technologically possible to eliminate skin coolant from DynaSoar’s design (ibid). Developing Dyna-Soar’s boost-glide technology would push the booster state-of-the-art as well as the hypersonic. If not for these facts, Becker believed, ‘the first US manned satellite might well have been a [one-man] landable winged vehicle’, a miniature version of today’s space shuttle (John Becker, as quoted in Hansen 1987).

Asserting authority over the military’s space programs As the administration created new avenues of authority to quiet critics and assert its space policy, deputy chief of staff for Air Force development Lt Gen Putt forwarded an Air Force policy statement to the chief of staff, General White, on 6 December 1958, that assured the loyalty of the Air Force to the administration’s national space-for-peace policy. However, Putt also asserted the need for the US to control the medium of space. Because there could be ‘no division per se, between air and space; only one indivisible field of operations above the surface of the Earth’, the Air Force would be the logical military service to exercise control of this aerospace medium (Lt. Gen Putt, as quoted in Bowen 1964). His assertion also captured an unpleasant dichotomy for the military. Eisenhower repeatedly emphasized a space-for-peace policy, so phrased – as in pre-Sputnik days – to exclude virtually all military activity from any region beyond the aerodynamic capabilities of airpower. This was a difficult policy for the Air Force. Had a similar principle been applied to freedom of the seas, the navies of the world would have been excluded from the oceans and forced to sail within 3 miles of their nations’ borders rather than protect the nation’s interests in international waters. No one in the Air Force denied the ideal of space-for-peace, but the restrictions on the military did not seem to match the obligations of the military to ensure the security of the nation. The services expressed their acceptance of the president’s space policy over and over again; but until international agreements could guarantee all nations would follow the administration’s space policy, Air Force leaders believed the US needed the capability to control space to ensure the liberties of ‘all nations’ (US Congress 1958a). In this context, the services sought to determine for themselves how effective international space law would be, how it would curtail their activities, and how far they should go in presenting a case for military space projects. Two weeks later, ARDC commander Lt Gen Anderson issued System Development Directive 464L, stipulating the mission of Dyna-Soar Step I

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(also referred to as Dyna-Soar I). As a conceptual test platform, the vehicle would be used to obtain data on the Mach 7+ flight regime in support of future weapon system development. Anderson felt a system development plan for the first phase of the program and its subsequent weapon system phases should be completed by 31 October 1958. The directive set July 1962 as the date for the first flight of the spaceplane and it approved immediate initiation of the program by directing Brig Gen Haugen, the Detachment 1 commander and chief of the directorate of systems management, to begin the source selection process by evaluating any technical changes since the preparation of the Abbreviated Development Plan on 10 October 1957, 6 days after Sputnik (HQ ARDC 1957c; Soulé 1957). As Sputnik brought international acclaim to the Soviet Union, a special issue of Sovietskaya Aviatsiya (Soviet Aviation), focused attention on what the Soviet Air Force believed would be the next, most logical, space program. V. Aleksandrov, a doctorial candidate of technical sciences, suggested ‘[t]he swift advance of rocket technology has now opened up the possibility of creating aircraft that can fly in the upper reaches of the atmosphere’ (Podrovsky 1957; Aleksandrov 1957). Such boost-gliders will ‘bolt like a rocket to outer space and on return to the Earth, land like an ordinary airplane ... The thrust of the rocket-plane’s engines must reach at least 50 tons. The total engine thrust of intercontinental ballistic rockets, it is known, can already be considered greater than this figure. For this reason the rocketplane will first be built by that country which has the best intercontinental ballistic missiles and also has new high-output heating fuels’ (ibid). Soviet professor G. I. Pokrovsky, doctor of technical sciences and General-Major of the engineering-technical service, supported Aleksandrov’s conclusions, ‘It can, at the same time, be said with confidence that further development of space flights will bring aviation and rocket technology into an original closer association. The problem of creating a space ship that will return to Earth can be solved, for example, only by giving this ship wings and controls peculiar to modern airplanes. The rocket ship will need wings for effective braking of its flight speed in the atmosphere and making a landing at a given aerodrome’ (ibid). The Soviet Air Force had played a leading role in the launching of Sputnik I and II, and they wanted to stay in the forefront of space technology. Suggestions of such Soviet military space missions stirred American reactions (Bowen 1964). In his State of the Union address, Eisenhower explained the role of the nation’s military space programs within his space-for-peace policy. ‘Pointing out that some of the important new military systems which technology had produced did not fit into any existing service pattern [roles and missions], I said that the resulting uncertainties and the jurisdictional disputes attending them tended to bewilder and confuse the public. I did not develop in full the charge of harmful service rivalries, but, “Whatever they are, America wants them stopped”. As one way of helping to stop the bickering, I would

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present specific recommendations, in a separate message, for some reorganization of the Defense Department’ (Eisenhower 1957; New York Times 1958a). Three months later the chief executive submitted his request. Source selection board and a military space program By 25 January 1958, the working group of the source selection board, chaired by William E. Lamar (now the assistant chief of Detachment 1’s Bombardment Aircraft Division), screened a list of 111 contractors to determine potential bidders for the Step I Dyna-Soar design. Of these contractors, the working group only considered ten – Bell, Boeing, Chance Vought, Convair, General Electric, Douglas, Lockheed, Martin, North American, and Western Electric – to be capable of carrying out the development. Later, the list was amended to include McDonnell, Northrop, and Republic (Lamar 1958). From these contractor’s design efforts the board would make its final selection. While using a hypersonic boost-glider technology to place the first man into orbit would be a ‘significant technical milestone in the USAF space program’, Lt Gen. Putt told the ARDC commander, ‘It is also vital to the prestige of the nation that such a feat be accomplished at the earliest technically practicable date – if at all possible before the Russians. However, it should be clearly understood that only those approaches to an early demonstration of manned orbital flight will be considered which can be expected to contribute information of substantial value to follow-on [military] systems’ (Putt 1958). The Air Force’s deputy chief of staff for development understood that problems associated with manned orbital flight with a ballistic re-entry capsule might pose less stringent design requirements than the hypersonic Dyna-Soar I flight profile. Therefore, if it was technologically ‘feasible to demonstrate an orbital flight appreciably earlier with a vehicle designed only for the satellite mission [rentry profile]’ then they should consider developing such a system separately from Dyna-Soar (ibid). Consequently, one-orbit approaches to both methods should be examined to determine which could be developed first and the overall program costs of each approach. Putt wanted the selection board’s results by 15 March. Interestingly, some within RAND already held a dim view of any manned approach to military space operations. Amrom Katz and Merton Davies had previously received ROBO, BRASS BELL and similar studies prominently featuring manned operations. As proponents of automated reconnaissance satellites, they could envision no reason for manned space reconnaissance: ‘As far as we can see, all this character is doing besides drawing fly pay is saving film. Having said this, we hope it becomes immediately obvious to all readers that saving film is just one hell of a lousy mission, for film is cheap and light’ (Katz and Davies 1958b). They believed that ‘long before we are ready to toss an Air Force major around the world

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in a couple of orbits, we will have found out how to control and program camera operation to enable very effective utilization of this terrific capacity’ (ibid). In turn, a wide angle panoramic system of large scale film capacity (like a next generation CORONA satellite) would do at least as well: It would eventually cover many more points (because of many more passes) than could a machine limited to one, two, or three passes and for a long time will stand short of coverage of the SU [Soviet Union] ... Without making an extremely detailed analysis, we feel we would rather devote the pilot’s weight, the weight of his necessary environment and the servo equipment to stabilization devices, [to] programming devices, bigger cameras, and more film ... Pilots in airplanes are very handy, because they can be briefed, can fly, can navigate, can land the machine and all in all can do [and] behave as if they are running the machines they’re in. As far as we can see, almost none of these things are true for the aero-medical experiment who will ‘fly’ a Robo, etc. Sure he’ll land the machine. He damn well has to. In fact, the main reason he’s up there is to land the machine, because he’s up there in it (ibid). For Katz and Davies, it was a ‘man versus machine’ situation. On the other hand, many in the Air Force thought there was a distinctive military role for man in space to complement unmanned reconnaissance satellites. Indeed, neither the Air Force chief of staff Gen White nor other members of the Air Staff saw the situation in such stark ‘man versus machine’ terms. ‘In the country of the blind’, stated Lt Gen Putt’s director of advanced technology Brigadier General Homer A. Boushey, ‘the oneeyed man is king’ (Boushey 1959a; Christenson 1999; Ferster and Berger 1999; Weldon 1999). Thus, the Air Force did not envision single digit ‘oneeyed’ orbits for manned missions. An operational Dyna-Soar Step III vehicle would fly for days in space and provide the data in a more timely fashion. In addition to wide area and detailed reconnaissance missions, a human-tended system could perform bombardment missions. Alluding to today’s precision guided munitions, Boushey reasoned that once a bomb began to re-enter the atmosphere ‘the pilot [or an additional crewmember] of the space vehicle could guide the warhead during its fall and increase its accuracy considerably’ (ibid). While it was true that current space vehicles had little ability to carry large payloads, he felt the Wright brothers faced a similar situation. ‘In 1903 it was difficult for them to lift one man into the air, let alone transport any useful load [or weapon]. Today just one of our operational aircraft can take off with over 300,000 pounds of useful military payload. Likewise, as we improve our capabilities to operate in space, the loads which we can carry into orbit will be sizable, and the operational advantages which I have mentioned will predominate’ (ibid). Logistics,

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reconnaissance, bombardment, and even anti-satellite operations were all within the purview of manned military boost-gliders like Dyna-Soar. Still, to push the hypersonic state-of-the-art in this direction, the Air Force would have to convince a doubting administration that the military need to place a human being in space to complement the burgeoning automated reconnaissance satellite systems and outweigh the international risk of giving the Soviet Union a legitimate reason to shoot down unmanned American ‘spy’ satellites. To the services, the appointment of Killian as the president’s new scientific advisor seemed to mean that the commander-in-chief recognized the inevitable need for some kind of military space program. They believed Eisenhower confirmed this idea in a press conference on 5 February 1958, when he mentioned the strong influence of Killian’s suggestions and said the DoD would continue to control military space projects even after the establishment of a civilian space agency (New York Times 1958c). Concurrently, the PSAC began working on its first comprehensive statement of US interests in space. As the president’s scientific advisors formulated their ideas, DoD officials assumed some form of a military space program, in addition to the classified reconnaissance programs less than 2 years away from their first launch, might be needed and planned accordingly. On 6 February, only weeks after a review of strategic reconnaissance systems, under secretary of defense Donald Quarles met with Killian, Land, DCI Allen Dulles, and secretary of defense McElroy. They agreed to separate the Air Force’s film recovery satellite, Program IIA (CORONA), from the WS 117L program and assign it to a CIA-Air Force team led, like the U-2 program, by Richard Bissell (Krushke 1999). The following day, Killian and Land met with Eisenhower to discuss the plan. Land explained for the president that they could expect a less favorable resolution of objects at the Earth’s surface in photographs taken from space, compared with the resolution obtained in photographs taken by high altitude balloons and aircraft. On the other hand, the proposed film recovery satellite did not radiate any electronic signals and would be virtually undetectable by existing Soviet capabilities. The Air Force WS 117L readout reconnaissance satellite program, which had received a good deal of wanted funding and unwanted publicity, would continue. This would provide the Air Force and its WS 117L contractors with an opportunity to surmount the technical challenges and hopefully deliver the near real-time surveillance images they preferred for the future (Hall 1998). After listening to their recommendation, the president agreed that an ‘interim’ film recovery satellite project should begin but independently and covertly separated from the larger reconnaissance satellite program. He also believed it should be pursued like the U-2. The CIA, Eisenhower emphasized, should be in charge and ARPA should execute the agency’s orders; only a handful of people should know about it. With scant experience or

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requisite technical skills normally associated with launch vehicles and automated satellites, the CIA would now manage a crucial space reconnaissance project. The president’s decision in favor of this assignment unquestionably represented his preference for civilian control of national intelligence and his confidence in the men who had quickly and successfully discharged Project AQUATONE. Within 2 days, Eisenhower expanded on this concept saying, ‘emphatically that he believed the project should be centered in the new Defense space agency [what would later become the NRO], [with the flights] doing what CIA wanted them to do’ (Krushke 1999). That preference and confidence notwithstanding, the agency would depend largely on Maj Gen Schriever and the ‘team of teams’ he had commanded at the Ballistic Missile Division to quickly turn concepts into reconnaissance satellites (ibid). On 7 February 1958, McElroy formally established ARPA to act as a fifth military service, with the authority to direct all the research and development projects within the DoD as the secretary might assign (Bowen 1964). With the authority and responsibility for directing astronautical ventures thus consolidated, Eisenhower hoped this new Defense Department agency might eliminate the interservice feuding over what he and his scientific advisors considered ill-defined, but suddenly glamorous, space missions. In military space matters, the Air Force now responded to ARPA’s orders in developing and conducting space flight operations. Temporarily, ARPA also would be involved in the development of covert satellite reconnaissance. It would openly fund Air Force procurement of Thor boosters and Agena upper stage satellites. The CIA would provide the security system and covertly procure reconnaissance components, the cameras and film re-entry capsules. The Air Force would furnish the overall infrastructure (Hall 1998). As the agency focused on automated satellites as near-term solutions to the administration’s strategic reconnaissance needs, the Air Force looked to MISS and Dyna-Soar to place military crewmembers in space, what it considered to be additional long-term needs for the nation. Initially, the creation of ARPA seemed to indicate the administration would place military space programs ahead of a civilian space effort. This illusion lasted only as long as it took to create a new civilian space agency and transfer most of ARPA’s space programs to it. From February to September, ARPA served as the nation’s space agency. Afterwards, a civilian space agency would far exceed ARPA’s authority and scope of responsibility, but NASA would not come to life for another 9 months. The enormous influence that Eisenhower’s small cadre of scientist-consultants exerted in the administration was symbolized by a meeting between Polaroid’s peripatetic Edwin ‘Din’ Land and Richard Bissell. Land told Bissell that he would direct the covert reconnaissance satellite project–CORONA. DCI Allen Dulles, to be sure, knew of his subordinate’s impending assignment, but it was Land who told Bissell of his new respon-

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sibility. At the agency, Bissell held the official title Special Assistant to the DCI for Planning and Development and directed the covert Project AQUATONE. Before month’s end, he confirmed Air Force Brig General Osmond Ritland, Schriever’s vice commander at BMD, as his deputy director. Ritland, who had served so ably as Bissell’s first deputy on Project AQUATONE, and the Air Force would once again furnish the project infrastructure, in this case developing, launching, and commanding and controlling all of the satellites in orbit – in addition to providing airborne recovery of the film capsule above and, in conjunction with the US Navy, on the surface of the Pacific Ocean. Before work could proceed, Eisenhower officials first had to eliminate the publicly-known WS 117L Thor-based reconnaissance satellite film recovery Program IIA. Next, they had to resurrect it as a covert satellite project with a plausible cover to account for its existence. Finally, Bissell had to assemble and organize the contractor team that would execute the covert satellite project. In the first instance, Herbert York, ARPA’s chief scientist, followed the instructions of under secretary of defense Donald H. Quarles. A Quarlesprepared directive was signed by ARPA’s newly named director, Roy W. Johnson, and sent to Air Force secretary James H. Douglas, Jr, on 28 February 1958. It canceled the Air Force Thor-boosted reconnaissance satellite recovery component of the WS 117L program and authorized instead the publicly known DISCOVER program, which would develop a biomedical capsule for the recovery of biological specimens lofted into space atop ThorAgena launch vehicles. This new scientific biomedical space project, the directive asserted, was expected to contribute to America’s early achievement of manned space flight. Meanwhile, the highly classified reconnaissance program would continue under the code name CORONA. Quarles ‘set this all up’, York recalled, and ‘pulled the strings of this public slight-of-hand’ (Herbert F. York, as quoted in Hall 1998). Simultaneously on the West Coast, at the monthly review meeting of Air Force and contractor participants, John H. (Jack) Carter, Lockheed’s manager of WS 117L, announced without explanation that Program IIA had been canceled. As one attendee recalled, RAND’s Arnrom Katz and Merton Davies, the two men who had fashioned that program, were in the audience and they came right up out of their chairs: They went ballistic, Amrom particularly. Amrom took it upon himself to try to get the effort reinstated and he began going around the country briefing anyone who would listen about the unwise decision to cancel the recoverable camera system. I mean he had a cause! He became so well known as an agitator on this that he disqualified himself for being cleared for what was now a black program – even though he had conceived it! The folks in charge knew that if they cleared Amrom, he would immediately cease agitating and that would tip everyone else

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that the program was underway (Harold F. Weinberg, as quoted in Hall 1998). Katz was not the only former associate affected by the creation of the CORONA satellite program and its DISCOVER cover story. Richard Leghorn, now president of the Itek Corporation, had recently acquired Boston University’s Physical Research Laboratories and experience of their flight-tested HYAC (high acuity) reconnaissance camera. Aware of the impending Air Force-CIA satellite reconnaissance and its use of the Fairchild panoramic camera, Leghorn proposed an impressive alternate. With a 24-inch focal length lens and high resolution 70 mm film, this nodal point-scanning, 70° panoramic camera would provide a 20 foot resolution of the Earth’s surface, a significant improvement over the 60 foot resolution of the existing Fairchild spin stabilized camera. Moreover, with sufficiently low blur rates, faster optics, and projected Eastman Kodak film improvements, a scaled HYAC-type camera might achieve a resolution at the Earth’s surface approaching that of balloon-borne cameras. The Itek camera proposal, which arrived at agency headquarters in mid February 1958, prompted Bissell and Ritland to consider funding a backup to the Fairchild camera (Hall 1998). Under Eisenhower’s guidance, these highly classified deliberations between a small faction of the president’s most trusted associates shaped the nation’s space policy. If they believed a program met the intent of the president’s policy for the peaceful uses of space, they gave the program their full support. These prominent officials considered programs outside the intent of this policy, such as the boost-glide vehicles envisioned for Step II and Step III of the Dyna-Soar program, to be counterproductive, too risky. Amid this political milieu, Air Force officials attempted to retain managerial control of their remaining space programs. In February, Air Force officials made three last attempts to maintain the status quo of its space programs. Having ignored the Air Force’s requests of 1 and 14 February, McElroy approved the accelerated development of all phases of the WS-117L satellite program on the 24th, but put it under the direction of ARPA, not the Air Force. Also, McElroy requested a summary status report on the funding of all Air Force space projects be submitted to ARPA. The same would be true for the other services. Unquestionably, development authority for the service’s space programs had shifted to ARPA. Subsequently, the secretary of defense, rather than the Air Force, would control the growth and responsibilities of ARPA by limiting that agency’s responsibility to individually assigned projects or granting it overall authorization of wide areas. ARPA director Johnson could choose to reassign components of the service’s former projects back to it, or to an outside agency. In turn, he would deal directly with a service’s developing agency, such as Maj. Gen Schriever’s Air Force’s BMD, rather than Lt Gen Putt at HQ Air Force or with Lt Gen Anderson at ARDC. While the serv-

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ices knew from hard earned experience this type of out-of-channel communication would send confusing signals to the developing agency’s commanders and slow program development, it would take a year for Johnson to recognize his mistake and redirect his communications back through normal service channels (US Congress 1957a). Four days later, Johnson expressed his interest in the Air Force’s manned spaceflight (Dyna-Soar and Man-in-Space-Soonest [MISS]) and reconnaissance (WS-117L) programs. Believing these systems deserved crash program priority, he wanted the Air Force to concentrate on these two fields, even to the detriment of lower priority projects. Specifically, the ARPA director wanted WS-117L accelerated, but with the Atlas missile as its primary booster rather than the Air Force’s Thor (now selected as the primary booster for the CORONA program). Additionally, he wanted a complete clarification of the program’s phases (Johnson 1958). Accordingly, Air Staff representatives briefed Johnson on 19 March. In the briefing, they covered WS 117L as well as the possibilities of a lunar military base and of shifting funding priority to MISS instead of Dyna-Soar. The Air Staff now preferred the near-term development of Schriever’s capsule approach for MISS over Haugen’s boost-glide approach for Dyna-Soar, because the booster and space systems technology to create MISS could be attained before the equivalent to field the latter. Dyna-Soar’s unique military capabilities did not go unnoticed or unappreciated. However, if this was going to be a race to put the first man in space (not just the first military man in space), the Air Staff believed the capsule approach might well be the only technological hope of performing the mission before the Soviets (Bowen 1964). After gaining the international prestige of being the first nation to place a human into space, the funding priority could swing back to the more versatile capabilities of Dyna-Soar and its complementary military space missions. In the weeks following ARPA’s activation, Air Force chief of staff Gen White began a new space study initiative. Air Force leadership did not want to be technologically blind-sided by the space age like it had been by the missile age from 1947 to 1954. As Arnold suggested in 1944, the Air Force would need to look as far as possible into the future. Accordingly, White wanted to create an integrated doctrine of space operations based on the Air Force’s traditional roles and missions. However, he did not want current requirements to push doctrinal development. Because of fiscal considerations, the new programs would need to be relatively small and conducted by industry on a voluntary basis. From time to time ARDC agencies would release general descriptions of an area of future operational significance and the nature of its specific mission to industry. In turn, industry would undertake a study to determine the kinds of weapon systems likely to be required for that military operation. They should consider all the factors of development, production, and costs. These studies would be evaluated by ARDC, the School of Aviation Medicine, interested major

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commands, RAND, the Air Staff at HQ Air Force, and the NACA. From February to August, ARDC and industry produced a series of seven study requirements (SRs) under three strategic systems: Strategic Orbital Systems (SR 181, SR 178, SR 187); Strategic Lunar Systems (SR 192, SR 183); and Strategic Interplanetary Systems (SR 182). The seventh series (SR 184, a study for a 24 hour reconnaissance system) would be considered a possible support program along with the WS-117L satellites, the meteorological satellite, MISS, and Dyna-Soar, for a Strategic Orbital System. Regarding military programs, Gen. White (1958a) repeated his 7 December 1957 policy on the nature of the Air Force’s aerospace doctrine. For all practical purposes air and space were a single element, forming a continuous, ‘indivisible field of [flight] operations’. Just as the nation that controlled the air could dictate freedom of movement on the land and seas, so in the future, the capability to control space would ensure freedom of movement on the land, the seas, and through the atmosphere (ibid). Although many Air Force officers made similar statements to the public, the Air Staff did not have a systematic plan to indoctrinate the public, Congress, and the administration about the need to consolidate military space programs within the Air Force. Indeed, by end of 1958, the administration’s space policy divided all but one of the Air Force’s space programs, Dyna-Soar, among ARPA and NASA. Regardless, the Air Staff felt it must underscore the reasons why national security would be enhanced by reassigning to the Air Force the programs that had been given to ARPA. Hypersonic state-of-the-art in 1958 In March 1958, as the chief of staff attempted to establish an integrated aerospace doctrine, and argued the Air Force’s case for space operations, Colonel Florian A. Holm, chairman of the Dyna-Soar Source Selection Board’s evaluation group, and co-chairmen Bill Lamar, John Becker (NACA), and Colonel L. E. Symroski (from the Air Material Command) received proposals from nine of the 13 contractors. Essentially, the proposals could be divided into two developmental approaches: an orbital ‘satelloid’ concept and a sub-orbital boost-glide concept. In the ‘satelloid’ concept, a glider would be boosted to an orbital velocity of 25,500 feet per second and an altitude of 400,000 feet, to achieve a multi-orbit global range by becoming a satellite while returning to Earth via equilibrium glide. In the sub-orbital proposal, the glider would follow an arching hypersonic flight path after expenditure of the booster. By using a high L/D ratio, the glider could obtain a velocity of 25,000 feet per second and an altitude of 300,000 feet to achieve a ‘once-around’ circumnavigation of the Earth. After reviewing the proposals, Bill Lamar and John Becker observed ‘with the exception of the North American vehicle, all of the contractors based their configurations on a delta-wing design rather than a lifting-body or a

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capsule’.1 While McDonnell and Republic offered the vehicles with the largest payloads, they also required the largest boosters. Boeing’s proposal appeared at the other extreme. It could carry only 640 pounds, including the weight of the pilot. It represented, however, the only design in the L/D ratio of ~2, the ratio the system analysis working group of the selection board (chaired by Lt Col Russel Herrington with co-chairmen Lt Col John D. Seaberg [USAF], C. E. McLaughlin, J. O. Grizzell, and Peter Korycinski [NACA]) believed would offer the greatest mission flexibility for suborbital and orbital flight (Hallion 1998). Of the three contractors proposing the satelloid concept, Lockheed’s fell short of global range. Of the six contractors offering the sub-orbital boost-glide approach, only Martin-Bell and Boeing proposed a first-step vehicle capable of achieving the orbital velocity needed to send a man into orbit in a follow-on booster configuration. Such a configuration afforded America an opportunity to close the prestige gap with the Soviets by being the first to put a man in space. The other four considered the possibility of configuring boost-glide systems to attain global range in advanced Step II and III versions (Lamar, no date; Geiger 1963). These boost-glide designs were engineer’s concepts. Bell’s efforts incorporated the preponderance of test and analysis. ‘When the program started’, suggests a Boeing engineer, ‘basic knowledge in most areas was lacking’ (Rotelli 1965b). Aerodynamics, thermal analysis, stability and control, structures, materials, manufacturing methods, as well as many other fields, had to be developed from scratch with only the feasibility studies some companies had made for BOMI, BRASS BELL, or ROBO to use as historical experience: In 1958 the program started from laboratory specimens and theoretical analysis. ... The transition from laboratory specimens in 1958 by laboratory personnel to full-size hardware in 1963 by factory personnel was the most difficult task. In almost all cases the full-size replica of the laboratory model failed in test and had to recycle back to laboratory testing. The introduction of new materials, processes and techniques into the manufacturing shops, and the lack of full size flight verification of the theoretical analysis were keenly felt and resulted in conservative designs. In my opinion, the structural weight could have been reduced by at least 20% if manufacturing had been experienced and data from full-size flight testing had been available (ibid). Because there were no ground facilities capable of simultaneously reproducing the environment of hypersonic flight, engineers took the same test article to different ground test facilities to expose the component to each facility’s unique environment. The total test time for the article was usually 280 minutes as compared to the 35 minutes of actual flight time that a structure [like the nose cap] would be exposed to the environments.

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The state-of-the-art for structures and materials in 1958 dictated a considerable effort to design a boost-glide re-entry vehicle. Varying degrees of temperature exposure over various time periods for specific areas of the glider required the establishment of several ground rules. Yet, with these ground rules in place, development would progress over the next 5 years in each of the technical discipline areas. Metallurgists, chemists, ceramicists, and stress, dynamics, and weight engineers could pursue their problem areas to a point in 1963 where full production would be initiated (Kushner 1963).2

Asserting legislative authority: NASA and the DoD reorganization act As the source selection board made its recommendations on an appropriate boost-glide design, Eisenhower committed himself to a unified national space agency by asking Congress to create the NASA on 2 April 1958. It would conduct all space activities except those primarily associated with military requirements. Signed into law on 29 July, the act established a broad and comprehensive mandate for the peaceful pursuit of new knowledge and technology in space (New York Times 1958b, d; President’s Science Advisory Committee 1958). A day after submitting his NASA legislation, the president submitted his DoD Reorganization Act to Congress. He believed separate ground, sea, and air warfare no longer existed. Regarding the development of new weapon systems, he wanted to strengthen the authority of the OSD by making the institutions’ authority clear and direct. Therefore, he suggested the elimination of the Office of Assistant Secretary of Defense (Research and Engineering) and replacing it with a director of defense research and engineering (DDR&E). The DDR&E would have three main functions: principal advisor to the secretary of defense on scientific and technical matters; supervisor of all research and engineering activities in the DoD; and director of assignment for research and engineering activities requiring centralized management. By 6 August it would be law. The president appointed one of his close confidants, Dr Herbert F. York, a member of the Air Force’s Scientific Advisory Board and the Institute of Defense Analysis, as the first DDR&E. Meanwhile, the secretary of defense began to qualify and quantify the military’s responsibilities in space. In March 1958, McElroy had suggested NSC’s Planning Board consider issuing another national security policy on space. Following his lead, the board established an Ad Hoc Subcommittee on Space to receive the comments of the National Science Foundation, the Central Intelligence Agency, the three services, and various other government agencies. The result would be the Preliminary US Policy on Space, NSC 5814/1 (National Security Council 1958). Although NSC 5814/1 highlighted the significance of a military space program, it placed the political implications of those operations above the Air Force’s perceived need

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for offensive military space systems. Specifically, it would be politically dangerous to allow the Soviet Union to remain permanently superior to the US in astronautics. The Soviets’ ability to launch heavy payloads into orbit, seemingly at will, made it even more important for America to work toward international control and cooperation. Meanwhile, the highly sensitive CORONA program would be the vanguard of a new generation of covert overhead reconnaissance. The administration’s space-for-peace policy championed these passive automated diplomats as a means to gain vital intelligence, and thus ensure international peace (Mattingly 1988). The services took advantage of their invitation to assist the Security Council in its preparation of NSC 5814/1. While fully supporting the ideal of the peaceful uses of outer space, they also expressed their warning against emasculating the military space program. After their presentation to the council, the Air Force undertook a second study (for Air Force eyes only) on the feasibility of international space law to insure national security, and to assess its effects on military space programs. It would take 5 months to complete and would fundamentally reorient the Air Force’s approach to its military space programs (Bowen 1964). As the Air Staff prepared a comprehensive space plan, Bissell and Ritland closeted themselves with all of the primary CORONA contractor representatives at the Flamingo Motel in San Mateo, California on 24–26 March 1958. Bissell informed the attendees that a backup camera would be procured from Itek. Lockheed announced that James W. Plummer, formerly in charge of the WS 117L Eastman Kodak payloads, would serve as the CORONA manager. He would be responsible for the technical integration of the project. The project participants agreed that General Electric would provide the recovery system. CORONA would consist of ten vehicles, with three more if needed, launched from Vandenberg AFB. Component fabrication, assembly, testing, and a first launch, participants agreed in a burst of optimism, could be accomplished before the end of 1958 (Hall 1998). Before a firm Dyna-Soar design could be agreed upon, CORONA might well be ready for launch. If unmanned reconnaissance systems could yield an acceptable mix of resolution and data without creating a corresponding escalation of the arms race into space, then administration officials could argue that the political liability of Dyna-Soar’s manned Step II and Step III missions would outweigh its military capabilities. Contractors for Dyna-Soar By the beginning of April, the Directorate of Systems Management’s source evaluation and selection working group had completed its evaluation of the contractors’ proposals. On 16 June 1958, Major General R. P. Swofford, Jr., then acting deputy chief of staff for development, HQ Air Force, announced that Martin and Boeing had both selected to develop Dyna-Soar

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(Directorate of Systems Management 1958a; HQ Air Force 1958a). In the ensuing second interval of investigation they were to revise and improve their designs through the mock-up stage. Both received a briefing on the new design criteria based on the source selection board’s recommendations and the previous research of Lamar and Becker. Maj Gen Swofford clarified the need for two contractors and their responsibilities. A competitive period between Martin and Boeing would extend from 12 to 18 months at which time selection of a single contractor would be made. The decision to operate Dyna-Soar Step I as a hypersonic sub-orbital boost-glider or as an orbital satelloid system in Step I would remain open. Importantly, Dyna-Soar would constitute a major Air Force effort to develop a weapon system to ‘succeed turbojet-powered existing manned strategic jet bomber and reconnaissance systems’ (ibid). Yet the contractors should not limit their prospects solely to a strategic role. Furthermore, any weapon system coming from Dyna-Soar should complement other systems planned for the period. Because of these considerations, all proposals must include complete weapon system analysis to justify their methodology. In fact, the development of a weapon system should be given first priority. Although some aspects of hypersonic flight still needed verification, Gen Swofford did not want Dyna-Soar Step I delayed to gain that research data or the specific details regarding weapon sub-systems payloads or mission profiles. In fact, he believed the contractor’s work on various WS-117L satellites and MISS would aid them in these two fields. Subsequently, ‘[t]here will be no unnecessary duplication’ between the contractors working on any of these three systems (ibid). The deputy chief of staff for development hoped these guidelines to the contractors would ensure the quick development of a hypersonic weapon system for space operations. He presumed there would be no ‘stovepiping’ of information, unfortunately, the compartmenting of information was already well established for CORONA. Air Staff leaders had other ideas as well. Before Sputnik, Air Force space activities centered on Lieutenant General Roscoe C. Wilson’s Air Staff office of deputy chief of staff, development (Wilson replaced Lt Gen Putt on 1 July 1958), where the deputy director of research and development, Brig Gen Boushey, held the responsibility of coordinating space projects. Following Sputnik, Air Force chief of staff Gen White believed, like the administration, that centralizing space policy and programs would be advantageous. Accordingly, he hoped to establish a special Air Staff position to be the service’s focal point for internal and external recommendations on future space technology. After the Air Force’s aborted attempt to create the directorate of astronautics, deputy secretary of defense Quarles gave his approval for a new Air Staff position. Because of the administration’s focus on the peaceful uses of space, Gen. White was still cautious about using the term ‘astronautics’ in the title of the new office. Instead, he established the directorate of advanced technology,

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deputy chief of staff for development, effective 15 July 1958. The chief of staff tasked the directorate to supervise the formulation of all advanced space technology within the Air Force, to provide technical information and advice to the Air Staff as new programs developed, to coordinate with ARPA, the Army, the Navy, and other interested government agencies, and to maintain a liaison with civilian universities, industry, and representatives of foreign governments engaged in research and development (HQ USAF 1959). Brig Gen Boushey became the first director (Bowen 1964). As the Air Staff established Brig Gen Boushey as the service’s focal point for advanced space technology, Bissell finished the CORONA project proposal and submitted it for Eisenhower’s approval. It called for the concurrent procurement of both the Fairchild and Itek cameras, though at this point the Itek system appeared a clear favorite because of its better initial resolution and promise of even greater resolution for photo-interpretation growth potential. By 11 April, perhaps at the urging of Din Land, Brig Gen Ritland and Bissell decided against procuring the Fairchild camera and its spin-stabilization. Instead, they would go with the Itek high resolution HYAC-type camera that required a stable platform in space. Fairchild would remain in the project, at least temporarily, fabricating the Itekdesigned cameras (Hall 1998). The revised CORONA proposal also identified ARPA as the agency responsible for exercising overall technical supervision, with the Air Force (through Maj Gen Schriever’s BMD) acting as ‘the agent for all interested components ... ’ (CORONA Statemwnt of Work 1958). The CIA would remain responsible for CORONA’s security system and for procuring the reconnaissance equipment. With the concurrence of ARPA director Roy Johnson and other project participants, Bissell and the deputy director of Central Intelligence, General Charles P. Cabell, presented this proposal to Eisenhower on 16 April 1958. After asking some questions, the president verbally approved it. A week later Bissell issued a one-page Statement of Work to guide the prime contractor, Lockheed’s Missile and Space Division. Among other objectives, it called for photographs with a resolution at the Earth’s surface of 25 feet or better with a location accuracy objective of ±1 mile; maximum possible ground coverage; and recovery of latent image film ‘by means of ballistic re-entry and land or sea recovery’ (ibid). Regarding program management, it echoed Bissell’s revised proposal. By the end of April, CORONA participants knew they had embarked on a near-term, high risk strategic reconnaissance venture that would complement their manned U-2 as an overhead technical collection system until read-out satellites became operational. What they did not know was that it would prove to be far more than a near-term solution. CORONA would succeed beyond anyone’s expectations, continuing to operate for over 12 years while setting the pattern for American reconnaissance satellite programs to follow. It would also prompt the creation of the National

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Reconnaissance Office (NRO). Indeed, as former NRO historian R. Cargill Hall (1998) suggests, a space-based ‘intelligence revolution’ had truly begun. What such a revolution meant was not clearly known in 1958, but the administration’s previous concerns about an arms race in space and the need to establish an international sanctuary for passive unmanned reconnaissance satellites did not bode well for proponents of active manned weapons systems such as Dyna-Soar. Maintaining Dyna-Soar under air force jurisdiction Within this context, some Air Force officials questioned the appropriateness of the Air Staff to retain Dyna-Soar and its near-term ability to achieve bombardment and reconnaissance missions prompting an 11 July statement from Major General John W. Sessums, Jr., vice-commander of ARDC, to Lt Gen Wilson ‘... once we have adopted a new development project [like Dyna-Soar], it is our responsibility in the Air Force to get solidly behind it and push for its completion with minimum delay and interference’ (Sessums 1958). In reply, Gen Wilson assured Gen Sessums that the Air Staff considered Dyna-Soar an important project. Indeed, it still carried a 1A high priority status. Additionally, the deputy chief of staff for development intended Dyna-Soar to succeed existing manned strategic jet bombers and their reconnaissance variants. Anticipating the interest of ARPA and the forthcoming NASA in the development of systems such as Dyna-Soar, Air Staff officials believed they needed to defend the requirements for its projects to DoD if they planned to retain jurisdiction over them. For Dyna-Soar, this meant emphasizing its suborbital hypersonic Step I capability as a followon for manned strategic jet bomber and reconnaissance systems while quietly pursuing its future Step II and Step III orbital capabilities. Wilson closed by reassuring Sessums of his full endorsement of the Dyna-Soar program (Wilson 1958a, b; Geiger 1963). Establishing the national space policy On 16 July 1958, Congress enacted the long-debated National Aeronautics and Space Administration Act of 1958. In doing so, Congress assured the world that America’s pre-eminent interest in space would be defined by the administration’s space-for-peace policy. While activities primarily associated with weapon system developments, military operations, or the defense of the US – including relevant research and development – would be pursued by the DoD. The Space Act authorized the president to be the final arbiter between NASA or DoD for a specific project.3 The act also said NASA, under the guidance of the president, could engage in a program of international cooperation, a foreign policy tie-in with the Department of State. Within a month, Eisenhower selected Dr T. Keith Glennan, president

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of Case Institute of Technology in Cleveland, and Dr Hugh L. Dryden, director of the NACA, as the new administrator and deputy administrator of NASA, respectively. As soon as the administration’s Space Act went to Congress, Johnson of ARPA and Dryden of NASA began to establish a jurisdictional committee to determine their likely areas of responsibility. Four categories developed: (1) defensive space systems and ICBMs; (2) unmanned reconnaissance satellites; (3) military developments for, and applications of, space technology (including Dyna-Soar Step II and III as well as MISS); and (4) research and scientific projects. While category four programs obviously belonged to NASA, as much as the first and second categories belonged to ARPA, category three programs became the gray area of dispute (US Congress 1958b). Eisenhower’s desire to maintain his space-for-peace policy made him ‘reluctant to grant the military a space activity that might be considered of scientific interest ...’ (Bowen 1964). Unquestionably, he considered any borderline project the purview of NASA first and foremost. The president believed it would be far better to err on the side of discretion rather than risk any misinterpretation of his intentions in the international arena. By the end of October, only 11 projects remained under DoD’s control. One of these was Dyna-Soar. MISS went to NASA. Thus, by the summer of 1958, the administration amplified its intent for the peaceful use of outer space through three documents: the 26 March PSAC report; the Space Act of 29 July; and the 18 August NSC 5814/1. Each of these publicly affirmed a limited role for the military and the primacy of the civilian role. Under these guidelines administration officials privately moved forward with the development of their highly classified, compartmented CORONA satellite (assured of success by the ability of the nation’s top scientists, the faith of the president, and the funding of the nation’s treasury). Collectively, these actions established the civilian primacy of a national technical means of intelligence gathering and a benchmark organizational structure for the development of future reconnaissance satellite programs. The effects on air force space policy The division of space programs brought about by the administration’s creation of ARPA and NASA devastated Air Force officials because they believed the service’s future depended on their ability to maintain control of the new medium by controlling the programs operating in the medium. The service’s responsibility for space control was a natural extension of its existing responsibilities in the air. Air Force leaders such as chief of staff Gen White believed America’s national defense was at stake. ‘We feel a sense of urgency and are doing all we can to speed up our progress ... The US must win and maintain the capability to control space in order to assure the

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progress and pre-eminence of the free nations’ (White 1958b, c). Regardless, the president favored a more peaceful, civilian controlled expression of space activity. While favoring the development of reconnaissance satellites, Air Force leaders hoped the need for national security would yield a more traditional expression of military hardware development. On 6 August 1958, Maj Gen Haugen, the assistant deputy commander for weapon systems at ARDC’s Detachment 1, made another plea for funding to the deputy chief of staff for development, Lt Gen Wilson. Haugen estimated that the inadequacy of Dyna-Soar’s current funding would push the flight date for the spaceplane’s Step I vehicle back by 8 months. Such austerity would hinder the future developmental test program and cause excessive design modifications (Haugen 1958). If the Air Staff planned to champion Dyna-Soar as a means of closing the prestige gap with the Soviets in the near-term, the Air Staff must convince administration officials of the necessity to maintain a higher level of funding for the program. As proponents of hypersonic flight debated the need for increased funding, the Republican administration hoped its efforts would elicit cooperation and understanding from the public. It did not among the Democrats. On the Senate floor on 14 August 1958, Senator John F. Kennedy (D-Mass) delivered a dramatic missile-gap speech. Its impact angered Republican Senator Homer Capehart of Indiana so much he threatened to clear the galleries on the grounds Kennedy’s statements disclosed information harmful to national security (McDougall 1970). Democrats would not be waiting until the last minute to fan the fires of discontent within the public. Like any political party out of the White House, they sensed an opportunity and planned to exploit it in the coming presidential election. As such, their pronouncements fueled Air Force leader’s hopes for Dyna-Soar. By 22 August, the Air Staff’s deputy chief for plans and programs, Lieutenant General John K. Gerhart, completed the Air Force’s second study on the feasibility of an international law for space and its effects on the military space program. This ‘for-Air Force-eyes-only’ study, entitled ‘Study on Sovereignty over Outer Space’, served as the basis for developing future international space law studies by the Air Staff. In it, the Air Force stated that the US should not commit itself to a single issue. America would need time to evaluate the new conditions created by the space age. ‘It seemed particularly unfortunate for the Department of State to assume, as it was assuming, that silence on space claims in relation to specific events, such as Sputnik’s transit, implied a general waiver of claims ... Effective international control of space conceivably could come in the future, but it was a goal not a reality’. Accordingly, the military should urge and assist in obtaining international cooperation on projects not pertinent to national security, thereby contributing to the president’s space-for-peace policy. Simultaneously, the Air Force should seek approval of an adequate research and development program to formulate projects for scientific, commercial,

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and military needs of the US. First and foremost, the Air Force’s goal should always be to prevent Soviet dominance in space (Lieutenant General John K. Gerhart, as quoted in Bowen 1964). Yet the president sought to create a political framework for establishing an international agreement for peaceful use of passive automated reconnaissance satellites. By negotiating with the Soviets on arms control and by bringing before the UN proposals for the cessation of all active military space systems, Eisenhower planned to achieve his goals (NSC 1958). To emphasize his intentions, administration officials renamed the ‘non-military’ aspects of these negotiations ‘peaceful’ in an effort to qualify future development of automated reconnaissance satellites as the peaceful use of space (Eisenhower 1961). On 4 September, Colonel J. L. Martin, Jr., the Air Staff’s acting director of advanced technology, offered additional clarification on Dyna-Soar to Detachment 1 commander Maj Gen Haugen. The two separate efforts by Boeing and Martin should only be maintained until study results pointed to a single, superior approach. Indeed, this effort should be terminated within 12 months, rather than 12–18 months. Once the working group identified a single contractor, additional FY 1959 funding – if available – could then be used to make rapid technological progress. Last, Col Martin (1958) directed them to stop using Bill Walter’s term ‘conceptual test vehicle’ when referring to Dyna-Soar Step I. In its place, he suggested the words ‘experimental prototype’. As a prototype for the next generation of manned strategic jet bomber and reconnaissance systems, Col Martin hoped this would help the service obtain more funding from DoD. Yet, given the military nature of Dyna-Soar’s Step II and III objectives, such a deliberate change in nomenclature might bring undue recognition to the program. That type of recognition could cause unwanted future reductions in funding by OSD or restrictions on the program’s development objectives. Brainstorming on possible ways to advance Dyna-Soar’ development, program manger Lt Col Russel Herrington felt the competitive period between the two contractors could be terminated by April instead of July 1959; however, a greater risk to the program’s success would be incurred because of the shortened research period and the inherent lack of confidence in the program’s methodology it might produce. On the other hand, the residual funding could be effectively used to accelerate its development (HQ ARDC 1958). Simultaneously, in his 12 August letter to ARDC commander Lt Gen Anderson, Wilson also mentioned the possibility of increased funding for FY l959 (HQ Air Force 1958b). As before, the request had no effect. Clearly the Air Force’s retention of Dyna-Soar did not mean it would receive the lion’s share of OSD’s funding for space programs. In fact, by retaining jurisdiction of Dyna-Soar, Air Force planners could only give it what funds remained after ARPA officials redirected Air Force research and development assets to their agency’ programs. Hypersonic

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flight was becoming (as in the 1952–1957 period) a long-term objective, subject to the vicissitudes of the administration’s short-term objectives rather than a means to achieve them.

The importance of reconnaissance satellites for Dyna-Soar On 10 September 1958, Johnson redefined WS-117L, breaking it into three separate projects with different designations. Previously, the system designation changed from ‘PIED PIPER’ to ‘SENTRY’. Johnson initially kept this name for the readout photographic and ferret satellite. By August 1959 it would again be renamed; this time to SAMOS, a name chosen by WS-117L project director, Colonel Fritz Oder, in the belief no one could produce an acronym from it.4 As previously mentioned, he stripped away a series of experiments from WS-117L to publicly form DISCOVER. This program would overtly test a new vehicle configuration and its subsystems, including biomedical experiments and recovery techniques, while covertly developing the CIA sponsored-Air Force supported CORONA satellite. The infrared subsystem of WS-117L became the Missile Defense Alarm Satellite (MIDAS) (Bowen 1964). All three of these projects would be assigned to Maj Gen Schriever’s Ballistic Missile Division, further strengthening its function as the Air Force’s point-of-contact for space missions while diminishing Lt Col Herrington’s claims to reconnaissance missions for Dyna-Soar’s Step II and III phases (as well as to a commensurate slice of the funding pie). From 20 to 24 October 1958, Lt Col Herrington and his program deputy and chief engineer, Bill Lamar, briefed various Air Staff directorates on the necessity of releasing funds for Dyna-Soar. These discussions resulted in several conclusions. The overall military objectives of the program would remain unchanged, but further justification would have to be given to DoD officials. The position of the former NACA, now NASA, in the program was reaffirmed. Additionally, ARPA would participate in the program’s operational Step III studies (Directorate of Systems Management 1958b; Geiger 1963). These managerial decisions, however, did not offer immediate hope for increased funding. Amplifying administration policy, ARPA director Roy Johnson ordered the Air Force to cease using the Weapons System (WS) designation for the military space program ‘to minimize the aggressive international implications of overflight. ... It is desired to emphasize the defensive, surprise-prevention aspects of the system. This change ... should reduce the effectiveness of possible diplomatic protest against peacetime employment’ (as quoted in Hall 1977). Early in November 1958, Herrington and Lamar again briefed various officials of both ARDC and the Air Staff on the continuing question of Dyna-Soar’s funding. ARDC commander Lt Gen Anderson, after hearing their presentation, stated he supported the program but thought references

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to military ‘space’ operations should be deleted in the presentations to the Air Staff, if they planned to optimize Dyna-Soar’s position within the administration’s space-for-peace policy. While the long-term objective for the program would remain an orbital weapons system, the near-term objective should reflect Dyna-Soar’s sub-orbital characteristics as the next generation of manned jet bomber and reconnaissance system. Later, during a briefing to Lt Gen Wilson, Air Staff officials indeed decided that the suborbital follow-on aspects of the military prototype system should be emphasized over its orbital aspects. With the sanction of the Air Force vice chief of staff, General LeMay, Herrington and Lamar gave their presentation to R. C. Forner, the Air Force assistant secretary for research and development. The assistant secretary echoed Anderson’s concerns, suggesting Dyna-Soar would be terminated if the briefers presented it as ‘a strong weapon system program’ to the administration’s DoD officials (Directorate of Systems Management 1958c). Accordingly, Secretary Horner felt the presentation should highlight Dyna-Soar Step I as a military research system, not as a prototype for a future weapon system in Step II and III. By briefing the program as a military research system he believed Dyna-Soar would no longer threaten the administration’s space-for-peace policy. Subsequently, Forner sent a memorandum to secretary of defense McElroy requesting release of additional funds for Dyna-Soar (ibid). While Herrington and Lamar seemed to have achieved their immediate funding objectives, the ramifications of Dyna-Soar’s final goal – the development of an operational weapon system – were becoming apparent. Nevertheless, in November, Herrington and Lamar completed a preliminary development plan, supplanting the October 1957 plan. Instead of the three-step approach to acquiring the weapon system, the Dyna-Soar program would follow a ‘two-phase development plan’. Because the military research vehicle would be exploring a flight regime significantly more severe than any existing Air Force system, Dyna-Soar I would involve a glider capable of evaluating aerodynamic characteristics, pilot performance, and military subsystem operation. Subsequently, concurrent with the first phase, weapon system studies should also be conducted. The plan set the earliest operational date for a weapon system as 1967. Dyna-Soar II would perform operational reconnaissance, air defense, space defense, and strategic bombardment missions (Directorate of Systems Management 1958d). Regardless of the military potential of Dyna-Soar, the immediate problem of obtaining funds still occupied center stage in the current act of the continuing drama of Dyna-Soar. A competing system, not a complementing system After months of debate, the deputy secretary of defense, Donald H. Quarles, issued a memorandum to the secretary of the Air Force approving

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the release of 10 million dollars for Dyna-Soar development on 7 January (Directorate of Systems Management 1958e; HQ Air Force 1958c). The deputy secretary emphasized that these funds constituted an approval for a research and development project only. It did not represent DoD recognition of DynaSoar as a weapon system (Deputy Secretary of Defense 1959). Accordingly, Lt Gen Wilson asked Herrington to provide him with a detailed program schedule. After reviewing the plan, the deputy chief of staff for development again directed the competitive period for the contractors to end by 1 April, with a final selection announcement by 1 July 1959. While discussions about its capabilities as a weapon system would be minimized during high-level briefings, joint Air Force and ARPA weapon system studies would proceed under separate agreement with Dyna-Soar contractors. Lt Gen Wilson also directed the program manager to consider two other case developmental approaches. The first assumed DoD definitely changed Dyna-Soar’s objectives to center solely on ‘a research vehicle like the X-15’. In the second approach, the Dyna-Soar program would include ‘weapon system objectives’. The next day, Lt Gen Wilson partially revised his directions. He extended the source selection process to 1 May 1959 (HQ Air Force 1959a, b). In January 1959, ARPA director Johnson briefed the JCS on a number of space programs. Looking toward the future, he spoke of a satellite for electronic countermeasures, a space surveillance platform, and a maneuverable recovery space vehicle (MRSV). The latter would ensure a means of attack, defense, and escape from the space environment. Specifically, Johnson expressed his confidence in a role for a military man-in-space. Accordingly, he referred to the regrettable loss of MISS to NASA (it became project Mercury), but commented favorably on the Air Force’s Dyna-Soar program. Johnson ‘pointedly remarked that the Air Force’s boost-glide Dyna-Soar would surpass the capabilities of Mercury’ (Boushey 1959b; Bowen 1964). With Dyna-Soar, the true potential of a manned space vehicle could be explored. It could maneuver in and out of orbit, operate from and return to a predetermined military site, all while retaining the operational flexibility of a pilot’s control. While Air Force officials considered his remarks gratifying, they predicted the possible loss of Dyna-Soar to ARPA or NASA because ARPA saw the need for a manned maneuverable spacecraft. Subsequently, cautious Air Staff planners believed ARPA could justify its takeover of Dyna-Soar if it advanced Dyna-Soar’s orbital potential. Similarly, NASA claimed to be the agency for manned spaceflight; therefore, it could demand the transfer of an orbital Dyna-Soar if ARPA took it as a manned space vehicle. As a safeguard, Lt Gen Wilson continued to highlight Dyna-Soar as the next logical follow-on to existing manned strategic jet bombers and reconnaissance systems rather than emphasize its longterm objectives as an orbital weapon system. Meanwhile, the Air Staff would continue its development as rapidly as possible, given the constraints

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of weak funding and OSD’s strong opposition to its development as a weapons system (ibid). Not everyone in the greater Air Force community agreed with the ARPA director’s assessment of the importance of manned spaceflight. RAND’s Amrom Katz (1958) stated, ‘... we have considerable doubts about how this machine will fit into an operational concept of reconnaissance ... it is not being built, in our view, in order to fulfill an outstanding and otherwise unfulfilled military reconnaissance requirement’. For Katz and other RAND analysts, it seemed probable that ‘... we will have high performance satellites at least as soon as we will have this kind of machine’ (ibid). They did not consider Dyna-Soar II’s ability to perform other military objectives, its orbital capability, nor its fundamental ability to routinely access low Earth orbit and safely return its valuable military data. Nor did they assess the fact that it would not need to rely on a squadron of specially equipped aircraft and a Navy support fleet for recovery. Indeed, Dyna-Soar was designed to land on an ordinary runway and be flown at least four times before it needed refurbishing.5 Similarly, they did not realize that the critically important strategic intelligence gathered by these unarmed reconnaissance satellites insured the chief executive would receive the information well before the services. Accordingly, he or she would direct the satellites collection requirements. While the services suggested areas they deemed vital for reconnaissance, these national assets served a higher master than the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Despite the views of critics, members of the Air Staff saw Dyna-Soar as the manifestation of their revised doctrine. As Air Force secretary James H. Douglas, under secretary Malcolm A. McIntrye, and the most prominent members of the Air Staff prepared mock questions and answers for Congressional testimony, they discussed the importance of Dyna-Soar’s relationship to the administration’s policy on peaceful uses of outer space and the military utility of space operations. They believed Dyna-Soar I was ‘... not a research vehicle, but an intermediate step to a weapons system ... Although very formidable development problems lie ahead, intensive study for over 4 years by the industry, Air Force, and NASA has established the feasibility of Dyna-Soar ... Dyna-Soar I will give us the capability to maneuver in the atmosphere and for a precision landing after having flown at near-orbit speeds. We believe this capability is indispensable for any practical, repetitive, military use of boost-glide or orbital systems. Dyna-Soar I will also test components and sub-components for later weapon systems and is the intermediate step to a weapon system’ (Air Staff Discussion Group 1959).6 Regarding the use of space for peaceful purposes, they said, ‘… a watchman is certainly peaceful. But we all recognize that a watchman must be armed, and we even provide burglar alarms to assist him in his job of protection. It is the intent, rather than the weapons, which determines what is and what isn’t peaceful’ (ibid). Military space systems such as Dyna-

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Soar would be useful ‘... in many ways. For example, at this time we are sure that space will improve our capabilities with regard to: surveillance – the watchman type satellite – to improve our warning of attack, world-wide communications, global weather reporting and forecasting, and navigational aids. We expect other uses will also prove advantageous in the future. Man in space, we believe, will permit flexibility and the on-the-spot use of intelligence and decision-making. Man will probably operate space vehicles, in a way analogous to the operation of our current manned aircraft’ (ibid). Such beliefs and public statements went hand-in-glove with the service’s view of its evolving airpower doctrine. By 30 January 1959, these distinguished members of the Air Staff completed the service’s revised doctrinal statement. It spoke of the air-space continuum as ‘aerospace’, a term coined years earlier by Dr Woodford A. Heflin, editor of the US Air Force Dictionary (an ‘unofficial’ guide published by the Air University’s Research Studies Institute), and justified the Air Force’s claim as the single service of military responsibility. Appearing before the House Committee on Science and Astronautics on 3 February, Gen White reasserted the Air Force’s strong support of the administration’s space-for-peace policy, but he also reasserted his belief in a ‘strong deterrent force to ensure the free world’s access to space’. Again calling on the vision of an indivisible aerospace continuum, he expressed his concerns for the Air Force’s jurisdictional responsibility (US Congress 1959b).7 While critics disputed the Air Force’s claim to space, Gen White did not retract the claim. As the debate continued throughout 1959, the criticism gradually lost its sharpness. By December 1959, the concept of an indivisible aerospace continuum officially became part of Air Force doctrine in AFM 1-2. Three days after the chief of staff’s Congressional appearance, Detachment 1 commander Maj Gen Haugen sent a message to Lt Gen Wilson notifying him that the 1 May source selection date would be impractical. Still, Haugen did anticipate a presentation to the Air Council by 1 June. He continued by emphasizing the incompatibility of the Air Staff’s funding forecasts with the flight dates specified to the contractors. If the program office received heavy expenditures during the beginning of Dyna-Soar II’s development (after source selection), Lt Col Herrington might attain the flight dates. The Detachment 1 commander, consequently, asked Lt Gen Wilson to provide a more realistic funding schedule (HQ ARDC 1959a). In mid-February, Maj Gen Haugen clarified his position. Anything less than the revised request of 28 million dollars would seriously affect the program by reducing applied research and development. Critically, long leadtime items like flight test range facilities and range instrumentation could not be secured. Specifically, Haugen based his original request for the following year on a more extensive applied research effort during FY 1959 than what would actually take place under the Air Staff’s reduced funding

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level. Lt Gen Wilson’s projected funding for FY 1960 would only prolong the program.8 On 17 February, he asked the Dyna-Soar project manager to provide additional information based on a compromise: almost half of what was originally requested, but greater than the current allotment (HQ Air Force 1959c).

More authority over the military space program The depreciation of the status of Dyna-Soar by DoD, exemplified by secretary Quarles’s memorandum of 7 January, did not alter the necessity, in the opinion of Gen White, for a boost-glide weapon system. On 17 February 1959, officials at Air Force headquarters revised their General Operation Requirement (GOR) 92, previously issued on 12 May 1955. Instead of referring to the need for a high-altitude reconnaissance system, the Air Force now concentrated on a bombardment system. Lt Gen Wilson said this system would operate at the fastest attainable hypersonic speed, within and above the stratosphere, and should complete at least one circumnavigation of the Earth. As a physical manifestation of the service’s aerospace doctrine, the chief of staff wanted the system to be operational in the 1966 to 1970 period (HQ Air Force 1959d). As the deputy chief of staff for development revised GOR 92, Ballistic Missile Division commander Maj Gen Schriever successfully launched DISCOVERER I, the nation’s first military satellite, from Vandenberg AFB, CA, on 28 February 1959. It did not carry a recoverable reconnaissance capsule. Instead, the cover story suggested that the CORONA flight was supposed to fulfill six main test objectives: proving the capability of its airframe and guidance subsystems; testing its stabilization equipment; certifying its means of controlling the internal environment; providing a means of noting the reaction of mice and small primates to weightlessness; establishing the adequacy of the capsule recovery techniques; and verifying the proficiency of ground support equipment and personnel. When its stabilization control system malfunctioned, it tumbled out of control (New York Times 1959a, b; Bowen 1964). Still, the intelligence revolution had begun. Within a year, this research and development program would be operational, in as much as it would be providing the president and his advisors with critical information about the Soviet’s strategic intentions. Two months after the beginning of America’s vitally important and compartmentally classified unmanned reconnaissance enterprise, Maj Gen Schriever, one of the key individuals behind the success of CORONA, was promoted to Lieutenant General and assumed command of ARDC. Lieutenant General Samuel E. Anderson, the previous ARDC commander, became commander of the Air Material Command (AMC). As control of the Air Force’s research and development went to the architect of the nation’s ICBM and reconnaissance satellite systems, a fourth

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important document in the administration’s space-for-peace policy appeared from the NSC’s Operations Coordinating Board (OCB). OCB’s plan indicated a modification in the NSC’s thinking toward a military space program. The president’s Security Council now believed satellite reconnaissance would also be a valuable means of verifying arms control agreements. Indeed, the board believed changes in the world situation and domestic space organizations required a complete review of the president’s space policy. With Eisenhower’s concurrence, they entrusted the effort to an ad hoc committee of the National Aeronautics and Space Council (NASC), with Dr James Killian acting as the council’s executive secretary (Bowen 1964; Killian 1976). As the ad hoc committee of the NASC began to revise the administration’s original perceptions about space-for-peace, a DoD directive resolved the lingering question of whether DDR&E outranked the ARPA director. ARPA defense projects would be subject to the DDR&E supervision and must be coordinated with him in the same manner as programs within each of the military departments. In essence, the directive created another layer of civilian control between the secretary of defense and ARPA, further insuring the administration’s space-for-peace policy would continue to emphasize the peaceful uses of outer space rather than its military nature (US Congress 1958f). On 13 April 1959, York exercised his authority as the new director of defense research and engineering by reorienting the Air Force’s objectives for Dyna-Soar. The primary goal would be the suborbital exploration of hypersonic flight up to 22,000 feet per second. Dyna-Soar would be launched by a booster already in production or planned for the national ballistic missile and space programs. The hypersonic spaceplane would be manned, maneuverable, and capable of controlled landing. York considered the testing of military subsystems and the attainment of orbital velocities secondary objectives, the accomplishment of which should only be implemented if they did not adversely affect the primary objective. While his fellow OSD officials may have deemed York’s guidance adequate to bridle the operational ambitions of the Air Force’s proponents of hypersonic flight, Herrington and Lamar did not consider the defense director’s reorientation too troublesome. They did not believe any of the planned military subsystems would in anyway adversely affect the program’s initial research. In their minds, Dyna-Soar was still first and foremost a weapons system. Recovering valuable treasures As York graphically illustrated what the president and his closest advisors meant when they discussed the peaceful uses of outer space, Major General Osmond J. ‘Ozzie’ Ritland, Schriever’s successor at the Ballistic Missile

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Division, successfully launched DISCOVERER II from Vandenberg AFB on 13 April 1959. It contained the first recoverable film capsule. Ritland’s program engineers had equipped the satellite with a retrorocket ejection system to initiate its re-entry. Its valuable treasure would free fall into the waiting arms of the recovery task force. So the BMD commander hoped. The recovery task force, consisting of nine C-119s, four RC-121s, and three Navy destroyers, operated off the coast of Hawaii. After the film capsule failed to eject when requested by the ground controllers, the canister finally ejected automatically on the 17th pass, but it would not be recovered by the US (New York Times 1959c). Indeed, for various reasons, none of the first 13 capsules would be recovered. Naturally, this made the method ripe for modification. One suggestion involved an automated lifting-body, the SV-5a. Developed by Martin for Ozzie Ritland, it could facilitate a maneuverable recovery of the film canister at a designated landing site of the division’s selection (ibid; Vitelli 1967). In essence, the BMD commander had suggested an unmanned lifting-body version of Dyna-Soar II’s boost-glide operational configuration. As Maj Gen Ritland contemplated other means of recovering intelligence data from space, Senator John F. Kennedy (D-Mass) suggested the nation had another valuable treasure worth recovering from potential Soviet destruction. In a speech delivered in April 1959, Kennedy pinpointed the main problems of the nation’s defense posture as the ability to secure strategic striking power from enemy attack, and the need to develop an antiballistic missile system (ABM). Even if the missile gap ended, he emphasized, and the nation’s arsenal of ICBMs equaled the Soviet Union’s, America would still be on the short end of the stick (McDougall 1970; Freedman 1981). While Kennedy’s Cold War rhetoric exhorted the need to protect the nation’s ICBMs through increased defense spending on additional programs, Lt Gen Schriever expressed his disagreement with York’s guidance for Dyna-Soar. In an effort to fulfill the conditions established by GOR 92, the ARDC commander issued System Requirement 201 on 7 May 1959. The purpose of Dyna-Soar would be ‘to determine the military potential of a boost-glide weapon system and provide research data on flight characteristics up to and including orbital flight’ (HQ ARDC 1959c). Concurrently, studies would be made concerning ‘a weapon system based on this type of hypersonic vehicle’ (ibid). Lt Gen Schriever then directed Detachment 1 commander Maj Gen Haugen to prepare or modify a development plan reflecting his guidance by 1 November 1959 (ibid). Schriever believed the military objective of Dyna-Soar should not be ‘secondary to a research objective’ (ibid). Haugen echoed Schriever in his reply to York. He strongly recommended that the attainment of orbital flight and the testing of military subsystems be considered the primary, not secondary, objective. He further stated that Dyna-Soar constituted the only ‘manned program to

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determine the military potential’ of the near-space regime (ibid). The DDR&E should not compromise the extremely important nature of the program by imposing funding restrictions that limited the safety, reliability, and military growth potential of Dyna-Soar in deference to short-term monetary savings (Haugen 1959). Maj Gen Haugen then drew up a position paper substantiating these recommendations. While he firmly believed both the primary and secondary objectives designated by York should be achieved, sole concentration on the first set of objectives would prevent the investigation of re-entry from orbit and adequate testing of military subsystems (Directorate of Systems Management 1959f). As the deputy chief of staff for development, Lt Gen Wilson assured Maj Gen Haugen that Lt Col Herrington would receive the overall funding he needed to implement Dyna-Soar’s new development plan, despite York’s desire to relegate the spaceplane’s military mission to a secondary objective.

Conclusion Sputnik marked a significant and historic advance in technological capabilities. As such, it deserved the congratulations the president gave the Soviet government on 9 October 1957 (US Congress 1959d). However, the triumph created dismay everywhere outside the iron curtain. As a congressional committee suggested, for the first time the US faced the terrifying prospects of direct nuclear attack from Soviet ICBM bases (ibid; US Congress 1959e). In addition, the nation faced a new set of challenges to its pre-eminence in technology, its loss of international prestige, and the Soviet’s unequivocal claim to primacy and control of space. Out of the national humiliation came a calm realization. The administration must re-examine its international and domestic space policy, defense organization and strategy, and the desirability of a civilian space program far beyond the ambitions of its stalking horse Vanguard. Indeed, administration officials believed they were compelled to make their national space policy an international one if they wished to avoid an arms race in space (ibid). Subsequently, the president decided on, and Congress approved, a validation of the pre-Sputnik space-for-peace policy. As the debate renewed over the role of the military and manned spaceflight, the chief executive qualified his policy to reflect a restricted military program where the primary emphasis rested with a highly classified and compartmented unmanned reconnaissance program and an ambitious civilian program. Initially, confusion resulted from the overlapping agencies and programs. It increased as the international situation kept the question of whether space would be a civilian responsibility used for peaceful purposes, or a military responsibility used for national defense. By the first half of 1959, the administration’s answers to the spaceflight revolution began to bear fruit.

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However, a disturbing pattern began to emerge. For every cluster of American accomplishments, the Soviets, seemingly without fuss or furor, surpassed those achievements. Naturally, this generated criticism on Capitol Hill, throughout the military, and among the press. Most critics singled out the administration’s space-for-peace policy. Although widely supported as the ideal, it publicly divided America’s space program into two burgeoning parts – one sought to move with the tempo of military necessity, the other to progress with the philosophical calm of deliberate research – and privately it established a third one that sought the combination of both these methodologies to quickly insure the nation knew as much as technologically possible about the military and industrial capabilities of the Soviet Union. During this period of renewed debate, the Air Force tried to frame its own version of space policy while it attempted to influence and conform to the administration’s space-for-peace policy. As the doctrine of the indivisibility of the aerospace continuum took shape, the chief of staff exercised his authority over the single space program remaining solely under the Air Force’s jurisdiction – Dyna-Soar. Yet the luxury of such a technologically challenging and necessarily costly undertaking came at a high price. To progress under the president’s national space policy, Air Force officials would need to emphasize DynaSoar’s suborbital characteristics as a follow-on to manned strategic jet bomber and reconnaissance systems if they planned to retain the military potential of orbital flight for future operations. Yet, even if this approach worked, they still faced a tough task in persuading the president and his advisors that taking Dyna-Soar’s military capabilities into orbit constituted a peaceful use of outer space. Additionally, as the administration’s need for a stalking horse disappeared and it began to emphasize reconnaissance satellites as a national technical means of gathering pre-hostility intelligence, the Air Force would also attempt to retain a greater portion of these vital national assets. Ultimately, the Air Force’s shifting focus meant Lt Gen Wilson could not afford the expenditures needed to quickly attain the research Dyna-Soar engineers required to demonstrate the system’s suborbital military capabilities, or to demonstrate its capacity to be the means of launching the first American into orbit. Meanwhile, the proven capabilities of ICBMs as well as the less threatening and less destabilizing characteristics of reconnaissance satellites meant Lt Col Russ Herrington and his deputy Bill Lamar (who were not privy to the highly classified and compartmented details of the president’s CORONA program) would need to convince OSD officials (who were routinely briefed on about the CORONA program’s development) of Dyna-Soar’s ability to match or surpass the capabilities of these automated satellites. Failure could mean losing the spaceplane’s military potential as a justification for its existence within Eisenhower’s space-for-peace policy.

Chapter 5

Struggling to maintain the manned military mission: gaining the confidence of officials within the office of the Secretary of Defense, June 1959–December 1960 In retrospect, I think we should have recognized at the beginning that it [Dyna-Soar] was a nonsensical program (York 1970).

Looking back, Herbert York doubted that a man in space could perform better than a machine in space – or even better than someone on the ground remotely performing the same mission. Specifically, York asserted either the mission could be accomplished better within the atmosphere, or it could be performed better by an unmanned satellite. While he freely admitted a human would have greater flexibility performing the same mission in space as a machine, a man could do far more, quicker, and with greater assurance of success, he insisted the Air Force continually failed to establish clearly the relevance of using a human’s decision-making flexibility to perform Air Force space missions. Saying a human’s judgment would be necessary in a military space system did not mean a human needed to be on orbit with the system. ‘In a great many cases’, York persisted, ‘even though not all, he can perform his function just as well or better in the ground control room than in the orbiting capsule’ (ibid). He believed the administration settled this military argument ‘the year after Sputnik by giving the man-in-space mission to NASA’ (ibid). While admitting that not all functions in space could be performed better by a machine rather than a man, York required the Air Force to prove the utility of a military man in space. This resulted in a conundrum. How could the Air Force prove the utility of a placing a military man in space if the Office of the Secretary of Defense (OSD) refused to allow the development and deployment of a manned military program? According to York, the DoD had no interest in spaceflight and exploration as ends in themselves, but rather in the application of spaceflight to the defense of the US and its allies. DoD space efforts would be considered only as an integral part of the total defense effort to enhance the nation’s military capabilities. Hence, he considered it illogical to formulate a longrange military space plan (or initiate an operational program) separate and distinct from the nation’s overall defense plans and programs. If the Air

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Force planned to prove the utility of a military man in space, it would need to persuade the relevant agencies through studies and system comparisons, both historical and current. Only by substituting one manned military space system for another could the proponents of hypersonic flight gain the defense department support they needed. Dyna-Soar offered the administration just such an opportunity. As a space-based reconnaissance system, its capabilities would rival the soon-tobe developed, but highly classified, A-12 (a Mach 3+ strategic reconnaissance aircraft) (Crickmore 1986). Like the A-12, in its operational configuration Dyna-Soar could yield near-realtime photographic and ferret reconnaissance information over any area in the world, delivering the crucial data immediately to a friendly base. While its speed, altitude, and electronic countermeasures (ECM) capabilities would initially keep the CIA-sponsored, Air Force-supported spyplane out of harm’s way, to gather its information the aircraft would necessarily violate international airspace laws. Dyna-Soar II’s orbital capability, like unmanned reconnaissance satellites, would not have violated international law. Indeed, because the US made no official complaint of the Soviet Union’s satellite overflight of Sputnik, a legal precedent was established for the right of any nation to send its reconnaissance satellite over another. With the Soviets’ launch of Cosmos 4 on 26 April 1962, just such a tacit agreement existed between the Soviet Union and the US for space-based reconnaissance overflights. Unlike the A-12, Dyna-Soar would have been a legal means of gaining a far wider range of information. Moreover, in its Step II configuration, Dyna-Soar’s increased payload capacity would have brought a far greater range of reconnaissance resources to bear on each overflight target – more than any single reconnaissance satellite under development. In addition, Dyna-Soar could be used for missions other than passive reconnaissance. However, because the Air Force was considering active missions such as bombardment and anti-satellite for its operational capabilities, Dyna-Soar could jeopardize the administration’s space-for-peace policy. Subsequently, doubts about the future of Dyna-Soar again began to appear during the summer of 1959. Many Air Force research and development specialists at Maj Gen Ritland’s Ballistic Missile Division (BMD) felt the growing prospects of unmanned military operations in space seemed more promising than the spaceplane’s atmospheric boost-glide operations. On-the-other-hand, some Air Force officers, to include Lt Gen. Schriever, believed that NASA’s Mercury program would likely fail, making it necessary for the Air Force to put the first American in orbit. They based their reasoning partly on the failure of the Vanguard program and partly on the belief NASA ‘research types’, as opposed to the missile division’s personnel, would bungle Mercury. Should Mercury fail, Dyna-Soar would be the candidate for the first manned orbital flight. Based on this reasoning, these same BMD engineers questioned Dyna-Soar’s design methodology. If a

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boost-glide spaceplane were to be developed, they advocated dropping Dyna-Soar’s sophisticated winged system and developing a seemingly simpler approach (Hallion 1998).

DDR&E’S guidance for Dyna-Soar During a briefing on 23 June 1959, officials of the project office and Dr Joseph V. Charyk, assistant secretary of the Air Force for research and development, further discussed the questions of funding and program objectives. Charyk did not fully agree with York’s restriction of Dyna-Soar to suborbital flight. The assistant secretary considered the overall purpose of the program to be ‘the exploitation of the potentialities of boost-glide technology’ (Ferer 1959a; Lamar 1963a). Consequently, he believed orbital velocities should be attained early in the program. Charyk then suggested that York ‘appeared to be quite concerned over the effort to modify an existing booster for Dyna-Soar’ (ibid). Supported by the field commanders involved with hypersonic research, deputy chief of staff for development Lt Gen Wilson spent the next 5 months trying to appease various agencies within the OSD by finding answers to satisfy their questions. Meanwhile, Dyna-Soar development proceeded slowly. In spite of Lt Col Herrington’s specifically defined development program plan, at times it seemed no answer could satisfy all of the decision-makers. Simultaneously, it appeared that OSD officials, with administration concurrence, might withdraw financial support from Dyna-Soar, and then turn the bits and pieces over to NASA. This would free Air Force funding to support more of the administration’s highly classified and compartmented reconnaissance satellite development. As the Air Force began to receive some space programs back from the disintegrating authority of ARPA, DoD officials began to consider these fiscal possibilities. Indeed, the problem of designating a booster, managing the booster’s development and procurement, and, most important, refining the purpose of the program, became intertwined during discussions with Secretary Douglas. After a 14 July meeting with Dr Charyk, Brig Gen Boushey (deputy chief of staff for advanced technology), Colonel Walter L. Moore, Jr. (who succeeded Lt Col Herrington as Chief of Dyna-Soar Weapon System Project Office in July 1959), and Lieutenant Colonel B. H. Ferer (assistant, boost-glide systems, deputy chief of staff for development), Detachment 1 commander Maj Gen Haugen directed the preparation of a presentation to answer the questions raised by Secretary Douglas. It would also outline the participation of the Ballistic Missile Division in the DynaSoar program. After reviewing this briefing on 22 July 1959, ARDC commander Lt Gen Schriever instructed Haugen’s detachment to ‘explore whether vehicle configuration and size are not subject to modification’ and prepare a detailed development plan for the boost-glider and booster

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(Directorate of Systems Management 1959d; HQ ARDC 1959d). In his opinion, downsizing the vehicle seemed acceptable at this time because ‘the precise nature of a specific weapon system’ was difficult to foresee (ibid). Therefore, the vehicle’s specific configuration should be ‘on a fairly flexible basis’ (ibid). Test data from the initial phase of the program would determine the details of the military configurations of an operational Dyna-Soar. Five days later, York introduced a new complication. He instructed Air Force secretary Douglas and ARPA director Johnson to ‘consider the possibility of a common [booster] development’ for Dyna-Soar and the second stage for NASA’s Saturn booster (York 1959). The DDR&E would not make a commitment for Dyna-Soar’s propulsion system until the Air Force considered this proposal. Apparently, York planned to keep Dyna-Soar’s funding low while finding another payload for the second stage of the Saturn program. Bill Lamar, the assistant deputy for advanced systems at ARDC’s directorate of systems management, gave a booster presentation to Charyk, deputy chief of staff for development Wilson, ARDC vice-commander James Ferguson, and ARDC Detachment 1 commander Haugen. After hearing the preliminary data on the Martin Company’s Titan C and the Saturn second stage, Lamar asked Charyk to ‘recommend that booster contractor selection begin for Dyna-Soar’.1 He declined. Furthermore, Charyk believed the previous subcontractor selection process ‘lacked competitiveness’. He also considered the proposed funding too high (York 1959). While Charyk saw the value of hypersonic research, he did not share Lt Gen Wilson’s confidence or fiscally support Dyna-Soar’s military objectives. The assistant secretary of the Air Force for research and development felt the potential for international political instability with such a space-based weapon system was too great. Pilot selection and a Dyna-Soar booster As Dyna-Soar engineers considered the merits of Charyk’s insights, NASA assigned Milton O. Thompson to the Dyna-Soar program. In August 1959 he and fellow NASA test pilots Neil A. Armstrong and William H. Dana made their first trip to Wright Field to ‘undergo stress testing for Dyna-Soar astronaut candidates’ (Thompson 1992b). As Thompson recalls, ‘the USAF candidates [all graduates of the Air Force’s Test Pilot School] included Jim Wood, Russ Rogers, Henry C. Hank Gordon, Pete Knight, Charlie Bock, Walt Daniels and two or three more pilots’ (Gordon 1989). These candidates had been asked ‘if they’d be interested in a risky program, that nothing would be said if they didn’t volunteer’ (ibid). Of these candidates, the three NASA test pilots were selected and four Air Force pilots: Major James W. Wood; Captain Henry C. ‘Hank’ Gordon;

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Captain William J. ‘Pete’ Knight; and Captain Russell L. Rogers. Designated as ‘pilot-consultants’ the group began traveling to support the program. As such, ‘… the program did get started very quickly. Not in a flight test sense, but in a fruitful way. … Going to Boeing, meeting all the people there, get introduced, tell them what we were there for … [and we] established real quick a close, effective working relationship with engineering up there’ (ibid). Like Boeing engineers, Bill Lamar and his engineering associates at Wright Field relied on the pilots for inputs into ‘… the realities of the flight – that is what did the pilot need in the cockpit? Had they [the engineers] adequately provided it?’ (ibid). That was the pilots initial job. They would try to think of things the engineers ‘hadn’t provided for and/or better ways of doing it’ (ibid). There was a lot of good give and take, all in a cooperative way’ (ibid). For the next 3 years a minimum of three Dyna-Soar pilots rotated in and out of Boeing’s Seattle facilities on a monthly basis with Major ‘Woody’ Wood, the chief Dyna-Soar pilot, permanently assigned at Boeing. Thompson spent every third month in Seattle participating in the design process and flying the Dyna-Soar simulator ‘for hours and hours’ (ibid). Ultimately, he ‘developed entry control techniques’ (Thompson 1992a). At Martin’s Baltimore, MA facility the pilots flew boost simulations ‘to demonstrate that we could manually fly the Titan booster into orbit with the Dyna-Soar vehicle on top. This was a controversial issue. The booster designers [at Maj Gen Ritland’s Ballistic Missile Division] had been using automatic control and guidance systems from day one. In their minds it was the only way to go’ (ibid). They spent weeks in a centrifuge verifying that they could manually fly the booster under the gravity loads involved during acceleration into orbit. As the Dyna-Soar pilots began to get the feel of the program, Maj Gen Ritland completed his evaluation of possible Dyna-Soar boosters. Largely because of serious stability and control problems, he rejected the AtlasCentaur combination in favor of the Titan C. Concerning York’s second proposal, BMD vice-commander Brigadier General C. H. Terhune, Jr. believed it would be ‘impractical to employ a precisely identical booster stage’ for both Dyna-Soar and the second stage for Saturn (Terhune 1959). Discussions among Charyk, York, and BMD officials soon followed. Ultimately, they could not agree on a booster for Dyna-Soar. Finally, on 25 September, while refusing to designate a booster, Charyk and generals Wilson, Ferguson, and Boushey decided Martin’s Titan C would not be employed in the program (Boushey 1959c). This left the Company’s less powerful Titan A as the sole Dyna-Soar booster and the question of McElroy and Charyk’s support for Dyna-Soar’s military objectives unresolved. Nevertheless, Brig Gen Boushey confidently believed Dyna-Soar’s military objectives would strengthen national security and American prestige. Accordingly, the deputy chief of staff for advanced technology re-examined

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the Dyna-Soar requirements established by York’s 13 April memorandum. Orbital flight and testing of military subsystems could only be permitted, York had insisted, if these efforts did not adversely affect the central objective of suborbital, hypersonic flight. Boushey (1959c) repeated his opinion: in the interest of national security and international prestige both sets of objectives could definitely be achieved. By 1 November 1959, the Dyna-Soar office completed an abbreviated development plan to fulfill Lt Gen Schriever’s 7 May 1959 System Requirement 201. In addition, at the suggestion of York and other OSD officials, Moore and Lamar restructured the program back into its original three-step approach (Directorate of Systems Management 1959e). Col Moore scheduled the first manned global flight of Step II for August 1965. The following day, the Air Council sanctioned Bill Lamar’s presentation of the three-step program and approved Lt Gen Schriever’s presentation for program management and booster procurement. With the complete sanction of the Air Staff, Generals Schriever and Anderson forwarded their joint ARDC and AMC letter to the chief of staff on 4 November. The proposed program would make full use of the existing national booster program, essentially satisfying one of York’s requirements. Concurrently, it would attain global flight, essentially satisfying Charyk’s requirement. Anderson and Schriever (1959) closed by urging the quick completion of the source selection process (Rotelli 1965b). Gen White agreed with the arrangement and forwarded a message to secretary of the Air Force Douglas.

Phase alpha Less than a week later, Douglas announced the Dyna-Soar contractors. The Boeing Airplane Company won the competition and was awarded the system contract. The Martin Company, however, was named associate contractor with the responsibility for booster development (Directorate of Systems Management 1959a, b). Regardless of (Charyk’s) earlier concerns about corporate competitiveness in the selection process for the subcontractors of the booster, the same two originally recommended contractors were judged the most capable, gaining portions of the Dyna-Soar program. Air Force vice chief of staff General Curtis LeMay played a pivotal role in this decision. The former head of the Strategic Air Command (SAC) was a strong supporter of Dyna-Soar and he wanted Boeing to get the contract. As a traditional supplier of SAC bombers, LeMay was intimately familiar with Boeing’s product and procurement process. Naturally, he preferred to work with a management team whose track record he understood and with whom he had worked in the past. Similarly, he was familiar with Martin because of the ICBMs they fielded for SAC. The decision to have Boeing build the spaceplane was not a devastating blow to Martin. Indeed, the company’s selection as the booster contractor freed it to focus research on

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Maj Gen ‘Ozzie’ Ritland’s proposed lifting-body recovery system for the SAMOS reconnaissance satellite (Vitelli 1967; Walter 1992). By mid-November, all the agencies within the OSD seemed satisfied with Dyna-Soar’s revised development plan and managerial procedures, including the military objectives outlined in Steps II and III. At the same time, Lt Gen Wilson directed Maj Gen Schriever to implement Step I and begin planning for the development of the military objectives in the Step II phase (HQ Air Force 1959e). Three days later, Charyk gave the Air Force authority to negotiate Step I contracts for FY 1960. However, there was a caveat. The assistant secretary for Air Force research and development requested that ‘financial plans … and/or adequate work statements [must be available] so that a concise understanding of the project’s direction and commitments can be secured’ (Charyk 1959). He did not trust the Air Force to keep Dyna-Soar (now designated ‘System’ 620A rather than ‘Weapon System’) solely as a research system. Nor did civilian officials within the offices of the secretary of the Air Force and the secretary of defense (as well as the administration’s PSAC officials) believe the medium L/D glider recommended by Boeing – and approved by Lamar’s selection board – necessarily represented the best approach to the critical aerothermodynamic, structural, and materials problems so vital to the success of Dyna-Soar. Additionally, the changes and fund limitations imposed by Charyk’s office, as a result of the completion of the competitive study and evaluation in June, needed to be considered. These civilian officials believed that the Air Force, given the chance, would upset the administration’s space-for-peace policy by making this well publicized program an operational weapon system to protect the automated reconnaissance satellites concurrently being developed by the CIA and the Air Force. In an effort to obtain funds for FYs 1959 and 1960, Brig Gen Boushey and his staff met with Charyk on 24 November. Charyk made it clear that Dyna-Soar would not be funded without his personal approval. It was clear from the assistant secretary’s comments that ‘he does not intend to release any money at this time to go forward with the program presented to and approved by [Air Force secretary] Mr. Douglas’ (Ferer 1959b). Instead, he wanted to institute a ‘Phase Alpha’ to examine the military emphasis of the three-step approach. No funds would be obligated until the program office completed Phase Alpha. Furthermore, once the Air Force began DynaSoar’s hardware development, the assistant secretary wanted ‘to review the program step-by-step, releasing funds as the program proceeded’ (ibid; HQ Air Force 1959f). Only by following these guidelines could Lt Gen Wilson gain the confidence and support of the civilian Air Force secretariat and, subsequently, the office of the secretary of defense. While Charyk believed that the Air Force should lead the other services in space operations, he wanted Col Moore and Bill Lamar to take yet

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another broad look at their approach to manned military spaceflight to see whether a hypersonic boost-glider, ballistic, or lifting-body approach might be better – that is, quicker and cheaper. If a different type of system could be shown to have important advantages, Dyna-Soar should be redirected. Subsequently, everything done to support a winged boost-glide system would be set aside (Hallion 1998). A space policy report In November 1959, the National Aeronautics and Space Council (NASC) gave its report to the National Security Council (NSC) by arguing for the creation of a national space policy to carry out an energetic program for the exploration and use of outer space based on sound scientific and technological progress. Importantly, the report declared that all space projects served national security needs. Indeed, the Soviets’ recent achievements (orbiting a canine passenger, launching an interplanetary probe, and impacting the moon with a spacecraft) raised their international prestige even higher than the 4 October 1957 launch of Sputnik. While the NASC still could not fully define the military significance of space to their satisfaction, it was apparent that unmanned reconnaissance satellites would be needed to enforce whatever international agreements might eventually be reached to prevent an arms race in space. Until then, these reconnaissance satellites could prevent another technological Pearl Harbor like Sputnik (Haney 1959). The committee’s observations formed the backbone of NSC 5918/1, completed on 12 January 1960 and signed by the president 14 days later. Although it strengthened the cause of a singular aspect of military space operations by supporting the use of unmanned reconnaissance satellites, it placed the strongest emphasis on civilian programs. Additionally, the report continued to support the administration’s consistent downgrading of the majority of the military’s space efforts. As long as Eisenhower could depend on the secret manned U-2 flights or, in the future, the Mach 3+ spyplane that would eventually be developed by Lockheed’s ‘skunk works’ to yield information about the closed Soviet society, the steady development of the military’s complementary unmanned reconnaissance satellites would be all that was required of a military space program. These systems, it was believed, could yield adequate strategic reconnaissance information on Soviet weapons development. In turn, the president would use this highly compartmented information to decide which weapons systems the nation needed to develop to counter the Soviet weapons. Additionally, Eisenhower and PSAC officials like Din Land felt these satellites would reduce, if not eliminate, the need for manned U-2 flights. The president and the NSC expressed the same view officially and explicitly, although not publicly. They acknowledged that the Soviet Union’s recent ‘firsts’ resulted in substantial and enduring gains in Soviet prestige (NSC 1960).

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Establishing the direction for phase alpha In the US, ‘Mickey’ Moore and Bill Lamar began to institute Phase Alpha. Early in December 1959, the Aero and Space Panel of the Air Force’s Scientific Advisory Board, chaired by Courtland D. Perkins, a Princeton University professor and chairman of their Aeronautical Engineering Department, offered some recommendations. Perkins suggested that ‘an adequate level of technical confidence cannot now be said to exist’ in some areas, although in the area of structures and materials, specifically, ‘there appeared to be a somewhat higher level of confidence in the fundamental tools [of development] than in the area of aerodynamics’ (Aero and Space Vehicle Panel of the Scientific Advisory Board 1960a). Consequently, he felt test programs in ‘aerodynamics and structures [should be pursued] in order that the design effort and major funding expenditures are phased to be entered with a satisfactory level of technical confidence’ (ibid). Concerning the entire program, the scientific advisory panel strongly supported the methodology of Dyna-Soar’s medium L/D ratio. While the program could be severely limited by Charyk and York through fiscal constraints and the absence of a high political priority for the military objectives in Step II and III, the Aero and Space Vehicles Panel insisted Dyna-Soar was important. Indeed, on the way to achieving its military mission it could yield significant data in the broad research areas of hypersonic science and engineering (ibid). From 2–4 December 1959, Perkins, his fellow Aero and Space Vehicles Panel members, and 11 consultants (mostly from industry) met at NASA’s Ames Research Center to review Dyna-Soar. Before the panel began their deliberations, they insightfully reviewed many of the critical factors affecting the program. For example, one ground rule stated that Dyna-Soar must be ‘programmed to survive in an austere budgetary environment’ (Alfred J. Eggers, as quoted in Becker 1998). It should be considered an expensive program and must survive without a politically recognized high priority for the validity of its military objectives. The major motivating force would be the national desire to achieve a more sophisticated space capability, while the manned military aspects remained a strong possibility. It would be imperative for them not to consider the program as a ‘crash, high-technicalrisk gamble’ where all factors could be considered secondary to achieving an important military capability in the shortest amount of time (ibid). Instead they should consider the program reasonably poised, rather than critically poised, for development – the type of program where time could be taken to ensure all the technical possibilities could be exploited, an approach reminiscent of NASA’s space programs. Because Dyna-Soar would, in their opinion, ‘develop into the most important space program in the country’, great care should be taken to ensure that it was capable of developing technical information in the broadest research areas of science and engineering (ibid).

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One important member of the panel was Alfred J. Eggers, who ‘harbored a personal distaste for winged boost-gliders’. As he saw the situation, the problem of placing sizable payloads in space would be exacerbated by having to cope with the added weight of wings. Regarding the boost-glider’s maneuverability during re-entry, the lateral range, and conventional landing capabilities, Eggers suggested ‘if USAF has a real reason for boost-glide or maneuvering re-entry and conventional landing – OK. But if what they really want is the maximum possible payload in space, then they should use a simple light-weight semi-ballistic re-entry system’ (ibid). Eggers pronounced his philosophy effectively and pervasively, contributing significantly to Charyk’s eventual decision to proceed with Phase Alpha rather than accept the results from Bill Lamar’s previous source selection board or the data he and John Becker presented to Perkin’s panel. The aerothermaldynamic facet of Dyna-Soar’s technological legacy was about to enter a new round of debate (Hallion 1998). Those involved in the program, both from the Air Force and from NASA, believed that Eggers wingless lifting-body approach represented a major threat to the medium L/D ratio winged approach. Langley’s John Becker, anticipating Eggers’s proposal, built his presentation around ‘two half-cone shapes’ (Aero and Space Vehicle Panel of the Scientific Advisory Board 1959). Bill Lamar presented the latest Air Force studies. Both Becker and Lamar knew from their low-speed testing that ‘the winged glider approach would develop a L/D ratio as great as 5 during slow-speed landings’ (ibid). Thus, the main virtue of Becker’s half-cones and Eggers’s lifting-body would be an increased payload volume, a fruitless feature for a Step I Dyna-Soar design because the existing one contained more than enough fuselage volume for its anticipated payloads, both for Step I research equipment and Step II military hardware (ibid). Becker closed his presentation with a review of the impressive benefits achievable with a winged boost-glider in the medium L/D ratio range, reminding the scientific advisors that ‘the sophisticated performance of these vehicles involved only a nominal weight increment of the order of 1/3 over comparable ballistic systems’ (Hallion 1998). This modest increment would certainly be tolerable as booster capability advanced beyond the Atlas, the limiting factor in selecting the small ballistic capsule for Mercury (ibid). A large majority of the consultants agreed with Lamar and Becker: the medium L/D ratio would be the proper technological approach for Dyna-Soar (Aero and Space Vehicle Panel of the Scientific Advisory Board 1959). The panel held an executive session on 5 December 1959. Chairman Perkins opened by stating that ‘Dyna-Soar at this point was easily killable’, but, because Air Force leaders wanted Dyna-Soar, ‘the SAB should help [the] USAF [retain it]’ (ibid). To do so, the panel felt Phase Alpha should concentrate on a comprehensive program of aerodynamic modeling – con-

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siderably beyond the Boeing Company’s proposal – to raise the confidence level of OSD officials. Indeed, Phase Alpha should not become an exercise in ‘doing better with the existing information in an attempt to refine the current configuration and to modify the program’s steps’ (ibid). Instead, primary emphasis should be placed on technology demonstrators that accomplished the necessary aerodynamics and structures tests. This would generate the level of technical confidence to satisfy all the agencies within the OSD (ibid). Under secretary of the Air Force Charyk concurred with the overall assessment of the panel. In Phase Alpha, emphasis would be placed on the identification and solutions of technical problems. The objective of Step I would be the development of a test vehicle to solve these problems while ‘detailed consideration of military applications in this early phase should be kept to an absolute minimum’ (Directorate of Systems Management 1959c, 1960a, b; WADD 1960a, b). Because this approach emphasized Step I research objectives rather than Step II and III military objectives, he authorized the release of 2.5 million dollars for the study (ibid). The new AFM 1-2 In December 1959, Lt Gen John K. Gerhart, Gen White’s deputy chief for plans and programs, released the Air Force’s fundamental doctrinal manual, AFM 1-2. Gen White felt the new doctrine epitomized the Air Force’s vision for space operations, in which space was viewed as ‘a medium for performing the conventional roles and missions of the Air Force’ (Bowen 1964). Historically and logically, the chief of staff believed, the Air Force’s claims to the overall responsibility of space could be justified through this doctrine. Secretary of defense McElroy generally agreed. Although prophecy could be dangerous in an age of technological change, the new doctrine also fit the Air Force’s projected needs and capabilities for the decade of the 1960s. Nevertheless, in the first half of 1959 Air Force officials could not claim the requisite space programs they believed they needed to justify their aspirations for space leadership. Subsequently, Gen White persuaded McElroy to reassign a few space programs and their missions back to the Air Force to fill the vacuum created in 1958 by their loss to ARPA and NASA. To set the foundation for this program shift, the chief of staff pursued a slow course of action, accelerating development of specific hardware with the approval of ARPA and NASA officials. In doing so, he obtained sanctions from the director of NASA and the secretary of defense for the Air Force’s management of these programs (ibid). Conversely, when Air Force officials could not persuade NASA or OSD leadership of the usefulness of a specific program, or when these same officials found fault with a specific program, that program’s development would be slowed to a crawl. Sometimes a program’s future would be questioned. Dyna-Soar seemed to

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fall perilously close to the latter category throughout 1959 (Anderson 1959; HQ ARDC 1959e; Schriever 1959). In the middle of January 1960, Brig Gen Boushey gave more specific instructions to the program’s military and corporate managers concerning the direction of the Phase Alpha study and the SAB’s recommendation’s. The review would examine selected hypersonic configurations for controlled manned re-entry to identify ‘technical problem areas, forming a systematic plan of attack on these problem areas, and defining the test program required’ (Geiger 1963). Additionally, configurations would be evaluated on the basis of cost, development planning, scheduling, technical risk, and the future value of the results to be obtained from the configuration (Boushey 1960). Further ground rules for the study included a ‘oncearound’ global capability for the spaceplane to provide growth after the initial flights with its Titan I booster at suborbital velocities. All the vehicles would be required to have at least the capacity for 1000 pounds of payload, 75 cubic feet of volume for equipment, subsystems and a passageway, one crew member (if mission requirements seemed to dictate more, additional members should be considered), and a minimum reusability rate of four flights between periods of major maintenance. Importantly, this did not exactly mirror the Aero and Space Panel’s recommendations. The inclusion of orbital flight, four-flight reusability, interchangeable subsystems, and piloted cross-range landings parameters reflected an operational, rather than research, agenda. In order to evaluate these objectives, Colonel W. R. Grohs, vice-commander of WADD, directed the formation of an ad hoc committee to accomplish the Phase Alpha study. Bill Lamar would be its chairman (ibid). In February, Lamar, assisted by representatives from the Air Force Flight Test Center, the Air Force Missile Test Center, the Air Material Command, and NASA, began to determine the kind of research vehicle the Air Force would require to solve the problems of routine hypersonic manned re-entry from orbit. Concurrently, his ad hoc committee contracted with several companies, placed under the direction of Boeing, to investigate the potentialities of several categories of configurations. The committee considered variable geometric shapes (such as the drag brake of the AVCO Manufacturing Corporation), a folding wing glider (Lockheed Aircraft), and an inflatable vehicle (Goodyear Aircraft). It analysed ballistic shapes (such as a modified Mercury Capsule from McDonnell) and lifting-body configurations (offered by members of the ad hoc committee and General Electric). Finally, it examined gliders with varying lift-drag ratios. After reviewing these various configurations, Lamar concluded that ‘the development and fabrication of a ballistic shape or a lifting-body configuration with a L/D ratio up to 0.5 would only duplicate the findings of NASA’s Mercury program’ (ibid; Lamar 1963a). Conversely, a glider with a

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high L/D ratio of 3 would not only provide a maximum amount of information on re-entry but would also demonstrate the greatest maneuverability in the atmosphere, allowing the widest selection of cross-range landing sites. Such a glider, however, presented the greatest technical risk in aerothermodynamic design trade-offs. Consequently, Lamar – with the concurrence of the ad hoc committee – decided that ‘the previously investigated medium L/D glider configuration, with a L/D ratio in the range of 1.5 to 2.5, offered the most feasible approach for advancing knowledge of hypersonic reentry problems’ (ibid). As they debated Dyna-Soar’s optimum lift-to-drag ratio and considered system configurations (pilot’s role in controlled re-entry, man–machine interface balances for future systems, testing military equipment, and examining operational concepts), structures, materials, booster configurations, avionics, ground service equipment, and flight tests (optimum number of air drops versus ground launches for Step I), generals Schriever and Anderson reached an understanding regarding the responsibilities of their West Coast complexes in the Dyna-Soar program. This managerial agreement became a vital element in future struggles between engineers within Ritland’s BMD and Moore. Oddly, Moore lost most of these struggles, despite subsequent amendments supporting the original agreement. As a result, delays in Dyna-Soar’s development would continue as Moore and Lamar adjusted the boost-glider’s development schedule to meet Ritland’s inflexibility (Anderson 1960). Another panel review At the end of March 1960, chairman Perkins and the other members of the SAB’s Aero and Space Vehicles Panel, again reviewed the Dyna-Soar program and the results of the Alpha study. If orbiting the greatest amount of weight in the shortest development time were the overriding requirement, Perkins reasoned the modified ballistic approach would be preferable. The members still believed, however, that ‘the glider configuration would vastly increase the technical knowledge of materials and structures’ (Aero and Space Vehicle Panel of the Scientific Advisory Board 1960b; Moore 1960). Additionally, a boost-glider provided the greatest operational flexibility. Perkins also emphasized the importance of attaining orbital flight as soon as possible. Consequently, he suggested a reexamination of the need for a suborbital Step I and more precise planning for the military tests in the orbital Step II phase (ibid). As Perkins gave his vote of confidence to Dyna-Soar’s configuration, details for the glider’s construction began to take shape. Based on the findings of Lamar’s Phase Alpha ad hoc committee, the glider should be a lowwing, delta-shaped spaceplane, weighing about 10,000 pounds. For several reasons the committee selected a radiant rather than ablative approach to

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protecting the vehicle from the heat of re-entry. Research showed that an ablative surface burned away unevenly as it re-entered the atmosphere. Uneven decay would affect the glider’s flight control as it attempted to maneuver within the atmosphere. Additionally, the need to keep operational costs as low as possible by requiring a minimum of four flights between refurbishing eliminated an ablative surface because the material would need to be replaced after each flight. To undergo the extreme heat of re-entry, the internal framework would be composed of braces made of René 41, a nickel super alloy originally designed to cope with the heat and strength requirements of jet engines. This metal could withstand a temperature of 1800°F. The upper surface of the glider would be fabricated of René 41 panels. The lower surface would be a heat shield, designed for a maximum temperature of 2700°, consisting of metal sheets made of molybdenum attached to insulated Rene’ 41 panels. Because the leading edges of the wings would have to withstand similar heat conditions, they would be composed of coated molybdenum segments. The severest temperatures, ranging from 3600 to 4300°F, would be endured by the nose cap. It would be constructed of graphite with 13 zirconia rods (Directorate of Systems Management 1960e).

A new development plan Moore and Lamar completed a new development plan further elaborating the three-step program presented in the November 1959 development plan. Step I would achieve four objectives: explore the maximum heating regions of the flight regime, investigate maneuverability during re-entry, demonstrate conventional landing, and evaluate the operational performance of the pilot during all phases of hypersonic flight. While the lack of a suitable booster would limit Step I to suborbital flights, the purpose of Step IIA would be to gather data on orbital velocities with an upgraded or new booster. Additionally, it would test military subsystems, such as highresolution radar, photographic and infrared sensors, bombing and navigation systems, flight data systems, air-to-surface missiles, rendezvous equipment, and their requisite guidance and control subsystems. Step IIB would provide an interim military system capable of operational reconnaissance and satellite inspection missions based on the plan of the Step I glider. In Step III a fully operational weapon system with a larger capacity, more capable glider would emerge. Sensitive to the concerns of Charyk and York, Moore only outlined the last two steps. While he had the data, he did not detail the specifics of developing the requisite military hardware during these phases (Directorate of Systems Management 1960e; Van Nimmen et al. 1988). In the first week in April 1960, Moore and Lamar presented the new development plan and the results of Phase Alpha to generals Schriever,

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Anderson, and Boushey, as well as the Strategic Air Panel and the Weapons Board at the Air Force’s Pentagon headquarters. On 8 April, Moore and Lamar again explained the program to now assistant secretary of the Air Force for research and development Perkins. The representatives received approval to begin work on the suborbital Step I phase (Directorate of Systems Management 1960c, d). On 22 April, DoD officials endorsed the new program, permitting the release of 16.2 million dollars of the FY 1960 funds. At last all the agencies within the OSD seemed confident in DynaSoar’s technological approach and were willing to provide some measure of fiscal support. When York approved the 19 April request, he repeated his 13 April 1959 program guidance: secondary military objectives of orbital flight and testing operational subsystems could only be initiated if they did not infringe on his primary research objective of developing a hypersonic manned, suborbital, maneuverable vehicle capable of controlled landings. While studies for military subsystems could proceed, research hardware must come before the development and integration of any military hardware. Indeed, York remained unconvinced of any military necessity for Dyna-Soar (HQ Air Force 1960a). General Thomas S. Power, commander of the Strategic Air Command, did not agree. He stressed the command’s operational requirement to have a piloted spaceplane and its military payload return from low Earth orbit to a predetermined ground base. Dyna-Soar had unlimited possibilities as a logical extension of the U-2’s capabilities, as a follow-on to the B-70 strategic bomber, or as a satellite interceptor to ‘inspect, board, disable, or possibly destroy’ a hostile satellite. To meet or exceed similar Soviet developments, Power believed the system would need to be ready by 1970 (Hines 1960; Twiss 1960; Watson 1960). Phase alpha Dyna-Soar configuration Because of the Phase Alpha study, a number of significant changes were made to the previous configuration of the Dyna-Soar vehicle: 1

2

3

The weight increased to 9283 pounds, primarily because of the need to return 1000 pounds of payload and incorporate subsystem redundancies. The entire lower surface would be covered with coate-molybdenum insulated panels because of the higher temperatures incurred as a result of the higher wing loading and because heat radiating inward toward the equipment areas must now be blocked l00% (rather then a lessor, but still safe percentage). The radius of the leading edge and nose were increased approximately 1 inch to recover the minimum maneuver safety margin of 6000 feet.

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Retractable fin tip stabilizers were added to reduce the shift in the aerodynamic center to provide positive aerodynamic stability throughout the flight profile. The center elevator was removed and the area added to the elevons. The wing upper surface camber was removed to solve the subsonic trim problem. The nose gear was redesigned as a skid to save weight by eliminating the cooling system required to protect a ‘normal’ nose gear (Rotelli 1965a).2

Within a month, three problems appeared. First, the escape ‘capsule’ concept was becoming too complex and costly; an alternative would be needed. Secondly, if limiting the extent of molybdenum shielded panels on the lower surface became necessary, the temperature would need to be reduced in those areas by an alternate means. Finally, the glider’s stability at low angles of attack during hypersonic flight was unsatisfactory. While these problems may seem onerous, solutions were well within the existing state-of-the-art and Bill Lamar felt confident his team of engineers would provide them. Nevertheless, because Lamar was constantly pulled between which of two influences should be paramount, the capabilities structural-material to sustain high temperatures or the safety margin associated with hypersonic maneuvers, the weight of the craft fluctuated. Aerodynamic concerns held the upper-hand at the end of April. Throughout the development period, engineers had to make similar trade-offs. They considered a range of vehicles from a 3000-pound unmanned vehicle to 15,000-pound vehicle with a two-man crew. Wing loadings from less than 20 pounds per square foot to greater than 40 were studied. Leading-edge sweep was varied from 70 to 80°. In all of these excursions, the designers always came back to the existing baseline configuration because of three constraints: current ICBM booster capabilities, not only in the launch weight but in the modifications required for a winged, manned payload; hypersonic reentry temperature limitations created the need for structural materials capable of withstanding high temperatures over long time exposures; research requirements for pilot control, conventional landing, positive aerodynamic stability, hypersonic maneuverability, and orbital velocities that would lead to the success of future military missions. These design constraints consistently led engineers to a wing loading of 20 to 30 pounds per square foot, a weight of 8500 to 9500 pounds, a hypersonic L/D of 1.5 to 2.5 and a subsonic L/D of 4 to 5. These were not insurmountable constraints to Lamar. He felt good about his methodology and ability to work successfully within these demands while maintaining a degree of flexibility to react to changes. When opportunities arose, he

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would be ready to optimize the glider’s configuration to existing constraints and future military requirements (ibid). Getting a ‘go’ By 24 April, Charyk approved contractual arrangements for the entire Step I program rather than for particular fiscal years. Consequently, Col Moore completed a contract with Boeing as the overall system contractor. By 8 June 1960, the Martin Company received official responsibility for the booster airframe. A day later, Maj Gen Ritland made arrangements with the Aerospace Corporation to provide technical assistance for the Step I program. Meanwhile, on 27 June, Moore authorized the Aero-Jet General Corporation to develop the booster engines. Six months later, he would grant authority to the Minneapolis-Honeywell Regulator Company for the primary guidance subsystem and give responsibility for the communication and data link subsystem to the Radio Corporation of America. Dyna-Soar hardware development – at least Step I – was finally on its way (Coughlin 1960). The U-2 shootdown On 1 May 1960, the Soviets shot down Francis Gary Powers’s U-2 spyplane. The loss of the aircraft and the capture of its pilot meant the US would cease to overfly the Soviet Union, depriving the CIA and other members of the intelligence community of a means of obtaining photographic evidence of the Soviet’s strategic military developments (Kistiakowsky 1976). Three weeks after the U-2 incident the next generation of spacebased spy equipment – passive early warning satellites – made its first successful appearance with the launch of MIDAS (Missile Defense Alarm System) 2. If the Soviets launched a missile, America could identify its infrared signature. America’s vision was improving but the administration was still blind (Hall 1988). By 26 May the need for intelligence information, coupled with the continuing technical difficulties of the DISCOVERER/CORONA and SAMOS programs, caused the administration to act (Richelson 1990). Simultaneously, the internecine warfare between the CIA and the Air Force over control of the nation’s space reconnaissance assets added further incentive for action. These resources would soon be the glamorous centerpieces of a national intelligence collection system and the organization ultimately known as the National Reconnaissance Office (NRO) (Burrows 1986; Hall 1995a, 1998). On 10 June 1960, Eisenhower directed secretary of defense Thomas S. Gates, Jr., who succeeded McElroy on 2 December 1959, and George B. Kistiakowsky, the Harvard chemist and Los Alamos veteran who had succeeded Killian as the president’s science advisor, to study the nation’s recon-

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naissance satellite programs. Gates appointed a panel of three: under secretary of the Air Force Joseph Charyk, deputy DDR&E John H. Rubel, and Kistiakowsky (Berger 1966a). The most obvious target of the panel’s scrutiny would be Brig Gen Boushey’s Directorate of Advanced Technology, the Air Staff office responsible for the coordinating satellite development. The panel believed the problem resided with managerial rather than hardware difficulties. The remedy would be equally apparent. The nation needed a new central agency to oversee the development of space reconnaissance systems after independently identifying the specific tasks each satellite needed to accomplish and matching those tasks with near-term technological solutions (Burrows 1986). System development requirement 19 While the special presidential panel formulated a development strategy for the nation’s reconnaissance satellite assets, Brig Gen Boushey further recognized Dyna-Soar’s three-step program by releasing System Development Requirement 19 on 21 July 1960. With the stepped approach, the Air Force would develop a manned boost-glider capable of routinely demonstrating orbital flight at an altitude of 80 nautical miles, a lateral cross-range maneuverability of 1500 miles during hypersonic glide, and controlled landings on a 10,000-foot runway. Furthermore, Dyna-Soar would lead to a flexible military system capable of space maneuver, rendezvous, reconnaissance, and satellite inspection. Gen White looked forward to the first manned, suborbital launch, which was planned for 1964 (HQ Air Force 1960b). While DoD officials approved and funded the Step I program, Col Moore firmly believed studies for the advanced phases of the program should concurrently be initiated. How else could they prove the utility of manned military space operations? In early August 1960, the project office asked Lt Gen Schriever to release 2.32 million dollars through FY 1962 for this purpose. If he released these funds immediately, Col Moore anticipated completion of detailed preliminary program plans for Steps IIA, IIB, and III by December 1961, January 1962, and June 1962, respectively (Directorate of Systems Management 1960f). Later in the month, the program manager reminded Lt Gen Schriever of the urgency in releasing these funds (Directorate of Systems Management 1960g). While awaiting approval to begin more detailed military test system studies, the proponents of lifting-body research found new support from within the reconnaissance satellite community. On 8 August 1960, Lt Gen Anderson’s Ballistic Missile Center sent out a request for proposal (RFP) for both ballistic and maneuverable liftingbody reentry vehicles for Maj Gen Ritland’s highly classified and compartmented SAMOS reconnaissance satellite. Twelve failed attempts to recover the DISCOVERER data capsules prompted York to look for an alternative means of recovery. The Martin Company, which recently lost the Dyna-

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Soar glider competition to Boeing, answered by submitting a response on 12 October 1960. By 14 November, ‘Ozzie’ Ritland awarded a contract to Martin for Project 726, a lifting-body re-entry vehicle based on one of Alfred Eggers’s configurations (Martin Company 1961; Vitelli 1967). Eggers and his associates at NASA’s Ames Research Center were stirring a growing nationwide interest in the potential of lifting-body re-entry vehicles, as opposed to the boost-glider approach of Dyna-Soar. As Project Mercury began to reach the hardware stage in 1960, many optimistic aerodynamicists looked beyond even the Gemini spacecraft to a more advanced spacecraft design. The lifting-body concept offered these visionaries a third alternative (Vitelli 1967). As Martin engineers and program officials considered new re-entry designs for SAMOS, on 10 August 1960 a CORONA satellite, DISCOVERER 13, achieved 17 orbits and a successful splashdown in the Pacific Ocean. The new technology delivered results, and many believed that the Soviets would now attempt to eliminate these vital assets (Stares 1985). This fostered renewed action among the services for an antisatellite (ASAT) capability and fueled political fires for the upcoming presidential race.

Origins of the national reconnaissance office On 25 August 1960, George Kistiakowsky met with Eisenhower to show him some new intelligence information from another CORONA satellite, DISCOVERER 14, and remind him about the SAMOS situation. During this special NSC meeting, the two discussed the capabilities, organization, and processing of space-based reconnaissance assets, specifically SAMOS. Ultimately, they made a key decision eliminating previous managerial and hardware uncertainties (Berger 1966a). The result of this meeting would be the creation of a highly classified and compartmented Office of Missile and Satellite Systems (precursor to the NRO) on 31 August, a national-level independent organization whose assets would not be controlled by any other single agency. Operating under a space-for-peace policy where secrecy was crucial for success, the administration laid the foundation for a doctrine of sanctuary to guide the new space organization. Still, the Air Force would retain a considerable role, albeit at the civilian secretarial and program development levels. It provided the organization with its first director, Dr Charyk, as well as its supporting staff. Charyk would maintain his position as under secretary of the Air Force. Indeed, he became the first in a series of Air Force officials who wore the ‘black hat’. No intermediate review or approval channel would exist between a program manager’s field office and the under secretary of the Air Force. Neither would SAC or any other Air Force command structure, in any way, be involved. Indeed, Eisenhower considered such black programs improper for the military, an institution which he believed was incapable of

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keeping program developments secret because of an irresistible urge for publicity (Kistiakowsky 1976). Subsequently, he wanted ‘to make damn sure’ that any new organization would not be controlled by the Air Force. Additionally, briefings about the organization and its programs would be given on a strictly ‘need-to-know’ basis (for the Air Staff and other Air Force representatives) as required for SAMOS support (and other subsequent reconnaissance program support), or in the coordination of related matters (Berger 1966a; as quoted in Richelson 1990). The vital importance of this office and its predecessor to national security, the power and prestige the Eisenhower administration (and subsequent administrations) placed in these offices, and the singular relationship they entertained with industry, made every competing program (including Dyna-Soar) or any other publicly visible manned military space operation, an easy target for funding cuts and an underdog for any reconnaissance resources it might need for its subsystems. The highly classified nature of this office and its valuable assets, as well as its important relationship to the presidency, meant that secretary of defense Gates (and subsequent secretaries) would consistently require little, if any, justification to restrict funding to programs competing for the same missions as its assets and the assets of its successor, the NRO (Hall 1998). Dyna-Soar was no exception. The apparent reason for Col Moore’s inability to negotiate Dyna-Soar’s Step II and III military study contracts, as authorized by the assistant secretary of the Air Force for Material Taylor on 19 April 1960, stemmed from a specific reference to Step I in the Air Force’s agreement with Charyk. Colonel E. A. Kiessling, Lt Gen Schriever’s director of Aeronautical Systems, met with Professor Perkins to discuss the issue on 22 and 23 September. Assistant secretary Philip B. Taylor agreed with their assessment. This reference to Step I did not prohibit Steps II and III studies. Exploratory studies and planning for Steps II and III could proceed. The restraint only applied to the expenditure of FY 1961 funds for the purchase of operational equipment for the advanced phases. Brig Gen Milton B. Adams, Lt Gen Wilson’s deputy director of systems development, confirmed this decision on 12 October when he approved Steps II and III studies by issuing Development Directive 411. By 6 December, Lt Gen Schriever had issued a system directive for Step III, allotting 250,000 dollars for this work (HQ Air Force 1960c, d, 1961b; HQ AFSC 1962a). As the Office of Missile and Satellite Systems (and later the NRO) began to routinely provide critical intelligence information to the administration, Charyk’s political and operational strength grew proportionately stronger. The 1960 presidential campaign In October 1960, a similar political struggle began after Khrushchev told Myasishchev’s OKB-23 to participate in the design of a multistage military

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rocket booster for V. N. Chelomey’s OKB-52. When Myasishchev told Chelomey it would be impossible to complete the design of the first stage, because Chelomey failed to coordinate the work of the various bureaus working for him, Chelomey became angry. After the meeting, Khrushchev notified Myasishchev that OKB-23 would become branch number 1 of OKB-52 (Petrakov 1994). Khrushchev did not appreciate Myasishchev’s retort to one of Khrushchev’s favorites. Khrushchev, like Stalin in 1953, eventually postponed the promise of boost-glide technology as the follow-on to manned strategic jet bombers or as a means of space-based reconnaissance. For political and propaganda reasons, Khrushchev agreed to a less technologically demanding solution to the problem of placing the first man into orbit (the ballistic configuration of the Vostok) over the more expensive and time consuming configurations of the Korolev/Tsybin Sandal and the Myasishchev VKA-23. Tsybin’s OKB256, like Myasishchev’s OKB-23, would be absorbed into another bureau, Korolev’s OKB-1. Chief designer Tsybin would become Korolev’s deputy designer, making considerable contributions to a modified Vostok spacecraft, the Soyuz, Soyuz T, and numerous unmanned spacecraft. V. K. Myasishchev would become the head of TsAGI, the Central Aerohydrodynamics Institute (Bobkov 1991). No one outside the USSR knew Soviet leaders had slipped their boost-glide efforts in favor of a ballistic approach. Nor could American intelligence experts agree on the nature of many of Khrushchev’s space exploits. Which were for show and which represented threats? Not surprisingly, Soviet space achievements became a central issue in the 1960 presidential campaign. Unaware of the strategic reconnaissance information the administration garnered from its highly classified and compartmented assets, Senator Kennedy ticked off one Soviet achievement after another to support his campaign’s charges of Republican inactivity and complacency. Eisenhower and his party were blamed for losing the space race with the Soviets (Kennedy 1960). To Kennedy, Sputnik I made the Cold War a total war by attacking the domestic tranquility of Americans. It signaled imminent strategic parity for the Soviets and a new credibility for Soviet propaganda, especially in the so-called Third World. These blows to American prestige helped unite Democratic Cold Warriors and social liberals beneath the banner of vastly increased federal activity, not just to close the missile gap but to construct an American society to match their preferred image of affluence and justice (Nevins 1960; Kaplan 1983). While Eisenhower kept America at peace for 8 years, he ultimately sacrificed all his major goals on the altar of an ambitious Kennedy/Johnson ticket in 1960. His concerns about the compromises of increased technological dependency fell on deaf ears as the Kennedy administration embraced a new technology-based order and its intellectual elite (McDougall 1970).

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As this new order gained prominence, individuals with the academic background to analyse national defense issues made significant contributions to Kennedy’s campaign and presidency. Taking the opportunity offered by the defense debates, Kennedy’s campaign strategists made the ‘missile gap’, a sagging defense posture, and 8 years of a seemingly complacent Republican administration the dominant campaign issues. With the aid of these intellectuals, Kennedy embraced the missile gap accusation, aligning himself with the advocates of increased military expenditures (Kaplan 1983). While opposing massive retaliation, he favored the build-up of limited war forces, recognized the dangers of SAC’s vulnerability, and lamented the accompanying missile gap. Indeed, the defense community felt some vindication by Kennedy’s pronouncements. With a sense of constrained hopes, they looked forward to a Kennedy administration (ibid). After the election, the intellectuals who helped Kennedy become president found themselves in position to influence defense policy directly through the new secretary of defense, Robert S. McNamara, through many of Eisenhower’s defense advisors who remained with the Kennedy administration, and through their new found knowledge of Eisenhower’s organizational infrastructure for satellite reconnaissance operations and development (Kaplan 1983; Steinberg 1983; Shapley 1993; McNamara 1995). In the twilight of his administration, Eisenhower convened a National Security Council meeting. This December discussion is enlightening because it illustrates the president’s priorities, in whose judgment the president placed his trust, and the consequences of these two specifics. Among other topics of discussion, the president asked whether the FY 1962 military budget contained any money for Dyna-Soar. Quotes that follow are directly from the minutes of this meeting (Keefer et al. 1998). Defense secretary Gates replied, ‘the new budget contained an item of $70 million for the Dyna-Soar project’. Dr York countered secretary Gates by saying, ‘DynaSoar would cost at least $700 million and possibly more’. The president then asked ‘to what use could Dyna-Soar be put when it was completed’. Rather than highlight its military potential for reconnaissance, bombardment or logistics, Dr York replied, ‘completion of the project would result in the US being ready to put a military man in space’. He briefed the DynaSoar program solely as a research program – a follow-on to the X-15 and to NASA’s man-in-space programs. For York, Dyna-Soar was ‘a research and development effort to bring about a controlled and manned re-entry from space’. Based on this interpretation, Eisenhower felt that Dyna-Soar continued to be a desirable project ‘to play around with if unlimited funds were available’. However, he was not in the least impressed by the usefulness of Dyna-Soar as a project which would compete with other defense programs for scarce funds. The president wondered how many SAMOS and MIDAS satellites would we have to put in orbit to establish a viable network, ‘assuming that these satellites became operationally feasible’, and can

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we stand the cost? Thus far he had been willing to retain the SAMOS and MIDAS programs in the budget because ‘of the faith which scientists such as Dr York had in them’. To this comment Dr York added, ‘Dyna-Soar was not nearly as important as the SAMOS and MIDAS programs’. General White countered York’s views with his own. For the Air Force, the military flexibility offered by Dyna-Soar was ‘vital in order to keep the US in the technological race [with the Soviet Union]’. Eisenhower interjected by saying his ‘comments on Dyna-Soar’ were based on ‘the national security race rather than the technological race’. General White continued, ‘Dyna-Soar opened up entirely new concepts of fighting a war’. The spaceplane is ‘an essential part of the Air Force program’. To this the president replied, General White has ‘expressed one view of the matter’, but my views are ‘diametrically opposed’. Ultimately, the president felt that insufficient discrimination had been exercised in establishing developmental priorities. He then asked how much SAMOS and MIDAS would cost by 1964. Dr York replied, ‘SAMOS could be bought in either large or small amounts; that is, reconnaissance flights could take place frequently or as infrequently as once a year’. The president believed that if SAMOS proved to be technically feasible, its sponsors would want a reconnaissance flight every day. Dr York said, ‘in the case of MIDAS a large number of satellites would be needed because MIDAS was a warning system and moreover, a warning system which was very expensive to build and operate’. The cost of MIDAS would be in the hundreds of millions of dollars each year. However, a strategic warning system capable of detecting missile launches was ‘a very important thing to have’. To York’s optimism secretary Douglas said, ‘it [is] impossible to tell at the present time whether MIDAS would ever become operational’. The present level of the MIDAS program was, however, essential in order to determine whether MIDAS was operationally feasible. In response to another question from the president, Dr York said that putting one SAMOS in orbit 3 years from now would cost about 10 million dollars. The president asked how long a single SAMOS would need to reconnoiter the USSR and Communist China. While no hard evidence was available, Dr York believed the vehicle could cover the Soviet Union in a matter of days; perhaps a dozen flights would be required to cover the USSR. Secretary Douglas reminded the council that while a single satellite might be kept in orbit for as long as 10 days; it would gather reconnaissance data only during periods of good weather. Ultimately, the president believed ‘Dyna-Soar as well as a great many research and development projects [are] useful concepts but [I’m] unable to understand what practical utility a great many of these concepts [will] have’. He based his opinion of these matters largely on the counsel of his civilian scientific advisors. For Eisenhower, the defense of the US depended on a strategic balance of moral, economic, and operational military factors – not on military factors alone. Financial circles abroad would know of

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America’s economic problems should defense spending get out of hand. If the new budget for FY 1962 provided for a large deficit, the result would be a loss of confidence abroad and further gold withdrawals. Fiscal restraint and program competition would govern the success or failure of any military research and development project. Beneath this backdrop of fiscal concerns and competition, one of Col Moore’s assistants, Mr Ralph C. Johnston, and Major G. S. Halvorsen from the Ballistic Missile Division presented the advantages of a Titan II booster for Dyna-Soar to Lt Gen Schriever. Impressed with their presentation, he endorsed their suggestion. A presentation to deputy DDR&E Rubel followed. Rubel appeared satisfied with the recommendation but wanted ‘to bring greater stability into budgeting of programs such as Dyna-Soar’ (Johnston 1961). As such, he ‘would like to see a plan for Dyna-Soar on a relatively constant funding level consistent with an FY62 level of $70 million’, instead of the requested 150 million dollars (ibid). Dyna-Soar would be a fiscal ‘guinea-pig’ for OSD’s new ‘exercise’ in budgeting strategy, principally because it was the subject ‘at hand’ and not because he believed Lt Gen Schriever could somehow couple a booster change for Dyna-Soar with a reduction in the program’s anticipated funding level (ibid).

Conclusion Within weeks of his narrow victory, president-elect Kennedy appointed Dr Jerome Wiesner of MIT to head a special nine-man ad hoc committee to review the nation’s space program. Wiesner had been one of the members of Killian’s original PSAC and a close associate of Kistiakowsky, Killian’s successor. As these scientific advisors of Eisenhower became part of the Kennedy administration, the term ‘missile gap’ soon disappeared from its lexicon. The continuing flow of intelligence information provided by the operational reconnaissance satellites confirmed that the Soviets were not translating their lead in ICBM development into a corresponding lead in missile deployment. Another twist in the election rhetoric followed. Despite the common expectations of many – both in and out of Air Force circles – the changeover tended to reflect continuity and consolidation in the scientific, technical, and defense oriented agencies of the administration. Many of the same people who played the principal roles in formulating the defense policies under Eisenhower continued to do so in the new Kennedy administration. Secretary of defense McNamara invited all five of the research and development officials at the presidential-appointee level to stay. Four of them did: York, Charyk, Dr James Wakelin, Jr. (assistant secretary for the Navy, research and development), and Richard S. Morse (director of research and development for the Army). By 1 May, York had been replaced by his good friend, Dr Harold Brown, maintaining the mental, if not physical continuity for the former DDR&E (York 1976).

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Much the same would occur in the White House scientific advisor positions. Wiesner became Kennedy’s Special Assistant for Science and Technology. PSAC membership remained the same except for a very few of its 17 members. Wiesner became chairman. When Kennedy created a new agency, the Office of Science and Technology, Wiesner became its director. Some of Eisenhower’s special assistant staff became members of this new agency. Because of this continuity of people and ideology, none of the changes in strategic weapons development that many in the Air Force hoped for occurred. York’s position on the application of spaceflight to the defense of the US and its allies carried over into the Kennedy administration. DoD space programs (highly classified ones under the jurisdiction of the Office of Missile and Satellite Systems – and later the NRO – as well as the less classified [and publicly debated] ones under the Air Force’s jurisdiction) would be competitively considered as integral parts of the total defense effort. Accordingly, administration officials believed it would not be logical to formulate long-range military space plans or programs. While the Air Force believed Dyna-Soar represented the only appropriate avenue for exploring the complementary usefulness of manned military space missions to automated systems, officials within the OSD did not embrace this vision. How could a state-of-the-art, long-term program survive when the civilian officials charged with sustaining it refused to support such a long-term space program or plans that included it? To fiscally sustain the program, Air Staff officers followed the administration’s lead by emphasizing the suborbital, research aspects of Step I and played down the operational aspects of Step II and III. Subsequently, they eventually sustained approval to study the military configurations of Steps II and III. Yet gaining continual approval for the development of Step II (much less Step III) was becoming extremely difficult. Indeed, it seemed that the closer administration officials came to publicly committing themselves to a program dedicated to putting a military man in space, the harder they pushed to delay it. Unquestionably, these small steps did not mean they believed Dyna-Soar would surpass or enhance any existing or planned reconnaissance, ICBM, or ASAT programs. It meant Air Force officials had managed to inspire a degree of technological confidence and fiscal support for hypersonic research on a future boost-glide weapon system. For proponents of Dyna-Soar, this was a tenuous existence.

Chapter 6

Manned military space programs: interagency rivalry, January 1961–June 1962

Apparently Dyna-Soar, the SAINT II program and the SSD [Space Systems Division] Advanced Re-entry Technology Program contain serious duplications. General Wilson evidently thinks so since he sent a message to General Schriever requesting a briefing to assure him they did not conflict. General Schriever evidently thinks so since he has indicated a necessity for the correlation of the programs. The SPO is outclassed against a united SSD effort (plus extensive Aerospace [Corporation] push) which appears to already have been marshaled (Moore 1961d; Geiger 1963).

The interagency strife between the Aeronautical Systems Division (ASD) and the Space Systems Division (SSD) marked an escalating effort within the Office of the Secretary of Defense (OSD) to maximize cost effectiveness by minimizing duplication, whether real or perceived. Secretary of Defense McNamara could afford to be cost-conscious. In January 1961, the administration discovered the Soviets were acting out of strategic weakness (Steinberg 1983; Burrows 1986; Newhouse 1989; Richelson 1990). For years Khrushchev had skillfully used the heroic efforts of Soviet space scientists, as well as the ambitions of Kennedy, to show the international community that Soviet technology equaled or surpassed anything the Americans possessed, and how that same technology also demonstrated military superiority. Despite Soviet propaganda to the contrary, Khrushchev’s ability to orchestrate space spectaculars and strategic military strength lessened, just as the perceived ‘missile gap’ had begun to diminish in August 1960. After 12 failures, the US successfully launched and recovered its first CORONA spy satellite, DISCOVERER 13. By January 1961, film canisters recovered from later CORONA flights revealed no missiles, silos, or factories at the locations Khrushchev boasted about (Ranelagh 1986). Among the first things McNamara did upon being sworn in as secretary of defense on 20 January was to go with his deputy secretary, Roswell Gilpatric (a former Under Secretary of the Air Force and a true believer in the missile gap) to the Air Force intelligence office (CORONA support) on the fourth floor of the

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Pentagon to examine CORONA photographs. They wanted to see the degree to which the Soviets had attained strategic superiority and what the US could do to close the gap. The CORONA images failed to support the Air Force’s estimates of Soviet SS-6 Sapwood missiles, presumably the Soviet’s premier ICBM. Indeed, in early February at a news conference, McNamara (as quoted in Richelson 1990) stated, ‘there were no signs of a Soviet crash effort to build ICBMs’. The only missile gap that did exist strongly favored America. During the summer of 1961, additional satellite reconnaissance flights enabled the administration officials to conclude the Soviets had only a few ICBMs, perhaps just four 100-ton SS-6s. The administration also knew the Soviets kept these missiles on an extremely low alert status, and that they stored the missile’s warheads separately from the delivery vehicles. This meant it would take at least 3 hours to prepare and fuel each missile. Finally, all the missiles stood at the same Siberian test site – Plesetsk. Not only were American ICBMs better, the US had significantly more of them than the Soviets (McNamara 1995). On the other hand, the Soviet’s continuing hypersonic research began to bear fruit. Chelomey’s OKB-52 benefited from the years of conceptual work done by Myasishchev’s OKB-23, before its consolidation with OKB-52. In December, OKB-52 launched a full scale mock-up of its spaceplane, the Mp-1 (Kirpil and Okara 1994). Still, America retained 185 ICBMs and more than 3400 nuclear warheads on submarines and bombers capable of striking deep within the Soviet Union. With the exception of hypersonic development, the US had overwhelming superiority. Yet, in the game of nuclear chess, checkmate was unthinkable. Soviet missiles might hit American targets, even if the US launched a first strike. Kennedy needed to make sure that Khrushchev knew that the Soviet’s bluff of nuclear strength had been uncovered. To accomplish the task, Kennedy changed the tone of American defense reporting by emphasizing the new strength of America’s strategic military forces (even though there were no new weapon systems in the inventory) and retiring older strategic bombers like the B-47 (Loftus 1961; Prados 1982; Richelson 1990; Reeves 1993). In turn, nuclear strength gave the administration the option of restraining the development of hypersonic flight and other means of achieving manned military space operations.

The new frontier By focusing on a land–sea–air triad of nuclear capabilities, Kennedy began to shift his nuclear military strategy away from Eisenhower’s massive retaliation to his own strategy of ‘flexible response’ (Prados 1982; Shapley 1993). Another contrast to the Eisenhower administration came with Kennedy’s ideas about publicizing reconnaissance satellite programs and their launches. Eisenhower, against the counsel of his science advisor James Killian, made it a point to stress the openness of American space efforts.

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Attempts to limit access to launch operations and information on launches would run counter to the openness the US sought to exploit with its spacefor-peace policy. The Kennedy administration was more receptive to Killian’s views. Immediately upon taking office, the administration sought to limit the publicity given to reconnaissance satellite activities while continuing to champion a space-for-peace policy. Protecting US reconnaissance satellites became an increased concern because Soviet statements on the illegality of such activities and their increasingly credible threats to shoot such satellites down as they had done the U-2 (Steinberg 1983). In January 1961, McGeorge Bundy, Kennedy’s national security advisor, and secretary of defense McNamara initiated a review of the existing public relations policies specifically regarding SAMOS launches (ibid; Bundy 1988; Richelson 1990; Bird 1998). As a result, a restrictive blackout of information began. While this policy did not initially prevent Air Force personnel from continuing open discussions of unmanned reconnaissance satellite programs, the president bitterly resented public efforts to highlight the importance of these burgeoning military space programs. Ultimately, the president barred military officers, particularly in the Air Force, from mentioning any of these programs by name or mission without prior approval (New York Times 1961e; Powers 1961; Schriever 1961). By mid-November, the SAMOS and MIDAS programs ceased to exist publicly. Shortly afterwards, the administration extended the blackout to CORONA. Finally, in order to make reconnaissance satellite launches indistinguishable from all other military launches, all military launches became classified by registry letter and dates (Klass 1971). Without knowing what type of reconnaissance systems they were competing against, Moore and Lamar would find it much harder to satisfy the quantitative and qualitative comparisons demanded by McNamara, Brown, and their civilian OSD officials. McNamara fully supported the president’s blackout policy; specifically, both shared a ‘hatred for the “rigidity” of the military’s highest officers’ who were unwilling to replace intuitive judgments with rational decision-making processes (Reeves 1993). McNamara’s expertise in statistics, production planning, finance, and management accustomed him to basing budgetary decisions on close analyses of numerical data rather than the combat-hardened intuition military personnel had gained through years of experience. As such, he regarded the Pentagon as a particularly fascinating challenge and informed the president that ‘he intended to be active in office, undertaking the responsibility in his own unique way’ (Shapley 1993; Watson 1993; McNamara 1995). Without compromising presidential authority, Kennedy acknowledged McNamara would be a policy maker as well as a manager, with broad authority for individual initiative. Empowered with the president’s blessings, McNamara instituted a new approach to analysing, synthesizing, and centralizing defense planning, an approach devoid of the intuitive judgments of the professional military (ibid).

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For Dyna-Soar, McNamara’s systems management approach to defense planning meant a redirection from the suborbital flights of the three-step development plan to orbital flights in a new, more cost-effective development plan. Technologically, it reduced the difficulty of modifying multiple boosters for future operational spaceflights. On the other hand, Col Moore’s radiative approach to heat protection would once again be scrutinized because it still seemed more radical than the proven ablative approach proposed by Maj Gen Ritland’s team of engineers at the Space System’s Division. Substituting one titan for another On 5 January 1961, Col Moore protested the imposition of a 70 million dollar funding ceiling, insisting it would result in serious delays. Regardless of the previous fiscal arrangements, the office urged approval of Titan II as Dyna-Soar’s primary Step I booster (HQ WADD 1961a). Colonel Kiessling, chief of Lt Gen Schriever’s directorate of aeronautical systems, concurred with this position and appealed to Lt Gen Wilson. Even with the proposed funding level, employment of the Titan II promised a substantially improved Dyna-Soar program and Kiessling believed this booster change should be immediately approved (Johnston 1961; Geiger 1963). At the request of assistant secretary of the Air Force, Courtland D. Perkins, Maj Gen. Marvin C. Demler, Lt Gen Wilson’s director of systems development, summarized the advantages of Titan II over Titan I. The director insisted ‘Titan I would barely be sufficient for achieving the Step I objectives, and it could not be modified to provide orbital velocities’. Fiscally, Demler estimated that the total booster cost for Step I and II employing the Titan I, then a Titan I Centaur combination, would be 320.3 million dollars. If Titan II were immediately used for Step I, the booster total cost would be 324.3 million dollars. Thus, the additional cost for using the more powerful booster in the first phase of the Dyna-Soar program amounted to 4.2 million dollars. For Demler (1961), the conclusion seemed obvious. Following the briefing to the Strategic Air Panel, Ralph C. Johnston, chairman of Col Moore’s Booster Branch, gave the Titan II presentation to the Air Staff’s Weapons Board. The members were familiar with the logic of General Demler’s summary. While expressing their support for the early attainment of orbital flight, they endorsed the change to Titan II. The board further recommended that Lt Gen Wilson immediately instruct Schriever to adopt the new booster (Johnston 1961). Reviewing the national space program Two days after Wilson announced the approval for the substitution of Titan II for Titan I, MIT’s Jerome Wiesner, appointed by president-elect Kennedy

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to head a nine-man ad hoc committee to review the nation’s space program, voiced serious criticisms of the existing US space effort. In Report to the President-Elect of the Ad Hoc Committee on Space, Wiesner specifically stated ‘neither the NASA nor the fractionated military space program nor the long dormant NASC had been adequate to meet [the military or political] challenge[s] that the Soviet Union’s thrust into space has posed to our military security and to our position of leadership in the world’ (as quoted in Directorate of Systems Management 1961a; HQ Air Force 1961a; New York Times 1961a; Washington Post 1961; Berger 1966a). Wiesner felt space offered important national security opportunities. The most urgent of these were ‘surveillance and target reconnaissance over the land masses of the world with particular emphasis on the Sino-Soviet bloc’ (ibid). Because the Air Force ‘already provided 90% or more of the resources and support required by space projects assigned to other military agencies and was the nation’s principal resource for the development and operation of future space systems, except those of a purely scientific nature assigned by law to NASA’, it should be assigned the responsibility of all military space developments (ibid). This would enable the secretary of defense to maintain control of the scope and direction of these programs and allow the NASC to settle conflicts between DoD and NASA (ibid). Soon afterward, McNamara ordered his staff to re-examine DoD’s role in light of the Wiesner committee criticisms. As the Wiesner committee’s discoveries were being digested, the Soviets placed a large spacecraft (over 14,000 pounds) into orbit to serve as a launch platform for a Venus planetary explorer. This action focused American concerns over the growing Soviet ability to launch weapons from space against Earth and space targets (Dornberger 1961). Worried about the Soviet Union’s ability to realize its military space potential, Kennedy’s State Department officials advocated a continued reliance on Eisenhower’s space-for-peace policy through the open disclosure of American launch activities. Secretary of State Dean Rusk sought unilaterally to develop a climate for international acceptance of observation satellites. Additionally, he wanted to pressure the Soviets into relinquishing their inherent military space advantages (Steinberg 1983). While the political embarrassment of the U-2 incident in 1960 represented a classic case of the consequences of extralegal territorial overflight, some administration officials disagreed with the State Department’s policy, preferring to stick to the blackout guidelines. For its part, the Kennedy administration vacillated over the legitimacy of these overflights during the first half of 1961 while sustaining a blackout of reconnaissance satellite information to the public. In the fall, confronted with the issue of Berlin, Kennedy again realized the critical importance of reconnaissance satellites. As the administration reacted to Soviet initiatives, in March 1961 Lt Gen Schriever submitted his stand-by plan for achieving orbital flight

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with the Step I glider, hoping higher headquarters might approve the action. Because Lt Gen Wilson’s 12 October 1960 development directive concurrently authorized Schriever to begin aggressively detailing the program’s studies of military applications, Moore and Lamar believed ‘an approval for orbital flight – by merging Step I and Step II into continuous development – would sanction military applications’ (Berger 1966a).1 By using either a Titan/Centaur combination or NASA’s Saturn C-1 booster for both the Step I suborbital and the Step II orbital flights, manned orbital flight could be accelerated by as much as 17 months. Equally important, overall costs for the Step I–II program could be reduced further (ibid). On 20 March 1961, Trevor Gardner submitted his committee’s report to Lt Gen Schriever. The report provided assessments of the Soviet space threat, recommendations on Air Force organization, and requirements for Air Force space activities. Gardner believed the Air Force’s role in space was ‘envisioned too narrowly’ and that a ‘dogma’ prevailed within the Air Force ‘that technical developments, particularly those involving any substantial application of resources, must be justified by a specific weapon system which is in turn tied to a close military requirement [such as the various reconnaissance satellite programs]’ (Gardner, as quoted in Futrell 1974). By narrowly committing itself to the development of automated reconnaissance systems, the Air Force Space Study Committee believed Air Force leaders were justifying space systems ‘just as if it knew the framework of strategy and space technical boundary conditions that would exist in the future’ (ibid). Although the Air Force was being driven in this direction because civilian leadership within the OSD demanded these justifications and commitments, a long-term consequence of this guidance could be the reduction of future Air Force space missions. ‘The development of urgently needed capabilities such as [more powerful] boosters, rendezvous, maneuverability, and communications’, the committee recommended, ‘are essential to the speedy attainment of effective military use of space … The premature initiation of [specific] systems was producing inefficiencies and could in the future limit or even foreclose the opportunity for the full development of [these] fundamental capabilities’ (ibid). Dyna-Soar’s stepped approach fulfilled Gardner’s objective. Just as the Lewis and Clark expedition combined military and civilian resources for the betterment of the nation, Dyna-Soar’s development would construct a firm technological foundation for both NASA and DoD. For the Air Force Space Study Committee, Dyna-Soar’s development would not contradict national space policy, because the generic capabilities of its Step I phase did not constitute inherently offensive military qualities. Simultaneously, Gardner concluded the Air Force should participate in a broadened American moon program: a step-by-step project to land a man on the moon sometime between 1967 and 1970. Such a project would yield

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tremendous benefits for both civilian and military capabilities (Berger 1966a). Dyna-Soar and national prestige In a special message to Congress on 28 March 1961, 2 months before his lunar landing speech, Kennedy asked for an additional 144 million dollars to speed up development of MIDAS, Dyna-Soar, DISCOVERER/ CORONA, SAMOS, and several other space-oriented military projects. As a result, Rubel relented on his earlier fiscal restrictions. Subsequently, Lt Gen Wilson announced that the FY 1962 budget for Dyna-Soar would be 100 million dollars. The following day, Moore and Lamar reported on the status of the program to Maj Gen Haugen and Dr Charyk. ‘At all levels’, noted Moore, ‘complete agreement was indicated that this program could not be conducted effectively with constantly changing funding’ (Moore 1961c). Charyk and Haugen directed Moore and Lamar to keep the program on a ‘reasonable’ level. Unfortunately, ‘[neither Charyk nor Rubel] had a clear idea of what amounts of money for future funding was considered reasonable’ (ibid, emphasis in original). Lacking any other definite guidance, Moore decided to ‘recommend funding levels for future years based upon the premise that after FY62 the program will not suffer further slippage’ (ibid). Confident of their ability to successfully manage the program if such a stabilized program were accepted, Moore and Lamar assured everyone they would be ready to participate in any future discussions about Dyna-Soar’s Step III routine operational capabilities (ibid). As Moore wrestled with funding issues, the Air Research and Development Command officially became the Air Force Systems Command, acquiring the procurement and production functions of Lt Gen Anderson’s Air Material Command on 1 April 1961. As part of the reorganization, the Wright Air Development Division (at Wright-Patterson AFB Ohio) combined with its collocated Air Material Command counterpart, the Aeronautical Systems Center, to become the Aeronautical Systems Division (ASD). By 4 April, Maj Gen Haugen received Schriever’s recommendations for a ‘stand-by’ plan to accelerate Dyna-Soar’s Step I and II development (HQ AFSC 1961a). Shortly after congressional hearings started on Kennedy’s revisions to the last Eisenhower budget, the Soviet Union once again did something dramatic. On 12 April 1961, Soviet Air Force Major Yuri Gagarin successfully orbited the Earth in a five-ton Vostok spacecraft, becoming the first man to fly in space. While the event did not deliver as crushing a blow as the Sputnik launch, it generated considerable frustration, excitement, and gloom in the US (Berger 1996a). The chairman of the House subcommittee on DoD appropriations, Representative George H. Mahon (D-Texas), crit-

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icized NASA’s Mercury program. He noted, ‘[e]veryone remembers that Charles Lindbergh was the first man to make a solo flight across the Atlantic Ocean. The name of the second man to accomplish this feat has been generally forgotten’ (US Congress 1961b). Mahon suggested there might be ‘little [political] advantage in continuing to pursue the Mercury program’ (ibid). In turn, he asked under secretary of the Air Force Charyk and deputy chief of staff for development Lt Gen. Wilson whether ‘the orbiting of a man in a vehicle over which he has some degree of control and which he can land at an Air Force base’ might not be considered a greater achievement (ibid). While both officials emphasized the importance of controlled, maneuverable space vehicles, Wilson specifically expressed a firm conviction regarding Dyna-Soar. He believed the boost-glide program represented ‘the most important program we have in the Air Force because we will never be able to talk about space flight until we are able to take off at the pilot’s option, control the vehicle and return it at the pilot’s option’ (ibid). Indeed, America would not be a true spacefaring nation until it demonstrated this ability to routinely access space. Dyna-Soar, in his opinion, would be the genesis of such a program – the first time humans would truly ‘fly’ in space (ibid). The following day, McNamara met with Air Force secretary Zuckert and DDR&E York to ask them to study independently the recently published Gardner committee report. Additionally, they should re-examine the national space program from the viewpoint of DoD’s common requirements rather than any service’s specific mission requirements. Their efforts would form the basis of a sweeping review of the DoD’s space programs. Secondly, they would aid vice-president Johnson in responding to the president’s request for a Where We Stand-style document on American space efforts. To coordinate the Air Force’s inputs, a Space Systems Division (SSD) special task force was created under the direction of Major General Joseph R. Holzapple, formerly the Wright Air Development Division (WADD) commander. With a former WADD commander leading the task force, Moore believed Dyna-Soar’s role might be defended more than if someone within the space division chaired the task force. As members of the SSD task force began to prepare their report in early April 1961, Lt Gen Wilson appeared concerned about the way HQ Air Force managed the Dyna-Soar program. Although the Air Staff devoted considerable attention to this program, its ability to persuade OSD to vigorously support this important program left something to be desired. Wilson believed the situation could be alleviated if the Air Staff placed the glider under the single management of the Air Force Ballistic Missile and Space Committee (Geiger 1963). This could prove difficult. Historically, the civilian officials at OSD had given reluctant support, if any, for Dyna-Soar to become an operational weapon system capable of performing its military missions.

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Revising the program plan On 26 April 1961, Moore completed a new program plan, one that elaborated on the familiar three-step approach. Step I would involve suborbital missions of a Dyna-Soar glider boosted by a Titan II. If they received the funds they requested, the first B-52 air-drop would take place in January 1964, the first unmanned launch in August 1964, and the first manned launch in April 1965 (Directorate of Systems Management 1961b). The objective of Step IIA would be to demonstrate orbital flight, with Dyna-Soar flying missions from Cape Canaveral to Edwards Air Force Base. On these flights, Moore proposed to test various military subsystems, such as multiple reconnaissance subsystems, conventional and nuclear weapon delivery capability, and space logistics. Because of the high cost, he did not recommend the evaluation of a space maneuvering engine, space-toEarth missiles, or space-to-space weapons during Step IIA flights. For FYs 1963 to 1968, the program office estimated this phase of Step II would total 467.8 million dollars and, assuming the selection of the orbital booster by the beginning of FY 1962, reasoned that the first manned orbital flight could be conducted in April 1966 (ibid). In Step IIB, the Dyna-Soar was to provide an initial operational capable of reconnaissance, satellite interception, space logistics, or bombardment missions, depending on the ‘uploaded’ subsystem. With the exception of 300,000 dollars necessary for an additional Step IIB refinement study, Moore and Lamar did not detail the financial requirements for this phase. Based on Step IIA data, however, he thought a Step IIB vehicle could be operating by October 1967. Looking farther into the future, the program office considered 250,000 dollars would be necessary for each fiscal year, to 1964, for studies to yield operational Step III weapon subsystems. A Step III Dyna-Soar could be available by late 1971 (ibid). Concurrently, Maj Gen Holzapple, Schriever’s assistant deputy commander for aerospace systems, submitted his task force’s report to Secretary Zuckert. It suggested the broadening and acceleration of various military goals and programs. At the heart of the proposal was a plea for a dramatic national objective to focus the nation sharply on a goal, a clear-cut assignment of responsibility. Even though the development of large boosters to launch heavier and more sophisticated payloads, the development of advanced recovery, re-entry, and rendezvous techniques (like those offered by the aeronautical division’s Dyna-Soar program) and the introduction of manned military spaceflight (as proposed earlier in the space division’s Man-in-Space-Soonest studies) might satisfy military requirements in the near-term, a feat worthy of the nation’s technological potential and one capable of capturing the imagination of the world, would be required to focus the nation’s resources. Holzapple suggested ‘a manned expedition to the moon sometime between 1967 and 1970’ (Berger 1966a). Such a clear decision would have tremendous international and national significance.

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Funding such an enterprise would also ‘spin-off’ additional ways to accomplish the national defense mission (ibid). Maj Gen Holzapple knew the Air Force had little chance of being selected to head the expedition – NASA would take the lead. Still, he expected his space division to play a major role, particularly in the development of a powerful ‘going-to-the-moon’ booster (Directorate of Systems Management 1961b, c; HQ Air Force 1961e; HQ WADD 1961b; Lamar 1961; NASA 1961; Geiger 1963). If the space division could garner a manned program along the way, either separate from the existing boost-glide program or by assuming overall management of Dyna-Soar, all the better. Zuckert incorporated the task force’s report into his April briefing to McNamara. McNamara then used the report to compile his thoughts for a joint report with NASA administrator James E. Webb to the vice-president (ibid). Symbol of technological superiority As McNamara and Webb discussed the future of the nation’s space programs, the successful suborbital flight of Commander Alan B. Shepard on 5 May gave Congress and the president the green light to shift into higher gear. Simultaneously, Air Force chief of staff White approved his deputy chief of staff for development’s suggestion for improving Dyna-Soar’s exposure to DoD officials by assigning it to the Air Force Ballistic Missile and Space Committee (reorganized as the Designated System Management Group, or DSMG, on 25 July 1961). Vice chief of staff LeMay followed-up on White’s approval by asking the office of the secretary of the Air Force to assign the project to the committee. Under-secretary Charyk refused, negating White’s previous approval. Regardless of the positive political and military implications inherent to the program, he considered the current phase of Dyna-Soar’s development ‘primarily oriented to applied research’ and not towards an operational weapons system (Kistiakowsky 1976; Burrows 1986; Richelson 1990; Bissell 1996). As the director of Office of Satellite and Missile Systems (and later the NRO), Charyk was not sympathetic to congressional or Air Force wishes for Dyna-Soar. He believed the ability to routinely gather critically important intelligence information with existing reconnaissance satellite programs represented the true line of military demarcation in the nation’s struggle for a military space mission, just as NASA’s manned spaceflight program represented the political line of demarcation in the nation’s struggle for international prestige. Accordingly, he did not consider Dyna-Soar as a symbol of America’s technological superiority (ibid). While Charyk debated the technological and political merits of the spaceplane with the Air Staff, Kennedy briefed democratic congressional leaders on the substance of his forthcoming second State-of-the-Union message dealing with space, which he wanted to deliver to a joint session

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of Congress on 25 May. ‘For the first time since Sputnik, the US has accepted the Soviet challenge for pre-eminence in space’, the chief executive said (New York Times 1961b; Berger 1966a). The race to the moon was on. Following the president’s announcement, the Air Staff began to question the need for suborbital flights listed in Dyna-Soar’s April program plan. In the April 1961 system package, Col Moore and Bill Lamar reduced the number of unmanned launches to two instead of the previously-planned four (Directorate of Systems Plans 1957). The scheduling of suborbital flights, however, was becoming moot. As early as June 1960, Lt Gen Wilson notified Schriever of the State Department’s concern over renewing an agreement with Brazil for use of its territory to conduct military operations (HQ ARDC 1960). This subject reappeared in May 1961. Acting DDR&E Rubel informed Wilson of the State Department’s discussion about the difficulty, if not the impossibility, of obtaining a landing site for Dyna-Soar in Brazil (Geiger 1963). When the news reached Moore and Lamar they were quite concerned. ‘Unless Wilson tolerated increased costs, reduced flight test objectives, or employment of a new booster’, they thought, ‘a landing field in Brazil would be essential’.2 Employment of alternative landing sites would seriously affect the test flights and would prevent attainment of several important objectives (ibid). While Lt Gen Wilson had previously approved the April 1960 development plan, he did not sanction the more detailed three-step approach outlined a year later. As a consequence of this and the probability of losing the Brazilian landing site, Moore was engaged in a study to eliminate the suborbital flights and accelerate the date for the first manned orbital launch by merging Steps I and II. The redirection actually began when Brigadier General Milton B. Adams, Maj Gen Demler’s deputy director of systems development, forwarded Development Directive 411 to Lt Gen Schriever back in October 1960. He instructed the ARDC commander to formulate a stand-by plan for achieving orbital flight with the Step I glider at the earliest possible date (Adams 1960). In December, Moore and Lamar were ready with a proposal. By merging Steps I and IIA (the first phase of military subsystem development) into a continuous development phase, and employing an orbital booster for both suborbital and orbital flight, the time for the first manned orbital launch could be accelerated by as much as 17 months over the three-step schedules (Directorate of Systems Plans 1957; Moore 1961a, b). The logic of employing the same booster for Steps I and IIA led to another conclusion. On 4 May 1961, George Stoner, Boeing’s chief of Dyna-Soar development, proposed a different plan for acceleration. His streamlined approach encompassed the elimination of suborbital flight, temporary employment of available subsystems, and the use of Saturn C-1. Assuming a June 1961 approval date, Stoner anticipated ‘the first

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unmanned orbital flight could occur in April 1963’, instead of August 1964 as scheduled in the April 1961 three-step approach (Geiger 1963). Moore disagreed. He felt ‘temporary subsystems would only decrease system reliability’ (ibid). Consequently, he rejected Stoner’s proposal. The key to accelerating the orbital flight date would not only be booster availability, but also the time required to develop the various subsystems, research and military. On the other hand, if he could get a funding increase for FY 1962, he might be able to accelerate the development of these subsystems and advance the orbital flight date (ibid). Moore conceded that there was merit to Stoner’s plan, but it needed refinement.

The roots of interagency rivalry A month after Stoner presented his streamlined proposal to Moore, DDR&E Brown reviewed ‘Ozzie’ Ritland’s SAINT (unmanned satellite interceptor) program for the Senate Committee on Aeronautical and Space Sciences. SAINT should be developed, Brown said, ‘because we believe that we must have the capability to inspect any unidentified space object to determine its characteristics, capabilities, or intent’ through direct inspection (Berger 1966a). Unmanned satellites could be maneuvered to intercept unidentified spacecraft. Additionally, the results from the planned test flights would enable McNamara to determine the overall feasibility of the current SAINT approach. Indeed, ‘manned inspection of satellites ultimately might be necessary’ rather than an unmanned system (ibid). If the commander of Schriever’s space systems division convinced Brown and McNamara of the superiority of his follow-on manned SAINT over ASD Commander Major General Waymon A. Davis’ Dyna-Soar, then the space system’s division commander might gain a manned military mission at Dyna-Soar’s expense. On 29 May 1961, while Col Moore considered ways to accelerate the orbital flight date of its glider, Maj Gen Ritland’s space systems division completed two development plans for demonstrating orbital flight with a lifting-body. Essentially, the objective of his Advanced Re-entry Technology (ART) program was to determine whether its ablative heat protection or Dyna-Soar’s radiative heat protection would prove the most feasible for a re-entry vehicle. As suggested by DDR&E Brown, Ritland’s second plan initiated a manned extension of his SAINT program, to be known as SAINT II (HQ SSD 1961a, b; Geiger 1963). Ritland’s proposals and Davis’ streamlined Dyna-Soar plan were both sent to the Lt Gen Schriever for review. After examining all the program proposals, Schriever deferred any decision on Dyna-Soar’s future development until the ‘relationship between its streamline plan and SAINT II could be clarified’ (Moore 1961b). Moreover, ‘[w]hen the national situation is such that the necessary funds and priority are available to the Dyna-Soar program to go orbital faster, then – and only

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then – will a new [orbital] booster be considered’ (ibid). In the meantime, Moore should keep the present stand-by plan current with respect to an orbital booster for Step II rather then Step I. Thus, ‘at any time the conditions above are met, we can quickly go into an accelerated program’ (ibid). The quest for ‘commonality’ At the same time these events were taking place inside the Air Force, NASA administrator Webb and secretary of defense McNamara signed a report enumerating McNamara’s desires to tighten control of all aspects of research and development within the DoD. To implement his plans for commonality and cost-accounting reforms, McNamara defined each military program detail-by-detail in an attempt to make them fiscally competitive (US Congress 1961a). This was a difficult job, at best, because these projects were created on the premise of their ability to combat enemy weapon systems not yet in existence. In the name of commonality between DoD and NASA space programs, McNamara envisioned several program cuts for the DoD – and for the Air Force in particular (Shapley 1993). As McNamara began to put his push for commonality into motion, a Dyna-Soar technical evaluation board (composed of representatives from the Air Force Systems Command, the Air Force Logistics Command (AFLC), and NASA) considered 13 proposals for orbital boosters. Of the 13, the evaluation board decided that the Martin C proposal was the most feasible. The first-stage of this liquid-fueled booster consisted of an LR87-AJ-5 engine, capable of producing 430,000 pounds of thrust, while the second-stage, with a J-2 engine, could deliver 200,000 pounds of thrust (Geiger 1963). In June 1961, as the Dyna-Soar technical evaluation board forwarded its results to Lt Gen Schriever, congressional support for an accelerated DynaSoar program materialized. The House Committee on Appropriations endorsed the advantages of an operational, manned, military space vehicle by declaring that Dyna-Soar represented ‘the quickest and best means of attaining this objective’ (US Congress 1961b, 1962e). Furthermore, the committee thought that previous Dyna-Soar planning ‘lacked boldness and imagination’ (ibid). Dyna-Soar’s objectives were military, some of which were vital, because for the remainder of the decade low Earth orbit (LEO) missions would be of greater interest to military planners than trips to or around the moon (ibid). Before a Senate subcommittee chaired by John Stennis (D-Miss) in July, General Schriever (he had been promoted on 1 July) discussed the consequences of the Kennedy administration’s continuance ‘under the unnecessary, self-imposed restriction – namely, the [policy of an] artificial division into “space-for-peaceful purpose” and “space-for-military-uses”’ begun by Eisenhower. He declared there was ‘an impending and expanding space threat’ that endangered not only US international prestige but its national

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security as well. When asked whether the military space program was adequately and properly supported, Schriever replied that it was not. He specifically noted ‘when the “Russian Air Force officer” had orbited over the nation’s capital a few days earlier, the Soviet Union had not felt compelled to proclaim the peaceful nature of his journey’ (Berger 1966b). As Gen Schriever debated the consequences of ‘space-for-peace’, Colonel Joseph Pellegrini, chief of the Space Systems Division’s Dyna-Soar directorate and responsible for developing the program’s boosters, made a recommendation for orbital propulsion. On 11 July, he informed Col Moore that his directorate favored ‘employment of the projected Space Launch System A388’ (HQ SSD 1961c). An outgrowth of a space division study on the Phoenix series of various combinations of solid and liquid boosters, Phoenix A388 was to have a solid-fuel first-stage (producing 750,000 pounds of thrust) and a liquid propellant second-stage using the J-2 engine (ibid). As Pellegrini made his booster proposal, Moore and Lamar gained a higher management profile for Dyna-Soar. On 1 August, the boost-glider came under the jurisdiction of Lieutenant General Mark E. Bradley’s (the deputy chief of staff for systems and logistics) Designated Systems Management Group (DSMG), formerly the ballistic missile and space committee. Two days later, Colonel Moore brought the streamlined proposal before the Strategic Air Panel, the Systems Review Board, and Air Force vice chief of staff General Fredric H. Smith, Jr., (Gen LeMay became chief of staff on 30 June 1961). By eliminating suborbital flight, the first air-drop would occur in mid-1963; the first unmanned orbital flight in 1964; and the first piloted orbital launch in early 1965. In comparison, the first piloted Step IIA flight had been scheduled for January 1967. Not only would the orbital flight date have to be accelerated but considerable financial savings would also accrue. Col Moore now estimated that the combined cost of Steps I and IIA was 1.2 billion dollars, while the figure for the streamlined proposal amounted to just over one billion dollars. The program director concluded by emphasizing how ‘Dyna-Soar was the most effective way to achieve an Air Force manned space program’ and how the streamlined plan would be ‘the most expeditious approach to piloted orbital flight’ (Moore 1961f). Following Moore, officials from SSD and the Aerospace Corporation (formerly the Space Technology Laboratories, but now a non-profit civil contractor) presented their considerations for a booster to accommodate the streamlined plan (Watson 1993). At this point in the briefing, Pellegrini’s position became clear. He incorporated his previous evaluations for a Step IIA booster into its analysis for the streamlined proposal. Once again, his first choice was the Phoenix space launch system. Assuming a November 1961 approval date, Phoenix A388 allowed the first, unmanned launch to occur in July 1964. Based on an 18-flight Dyna-Soar program, the cost for Phoenix development from FY 1962 to 1966 would total 183.3 million dollars. Pellegrini’s second option was the Soltan, which would be derived by attach-

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ing two 100-inch-diameter solid-propellant engines to the Titan II. The projected Soltan schedule permitted the same launch date as the Phoenix, but the cost was estimated at 325.4 million dollars. Although the Saturn C-1 allowed an unmanned launch date in November 1963 (the cost would total 267.2 million dollars), Pellegrini and Aerospace officials ranked this booster last, largely because they deemed it less reliable. Space Systems Division representatives concluded their part of the presentation by discussing the inherent merits of ART and SAINT II over Dyna-Soar (Moore 1961f). Privately, Moore saw himself and the Dyna-Soar program in a precarious situation: The name of the game is Inter-Division Politics and the undersigned [Moore] foresees the impending possibility of being squashed in the middle. There is an obvious move afoot to prove that the ASD way of managing a program is inferior to the SSD way of doing the job. DynaSoar is the glaring example. After being used as the case in point successfully, it follows that this program in particular and other [space] programs in general will follow [Horace] Greeley’s advice [and ‘Go West’ to SSD and Maj Gen Thomas P. Gerrity’s ballistic missile division (BMD)]. The dice are loaded: The BMD/STL/Aerospace Corporation method naturally has the sympathy of the Commander AFSC [Schriever]; the system is good – several years of experience and qualified people have made it so; the Dyna-Soar program is the best example [Ritland can find] of the most ingredients for management failure at ASD. Balancing the ledger: The Dyna-Soar program is well managed; the Aerospace Corporation method [of management] is being sniped at … Unfortunately or by design the exact moment, or act, or omission causing the fault [with the Dyna-Soar program] has been elusive. The cog which does not quite mesh causes erratic machine performance, but which wheel is it on? (Moore 1961e). Without specific knowledge of the relationship between the Space Systems Division’s ‘deep black’ highly classified and compartmented programs and the Office of Satellite and Missile Systems (precursor to the NRO) management of those programs, much less their intentions for future satellite developments or their intentions for booster requirements, Moore was competing against institutions and individuals who’s true nature remained hidden from him. Pushing harder While Moore sparred with Pellegrini and Aerospace representatives over the merits of their proposals, Congress debated Kennedy’s ambitious pro-

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posal to go to the moon. Some 10 weeks after Kennedy’s remarkable announcement, the Soviets launched their second cosmonaut, Air Force Major Gherman S. Titov, on 6 August, successfully recovering him 25 hours and 18 minutes into his 17 orbit flight. Gen Schriever was still drafting his reply for Senator Stennis’s subcommittee when Titov’s flight reaffirmed the Soviet Union’s superiority in space technology and underscored Air Force contentions regarding America’s inferior state of readiness. The chairman of the Senate Armed Services Committee, Richard B. Russell (D- Georgia), agreed, believing a satellite the size of Titov’s spacecraft could be used as a weapon. The chairman of the House Committee on Science and Astronautics, Representative Overton Brooks (D-Louisiana), also understood the Soviets clearly possessed the capability to launch manned satellites carrying nuclear weapons (New York Times 1961c). The Gagarin-Titov flights formed the public backdrop for the Air Force’s renewed campaign to win a larger role in the manned space program. While Lt Gen Wilson achieved some success in the previous fiscal year, he remained disappointed and frustrated by his inability to overcome two main obstacles: the continuing commitment of the Kennedy administration to Eisenhower’s space-for-peace policy and the continuing skepticism of key defense officials toward many Air Force space proposals (Berger 1966b).3 In its attempts to work around these obstacles, Air Staff officers repeatedly tried to convince OSD officials of the necessity for a manned military space program. Chief of staff LeMay said that the US was ‘at about the same position ... in regard to space technology as we were in aerodynamics along about 1908, 1910, or 1911, along in there’ (LeMay, as quoted in Futrell 1974). In parallel to the history of aeronautics, the first satellites had been developed primarily passive, peaceful, and defensive employment designed to enhance command and control and to reduce the danger of surprise attack. However, just as had been the case with aviation warfare in World War I, LeMay anticipated that an enemy would not be able to countenance a loss of surprise and security. Subsequently, he believed that ‘an aggressor will seek ways and means to eliminate our defensive systems ... A nation that has maneuverable space vehicles [like Dyna-Soar] and revolutionary armaments can indeed control the world’ (ibid). Echoing these sentiments, the new deputy chief of staff for research and technology, Lt Gen James Ferguson, said ‘Man has certain qualitative capabilities which machines cannot duplicate. He is unique in his ability to make on-the-spot judgments. He can discriminate and select from alternatives which have not been anticipated [programmed]. He is adaptable to rapidly changing situations. Thus, by including man in military space systems [like DynaSoar], we significantly increase flexibility of the systems, as well as increase the possibility of mission success’ (US Congress 1962b, d). As Air Staff officials reiterated their need for manned military space operations to OSD officials, Gen Schriever became convinced of the need to

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accelerate Dyna-Soar. Furthermore, he believed the best booster would be the Phoenix A388 (Geiger 1963). On 11 August, he informed Davis, Ritland, and his deputy commander for aerospace systems, Lieutenant General Howell M. Estes, Jr., of his approval for the streamlined plan. In fact, it must be ‘vigorously supported by all elements of the command’ (HQ ARSC 1961b; Geiger 1963). Yet the acceleration of Dyna-Soar would not be simple. Schriever was still concerned over the appearance of mission duplication between Ritland’s SAINT proposal and Davis’s orbital DynaSoar. These two plans constituted complex and conflicting approaches to military spaceflight. Schriever wanted ‘a complete, well integrated manned military space capabilities vehicle (MMSCV) program [to] be prepared ... jointly prepared by ASD [Davis] and SSD [Ritland] under the direction of DCAS [deputy commander of aerospace systems Estes]’ (ibid). Until reconciled, a final plan could not be presented to Lt Gen Wilson. Consequently, Schriever directed the study to be completed by September. Nevertheless, Schriever believed ‘Dyna-Soar streamline is a vital, initial step in the overall program’ (ibid). Toward this end, he directed the review of his command’s applied research program to assure it made direct contributions to Dyna-Soar and a Phase Beta investigation to determine the vehicle configuration, boosters, military subsystems, and missions for an operational Step III system to follow the new Dyna-Soar streamline program. In fact, the farEarth to geosynchronous orbital objectives envisioned for Ritland’s ART program were essential to the overall Dyna-Soar (MMSCV) program, but they had to be ‘clearly identified and related to the various elements of the overall effort’ of applied research, Dyna-Soar streamline, and the operational follow-on steps in the Dyna-Soar (MMSCV) identified in Phase Beta (ibid). With the Titov flight still fresh in everyone’s mind, Schriever’s statement for Senator Stennis (D-Mississippi) on the preparedness of the nation’s military space program, approved for immediate release by Air Force secretary Zuckert, reached the chairman of the Senate Preparedness Investigating Subcommittee’s desk (Berger 1966b). Schriever believed current Soviet capabilities demonstrated an impending space threat, endangering America’s international prestige and security. He cited the frequency and payload size of the Soviet space launches. While America’s space program continued to expand, past efforts to introduce military space programs ‘suffered under an unnecessary self-imposed restriction’ of the artificial division into ‘space-for-peace’ and ‘space for military use’ concepts when no technical distinction actually existed (US Congress 1962c). Indeed, when the Soviet Union orbited two officers of the Soviet Air Force, Gagarin and Titov, it did not feel compelled to proclaim the peaceful nature of their journeys. Indeed, Soviet Premier Khrushchev’s words supported Schriever’s misgivings: ‘You do not have 50- and 100-megaton bombs. We have bombs stronger than 100 megatons. We placed Gagarin

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and Titov in space and we can replace them with other loads that can be directed to any place on earth’ (ibid). While many in the US dismissed these flights as having no military significance, in fact, a five-ton spacecraft could deliver a considerable military payload or constitute a large reconnaissance capability. Citing recent Air Force Scientific Advisory Board recommendations, Schriever suggested eliminating the artificial division between the civilian and military space programs. By refocusing the existing sense of urgency for civilian manned spaceflight into manned military space programs, the US could surpass the Soviet Union in military space operations within the decade (Berger 1966b). Importantly, the administration had covertly taken an alternate step by centralizing and refocusing its unmanned military space operations on 6 September 1961 when it established the National Reconnaissance Office to manage the new National Reconnaissance Program (Kistiakowsky 1976; Richelson 1985; Perry 1999).4 Unaware of the highly classified National Reconnaissance Program, Senator Stennis agreed with Schriever’s assessment. In a speech to the Senate on 26 September, Stennis repeated Schriever’s statement and warned of the impending danger from the expanding Soviet threat. His staff would soon undertake a detached and exhaustive study of the military role in space, Stennis declared, ‘to determine whether the division of the civilian and military programs’ was proper in light of international developments (Congressional Record 1961). Although important congressional leaders were receptive to Stennis’s pro-Air Force views, Kennedy vigorously reasserted the space-for-peace theme. On 25 September 1961, in an address to the UN general assembly, the president proposed an extension of the UN charter, which, in discussing the limits of man’s exploration of the universe, reserved outer space for peaceful purposes. Kennedy wanted to prohibit weapons of mass destruction in space or on celestial bodies, to open the mysteries and benefits of space to every nation, and to extend the rule of law to man’s new domain – outer space (New York Times 1961d).

Interagency rivalry flares again In mid-August 1961, Lt Gen Estes formed a Manned Military Space Capabilities Vehicle Committee with representatives from the Air Force Systems Command, RAND, MITRE, and the Scientific Advisory Board to formulate a manned military space plan. Estes’ recommendations to Gen Schriever were ready on 28 September. One of the working groups, chaired by Aerospace Corporation representative Cal Sherwin, favored ‘terminating the Dyna-Soar program and redirecting Boeing’s efforts’ to the development of a SSD-designed lifting-body at a cost of two billion dollars (Estes 1961). A second alternative was to accelerate a suborbital Dyna-Soar program,

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cancel the orbital phase, and initiate studies for far-Earth, orbital flights using Ritland’s lifting-body vehicle. This proposal would total 2.6 billion dollars. The least feasible approach, in this group’s opinion, would be to implement the streamlined proposal and initiate a Phase Beta to examine a follow-on operational system. Such a program would be the most expensive, totaling 2.8 billion dollars (ibid). Scientific Advisory Board members, again chaired by Professor Courtland D. Perkins, took the opposite position and strongly supported the last option offered by the Sherwin group. The SAB thought ‘the military applications of a lifting-body approach did not offer any more promise than Dyna-Soar’ (Geiger 1963). To emphasize this point, the board ‘questioned the safety of the slow-speed flight characteristics inherent to Aerospace’s lifting-body design’ (ibid). For one thing, it made conventional landings extremely hazardous. The group further argued for using the streamlined plan to refine specific manned military space objectives. Additionally, it insisted that ‘a Phase Beta study and an applied research program should be undertaken to ensure the methodology of an advanced vehicle based on Dyna-Soar’ (ibid). In his overview to Gen Schriever, Estes made several telling observations prior to stating his concluding remarks. For the first time the various participants have jointly seen not only the tremendous complexities involved in such an objective [to place a military man in space] but have also mutually examined the unacceptable overlapping and duplication of the many systems programs and research projects through which they had previously and separately proposed its attainment. In spite of the closeness with which all participants worked together, prejudices and attachment to specific methods of conducting research and development remained strong. Six weeks is too short a period to overturn technical convictions reached through months or years of study. It is also less time than that required to achieve a full understanding of operating methods and procedures which differ from those patterned over years by multiple restraints on the one hand [for ASD and Dyna-Soar] and by relative freedom of choice on the other [for SSD and their automated reconnaissance operations in support of the NRO]. In all aspects, the differences in [management] approach and [engineering] thinking between our West Coast divisions and the Wright Field complex are substantial and can only be brought into closer alignment in the future by time and by numerous exercises similar to this MMSCV joint study. It is therefore not entirely surprising that ... there is no complete unanimity of opinion as to the best course of action to be followed (Estes 1961).

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Faced with these divergent and strongly held opinions, the deputy commander for aerospace systems reached his own conclusions about a manned military space study. The streamlined plan should receive Air Force approval; however, it should have a specific ‘saleable, unquestionable military mission’, namely satellite inspection and interception missions in near- and far-earth orbits, rather than its current multi-mission approach to military spaceflight (ibid). It should be ‘made clear that the purpose of Dyna-Soar Streamline is to engage in the developmental effort necessary to bring into being a prototype vehicle to satisfy this specific military mission … It is the general consensus of all present at yesterday’s meeting that this is an absolutely essential mission and that it can be conducted solely by the military [as opposed to other missions which are either being carried out by the NRO or NASA]’ (ibid). Although there was not any scientific proof to back-up his opinion, Estes doubted that DynaSoar’s current configuration could accomplish far-Earth [geosynchronous] orbital flights and survive the resulting re-entry velocity (ranging from 35,000 to 37,000 feet per second) by using its radiative heat protection. He agreed with Sherwin’s assessment that a lifting-body protected by ablative material would be necessary for these far-Earth interceptor missions. Consequently, a Phase Beta study, conducted by Boeing, would be necessary to determine a super-orbital far-Earth design for Dyna-Soar (ibid). Should this type of orbital mission become the prominent military role of Dyna-Soar, the program would again be revised and possibly given to the space division. While Lt Gen Estes wrote his recommendations on Dyna-Soar to Gen Schriever in Maryland, across the nation, McNamara also made pronouncements on the boost-glider. During the full scale mock-up inspection of the spaceplane at Boeing’s Seattle Washington plant on 27 September, McNamara, deputy secretary of defense Roswell L. Gilpatric, DDR&E Brown, undersecretary of the Air Force, and chief of the NRO Charyk, Gen Schriever, and Ballistic Systems Division commander Maj Gen Gerrity received detailed briefings on the divergent approaches to a manned military space capabilities vehicle. No Boeing or Dyna-Soar representatives were present for the first series of briefings. The most telling report of the briefings came from R. J. Salkeld, Ivan A. Getting’s (president of Aerospace Corporation) principle briefer. Salkeld’s presentation extended approximately twice the allotted 15 to 20 minutes he had been given to speak because McNamara and Brown interjected their questions directly into Salkeld’s briefing. The following quotes are from that briefing. After being assured that Aerospace Corporation’s numbers were ‘preliminary and intended to impart the general concept of larger crews (3 plus 3–6 passengers and 5000 pounds of cargo) and a longer mission (3–10 days)’ than Dyna-Soar, McNamara became ‘quite attentive’ (Getting 1961; Salkend 1961).5 He was delighted to see Salkeld’s idea of ‘building up a vehicle con-

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cept from such [large scale] fundamental capabilities’. He was able to ‘quickly grasp [the notion] that recent progress with lifting bodies and combination ablative and radiative heat protection systems’ had greatly expanded the possible regimes for manned space vehicles. McNamara appeared to recognize the advantages of far orbit operations because of greatly decreased vulnerability. DDR&E Brown clearly indicated his support for several of Salkeld’s statements by ‘affirmative nods and interjections’. According to Getting’s briefer, ‘military manned operations in low orbits are of very questionable usefulness because of vulnerability to ground fire with nuclear warheads and a lack of maneuverability [although the same could be said for the NRO’s reconnaissance satellites, automated reconnaissance vulnerability was not mentioned]’. Because of the difficulty in clearly foreseeing the engineering details of their planned military manned missions without first obtaining test data, Salkeld believed ‘the MMSCV should be based on the capability development approach, rather than tied to a specific mission such as manned satellite inspection [this is the direct opposite of Estes’ findings and recommendations]’. A human pilot, Salkeld assured his audience, ‘is very useful for assuring the return of vehicles and data’. The major contribution of the Dyna-Soar glider, however, ‘will be subsystems and advanced technology development, rather than military mission capability’. Accordingly, his ‘configuration-heat protection matrix places re-entry vehicle technology in perspective and underscores the attractiveness of lifting bodies [over gliders like ASD’s version of DynaSoar] and combination heat protection systems for MMSCV’. With a wave of his hand, McNamara said ‘Ben [Schriever], this is just the type of thing we need. A fundamental approach. Obviously a lot of thought has gone into it’. After everyone had made their comments, Boeing and Dyna-Soar representatives were allowed into the room to present their briefings. They had no idea of what had just transpired or the predispositions of McNamara and the other OSD officials against Dyna-Soar. Meanwhile, Salkeld and his fellow SSD and Aerospace Corporation representatives remained in the briefing room. After hearing Boeing’s chief engineer for the Dyna-Soar program, Harry Goldie, give a general description of the Dyna-Soar vehicle, the results of their extensive previous engineering test data, and the details of the streamline proposal, McNamara seriously questioned whether Dyna-Soar represented the best expenditure of the nation’s resources. Reflecting the judgment of Salkeld’s previous briefing, McNamara believed ‘it appears to offer limited military capability in the long run’ (Salkeld 1961; Geiger 1963). When Goldie asked if the secretary of defense didn’t think an early capability for manned satellite inspection was required, McNamara replied he ‘had heard some arguments for manned inspection’, but he was ‘not convinced … I think the man just gets in the way. He’s too vulnerable’ (Salkend 1961). He believed the interceptor mission and ‘perhaps certain other mis-

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sions [already being performed by NRO satellites] should be first accomplished unmanned, and then perhaps later using a man’. Again pronouncing his preferences from the previous briefing, McNamara said he ‘could see the military requirements for tangential landing at a preselected site’, but it also seemed to him that OSD should be developing more ‘useful cubage, faster speeds, and operations out to higher radius’. He made it clear to Gen Schriever that he felt future Air Force studies should define military ‘subrequirements’ to mirror his beliefs and aim at vehicles with combinations of these sub-requirements for long term usefulness. ‘The Dyna-Soar glider’, said McNamara, ‘is a premature, inadequate, and expensive approach’. While he (and therefore the administration as well as OSD) was ‘not yet convinced of any clear requirements for a military man in space’, the defense secretary was ‘interested in exploring immediately the development of appropriate manned capabilities [like the ones Salkeld presented] so that we’ll have them when we need them’. Following these discussions, the entire group inspected the Dyna-Soar mock-up for about 10 minutes. Salkeld spent this time with Gen Schriever, asking him about McNamara’s statements and commenting on how McNamara appeared responsive to the SSD/Aerospace Corporation approach to a manned military space capabilities vehicle. Gen Schriever agreed, saying ‘it is absolutely clear that Dyna-Soar (MMSCV) should be oriented toward capability, not toward one or two specific missions [as mirrored in Gen Estes’ study and briefed by Boeing’s Goldie, assistant program manager A. M. ‘Tex’ Johnson, and ASD’s deputy director of Material for Dyna-Soar, Col J.E. Christensen]’ (ibid). This encounter defined the concept that would dominate the ebb and flow of the Dyna-Soar program and lay the foundation for its legacy from that moment forward. McNamara did not want the Air Force to focus its hypersonic manned military programs on any military application. DynaSoar, in an ablative, radiative, or some aerothermodynamic configuration that combined both, should perform a manned orbital flight and safe recovery, in essence, to demonstrate its capabilities by completing its Step I research phase, before OSD would consider allowing the Air Force to begin integrating any operational military missions (HQ Air Force 1961c). McNamara and OSD officials, buoyed by officials within the specific corporations that built the spacecraft and high-ranking officials of think-tank organizations like the Aerospace Corporation and Rand who helped develop them, used their knowledge of current and planned NRO systems to measure the potential (or more importantly they used their perceptions of what the new system would or would not be able to accomplish rather than the data supplied by the program’s briefers) of any new manned space system. Within this context, Maj Gen Ritland’s Space Systems Division and its associated contractors and think-tanks had a distinct advantage over Maj Gen Davis’ Aeronautical Systems Division and the Dyna-Soar program

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office. Col Moore and Bill Lamar were not privy to information about the highly classified and compartmented systems of the NRO.6 During a meeting of the Lt Gen Bradley’s Designated Systems Management Group in early October 1961, the assembly of selected officials within the office of the secretary of the Air Force deviated from McNamara’s observations, clearly in favor of Lt Gen Estes’ proposal for a streamlined approach that would culminate in a manned satellite interceptor. The management group criticized Ritland’s SAINT II severely, insisting that ‘the projected number of flight tests and the proposed funding levels represented were too unrealistic’, their generalizations and lack of data was a subterfuge to undermine Davis’ Dyna-Soar and gain a manned space program for SSD (HQ Air Force 1961d). As a result of this review, the group prohibited further use of the SAINT designation and requested a formalized plan from the Dyna-Soar program office. Continuing to push As officials within Zuckert’s office restricted the use of the SAINT designation, Air Force chief of staff LeMay sought an expanded military space program, despite the president’s September reaffirmation of the space-for-peace policy before the UN. In an address to the American Ordnance Association in Detroit on 26 October, LeMay again warned of the striking parallel between space power in the 1960s and airpower during the First World War. He believed ‘once reconnaissance began changing the course of battles, the rules changed. It didn’t take long before commanders realized that it was necessary to deny the opposition this aid from the sky … I think we will be very naive if we don’t expect and prepare for the same trends in space’ (Bergr 1966b). Refining the chief of staff’s observations, Lt Gen Wilson suggested, ‘... spacecraft will be manned, they will complement tomorrow’s missiles as aircraft are complementary to today’s crude missiles … The essence of strategy is access to the enemy. This was the essence of Pax Britannia and Pax Aeronautica. Access implies man’s intelligence over the enemy’s territory. He must do this in various ways such as by reconnaissance, and he must be able to recognize good or bad targets. So there is a place for man in space’ (emphasis in original).7 Arguments such as these, advanced at a time when the Soviet Union monopolized manned orbital flight, won adherents among top administration officials. Vice-president Johnson, the chairman of the NASC, began to believe the ‘arbitrary distinctions’ the previous administration had made between the civilian and military space efforts did not serve the best interests of the US (Berger 1966b). Even the president seemed to express a more positive attitude toward a military role in space. Still, concrete evidence of change would not come until December 1961, when the Air Force received authorization to accelerate Dyna-Soar.

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Meanwhile, to maintain a closer inspection of the Soviet Union’s growing research and development, and its strategic implications, American reconnaissance satellites assumed ever greater importance. In conjunction with their offensive nuclear potential, Soviet ASAT capabilities represented a direct threat to American intelligence gathering and decision-making capabilities. How could the administration protect the nation’s valuable reconnaissance assets? LeMay side-stepped the international agreement issue and presented his argument for enforcing the peace through military capabilities and preparedness. To implement the chief of staff’s initiatives, Col Moore shifted the operational emphasis of the program’s final development phase from orbital bombardment to satellite inspection and interception (US Congress 1962a). In an attempt to undermine Khrushchev’s veiled verbal threats and deflate the arguments of domestic proponents who advocated anti-satellite programs like Dyna-Soar, the Kennedy administration revealed the details of American estimates of Soviet nuclear and anti-satellite capabilities (Steinberg 1983). Officials did not make this decision without careful consideration of the possible repercussions, such as an escalation of Soviet actions; nevertheless, the Soviets quickly realized the implications of America’s satellite intelligence breakthroughs, and reacted as Gen LeMay expected by increasing the intensity of their efforts to gain an operational ASAT (Hilsman 1964). In an additional response to Kennedy’s politically embarrassing revelations, the Soviets matched American initiatives by agreeing to establish a permanent UN Committee on the Peaceful Uses of Outer Space (Red Star 1961; as quoted in Bloomfield 1962). The Soviets intended to use debates at the UN as a political platform to oppose various American space programs and deny the US the use of its technological advantage (New York Times 1961f; US Arms Control and Disarmament Agency 1962). In the winter of 1961, as the US and the Soviet Union debated international overflight rights, secretary McNamara continued to investigate alternatives to Dyna-Soar with the intention of cutting spiraling Defense Department costs through close cooperation with NASA. NASA’s newly approved Gemini program offered to promote commonality between the two agencies and eliminate his latest concern over any possible duplication between Dyna-Soar and Gemini (US Congress 1962g). In addition, McNamara’s civilian experts initiated his Planning-ProgrammingBudgeting System (PPBS) of management and created 5-year plans for research and development, weapons development, and cost reduction. In theory, combined with the 5-year plans, PPBS ensured each of these factors, as well as force requirements, military strategy, and foreign policy, remained in balance (McNamara 1968; Enthoven and Smith 1971). Consequently, in every functional pyramid of the DoD, new layers of centralized civilian bureaucracy radiated from the OSD. With this depth of civilian control at

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every level of decision making, McNamara believed Air Force leadership could not possibly thwart his directives (McNamara 1968).

A two-step program for Dyna-Soar Following the guidance of the deputy chief of staff for systems and logistics’ Designated Systems Management Group (DSMG), Col Moore completed an abbreviated development plan for a manned military space capability vehicle on 7 October 1961. The plan consisted of the streamlined proposal, a Phase Beta study to design a Dyna-Soar spaceplane capable of achieving far-Earth (geosynchronous) orbit, a series of test programs to support these efforts, and an applied research program (Directorate of Systems Management 1961c).8 A week later, Col. Benjamin H. Ferer, chief of Lt Gen Bradley’s Dyna-Soar system Air Staff DSMG office, asked Bill Lamar to brief Dr Brockway McMillan, assistant secretary of the Air Force for research and development (acting in his capacity as a member of secretary Zuckert’s military manned spacecraft panel). For the first briefing, Lamar presented a comprehensive narrative of DynaSoar’s history and its current status. While McMillan approved the briefing for presentation to the spacecraft panel, he believed Lamar should not emphasize the program’s military applications because McNamara did not want DynaSoar oriented towards a specific military application. Following the briefing to the panel, McMillan scheduled Lamar to brief Dr Lawrence L. Kavanau, special assistant on space to DDR&E Brown. Kavanau appeared interested in the various alternatives to accelerating Dyna-Soar and felt ‘going directly to orbital flight’ was sensible (Geiger 1963). Based on Moore’s 7 October briefings and McMillian’s current guidance, Lt Gen Estes felt compelled to prepare another development plan for DynaSoar. This plan was presented in another round of briefings to Gen Schriever, Lt Gen Ferguson, and, on 14 November, to secretary Zuckert and the Designated Systems Management Group. The central objectives of the new two-step program were to be the development of a manned maneuverable vehicle capable of obtaining basic research data, demonstrating reentry at various speeds, testing subsystems, and exploring man’s ability to perform broad-based military missions in space. The additional objectives of developing specific hardware for military missions would come in Step II. Both of these objectives would be achieved by adapting the Dyna-Soar glider to a Titan IIIC booster. Accepting the concept of a Step I research phase and a standard space launch for all DoD payloads of a certain weight, the secretary of defense informed assistant secretary of the Air Force McMillan that Martin’s new Titan IIIC would be the service’s space booster and its first payload would be Dyna-Soar (ibid; Directorate of Systems Management 1961d).9 On 11 December 1961, Gen LeMay’s deputy chief of staff for research and technology, Lt Gen Ferguson, informed Gen Schriever of Zuckert’s

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approval. Dyna-Soar would in fact be accelerated. The suborbital phase of the old three-step program would be eliminated with the central program objective the early attainment of orbital flight, with a Titan IIIC booster. The costs of Plan B in the November 1961 development plan were accepted. Finally, Ferguson instructed Moore to present the new system package program to the rest of the Air Staff by early March 1962 (HQ Air Force 1961f). Col. Moore set the following tentative target dates for reorienting the program: the first air-launch would be in July 1964; the first unmanned orbital launch in February 1965; and the first manned orbital launch in August 1965. Indeed, Moore and Lamar felt the advancement of the program to an orbital status represented ‘a large step toward meeting the overall [military mission] objectives of Dyna-Soar’ (Geiger 1963).10 The program office then issued instructions to its contractors, Boeing, Honeywell, and RCA. The tentative dates offered by Moore would be used as guidelines for establishing attainable schedules. From its first flight, the Dyna-Soar glider would be capable of completing one orbit. All flights would end at Edwards Air Force Base, CA. Equally important, McNamara sanctioned only Step I of the two-step program. Because assistant secretary of the Air Force for research and development McMillan did not allow Lamar to brief Dyna-Soar’s military missions to Kavanau, in the minds of some OSD officials the Air Force would be researching broad capabilities as outlined by McNamara during their briefings at Boeing’s Seattle Washington plant back in September. On the other hand, Gen LeMay and the Air Staff never relinquished their goal for a hypersonic manned space program capable of performing specific military missions. Once Dyna-Soar demonstrated the feasibility of maneuverable re-entry from orbital flight to a preselected landing site, they believed an operational system capable of performing one or more military missions would logically follow (ibid).11 On 27 December 1961, Gen LeMay’s deputy chief of staff for systems and logistics, Lt Gen Bradley, issued Systems Program Directive 4, officially establishing the program objectives announced in Moore’s November 1961 development plan. Bradley re-emphasized the Air Force view: a military man-in-space was essential to national security. The Dyna-Soar program would provide ‘an economical and flexible means for a military spacecraft to return to a specific landing site’ (Directorate of Systems Plans 1957; HQ Air Force 1961g). Consequently, Dyna-Soar would fulfill ‘a vital military need’ not covered in the national space program, or at least in the publicly recognized space program (ibid). Officials within OSD knew the NRO’s highly classified and compartmented unmanned reconnaissance satellites were already fulfilling the intelligence communities requirement to gather strategic information – even if they did so by an alternate means, and even if they were not designed to be refurbished for another mission, or even if they could not make a conventional landing at a pre-selected airport (ibid).

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By December 1961, Dyna-Soar’s configuration had undergone enough testing and revisions to allow Boeing to publish Aerodynamic Stability and Control Data, Model 844-2050E. As Tristan J. Keating, Bill Lamar’s assistant deputy director of engineering, detailed in his 1962 report, the DynaSoar program had been ‘well publicized over the last 2 years’ (Keating 1962). In contrast to the Mercury, Gemini, and Apollo programs, DynaSoar possessed ‘a fairly conventional wing surface to provide a higher aerodynamic lift to drag ratio’. The increased lift enlarged the glider’s cross-range foot-print for landings, giving the pilot the military flexibility of selecting a number of landing sites for re-entry. To accomplish this task, the engineering teams of Lamar and Harry Goldie (Boeing’s chief Dyna-Soar engineer) pushed the state-of-the-art, making great strides in the fields of aerodynamics, structures, materials, environmental control, bioastronautics, guidance, communications, and telemetry. Their efforts culminated 10 years worth of concentrated aerothermodynamic, structural, material and manufacturing research on radiatively cooled hypersonic boost-gliders. The vehicle’s conservative shape had been confirmed through hundreds of hours of all kinds of wind tunnel tests in research facilities across the nation. By early 1962 their efforts had matured to the point where Dyna-Soar’s design configuration would remain the same, with the exception of a few minor changes, for the remainder of the program (ibid). To counter the disbelief of key OSD officials, Lamar and Goldie tried to qualify and quantify the pilot’s contributions to the Dyna-Soar mission with analyses and static simulation tests at the Boeing Company. Pilot functions such as vehicle flight control, subsystem management, communication, military operations, in-flight maintenance, and evaluation of the vehicle’s performance were investigated. In June and July, they verified their results under boost conditions at the Naval Air Development Center, Johnsonville, Pennsylvania. These tests simulated the Titan III boost profile from launch to orbital insertion through its ability to provide a full six degrees of freedom. All of the data combined to produce ‘pilot envelopes’ of performance that specifically emphasized the options of a pilot-controlled orbital insertion. Indeed, Dyna-Soar pilots ‘spent weeks at Johnsonville on the centrifuge verifying that we could manually fly the booster under the g loads involved during acceleration into orbit. We traveled extensively to each of the subcontractors to participate in their design process. We were fitted with newly designed pressure suits, and were invited to observe a launch of a Titan booster similar to the one that would boost Dyna-Soar into orbit’ (Thompson 1992a). Functional analysis of 85 tasks in three response areas at 11 critical points in the mission also were performed to determine the time required for each task, what time must be shared with other tasks, and the availability of the each piece of equipment (Gordon 1989). With the majority of their research complete, all that remained was the complete manufacturing of a series of full size vehicles to prove their con-

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cepts and then refine this hardware for one or more of the military missions outlined in the program’s development plan. The dedicated effort of hundreds of engineers in government and industry appeared to be laying the technological and operational ground work for the nation’s first spaceplane.12 McNamara’s nuclear defense strategy As the Soviets continued to successfully develop their hypersonic boostglider successfully, economic and managerial concerns occupied McNamara’s thoughts. His nuclear defense strategy would slice into Air Force desires for manned military space operations. In January 1962, McNamara introduced the no-cities doctrine (often referred to as the ‘Ann Arbor Strategy’ because it was announced to the public in a commencement address at the University of Michigan), a counter-force strategy, to Congress (Kaufman 1971; Shapley 1993). Because this strategy called for a nuclear force second to none, it would not live past the Cuban missile crisis of October 1962. McNamara replaced it with ‘assured destruction’ (Trewhitt 1971; Shapley 1993). Under the nuclear strategy of assured destruction, NRO reconnaissance satellites emerged as a proven, politically stabilizing, low risk technology. Therefore, they were cost effective assets to national defense. To McNamara, tampering with national security by deploying unproven, politically destabilizing, high-risk manned space technology, such as Dyna-Soar, was imprudent (McDougall 1970). Not until February 1962 would the secretary of defense reluctantly acknowledge the national importance of investigating the role of a military man-in-space. While McNamara saw some ‘rather limited’ requirements for warning, navigation, and communications satellites, the ‘requirement for military operations in outer space is not clear [to me] at the present time … Therefore, our [DoD’s] program is directed to (a) achieving a technology which will permit us to engage in military operations in outer space if the requirement does develop in the future, and (b) developing certain of the basic equipment required for such military operations, specifically boosters for launch vehicles sufficiently large to place into outer space equipment of the size [NRO officials considered] we might possibly require’ (Us Congress 1962b). DDRE&E Brown supported his boss, ‘at this stage of development, it is difficult [for OSD officials] to define accurately the specific characteristics that future military operational systems of many kinds ought to have. We must, therefore, engage in a broad program covering basic building blocks which will provide necessary insurance against military surprise in space by advancing our knowledge on a systematic basis so as to permit the shortest possible time lag in undertaking full-scale development programs as specific needs are identified’ (US Congress 1962f). Additionally, he and McNamara insisted ‘the investigation must seek commonality’ with the

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NASA-DoD national space program, rather than the purely military space program envisioned by Air Force leadership (McNamara 1962b). Deputy DDR&E Rubel bluntly stated OSD officials ‘could not conceptualize a mission for a military man-in-space’, despite the detailed briefings by Moore and Lamar to the contrary (Rubel 1962a). Nor did he, Brown, or McNamara want to define a role. As McNamara balanced existing military space capabilities with the capabilities of NASA’s space programs, LeMay and other Air Staff planners sought to develop Dyna-Soar as quickly as possible. Although Lt Gen Bradley’s assistant deputy chief of staff for systems and logistics Major General Joseph R. Holzapple, chose the low funding level of Col Moore’s Plan B (100 million dollars for FY 1962 and 115 million for 1963), he surprisingly insisted on the accelerated flight dates of Plan A (HQ Air Force 1961f; Holzapple 1962). Dyna-Soar’s symbolism is lost Eighteen days after the assistant deputy chief of staff for systems and logistics issued his amendment, NASA astronaut Lt Col John Glenn rode a Mercury capsule to a successful orbital flight, ending the Soviet Union’s monopoly of manned orbital spaceflight and dissipating the Air Force’s dream of a greater role in space. Glenn’s flight produced a huge feeling of relief and euphoria. A vast outpouring of international acclaim and goodwill flowed to the US. This sentiment was not only for the achievement, but for the public manner in which it was conducted. Just as the orbital flight reduced pressure on NASA, it undermined the Air Force’s chances of using Dyna-Soar as a symbol of international prestige and caused members of the Air Staff to rethink their presentation of Dyna-Soar’s military missions (Berger 1966b). The day after the sensational orbit of John Glenn, Lt Gen Ferguson’s director of development planning, Major General William B. Keese, attempted to give further legitimacy to Moore’s redirected Dyna-Soar program by issuing an amendment to the development directive of 21 July 1960. Keese’s amendment to System Development Requirement 19 deleted references to suborbital flights. Equally important, for the first time, it deleted specific references for the need to develop military subsystems although general references were retained. While Maj Gen Keese stated, ‘a reliable method for routine recovery of space vehicles would make military missions practical’ (Keese 1962). Nevertheless, by generalizing the need for Dyna-Soar’s follow-on military subsystems the director of development planning weakened the Air Force’s rationale for using Dyna-Soar as a weapon system. The amendment further stipulated, ‘the program would be reoriented to single-orbit flights, with the first unmanned ground-launch occurring in November 1964’ (ibid). Because of the administration’s space-

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for-peace policy and McNamara’s critiques of the program’s military missions, Keese believed eliminating overt references to military subsystems would help Dyna-Soar compete with the Mercury program’s role. Ironically, by officially eliminating specific references to military subsystems from the program plan in early 1962, Lt Gen Keese set the stage for McNamara to criticize the program in 1963 for not having a military mission.13 Two days after Lt Gen Ferguson issued Keese’s amendment, McNamara issued a memorandum officially redirecting the Dyna-Soar program toward the ‘broad-based capabilities’ objectives he would endorse. McNamara insisted on ‘an appropriate research designation’ for Dyna-Soar ‘to indicate more specifically that this is an experimental program and to eliminate any further connotation of [a] previous weapon system and military test system studies ... even though a firm requirement for a follow-on program may later be evolved’ (McNamara 1962b). To match McNamara’s desires for the ‘elimination of such formal reporting requirements, support personnel and facilities, special ground equipment, qualification testing, and maintainability features as would normally apply to a full weapon system development program’, Col Moore could no longer officially reference or investigate specific military objectives for Dyna-Soar (ibid). Unofficially, the program manager, in the spirit of the Air Force’s aerospace doctrine and directives, would continue refining the specifications for future military subsystems. To ensure close coordination between the nation’s military and civilian space programs, the secretary of defense issued a policy directive on 24 February 1962 assigning the secretary of the Air Force the responsibility to support, to ‘the extent compatible with its primary mission’, specific NASA projects and programs arising from joint NASA/DoD agreements (McNamara 1962c). By the end of 1962, approximately 50 arrangements and agreements between NASA and the DoD existed while the DoD performed more than 550 million dollars worth of work for NASA (US Congress 1963a). Still, McNamara felt that the DoD should increase its utilization of NASA assets. Concerned about the possibility of two national manned space programs developing out of Dyna-Soar and Gemini, McNamara and NASA administrator James Webb signed another letter of agreement on 21 January 1963. It stated the two agencies would ensure the ‘most effective’ use of the Gemini in the national interest. Specifically, Gemini experiments were to be directed at the requirements of both agencies. It concluded by saying, ‘DoD and NASA will initiate major new programs or projects in the field of manned spaceflight aimed chiefly at the attainment of experimental or other capabilities in near-Earth orbit only on mutual agreement’ (US Congress 1963i). To facilitate these arrangements, McNamara and Webb established a Gemini planning board, co-chaired by the associate administrator of NASA, Robert C. Seamans, Jr., and the assistant secretary of the Air Force for research and development, McMillian.

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McNamara considered this precedent a major step forward and supported DoD’s relationship to NASA within the administration’s space-for-peace policy. He believed DoD and NASA could work effectively within the existing organizational structure (ibid). These domestic political events directly shaped Dyna-Soar’s destiny and laid the foundation of its legacy. By the end of February, a draft version of the new Dyna-Soar system package program was completed. In the middle of March, Moore offered the preliminary outlines to Gen Schriever and Maj Gen Keese. As a result of these presentations, Keese instructed the systems command to prepare their briefing for the DoD (Directorate of Systems Management 1962a). On 17 April, Moore and Lamar made a presentation to DDR&E Dr Harold Brown. They wanted approval of a 12.2 million dollar increase for FY 1963, and an additional 16.7 million to pay for the expenditures to make an unmanned ground-launch by May 1965. Brown offered to give their proposal further consideration; however, he requested alternative funding levels for a May or July 1965 unmanned launch date (Davis 1962a; Directorate of Systems Management 1962b). A week later, a new program plan was ready. This time Moore and Lamar reinserted their intentions for future military subsystems. While Dyna-Soar would be a research and development program, it would be research and development for a future military system. In the spirit of the service’s beliefs the program manager and his chief of engineering presented a brief echoing the Air Force’s desire for a fundamental step towards their original goal of attaining routine access to space by means of a piloted military spacecraft – a view not shared by McNamara or his other OSD officials (Directorate of Systems Management 1962c; HQ AFSC 1962b; Geiger 1963; Thompson 1992a). The new development plan once more defined the program in a form of its original three phases. One Dyna-Soar glider would now make 20 airlaunches from a B-52C aircraft to determine slow-speed approach and landing characteristics, obtain data on lift-to-drag ratios, and accumulate information on the operation of the glider’s subsystems. On four of the airlaunches, the acceleration rocket would power the glider to a speed of Mach 1.4 and a height of 70,000 feet to gain data on flight characteristics at low supersonic velocities (Directorate of Systems Plans 1957). According to Moore and Lamar’s calculations, the first air-launch would occur in September 1964, with the final drop taking place in July 1965. Following the air-launch programs, two unmanned orbital groundlaunches would occur. These would verify the booster-glider system for piloted flight and demonstrate the feasibility of the glider’s design at hypersonic velocities. The Titan IIIC would propel the glider to a velocity of 24,490 feet per second. After fulfilling its single-orbit mission, the vehicle would land at Edwards Air Force Base. Finally, eight piloted single-orbit flights would follow to further explore and refine the Dyna-Soar flight pro-

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file as well as lay the foundation for testing specific military subsystems to perform future operational missions. The first piloted flight was scheduled for November 1965 while the last manned orbital mission would be in the beginning of 1967. Col Moore believed that ‘this schedule represented the earliest possible launch dates’ while still remaining within the 115 million dollar FY 1963 ceiling set by Lt Gen Ferguson on 27 December 1961 (ibid). On 25 April 1962, ASD commander Lt Gen Davis forwarded the system plan to Gen Schriever for approval. In line with DDR&E Brown’s request for alternative funding proposals, Moore submitted a different funding schedule (Davis 1962a; Geiger 1963). Having forwarded the program plan to Davis, Moore and Lamar made presentations to Schriever, Keese, Brown, and McNamara. The two OSD officials believed that if the program remained within the established 115 million dollar FY 1963 ceiling, Moore and Lamar would need to reduce the development test program. In turn, this reduction would decrease the reliability of the glider system and limit the scope of the flight test program. During one of the briefings, Brown again recommended significant changes to the Dyna-Soar program. He would approve additional funds closer to the original funding schedule Moore proposed to insure further development testing. Surprisingly, Brown also requested multi-orbit missions, ‘a request that increased its military potential [for reconnaissance, logistics, and anti-satellite missions] while it added additional considerations for onorbit supplies’.14 His decision renewed the old debate regarding the attributes of Davis’ boost-glider and Ritland’s lifting-body approach to a manned military space capabilities vehicle. Because officials of Ritland’s affiliate, Aerospace Corporation, enjoyed easy access and a close relationship with Brown, Moore and Lamar would once again need to begin preparing a defense for their program. On 14 May, Moore and Lamar completed a revision to Dyna-Soar’s latest system plan; they expanded the wind-tunnel program, adding flutter tests for the glider, and contemplated more work on the heat-resistant ability of certain sections of the glider, including the ceramic nose cone. Lamar believed ‘further refinements to the glider design and dynamic analysis of the air vehicle vibration’ were also necessary (ibid; Directorate of Systems Plans 1957). Furthermore, he scheduled additional testing of the glider’s reaction control, environmental control, and guidance systems. He also initiated a more comprehensive reliability program for the glider and its communication and tracking systems as well as analysis to reduce the weight of the glider’s subsystems while lengthening the ‘truck’ (the section between Dyna-Soar’s transition structure, an adapter section from the glider to the booster) and the Titan IIIC transstage (ibid). For Moore and Lamar, multi-orbital missions seemed a logical and relatively inexpensive addition to the basic program. These missions could be scheduled for the fifth or sixth ground-launch. Such a demonstration, in the

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opinion of the program director and his chief engineer, would ‘facilitate our refinement of the military missions inherent to piloted spaceflight’ (ibid). Multi-orbital missions, however, would require a modification of the guidance system, an increase in the reliability of all subsystems, and an additional de-orbiting unit. Previously, a single-orbit Dyna-Soar mission did not require a de-orbiting system, largely because the flight profile was actually a ballistic trajectory (ibid). Before Brown and McNamara acted on these revisions, Col Moore and Lt Gen Ferguson agreed on an additional designation for Dyna-Soar that reflected the ‘experimental nature’ of the first step of the program – X-20. In keeping with the administration’s blackout policy, McNamara had directed Air Force secretary Zuckert to create a numerical designation for Dyna-Soar, such as the X-1, X-15, and so forth in his February memorandum. John B. Trenholm, Jr., Moore’s assistant director, asked if he could come up with a number for Dyna-Soar while retaining its more popular name, Dyna-Soar. Moore had agreed (Geiger 1963).15 On 26 June, a DoD news release explained how this new designation described the experimental character of the first phase of the program. It did so without mentioning a military follow-on (DoD 1962). By the middle of July, Ferguson had secured OSD approval for Dyna-Soar to stand with X-20 (Geiger 1963). While only a symbolic victory over OSD’s determined effort to strip Dyna-Soar of its military missions, it kept everyone’s hopes for a military follow-on alive. In addition to Dyna-Soar’s redesignation, arguments concerning satellite overflights frequently occurred throughout 1962 at international meetings, conferences, and in the media. The Soviet position suggested that America’s satellites represented aggressive actions; therefore, a Soviet military response would be a legitimate act of self-defense. The Soviet Union’s technological capabilities for space operations made the possibility of space reconnaissance becoming illegal an option. If this occurred, the Soviets could justify shooting down American satellites just as they had done with Francis Gary Power’s U-2 in May 1960 (US Congress 1963a). The outlawing of reconnaissance satellites would force the US to limit severely, maybe even end, its highly classified and compartmented satellite programs. In turn, such a space law would hamper America’s ability to monitor Soviet military developments and make the US vulnerable to surprise attack (Steinberg 1983). For this reason, the administration could not allow an interruption in the flow of information provided by the NRO’s reconnaissance satellite network (US Congress 1961c; Missiles and Rockets 1962). Meanwhile, State Department discussions in the UN increased awareness of the potential arms-control benefits of reconnaissance satellites and reasserted the American position: peaceful uses of outer space included Earth observation (US Congress 1962c). Howver, the perceived similarity between military and civilian uses of space, coupled with the administra-

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tion’s continued desire to pursue a space-for-peace policy, kept military programs under close scrutiny in mid-1962, especially controversial programs like Dyna-Soar. When the Soviets launched their own reconnaissance satellite, Cosmos 4, on 26 April 1962, mutual intelligence gathering capabilities covertly warmed East-West relations. Now both nations could watch the strategic arms developments of the other from the high ground of space without publicly admitting it. From these developments the State Department considered correspondence between Khrushchev and Kennedy as an indication that the Soviets would respond favorably to American restraint in defensive military space operations (ibid; US Arms Control and and Disarmament Agency 1963). The implications of American restraint coincided with McNamara and Brown’s views. They felt ambivalent about a military role in space because, according to them, ‘the requirement for military operations in outer space’, like Dyna-Soar, ‘is not clear at the present time’ (US Congress 1962b, f). Instead, a building-block approach should be implemented to meet any possible contingency. Such an incremental approach would ‘develop technological capabilities to meet possible contingencies’ should a need for defensive military space weapons be justified (US Congress 1962f). In addition to identifying specific requirements, these efforts would shorten any time lag in full-scale development. This policy publicly restricted Dyna-Soar to a research role, despite the fact that the Air Force had already defined its specific requirements for manned military space operations, while it privately signaled OSD’s approval for Ozzie Ritland and Aerospace Corporation president Ivan A. Getting to investigate their less publicized lifting body approach to controlled re-entry for military missions (Salkeld 1961). Congress, delighted by the success of Glenn’s February flight and later by Commander Scott Carpenter’s 24 May flight, began to lose interest in pursuing a vigorous re-examination of the separation of roles and missions between NASA’s and DoD’s space programs.

Conclusion By mid-1962, the situation reverted to what it had been before the Air Force attempted to push for a re-examination of the civil–military relationship in nation’s space operations. Despite the service’s aerospace doctrine, it would not get a larger portion of the nation’s space program. Deputy secretary of defense Roswell L. Gilpatric told a Senate committee in 1962 that the defense department would remain conscious of the need to ensure the US’ technological parity, or superiority, with the Soviet Union’s military space capability, but ‘an arms race in space will not contribute to our national security. I can think of no greater stimulus for a Soviet thermonuclear arms effort in space than a US commitment to such a program. This we will not do’ (Gilpatric 1962).16 DoD officials would continue to support the national objective of space-for-peace and the proven stability of the NRO’s

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automated diplomats (ibid). Additionally, Brown’s deputy, John H. Rubel, believed ‘we have not evolved any very new ideas for military operations in space during the past several years’ (Rubel 1962a, b). Such ideas might be forthcoming, but the technical and policy decisions concerning the development of these systems for military use in space would not be made on what he termed general or philosophical grounds ‘or in furtherance of [the] abstract doctrinal concepts’ of the Air Force. To Rubel, doctrinal abstracts ‘do not translate well into new programs and projects. Here technology takes over and technology … tends to obsolete such concepts and abstractions rather than the reverse’ (ibid). The deputy DDR&E’s statements about Air Force doctrine and the development of new technology combined with McNamara’s refusal to accept Gen White’s doctrinal assertion that those who control space will control the world. When asked to comment on the Air Force chief of staff’s statement, McNamara replied, ‘I don’t understand what he means ... I have heard of no space weapon in concept form or otherwise which offers potential greater than other weapons in our inventory’ (Us Congress 1963h). DDR&E Brown echoed McNamara’s beliefs, ‘I do not see a way, for example, in which space can be controlled to the extent that one can prevent ballistic missiles from being fired here [in the US] from space going through space and coming down there. If a country could do that it would indeed be in a fair way to control the world, and we continue to work on ideas that might have that effect. But I think in the end it is not going to be feasible’ (ibid). Brown also made it clear that OSD fully supported the language and intent of the 1958 Space Act and would not preempt areas designated for NASA. In fact, he observed, ‘DoD’s planned space efforts for the following year would be much smaller than NASA’s’ (Brown 1962).17 Predisposed to maintaining a sanctuary doctrine for the NRO’s space-based reconnaissance, OSD officials were not about to tolerate any deviations from the administration’s space-for-peace policy or jeopardize the existing civil-military space policy relationship. On 14 June 1962, the president also commented on civil-military relationships. Responding to a correspondent’s question, Kennedy said the existing mix between civilian and military space efforts, with NASA as the primary player, should continue. As a result, the Air Force’s efforts to win a larger role in space and to modify the space-for-peace policy came to an end, at least temporarily (New York Times 1962). With Glenn’s orbital flight pre-empting the international prestige factor as a political justification for Dyna-Soar, Congressional support to use the program as part of an expanding Air Force sponsored military space program began to erode as well. Once again, civilian officials within the OSD were poised to mold the program solely in a research mode, denying its military utility by refusing to fund its Step II military phase or recognize its military potential. Five months after he verbally sanctioned a broad-based research approach for Ivan Getting’s Aerospace Corporation to examine far-Earth

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geosynchronous military missions with a lifting body concept, McNamara publicly identified his purposes for a manned military space initiative. It would establish the technology and experience necessary for manned space missions, rendezvous with uncooperative targets, demonstrate maneuverability during orbital flight and re-entry, achieve precise recovery, and ensure the reusability of these vehicles with minimum refurbishment. In order to achieve these objectives McNamara offered to support three programs. The orbital Dyna-Soar research program would provide the technological basis for a high degree of maneuverability on-orbit, re-entry, and for precision recovery. A cooperative effort with NASA’s Gemini program would provide commonality between the agencies as each sought to achieve rendezvous experience and on-orbit maneuverability. Finally, a manned space laboratory to conduct sustained tests of military subsystems would be useful (McNamara 1962b). From April 1959, when former DDR&E Herbert F. York altered the priority of the military objectives of Dyna-Soar’s 1957 development plan, through the program’s December 1961 redirection, DoD officials had been placing major emphasis on the development of a research vehicle. In spite of intensive comparative studies with SAINT II and Gemini vehicles, the central purpose, from DoD’s perspective, remained unchanged. Indeed, by February 1962, McNamara had officially directed new nomenclature to conform to the administration’s blackout policy and to focus the public’s attention on Dyna-Soar’s Step I hypersonic research. Nevertheless, Moore and Lamar remained determined to sustain the spirit and intent of the original program. As such, to them, the redirected program appeared ‘as a reversal of the research-oriented three-step approach of York to a new approach that centered on the orbital Step II military objectives’.18 While the older three-step program defined military objectives for Steps II and III, the defense department’s desires for the Dyna-Soar program (under York’s guidance) consisted of a Step I experimental glider for suborbital flight. Similarly, York’s replacement, Harold Brown, also refused to embrace the military objectives offered by Moore and Lamar, although McNamara’s sanction of orbital flight did mark an advance over the threestep approach inasmuch as orbital and multi-orbital flights became established objectives of the new development plan’s ‘first’ step. Nevertheless, to McNamara and other OSD officials, the program remained centered on a research vehicle. Only through their proposed building-block approach, where a research vehicle represented the first block, could Dyna-Soar proponents gain an opportunity to explore the military missions they had consistently defined and refined over the past decade. Even then, as Brown had stated, OSD officials would not be willing partners to the transition of a research program into an operational weapon system. Although Lt Gen Ferguson selected Maj Gen Davis’ boost-glider rather than Maj Gen Ritland’s lifting-body as the beginning building-block, despite McNamara’s verbal backing of Aerospace Corporation president

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Ivan Getting’s approach to far-Earth military missions, the interagency battle between the two institutions slowed the development of hypersonic flight. Yet, the acrimony between them did not end with the Air Force’s decision to go with Dyna-Soar. Ritland was responsible for Dyna-Soar’s booster, the new Titan IIIC. As OSD leadership placed more importance on the Titan IIIC’s ability to launch a large payload, Dyna-Soar’s value as the booster’s first payload would be superseded. The defense secretary’s officials would subordinate Dyna-Soar to the Titan IIIC by supporting Ritland’s refusal to modify the booster to meet the needs of the spaceplane. Capacity to launch a heavier, more sophisticated, second-generation reconnaissance satellite for the NRO came before Davis’ need to modify the booster for Dyna-Soar or to advance the booster’s development schedule to meet Dyna-Soar’s. Knowing the intelligence capabilities of NRO’s reconnaissance satellites, the ability of NASA to place a man in orbit, and the promise of NASA’s Gemini program to perform some military requirements in space, McNamara began to question the need for a separate Air Force-sponsored manned spaceflight program. To defense department officials, the Air Force’s vision of a military space mission was inverted. The Air Force wanted routine operational access to space before it proved what a man could do on orbit that a machine could not. The Air Force faced a Catch22. How could it demonstrate a military requirement for a man-in-space before it had the opportunity to construct a vehicle capable of placing a pilot on orbit to prove his, and the spaceplane’s, capabilities? Ultimately, Dyna-Soar proponents would have to prove their point by quantifying and qualifying Dyna-Soar against a myriad of space systems they knew little, if anything, about.

Chapter 7

The Dyna-Soar cancellation

McNamara: What can the X-20 do that SAMOS can’t do? Lamar: I don’t know. I’m not cleared for the program. McNamara: Well, you should be (conversation between Secretary of Defense McNamara and Director, Dyna-Soar Engineering, William E. Lamar, 23 October 1963 at Denver, CO (Moore 1963c, d).

William Lamar could not have known anything about the operational details of the NRO’s SAMOS reconnaissance satellite unless someone in OSD told him. As a highly classified and compartmented program, it officially did not exist after the administration initiated its black-out policy in January 1961 (Burrows 1986; Richelson .1990). Defense department officials had not informed Lamar or any of the Dyna-Soar program managers because they did not believe they had a need-to-know, even though SAMOS’ reconnaissance capabilities directly competed with Dyna-Soar. If Moore or Lamar had known about the capabilities and limitations of the NRO’s reconnaissance satellites, they could have used the information to highlight Dyna-Soar’s unique abilities to complement SAMOS in the performance of its strategic space reconnaissance mission. Instead, the secrecy surrounding all reconnaissance satellites after January 1961 handicapped Lamar’s attempts to properly place Dyna-Soar within the administration’s space-for-peace policy. Meanwhile, the NRO’s highly classified first-generation reconnaissance satellites, notably CORONA, began to provide critical strategic information to the Kennedy administration, making more sophisticated secondgeneration reconnaissance satellites even more desirable. In turn, McNamara continued to control funding strictly, insisting that all military space programs conform to his definitions and support his arguments for commonality between DoD and NASA manned space programs. Because McNamara quantified and qualified America’s strategic superiority over the Soviet Union, his concerns about manned military spaceflight centered more on comparative studies to obtain what he considered to be the most efficient and economical use of the nation’s space resources, rather than on

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the manned military spaceflight programs the Air Force doctrinally justified or on the development of a military space program to meet what the service considered to be a high priority threat. While the public knew about Dyna-Soar’s development, it did not know that the administration continued to give the NRO’s unmanned reconnaissance satellites the highest developmental and operational priority. Nor would the public, or Dyna-Soar proponents, soon learn about the NRO’s programs because the administration continued to compartmentalize the flow of information about these national technical means of verifying Soviet intentions. Consequently, it would be impossible for proponents of a publicized program like Dyna-Soar to compete fairly with secret programs for the same military space mission. This methodology was apparent when deputy DDR&E Rubel assured officials of the Air Force’s Scientific Advisory Board that had convened to review the service’s 5-year space plan that they would receive little OSD support. As far as the defense department was concerned, the plan ‘failed to justify the requirements, that the “building blocks” approach of current programs was adequate for DoD needs, and the OSD had to limit its space budget to current levels’ (Cantwell 1966). Rubel’s judgment was based primarily on information from the black world of NRO’s spy satellites. Rubel made it quite clear: a national space program existed, not an Air Force space program. All Air Force space activities would be conducted within the framework of an overall DoD space agenda. Consequently, it was inappropriate for the Air Force to be pursuing space objectives on its own (ibid). Moreover, OSD officials did not believe the Soviet threat in space warranted the Air Force’s 5-year plan (Futrell 1974). Regardless of their beliefs, the Soviets were proceeding nicely with their hypersonic boost-glide research. In March 1963, they launched the second full-scale mockup of their hypersonic glider (Rudenko 1993). Air Force Chief of Staff LeMay and his predecessor, General White, made public statements about the Soviet’s threat in space, emphasizing America’s need for inspecting and, if necessary, eliminating Soviet satellites – manned or unmanned. LeMay believed the Soviets would deploy military space systems, as they had done with other weapon systems, when they found them feasible and advantageous. ‘Whatever we do’, he warned, ‘the Soviets have already recognized the importance of these new developments and they are moving at full speed for a decisive capability in space. If they are successful, they can deny space to us’ (US Congress 1962f). The Soviets might orbit a nuclear weapon and detonate it in space or direct it to a target on Earth. Based on this forecast, Air Force planners believed the Soviets could soon intercept and possibly damage an American satellite by using space tracking systems and surface-to-surface missiles. Nevertheless, they also believed the Soviet Union – while continuing to exploit space for polit-

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ical and psychological purposes – would not acquire an effective offensive weapon system before 1970 (US Congress 1963a). LeMay realized that waiting until 1970 would be too late to prepare for this sort of Soviet threat. ‘A military capability for defense’, he strongly emphasized, ‘is the product not only of technology, but also of training and operational experience … [I]f an unforeseen threat emerges in the new medium of space, months or years will be required to devise, develop, and render operational the necessary defense against the new threat’ (LeMay 1963b; US Congress 1963e). The US needed to develop the capability to counter the anticipated threat of the 1970s now. Secretary of the Air Force Zuckert supported LeMay in his belief that the Air Force could redeem its hypersonic research and development hopes of the 1950s. Over the past few years, the Air Force had laid a solid foundation for the space defense systems of the future. Still, the service had a long way to go in developing those systems. The window of time to move from a developmental to an operational level could not be lost. Ready capabilities – not a technology base of building blocks – constituted deterrence, which meant that the Air Force had to convert its space technology base at once (US Congress 1963a). Because they knew exactly what military missions the Air Force envisioned for Dyna-Soar, the defense secretary’s officials refused to embrace them and continued to consider the program solely a means of obtaining research data on maneuverable hypersonic re-entry while demonstrating the ability to make a conventional landing at a preselected site (HQ Air Force 1961f). McNamara had his own agenda for a national military space program. He considered the establishment of a technology and experience base for manned space missions the immediate building block to future systems, if they should be needed. Dyna-Soar would provide an initial technological and experience base. Only with a space station would the Air Force obtain an operational military system (McNamara 1962b). LeMay, on the other hand, felt Dyna-Soar offered more than just research opportunities. The capability of returning from space in a precise, maneuverable, pilot-controlled manner was fundamentally important to the conduct of practical and routine manned military space operations. Subsequently, Dyna-Soar was ‘vigorously supported by the Air Force because it provide[s] the most promising approach to such a capability. It is our considered judgment that the problem of precision return will some day have to be resolved’ (US Congress 1964a). Indeed, LeMay saw DoD’s sanction of the program’s new development plan as an advancement over the three-step approach inasmuch as orbital, and even multi-orbital, flights (operational functions of the reconnaissance-based mission of Step II in the older development plan) became established objectives. In fact, he believed Dyna-Soar could operate as a ferry vehicle for a larger military space system based on the concept of routine access to an Air Force space station.

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In spite of the service’s pronouncements, McNamara continued to question the program’s military objectives. Ironically, he now told Moore and Lamar to direct their hypersonic program back towards its originally planned military missions or it would be terminated in lieu of another approach to a manned military space system. During the Phase Alpha studies of 1960 and the Manned Military Space Capability Vehicle studies of 1961, the maneuverable re-entry approach of the hypersonic glider had been compared with other re-entry proposals and systems. On these two occasions, both the Air Force and DoD eventually agreed Dyna-Soar was the most feasible approach, although DoD leadership insisted on emphasizing the Step I research phase of the program while cautiously allowing studies of the military systems for Steps II and III but forbidding their development. In the 1963 evaluations, Dyna-Soar would not be as fortunate. McNamara took another significant step in defining his manned military space program in 1963: he directed a comparison between the DynaSoar and Gemini programs in order to determine the one with the greatest military value (McNamara 1963a). The importance of Gemini loomed even larger a few days later when DoD completed an agreement with NASA for the Air Force’s participation. Following a Dyna-Soar program review in March 1963, McNamara further clarified his redirection of manned military space operations in light of the Gemini comparison. On the way home from the Seattle briefing, he related his thoughts to Air Force assistant secretary for research and development Brockway McMillian, ‘he was concerned that in the Dyna-Soar project we were putting too great an emphasis on controlled re-entry when we didn’t know what we were going to do in orbit. He felt the first emphasis should be on what missions can be performed [specifically, satellite inspection, reconnaissance, defense of space vehicles, and the introduction of offensive weapons in orbit] and how to perform them, then worry about re-entry at a later date’ (McMillan 1963b). DDR&E Brown countered saying, ‘just about the time you decided what you want to do in orbit would be just about the time you will need to reenter in a controlled way’ (ibid). Clearly, insinuates McMillian, McNamara was also concerned about whether these missions should be manned or unmanned, whether the cost justified both the Gemini and Dyna-Soar programs, and whether some sort of test bed in space was necessary in order to test out concepts related to manned space flight as well as concepts and subsystems related to manned flight. He suggested the Air Force take as long as 6 months to determine the optimized test bed for military space. In truth, however, McNamara already believed that a space station concept, mutually developed under the terms of the Gemini Planning Board Agreement with NASA and serviced by a liftingbody ferry vehicle, was the most feasible approach (ibid). Nevertheless, McMillian directed Lt Gen Ferguson and Gen Schriever to organize stud-

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ies concerning Dyna-Soar and Gemini contributions to these four on-orbit missions (McMillan 1963a).

Alternatives to Dyna-Soar Prior to these deliberations, deputy secretary of defense Roswell L. Gilpatric advised Col Moore on 6 July 1962 that defense department officials would fiscally limit Dyna-Soar to 135 million dollars for FY 1963 and that the Air Force should make every effort to maintain future funding at that level. Re-emphasizing OSD’s view of the program as ‘solely a research project’, Gilpatric made it clear that, should restricted funding force technological choices, the Air Force should ‘emphasize research data’ rather than push for an early launch date. Six days later, Gen LeMay approved a Military Orbital Development System (MODS) development plan prepared a month earlier by Gen Schriever and Lt Gen Ferguson (Space Systems Division 1962a). At the same time, Gilpatric initiated a program definition study and created a MODS System Program Office (SPO) within Gen Schriever’s AFSC. Furthermore, the deputy secretary of defense directed Lt Gen Ferguson to seek 14.7 million dollars in emergency DoD funds to support FY 1963 efforts (ibid; Futrell 1974). A program change proposal justifying the expenditures called for the acquisition of an orbital station system to assess the capability of men, material, and techniques of performing military space missions. The proposed MODS would have three major elements: a Gemini-based station module and logistics support vehicle as well as a launch vehicle (Space Systems Division 1962a; Hansen 1987). To accomplish military objectives, the Air Force planned four launches of the station module and 12 of the logistical support vehicles. Crew rotations would be every 15 to 30 days, gradually extending to year-long rotations. By March 1967, the station would begin operations (Space Systems Division 1962a). As Gilpatric shaped his vision for manned military space operations, Lt Gen Ferguson informed Gen Schriever of McNamara’s conditional approval of the 14 May revision to Col Moore’s system development plan for DynaSoar on 13 July 1962. Additionally, the secretary of defense subordinated the program to Maj Gen Ritland’s Titan IIIC booster by stipulating that DynaSoar’s development schedules would have to be compatible with the Titan IIIC’s development milestones rather then the reverse. In a final statement, he said Dyna-Soar would get the first suitable Titan IIIC booster only if ‘no higher priority program intervenes’ (HQ Air Force 1962). Air force participation in Gemini Taking his cues from deputy defense secretary Gilpatric, Colonel Wilton H. Earle, Maj Gen Keese’s deputy director for development planning, sug-

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gested Gen Schriever expand his earlier proposal for Air Force participation in Gemini by making it part of the preliminary phase of MODS on 13 August 1962. Colonel Earle dubbed this proposed phase of MODS ‘Blue Gemini’ (Futrell 1974). Earle described Blue Gemini as ‘an early opportunity to advance manned military spaceflight’ by taking advantage of NASA experience and hardware (ibid). Blue Gemini would allow Air Force pilots to obtain operational experience, undertake specific military experiments on-orbit, and make preliminary strategies for manned military space operations. This series of proposed Blue Gemini flights would produce a cadre of engineering officers, pilots, and contractors who would understand the problems of launching a manned vehicle on a military time schedule, operating it in space, then returning by para-glide to a landing site selected by the pilot. Such results could be directly applied to future Dyna-Soar and MODS missions (Space Systems Division 1962b). Blue Gemini would never progress beyond the proposal stage, partially because a unified DoD-NASA position for it did not develop and partially because other political and program developments overshadowed it. Some Air Staff officials such as Lt Gen Ferguson preferred Blue Gemini, as did McNamara, because it would fly 2 years before Dyna-Soar and could be developed in conjunction with NASA. While Dyna-Soar remained the next logical step in the minds of most Air Staff officers – especially the chief of staff – its first manned ground launch would not take place until mid-1966, approximately the same time period proposed for MODS initial operation. Rather than wait 2 years, key Air Force research and development officials, like Lt Gen Ferguson and assistant secretary for research and development Brockway McMillan agreed that the Air Force should take advantage of Gemini technology, pending the arrival of Dyna-Soar or any other Air Force system (Futrell 1974). Yet Gemini hardware posed problems for the Air Force. How far could the Air Force go with Gemini technology before it jeopardized Dyna-Soar or the missions subordinated to NASA? While participation in Gemini could give the Air Force significant experience in space during 1963–1966, it might also weaken the Air Force’s case for Dyna-Soar (Space Systems Division 1962a, b). Interestingly, NASA would abandon this idea for Gemini in 1964, temporarily consider it for Apollo, and then mostly forget about it (Hansen 1987). While Ferguson and McMillian contemplated the virtues of Gemini, a problem arose because of OSD’s decision to the launch Titan IIIC with a five (rather than four) segment solid-fuel motor. This combination, tentatively approved, created excessive maximum dynamic pressure for DynaSoar during its boost phase. Although other alternatives presented themselves, as Gen Schriever’s deputy commander of aerospace systems, Lt Gen Estes refused to modify the Titan IIIC development schedule by altering the booster (its growing importance as an essential booster for the NRO’s reconnaissance systems could not be compromised). Consequently,

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aeronautical systems division commander Maj Gen Reugg was forced, as Waymond Davis had been before him, to modify Dyna-Soar’s design to accommodate Ritland and his space systems division officials. Dyna-Soar needed to be reinforced to withstand the increased dynamic pressure. Naturally, this slowed its development, ballooned the costs by approximately 5.4 million dollars, and increased the glider’s weight by about 500 pounds (Gerrity 1962). By 20 August 1962, DDR&E Brown had informed Air Force chief of staff LeMay that the Air Force’s FY 63 budget for space activities would not be increased. Defense priorities for research and development, testing, and evaluation programs would be based on the following three criteria: clearly defined military needs, technical feasibility, and relative cost effectiveness. On such a basis, it would be difficult to justify any increase in funding for space. In spite of McNamara’s redirection of Dyna-Soar to a new booster earlier in the year, he still had not approved or funded the Titan IIIC. Because Dyna-Soar was scheduled to ride the fourth development launch of the booster, official flight dates for the spaceplane could not be determined (HQ SSD 1962). Nevertheless, based on a tentative Titan IIIC schedule, Moore and Lamar completed another system development plan on 10 October. Still containing general references to the military aspects of the program, the plan described Dyna-Soar as ‘a manned research and development program of an orbital military test system capable of demonstrating hypersonic maneuverable re-entry and completing a conventional landing at a selected site’.1 Although tentative, the new development plan proved compatible with the Titan IIIC schedules. Therefore, on 15 October 1962, Lt Gen Ferguson issued System Program Directive 9, initiating research and development of the space booster on 1 December 1962 (Directorate of Systems Management 1962d). As Moore and Lamar completed what they hoped would be their final system development plan, McNamara’s deputy director for defense research and development began to spell out OSD’s space philosophy. In an interview for Missiles and Rockets, John Rubel reminded his readers that the Department of Defense was not a ‘Department of Space’, and that defense space projects must further a basic defense mission. Because Air Force leaders had, since 1952, envisioned a hypersonic boost-glider within the context of the service’s fundamental missions and within its doctrine of flying ‘higher, faster, and farther’ than the next generation of the enemy’s capability, Rubel noted: We [OSD officials] have not evolved any very new ideas for military operations in space during the past several years. Such ideas might be forthcoming, Rubel emphasized, but technical decisions [should the mission be performed by a manned or unmanned system] and policy

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decisions [should the US put its existing reconnaissance satellites at risk by developing additional military hardware for space operations] decisions concerning the development of systems for military use in space were not being made on ‘general or philosophical grounds or in furtherance of [the Air Force’s] abstract doctrinal concepts … Doctrinal abstracts such as ‘sea power’ or ‘air power’ or ‘aerospace power’ are often useful for analysis and discussion of the patterns as history reveals them. But these doctrinal abstractions do not translate well into new programs and projects (Haggerty 1962; Rubel 1962b). Because ‘technology tends to obsolete such concepts and abstractions rather than the reverse’, doctrine could not, according to Rubel, tell us ‘what we ought to do’ in the future (ibid). When McNamara was asked to explain what Rubel meant by his reference to ‘doctrinal abstractions’, he replied, ‘Mr. Rubel believes that if we develop weapons systems for space, they are likely to be new weapons systems, not merely extensions of current weapons systems designed primarily for earth-bound use’ (ibid). Regardless of whether Dyna-Soar could be considered evolutionary or a revolutionary, McNamara was not going to let the Air Force’s doctrinal vision of ‘aerospace power’ determine what OSD developed as the next generation of space system. New systems must be feasible and worthwhile in relation to urgency and effectiveness, and not in relation to doctrinal assertions like former Air Force chief of staff Gen White’s statement that ‘those who control space will control the world’ (US Congress 1963a, h). Indeed, McNamara could not imagine any new technological development of importance and had heard of ‘no space weapon in concept form or otherwise which offers potential greater than other weapons in our [existing] inventory’ (ibid). By late September, Dyna-Soar/Titan IIIC interface problems and ASD/SSD management problems produced a change in program development ground rules. McNamara’s February 1962 guidance called for minimum changes in Dyna-Soar with additional costs borne by Lt Gen Estes’ Titan IIIC office. However, the first major test of the secretary of defense’s guidance, the plan to go with the five-segment solid rocket motor, resulted in a reversal of McNamara’s instructions. Additionally, Estes’ decision to eliminate the Titan IIIC’s fins (with the change supported by his contracted research associates in the Aerospace Corporation) also caused difficulties. Boeing engineers flatly rejected the decision, a decision made without the coordination or concurrence of either Lamar at the DynaSoar SPO or Harry Goldie at Boeing. Goldie and his engineering team did not believe Estes’ or Getting’s assumptions about the Titan IIIC’s structural rigidity in flight. Basing their opinions on ‘hours of wind-tunnel tests that showed the Titan II did distort with the Dyna-Soar glider as its payload’, Goldie believed the Titan IIIC would also distort (ASD Field Test

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Office 1962; Davis 1962b; Directorate of Systems Management 1962c; Lamar 1963a).2 Consequently, like the Titan II, the Titan IIIC would need fins. In the absence of fins, stabilization would depend entirely on the booster’s flight control system, a modified version of the Titan II guidance system. As Bill Lamar recalls, ‘Goldie did not believe that this would be sufficient. OSD, however, overruled his argument’. These modifications caused unacceptable slippage in the Titan IIIC’s development schedule (ibid). Although ASD commander Maj Gen Ruegg submitted Moore’s revised plan to Lt Gen Ferguson on 12 October 1962, it never received command endorsement. While these organizational changes occurred, Air Force officials attached additional importance to MODS. As Lt Gen Ferguson formally approved the plan on 9 November 1962, secretary Zuckert identified it as one of the four major space efforts for which he sought special funding from McNamara, in spite of DDR&E Brown’s specific rejection of Air Force chief of staff LeMay’s 20 August request for additional Air Force space program funding. Specifically, Zuckert sought an additional 363 million dollars in FY 1964 funding beyond his existing space budget for four projects: MODS, Blue Gemini, MIDAS, and the unmanned SAINT. In requesting 75 million dollars for the orbital system in 1964, when nothing had been originally authorized, Zuckert argued that MODS would provide distinct advances beyond Dyna-Soar and Blue Gemini, allowing DoD officials to resolve many of the uncertainties concerning manned military applications in space. In asking 102 million dollars for Blue Gemini, also originally unauthorized, the secretary argued it would be an essential ‘stepping stone’ to achieving an orbital space station. While NASA’s Gemini operations would be useful, they could not substitute for actual Air Force operational experience with its own vehicles. For the other two systems, Zuckert argued for increased funding to speed their development (US Congress 1963h; Cantwell 1966; Futrell 1974). Following Zuckert’s lead, Lt. Gen. Ferguson told the Aviation Writers Association convention in Dallas, TX, that ‘only MODS could give the Air Force the promise – indeed, the confidence – of overcoming the outstanding technical problems associated with manned spaceflight within a single program’ (Cantwell 1966). Such a program would be a national rather than departmental effort, carried out under DoD management and DoD funding with assistance from NASA. This would, in fact, follow McNamara’s desires for commonality between NASA and DoD systems, giving the nation an opportunity to explore manned lunar landing while also advancing manned near-Earth exploration. As secretary Zuckert and Lt Gen Ferguson attempted to meet McNamara’s desires for commonality and a manned military space program for the Air Force in the near-term, a shift accorded in the administra-

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tions thinking about the Soviet threat. The Kennedy administration had come into office with the self-evident belief that, due to Republican neglect, the US was in danger of losing a space weapons race with the Soviet Union. At the height of his presidential campaign on 10 October 1960, Senator Kennedy had voiced these fears declaring, ‘We are in a strategic space race with the Russians, and we have been losing. Control of space will be decided in the next decade. If the Soviets control space they control earth, as in past centuries the nations that controlled the seas dominated the continents’ (US Congress 1959a). Ironically, such fears of the Soviet’s technological superiority had already begun to erode within the Eisenhower administration and eroded further when Kennedy officials saw the photographic evidence of the CORONA satellites during his administration. By late 1962 and early 1963, the superiority seemed to disappear. As Senator Richard B. Russell (D- Georgia) observed, ‘When Khrushchev pulled [his missiles] out of Cuba [following the Cuban Missile Crisis in October] it settled any issue in my mind as to where superiority is today’ (US Congress 1963h). Secretary McNamara agreed, ‘I think all of Khrushchev’s actions indicate the conclusion that he knows we can completely destroy his society today should he attack us from the ground, sea, the atmosphere, or space’ (ibid). In this milieu of strategic thinking and McNamara’s growing desire for commonality with NASA hardware, secretary Zuckert and Air Force chief of staff LeMay would find their arguments for any ‘blue-suit’ manned space system coolly received. Reconsidering the hypersonic approach In November 1962, as McNamara’s commonality strategy began to take shape, OSD officials considered restricting Dyna-Soar’s FY 1963 and 1964 funds to 130 million and 125 million dollars instead of the previously stipulated level of 135 million for both years (Cooper 1962). Col Moore told Gen Schriever that nothing less than 135 million dollars would be sufficient for FY 1963, ‘If anyone proposed further reductions, those reductions would be based on their lack of understanding for Dyna-Soar’s requirements’ (Air Force Chief of Staff 1963; Geiger 1963; HQ AFSC 1963a). Furthermore, an increase in FY 1964 funds would be necessary, raising the figure to 147,652 million dollars. As Moore debated funding issues, Congressman Albert Gore, Sr. (DTennessee) replied on 3 December 1962 to a Soviet U.N. resolution attacking US reconnaissance satellites (this was 2 months after the Kennedy administration successfully avoided a nuclear war over Soviet missiles in Cuba). In his address Gore stated that the US would take whatever steps were ‘necessary and consistent to avoid an arms race in outer space’ (Us Arms Control and Disarmament Agency 1963). DoD took the first of these steps by canceling one of its anti-satellite programs, SAINT. With this ini-

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tiative from DoD, Air Force officials felt other space weapons might meet a similar fate. Still, they did not believe arms control agreements would eliminate the need for all space weapons systems. Confident in its estimates of military necessity and the administration’s understanding of the dual nature of the program, Gen LeMay felt Dyna-Soar would survive, if sufficient funding could be maintained. As OSD canceled SAINT, AFSC vice-commander Lt Gen Estes (Estes relinquished his position as deputy commander of aerospace systems at Air Force Systems Command [AFSC] on 3 October 1962), directed the establishment of a manned spaceflight review committee to examine all aspects of the Dyna-Soar test program, including its relationships to various AFSC agencies (HQ AFSC 1962c; Moore 1963a). Brig Gen Glasser’s committee initially convened on 3 and 23 January as well as 5 February 1963. While they made no formal decisions at these meetings, the members discussed several critical points of the overall DynaSoar program. Although the Test Support Panel seemed to favor the location of a single flight control center at Edwards Air Force Base, it became quite clear how much such a move impinged on the organizational interests of the Air Force Missile Development Centers, the Space Systems Division, and the Air Force Missile Test Center. Additionally, Glasser emphasized another central problem confronting the Dyna-Soar program: the open conflict between Maj Gen Funk’s Space Systems Division and Maj Gen Reugg’s Aeronautical Systems Division for control of the only existing Air Force manned space program (Geiger 1963). The committee’s Organization and Management Panel offered some solutions to this problem. First, management of the program by HQ AFSC would have to be altered. Like the Titan IIIC program, Dyna-Soar should be placed under the guidance of Maj Gen Ritland, Gen Schriever’s deputy to the commander for manned spaceflight, rather than remain a part of the Designated Systems Management Group under the direction of Gen LeMay’s deputy chief of staff for systems and logistics, Lt Gen Thomas P. Gerrity (Gerrity had assumed the position on 30 June 1962 when he relinquished his command of the Ballistic Systems Division to Maj Gen Waymond A. Davis). Equally important, the panel strongly recommended reassigning the entire program to Lt Gen Estes’ Space Systems Division. Committee chairman Brig Gen Glasser did not favor such a radical solution. Instead, he thought a single AFSC division should be made the arbiter for both the Titan IIIC and Dyna-Soar programs (ibid). While designating his deputy for manned spaceflight as a headquarters point of contact for Dyna-Soar on 9 May 1963, Gen. Schriever altered the structure of the program’s test force by directing Maj Gen Funk to name the director for Dyna-Soar’s orbital flights. Additionally, the flight control center would be located at the Satellite Test Center, Sunnyvale, CA, a Space Systems Division asset. At the end of July, Schriever also assigned responsi-

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bility for the program’s air-launch phase and overall pilot training to Maj Gen Funk. Gen Schriever, however, did emphasize Maj Gen Reugg’s responsibility for the development of Dyna-Soar. (Schriever 1963a, b).

Stressing commonality Although the Air Force had undertaken a manned military space study in 1961, McNamara did not give his complete blessing to a specific military space mission – or a particular program to fulfill any of the planned missions – for the Air Force. While the 1961 study compared the Dyna-Soar glider with a SAINT II lifting-body, secretary McNamara also became interested in the military potentialities of NASA’s two-man Gemini spacecraft. In his 23 February 1962 memorandum, the secretary of defense had expressed his interest in using Gemini to demonstrate manned rendezvous of other spacecraft, an essential ‘building block’ of future ASAT operations (McNamara 1962b). With this perception of Gemini’s potential in mind, in January 1963 McNamara ordered another review of Dyna-Soar and its comparative relationship with NASA’s Gemini spacecraft. He expressed ‘particular interest in considering the [military] relationship of Dyna-Soar to Gemini and the extent to which the former will provide us [OSD] with a valuable military capability not provided by the latter’ (McNamara 1963a, b). He also asked for a comparison of the Titan IIIC to various alternative launch vehicles, specifically NASA’s Saturn series. McNamara stressed the importance of economics through this kind of commonality. He considered it a real danger for the nation to spend 800 million dollars a piece on two comparable, although admittedly not identical, programs. ‘It appears to me’ suggested the secretary of defense, ‘that the Gemini is advanced beyond the Dyna-Soar in technique and technology and potential. There is no clear requirement, in my mind, at the present time for manned military operations in space … But were we to require manned military operations in low earth orbit, it appears to me that the Gemini approach is a far more practical approach …’ (US Congress 1963a). Because Gemini promised to be operational about 2 years earlier than Dyna-Soar, ‘the future of the [Dyna-Soar] program is in doubt, in my mind, because [Gemini program] events appear to have overtaken it’ (US Congress 1963g). Neither the unique maneuvering capabilities of DynaSoar nor its cost effective contributions toward routine access to space and hypersonic flight research really mattered. This reasoning led McNamara to seek an agreement with NASA to allow more Air Force participation in NASA’s Gemini program. DoD would not only participate in the program but would also financially assist in the attainment of Gemini objectives (McNamara and Webb 1963). While he argued against the existence of a clear military need for either spacecraft, McNamara continued to concede

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‘the possibility of a military requirement for operations in near-Earth orbit’ and the inherent need for some ‘building block’ program to be developed (DoD 1963; US Congress 1963d, i; Futrell 1974). Therefore, he became anxious for either Dyna-Soar or Gemini, whichever program could be developed first, to fulfill this contingency. For their part, Gen LeMay considered the civilian orientation of NASA’s Gemini technology, and the similar technology generated from its follow-on program – Apollo – incapable of providing the depth and breadth of information offered by Dyna-Soar. These programs were not slated to develop the military technology required for future manned military operations in space. Lt Gen Ferguson sidestepped the chief of staff’s concerns about Dyna-Soar by proposing a 177 million dollars allocation of the FY 1964 DoD budget for at least two additional programs: the Blue Gemini and MODS. Yet, McNamara considered these new military space programs a ‘duplication’ of NASA’s Gemini program and excluded them from the department’s January 1963 budget requests submitted to Congress (US Congress 1963a, c, d). As questions about Dyna-Soar’s comparative worth circulated within DoD, NASA, and the media, Lamar and Goldie pushed up Dyna-Soar’s timeline for military missions by integrating the Titan IIIC’s transtage into Dyna-Soar’s configuration and lengthening the aft portion of the vehicle’s transition section to form a truck. These engineering changes increased Dyna-Soar’s useable payload volume (from 75 cubic feet to 1000 cubic feet), its on-orbit time, and its on-orbit maneuverability (Rotelli 1965b). When the glider’s flight simulations exhibited large elevon hinge moments well beyond the hydraulic system’s capability to react and large directional instabilities at small yaw angles, Lamar and Goldie modified the vehicle’s straight top body lines by introducing a body ramp at the top, rear portion of the fuselage, just in front of the transition section. The body ramp corrected both deficiencies (ibid). Additionally, they believed these modifications highlighted the military potential of the boost-glider’s multi-orbit capability and created a more favorable comparison to Gemini. By the end of February 1963, Gen Schriever had compiled a position paper on the Dyna-Soar program for the Air Staff. Schriever offered six alternative positions: maintain the present Dyna-Soar program, reorient to a lower budget through FY 1964, accelerate the flight test programs, reinstate a suborbital phase, expand the program further – exploring technological and military objectives – and, finally, terminate the program. The AFSC commander recommended continuation of the present Dyna-Soar and Titan IIIC programs (Geiger 1963). After reviewing Gen Schriever’s input and those of several Air Staff agencies, Gen LeMay and the Air Staff Board formed their recommendation to McNamara by beginning with a strong, unequivocal statement in support

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of Dyna-Soar: Dyna-Soar ‘is considered the single most important USAF development project’ (as quoted in Cantwell 1966; emphasis added). In his cover letter to secretary Zuckert the Air Force chief of staff stated: The termination or stretch-out of this program should not be considered in ‘trade’ for DoD approval of alternative Air Force manned space vehicle programs. The X-20 and Gemini are complementary, not competitive, and the X-20 will provide major extensions to areas of technology of importance to future military systems. These extensions are not provided by the ballistic re-entry approach as represented by Gemini. As you [Zuckert] know, NASA is on record in support of these views. The presentation being prepared on these subjects to be given to Secretary McNamara during his forthcoming trip will treat in detail the significant differences in the technical approaches and objectives of these two programs (LeMay 1963a). As the Air Force’s sole heavy lift booster, the Titan IIIC should also proceed as planned. Interestingly, in forwarding Gen LeMay’s 2 March letter and the Air Staff’s review paper to McNamara on 11 March, the secretary of the Air Force did not echo the chief of staff’s vigorous defense of Dyna-Soar. Indeed, he remained completely neutral. On the other hand, he repeated his earlier belief, one that McNamara staunchly supported: that the Air Force should seek the maximum possible benefits from NASA’s Gemini. Additionally, he concurred with McNamara’s wish to review the whole man-in-space issue, not to eliminate the piloted option in favor of an automated machine, but to reconsider the politically viability of the two manned programs (Futrell 1974). Outside the service’s hierarchy, the Air Force chief of staff received welcome support from NASA officials. Drs Raymond L. Bisplinghoff, the director of NASA’s Advanced Research and Technology Office and Milton E. Ames, chief of its Space Vehicle Division, as well as Dr John V. Becker, chief of Langley’s Aero-Physics Division, were among the principal NASA engineers who helped prepare a joint Air Force-NASA statement in conjunction with Air Force assistant secretary for research and development Brockway McMillan. Essentially, the NASA engineers believed ‘if the Air Force did not develop the X-20 someone else would have to pursue it, or something similar’ (Becker 1998). From its inception, they felt Dyna-Soar held the promise of advancing the state-of-the-art in maneuverable hypersonic re-entry vehicles. Even though its influential participation was gradually reduced throughout 1961 (culminating in a low point with McNamara’s December 1961 decision to go directly to orbital flights), NASA continued, as Becker states, ‘as a largely inactive nominal partner, completing the tests to which we were committed’ (ibid). NASA engineers

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considered Dyna-Soar as a tool for advanced hypersonic research – a role they considered the backbone of the program. Redirecting manned military space operations While presenting the Air Force’s position on space to congressional committees early in 1963, Lt Gen Ferguson reminded his listeners that even though the Soviets faced formidable free-world air, sea, and land defenses ‘the advent of human space activity exposes an open flank’ in which ‘Soviet strategists may well hope to attain strategic ascendency’. The deputy chief of staff for research and technology also placed great emphasis upon the importance of man as an essential element of future space systems. ‘We firmly believe that manned operations provide more assurance of mission success because of the proven ability of man to reliably cope with unanticipated military problems. In addition, military equipment gains flexibility and capability and at the same time is less complex with a human operator onboard. Finally, we can think of no way to build into automated military equipment the determination of a military man to perform his mission in spite of unforeseen obstacles or national deficiencies’. While he felt a manned military space station would be the ‘important building block’ in the overall Air Force space program, Ferguson stressed that the program had an even more important objective, ‘[t]he goal of manned military space operations is the ability to launch into orbit with minimum delay, to perform the required mission, and quickly return to a secure area, preferably in the US. Such operations, to be effective, must not be limited by restrictive recovery plans as are used by Mercury and Gemini. Reliable and routine recovery of the pilot and his reusable spacecraft with its special equipment is a must’ (US Congress 1963c, h). Based on this concept of operations, Ferguson, with the complete support of chief of staff, judged Dyna-Soar a most critical part of the national space program. From his public and private statements, Air Force officials knew DDR&E Brown had personal doubts about the usefulness of man in space. McNamara shared these doubts: [a]s for the requirement for a manned military operation in space, it is not clear to me what we gain by putting a man [rather than a machine] in space for military purposes … It may be that in order to inspect properly unidentified satellites we might have to put a man in a US satellite in space. You have to put so much in space just to allow a man to exist that it greatly adds to the complexity of the operation. Today it appears to us [OSD] we can achieve military capabilities in space more quickly without a man than with a man. But as our knowledge of space operations advances this conclusion may prove false and I believe, therefore, we should have boosters with a sufficient capability

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to put into space satellites that will allow men to operate within them and we should have an understanding of the strains on the man [bioastronautics] and the extent of his capability [perform experiments rather than establish an operational capability] in that space environment (US Congress 1963h). To deputy DDR&E Rubel, the question of manned military operations was now one of taking first things first, [w]e can not define a mission in space until we had done the very first things necessary to put the man up there and find out what his functional capabilities were, what the relative costs and advantages of having him there are ... so that the first step in any [manned military space] program, even if we could define with the greatest precision right now exactly what military mission he would perform. … [we would need] to do the bioastronautics work and perform the tests and experiments necessary to get the fellows up there and find out their capabilities (US Congress 1965). To accent his public statements with an official report, deputy DDR&E Rubel conducted a companion review of Dyna-Soar. It went to McNamara on 13 March. In the document, Rubel considered the research objectives and characteristics of the program’s first, X-20, phase of development and how these related, in his opinion, to other military and civilian programs – specifically Gemini. He asked, ‘[h]ow important, really, are the X-20 objective more particularly, how much is it worth to try to attain these objectives? What would be lost if the project were canceled and its principle objectives not attained on the current schedule, or at all?’ (Rubel, as quoted in Cantwell 1966). Rubel’s document dwelt extensively on the Dyna-Soar’s single distinguishable feature: its hypersonic maneuverability upon re-entry. He did not consider its ability to perform future military missions in his review. Regarding the two basic capabilities flowing from this singular feature, the capability of flexible re-entry and a conventional landing at a number of pilot-selected sites, Rubel wrote them off as not immediately important, operationally or fiscally. He attributed greater importance to the capability of exploring hypersonic flight, where he found a historic pattern to the extension of knowledge and flight capabilities. Rubel viewed DynaSoar, as NASA viewed Dyna-Soar – as part of a long continuum of exploratory advances in high-speed flight, not as a step toward an operational weapons system capable of routine assess to space (ibid). The deputy DDR&E recommended four options to McNamara. First, continue the program’s first phase of development at a level of 125–135 million dollars annually for the next few years. Secondly, increase 1963 and 1964 funding to permit multiorbital flights at the earliest possible date.

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Thirdly, return to the suborbital hypersonic research objectives. Finally, terminate Dyna-Soar but continue research and development on materials, configurations, automatic controls, and other components as appropriate. In discussing these alternatives, Rubel suggested ‘any funding level below $125 million, even with scheduling stretch-outs, would mean the X-20 should be canceled’ (ibid). Ultimately, Rubel believed that OSD should consider whether it wanted to invest large sums of money, time, plus the labor of thousands of scientists and engineers, to explore hypersonic flight or whether it wanted to use these resources some other way. With the Air Force and DDR&E opinions in hand, McNamara began an on-site review. In mid-March, he visited several AFSC locations, plus the Martin and Boeing plants. The Boeing visit, on 14 and 15 March, made quite an impression, opening his mind to the Air Force’s way of perceiving DynaSoar, not as a research vehicle but as an operational space vehicle. Indeed, the 2 days of Air Force and NASA briefings crystallized his thinking on the subject, but not in favor of Dyna-Soar. On the return trip to Washington, the secretary of defense stated he was ‘concerned that in the Dyna-Soar project we were putting too great an emphasis on controlled re-entry when’, in his opinion, ‘we [OSD officials] didn’t even know what we were going to do in orbit’ (McMillan 1963a). McNamara felt the first emphasis should be on what missions can be performed in orbit and how to perform them, then worry about re-entry at a later date. Conversely, DDR&E Brown still believed when the decision was made on what you wanted to do in orbit you would need the ability to re-enter the atmosphere in a controlled way (ibid). In his letter to Air Force secretary Zuckert, assistant secretary for research and development Brockway McMillan stated it was clear Dr Brown now recognized large lateral mobility on re-entry as planned for Dyna-Soar (and later demonstrated with the space shuttle) would provide flexible mobility. It would be possible to re-enter from several orbits rather than wait until the vehicle, such as a Gemini capsule, would be over the landing point. What was the Air Force to do? Use a Gemini spacecraft to land a military mission in the ocean like NASA? The Air Force did not have its own fleet of ships and the associated costs would make such a practice ridiculously expensive for routine military missions. Dyna-Soar would be reusable and would not need to rely on a large ocean-based recovery support structure. The boost-glider’s ability to re-entry on-demand would be an important prerequisite for performing routine military mission (ibid). Through both days of briefings McNamara argued over whether or not the military space missions highlighted by Dyna-Soar program manager Col Moore and chief engineer Bill Lamar could best be performed with manned or unmanned systems. Ultimately, he wanted a further comparison between Dyna-Soar and Gemini in the light of their ability to perform the four military missions he deemed worthy of careful examination: satellite inspection, satellite defense, reconnaissance, and the orbiting of offensive

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weapons (McNamara 1963c). Of these, he was insistent that inspection, destruction, and reconnaissance were the most important. McNamara unquestionably felt ‘we will have to have some kind of test bed in space – presumably manned – in order to test out concepts related to manned spaceflight as well as concepts and subsystems related to unmanned spaceflight’ (McMillan 1963a). He wanted the assembled Air Force leaders and program representatives to take as much as 6 months to study what would, in the long run, be the optimized test bed – not operational system – for these military space missions. Ultimately, the secretary of defense believed a military space station serviced by ferry vehicles would provide the optimum solution and was determined to bring those studies under purview of the Gemini Program Planning Board (ibid). While a shift had occurred in McNamara’s thinking about Dyna-Soar – it could do more than research; it could perform military missions – his shift in thinking did not change his feelings about Dyna-Soar’s unique capabilities. Establishing the means for the military (and NASA) to gain routine access to space was not as important to McNamara as it was to the leadership of the Air Force (Estes 1963a; HQ Air Force 1963a). On 27 April 1963, McNamara discussed his desires for commonality, cooperation, and the national space program with NASA administrator Webb. Both agreed that neither would explore the field of near-Earth orbit, not even studies, without the consent and cooperation of the other. Indeed, a DoD-NASA planning group under the Aeronautics and Astronautics Coordinating Board (AACB) existed to monitor DoD-NASA studies in the area. As Webb pointed out, ‘the AACB’s Manned Spaceflight Panel was currently investigating the best method of developing a coordinated manned orbital space station effort’ (Cantwell 1966). Responding to OSD On 10 May 1963, an Air Force Systems Command (AFSC) committee composed of program managers and engineers from their aeronautical division, their space division, and the Aerospace Corporation completed Gen Schriever’s response to secretary McNamara’s directive for a comparative review. The committee felt ‘the existing Dyna-Soar program could be rapidly, and with relative economy, adapted to test military subsystems and operations’. They believed this for several reasons. Dyna-Soar’s existing 75cubic-feet payload capacity, its power supply, and its cooling ability would all be sufficient for testing a large number of military components. Furthermore, the vehicle’s orbital duration could be extended to as much as 2 weeks (Deputy for Technology 1963). Indeed, Dyna-Soar re-entry technology ‘is mandatory in order to achieve operationally effective military space capabilities’ (ibid). Additionally, ‘the X-20 with only minor adaptations can be utilized to test reconnaissance,

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inspection, and other military subsystems. To improve on-orbit maneuvering and payload capacity enough to permit adequate tests of complete missions systems in possible future programs, or to perform limited operational missions, unnecessary weight must be eliminated by a series of modifications which have been identified and are technically and economically reasonable’ (ibid). The boost-glider would provide greater flexibility during re-entry and, unlike Gemini, would be more cost effective because it could return the military subsystems to Earth for examination and reuse. Concerning reconnaissance missions, committee members thought Dyna-Soar would develop low-orbit operational techniques and refine existing ground-object identification capabilities. The research data from the program would also verify the feasibility, design, and employment of glide bombs. The boost-glider’s on-orbit maneuvering and on-demand quick-return abilities made the program valuable for the development of satellite defensive missions as well. Because the glider’s deceleration occurred slowly during its hypersonic re-entry, it would provide a safe physiological environment for the transfer of personnel from space stations and for other logistical missions. Last, a significant amount of information for the development of future maneuvering re-entry spacecraft would be obtained from the Dyna-Soar program (Deputy for Technology 1963). The committee then considered a series of Gemini launches conducted by the DoD using the Titan IIIC. With a payload capacity of only 10 cubic feet, the committee felt that the 5000 pound Gemini capsule would need an additional mission module (the largest test module considered had a volume of 700 cubic feet). Considering a six-flight program beginning in July 1966, with flights following at 5-month intervals, an inspection test flight program would total 509 million dollars. A reconnaissance flight test program would cost 474 million dollars (ibid). As a result, Gen Schriever’s committee recommended the incorporation of a series of experiments into NASA’s Gemini program. These experiments would lead to the eventual testing of military subsystems. The main advantage of the Gemini vehicle was its lighter weight. Consequently, it could carry more fuel for orbital maneuvering or carry a larger payload in its new mission module. The inherent advantages of Dyna-Soar were its reusability and maneuverability during re-entry. Such qualities meant it would have more landing site options and would be ready to fly again in a short period. With the inclusion of its truck extension to the transtage the boost-glider’s payload capacity expanded to 1000 cubic feet and its mission duration increased to 14 days. Based on these discussions, the committee recommended a series of military experiments for Gemini and additional flights for Dyna-Soar. While both systems could be modified to perform reconnaissance, inspection, satellite defense, and logistical missions, neither would directly provide a means of introducing offensive weapons into earth orbit.

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On 22 May, Maj Gen Ritland forwarded this report to Lt Gen Ferguson. Gen Schriever’s deputy for manned spaceflight recommended that the Dyna-Soar program be continued because of the contribution its hypersonic maneuverable re-entry could make for possible military missions. Air Force participation in the Gemini program, however, should include the establishment of a field office at the NASA Manned Spacecraft Center in Houston to insure that military experiments became a part of NASA’s program (Directorate of Systems Management 1963a, b; HQ AFSC 1963b; Jones 1963; Ritland 1963). The report would not be forwarded to McNamara until 5 June. Another system development plan was completed on 27 May. While Moore and Lamar retained the same funding rates as their 13 May proposal, they revised their flight schedule to conform with the contractor’s new construction estimates. Secretary of the Air Force Zuckert gave his approval to this system development plan on 8 June 1963; however, McNamara did not accept the recommended funding (Directorate of Systems Management 1963c, e). Furthermore, 2 weeks later, the secretary of defense notified Col Moore he would not accept the program manager’s 27 May funding proposal for FY 1964. On the other hand, McNamara approved the incorporation of Air Force experiments into NASA’s Gemini program. He then informed secretary Zuckert of his manned military program policy decision. Because the cost of concurrently developing these systems would be prohibitive, he would minimize the number of projects by instituting a policy of commonality within the entire national space program. As such, McNamara wanted Zuckert to submit a comprehensive integration plan to the defense secretary’s office, one that ‘assured the integration of the Air Force’s study efforts with Gemini’ and provided McNamara with an additional basis for making overall program decisions on manned military space programs specifically and military space missions in general (as quoted in Cantwell 1966). At the end of FY 1963, Air Force aspirations for a manned military program would depend greatly on Zuckert’s response to McNamara’s request for commonality. Based on the secretary of defenses’ previous inclinations, there would be a military man-in-space test bed program; yet, while the Air Force’s relationship to Gemini, the extent of the service’s participation in that NASA program and the role of Dyna-Soar all seemed to be open questions, McNamara’s bias in favor of a greater Gemini role would insure some type of military space station remained in the forefront. Consequently, Gen LeMay and Gen Schriever sought Zuckert’s approval to initiate another planning study to refine military requirements for an orbiting military space station, but Zuckert delayed action. In light of McNamara-Webb’s 27 April agreement, he believed ‘a national (joint) program would emerge’ (ibid). Meanwhile, assistant secretary for research and development McMillan had forwarded Maj Gen Ritland’s response to McNamara. He noted that

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neither Dyna-Soar nor Gemini, as defined by their existing configurations, would produce an on-orbit operational capability. Growth would be possible in both, but this would increase costs. McMillan asserted that he could not find any unwarranted duplication. Each program explored a unique aspect of space technology and neither could meet all of the objectives of the other. He urged the energetic continuance of Dyna-Soar, insisting that the boost-glider represented the only effort underway to explore hypersonic flight and maneuverable re-entry while offering the military advantages implicit in these characteristics, a complimentary reconnaissance, satellite inspection and destruction, as well as logistics capabilities beyond Gemini: The existing X-20 program will provide techniques for manned maneuverable re-entry and recovery, with the ability to initiate recovery at will, to land at a pre-selected base, to recover self-contained payloads for immediate examination and reuse, and to refurbish and reuse the spacecraft itself; all of which are essential to an economic and militarily sound space posture … The reconnaissance mission area offers the most likely prospects for operational use of the growth version of the X-20, due to the X-20’s operationally desirable de-orbit, re-entry, and landing characteristics. The flight options afforded the pilot by the great lateral range of the X-20 type craft enhances the probability of mission success during peace time by reducing dependence upon weather and upon reaching a fixed safe landing spot [like the Gemini capsule required]. While quick termination of an on-orbit mission is a desirable characteristic of the X-20, there is nothing to prevent an X20 from continuing in orbit during many circumnavigations of the earth. During war time the ability to terminate a flight quickly in order to minimize on-orbit exposure to enemy actions and the ability to maneuver to a base with a preferred security, survival, or command posture could be of inestimable value (McMillan 1963c). Equally important to McNamara’s equation of commonality, ‘NASA’, stated McMillan, ‘strongly supports the need for X-20’ (ibid). He also identified OSD’s managerial constraints (such as confining Dyna-Soar to its research status) and their fiscal constraints as factors contributing to the program’s slow development. ‘If on-orbit military mission capabilities are desired’, suggested McMillan, ‘modifications of present DoD instructions regarding that program are necessary, and additional funding will be required’ (ibid). Confident in the knowledge of America’s strategic superiority that continuing CORONA missions provided him, McNamara did not need to make a final determination on the relationship between Dyna-Soar and Gemini. Accordingly, AFSC vice-commander Lt Gen Estes cautioned Col Moore at the end of June that the secretary of defense was still studying the

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military potential of both approaches. Estes believed Moore and Lamar ‘should balance [their] position between ensuring the continuation of the program and restricting contractor actions so as to ensure minimum liability in the event of cancellation’ (Brady 1961; Directorate of Systems Management 1963d; Estes 1963b; Moore 1963e). On 27 June, the Manned Spaceflight Panel of the joint DoD-NASA Aeronautics and Astronautics Coordinating Board (AACB) submitted its recommendations to their respective officials. Although the panel had deliberated the joint roles of DoD-NASA in near-Earth orbit since 27 April, their recommendations fell far short of McNamara’s desires for commonality within the two agencies. Indeed, McNamara wanted an agreement on a complete joint course of action rather than the continued coordination and exchange of information recommended by the AACB panel. McNamara pushed for a change. By August, when the board approved the panel’s recommendations, McNamara would have another avenue open for him to attain his objectives (Cantwell 1967). By July 1963, the issue of NASA’s civilian requirements for a space station came before the National Aeronautics and Space Council, chaired by Vice-President Johnson. Realizing Johnson would not support both a DoD and NASA space station, McNamara and Webb met again. They agreed to incorporate the requirements of both agencies for a space laboratory under a single Manned Orbital Laboratory (MOL) (Hansen 1987). Without consulting Air Force officials, McNamara simplified Gen LeMay’s original proposals for an Air Force space station into a program for joint DoD-NASA development (Directorate of Systems Plans 1957; Greun 1989). Since the completion of the Step IIA and IIB anti-satellite interceptor studies by Harry Goldie and his engineering team in June 1962, Moore and Lamar had, on several occasions, requested funds for more intensive military application studies. On 8 July 1963, Lamar reiterated their request during a presentation to the secretary of the Air Force Zuckert (Lamar 1963b). A few days later, Zuckert, in a meeting of the Designated Systems Management Group, directed Lamar to ‘initiate studies of the X-20’s operational applications’ (Tosti 1963). Like Moore and Lamar, Zuckert believed the program would prove invaluable to the nation’s space program.

OSD gains commonality Before the details of these refined military application studies could be completed, the future of the Dyna-Soar became tied to the DoD-NASA projected space station program. On 22 July, having previously noted – with a high degree of pleasure – the amount of cooperation between DoD and NASA on the Gemini program, vice-president Johnson raised the question of the importance of a space station to national security. Accordingly, he tasked McNamara to prepare a statement on this subject (Johnson 1963).

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The secretary of defense replied on 9 August. He firmly supported a joint DoD-NASA space station program. McNamara stressed OSD’s program requirements: multimanned orbital flights of long duration in a facility capable of allowing men to move about and perform useful tasks. Additionally, ‘it is our considered judgment that the investigation of the role of military man in space is important to national security and must be an integral part of the National Space Program’ (McNamara 1963d). Despite the numerous and detailed briefings he had received from the highest Air Force officials outlining the service’s requirements for manned military space missions, McNamara believed a clearly defined military space mission did not exist; therefore, ‘present efforts should be directed towards the establishment of a technological and experience base upon which to expand, within the shortest possible time, in the event firm military manned missions are established [to his satisfaction]’ (ibid). The present and planned NASA manned spaceflight program, supplemented by onboard DoD experiments, would provide much of the required technology base. While he did not press for the assignment of the space station program to DoD, McNamara felt the initiation of a space station would necessitate assignment of a new national mission by the president on behalf of all interests – similar to his moon landing announcement. Such a system might eventually evolve into an operational military vehicle: It could be used to develop as well as to test techniques and equipment for both manned and unmanned military missions. It is possible that significant improvement in the reliability of space hardware may accrue from the ability to operate, maintain, and modify equipment on orbit. It may be that reconnaissance and surveillance techniques could be improved by human judgment and adaptability. Experiments in survivability and defensive measures for satellites may be performed … All of these might be tested by an orbiting military development laboratory [but not, according to him, by a boost-glider]. Indeed, it is possible to conceive of significant experiments and tests to improve our capability in every type of military operation where space technology has proven, or may prove useful (ibid). The secretary of defense believed there was a ‘probability that it [the space station] will evolve into a vehicle which is directly useful for military purposes’. It could provide a platform for very sophisticated observations and surveillance, detailed studies of ground targets, and surveillance of space ‘with a multiplicity of sensors’ (ibid). Surveillance of ocean areas might aid antisubmarine warfare, an orbital command and control station could be developed, and ‘orbital bombardment does not appear to be an effective technique at the moment, new weapons now unknown may cause it to evolve into a useful strategic military tool as well as a political asset’ (ibid).

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The doctrinal insights for manned military spaceflight missions he and deputy director of defense research and engineering Rubel had been unwilling to grant to the Air Force earlier, the defense secretary now embraced as ‘requirements’ to develop a space station rather than Dyna-Soar. Indeed, the secretary’s relationship with the vice-president offered him the alternative means of achieving the kind of commonality with NASA for joint operations in near-Earth orbit he wanted, all in the name of securing future national security. McNamara then resumed his discussions with NASA Administrator Webb. After reviewing the Aeronautics and Astronautics Coordinating Board’s proposal for space station operations, he wrote to Webb suggesting they sign a new formal agreement. The secretary of defense forwarded a draft of the agreement and, on 17 August, NASA submitted a counterproposal. Although McNamara still had reservations about NASA’s alternative, he signed. In sum, the two agencies agreed that any requirements for a vehicle larger than Gemini and Apollo could be encompassed into a single program. Advanced space station studies undertaken by either would be coordinated through the board. They would also evaluate any concepts evolving from these studies. DoD and NASA would then jointly prepare a national requirement statement to include a recommendation on which agency should direct the work. Should the president decide to proceed, a joint DoD-NASA board would formulate specific objectives and approve experiments to be conducted (Cantwell 1967). In September, the Space Vehicle Panel subcommittee of the President’s Science Advisory Committee (PSAC) was formed to review a manned orbiting station. Kennedy’s Office of Science and Technology asked the Air Force to brief the subcommittee on possible military space missions, biomedical experiments, and the capability of Gemini, Apollo, and Dyna-Soar to meet future requirements of this station (Golovin 1963). Additional instructions concerning the Dyna-Soar portion of the PSAC briefing would be relayed from DDR&E Brown by Lt Gen Ferguson to ASD commander Lt Gen Reugg. Modifications to Dyna-Soar and discussions of an orbital space station should be emphasized (Keese 1963). Meanwhile, discussions on the joint space station continued between DoD and NASA. Interestingly, neither had agreed on a managing agency. Subsequently, in an October 1963 meeting between McNamara and Webb, McNamara completely bypassed Dyna-Soar, requesting a military followon to Gemini, similar to the Blue Gemini and the MODS programs proposed by Air Force leaders and rejected by McNamara earlier in the year. NASA countered by suggesting a military Manned Orbiting Laboratory (MOL). As Gen LeMay lauded the merits of using Dyna-Soar as a supply vehicle for MOL, McNamara refused to accept the Air Force’s continuing initiatives to simultaneously organize several manned military space programs (US Arms Control and Disarmament Agency 1963).

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The successful implementation of the Air Force’s refinements for manned operations as outlined by Dyna-Soar’s 1963 program plans depended less on military necessity and more on political acumen concerning yet another change in the administration’s attitude about military applications in space. In June, a Partial Test Ban Treaty had been signed in the UN after 10 days of high-level secret meetings with Moscow (because the Joint Chiefs of Staff and the Atomic Energy Commission had opposed similar agreements, they were excluded from the process and handed a fait accompli by the Kennedy administration), eliminating the detonation of nuclear warheads in space and setting the stage for additional UN action. By October 1963 UN preliminary settlement between the US and the Soviet Union had been reached renouncing the orbiting of weapons of mass destruction and finalizing these pledges in UN Resolution 1884. This was followed by the General Assembly’s adoption of a Declaration of the Legal Principles for the Use of Outer Space in December. Insightfully, Kennedy had decided that a UN General Assembly resolution was more appropriate in terms of gaining domestic American support. The president feared a treaty or an executive agreement with the Soviet Union would excite controversy. On the other hand, a UN resolution would accomplish much the same thing by publicly registering an American and Soviet agreement not to place nuclear weapons in space and restraining military advocates of such actions in both countries. Privately, the resolution secured space would remain a sanctuary for unmanned reconnaissance satellites of both nations to continue performing their vital strategic role (Garthoff 1980/81). Both nations now had operational reconnaissance satellites providing valuable intelligence information about the other and neither side wished to jeopardize this balance (ibid; Yearbook of the United Nations 1963; Steinberg 1983). Because Dyna-Soar had been initially conceived as a delivery platform for nuclear weapons and later as a satellite interceptor, two of the primary justifications for its existence had – politically – disappeared (Clements 1966). Pre-empted by conciliatory treaties limiting the military use of space, Soviet efforts to prohibit American reconnaissance satellite overflights ended when both nations tacitly accepted existing territorial overflights (Steinberg 1983). Accordingly, the key to the Air Force’s manned military space operations would lie in its ability to refine a program’s military mission to the political, economic, and social ramifications of McNamara’s quest for commonality and the evolving international relationship between the US and the Soviet Union. Dyna-Soar’s military missions A few days later, Dr Lester Lees, a nationally recognized authority on highspeed aerothermodynamics (he had been a member of the Space Systems Division’s advisory group and was highly opposed to Dyna-Soar during the

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Manned Military Space Capabilities Vehicle discussions of 1960) and chairman of PSAC’s Space Vehicle Panel subcommittee, gave additional information to Lamar about the coming presentation. Emphasis was to be on specific experiments that the Air Force could conduct with Gemini, Apollo, or Dyna-Soar, in order to provide a technological basis for future manned military space missions. Because of existing reconnaissance capabilities, Lees pointed out, ‘it was necessary not only to convince the skeptics, but also to convince a number of very objective people of the necessity of military man in space … the [doctrinal] arguments often used to justify military man in space (i.e. his decision-making capabilities, judgment, and flexibility) were inadequate and more specific reasons had to be developed’ (Lamar 1963c). The committee wanted a review of the military missions to be considered with emphasis on reconnaissance during peacetime, although Dr Lees indicated that the panel would also consider post-war reconnaissance. Interest was also indicated in the inspection mission, especially with an uncooperative enemy satellite which would be well booby-trapped, and which would take evasive maneuvers to avoid inspection. The committee wanted details on the kind of equipment required with specific examples of just what man would do in conjunction with the equipment to perform each mission. During the discussion Lees reminded everyone that ‘it is a national policy to do reconnaissance in space … It is also a national policy that we will not have bombs in orbit’ (ibid). Therefore, the committee members agreed it was not necessary for their review to include consideration of the offensive mission. The ASAT interception mission was deemed worthwhile because they wanted to have a means of meeting a threat, in the event one materialized. Interestingly, Bill Lamar noted, ‘[t]he X-20 was omitted from paragraph three (discussions of ideas on how ‘reasonable’ extensions and modifications of Gemini and Apollo might fill the requirement for developing experiments) of the original handout but [was] added as a result of my questioning the omission’ (ibid). Apparently, a decision on Dyna-Soar’s appropriateness had already been made; but no one had told Lamar, so he brought it to their attention. The briefings to PSAC on 10 October essentially covered the same comparative findings regarding Gemini and Dyna-Soar that had been made in the 10 May report to McNamara. Importantly, however, Moore and Lamar did present more details on Dyna-Soar’s logistics, rendezvous, and docking capabilities. They also presented an orbital laboratory configuration for Dyna-Soar strikingly similar to today’s Spacehab module for Shuttle. After the presentations, Lees told Lamar he had previously been against the continuation of the Dyna-Soar program. ‘Now’, Lees stated, ‘I see a definite need for the X-20’ and would no longer oppose the program (Lamar 1964). From May to September, Dyna-Soar’s supporters continuously refined their briefings on manned military space missions to the secretary of defense. Nevertheless, McNamara refused to sanction a revision of the

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boost-glider’s development plan (Brown 1963a; Directorate of Systems Management 1963f; Dyna-Soar SPO 1963; Estes 1963c; HQ AFSC 1963c, d; Moore 1963b; Schriever 1963b; Davis 1963; Trenholm 1963). By the end of October, the military missions of the Dyna-Soar capability studies that secretary Zuckert had requested in July had been completed. Lt Gen Estes informed ASD Commander Maj Gen Ruegg that Gen Schriever ‘will respond [to the 10 October PSAC review] by submitting four discrete study plans to HQ USAF [Lt Gen Ferguson]’. The AFSC vice-commander believed the first task of military experiments involving minor engineering changes to Dyna-Soar’s subsystems should be compared to a similar one employing the Gemini vehicle. Such a comparison would illustrate how Dyna-Soar’s approach offered the most economical and effective means of fulfilling the task. A second study would integrate various other studies and establish a series of specific mission models for reconnaissance, surveillance, satellite inspection, and logistical support for Maj Gen Funk’s proposed manned space station. Indeed, ‘[t]he Aeronautical Systems Division is designated lead division on Task 596608 [the first task] in order to expedite this particular task … It is very important to the Air Force that results of this effort be available in time to complement the results of [the Space System Division’s] Task 596605, Orbital Space Station Study’ (Estes 1963d; Flax 1963a). A third study would examine the future operational potential of reentry vehicles with a lift-to-drag ratio greater than Dyna-Soar’s. A final study would examine the economic implications of various modes of recovering space vehicles [X-15, Dyna-Soar, Gemini, and Apollo] from nearEarth orbit (ibid). Manned military space operations Despite Gen Schriever’s efforts to address McNamara’s concerns through these studies, the secretary of defense’s growing interest in Maj Gen Funk’s Gemini-based space station paralleled his disenchantment with Dyna-Soar. In October 1963, AFSC commander Schriever informed Maj Gen Reugg and Maj Gen Funk that McNamara intended to visit the Martin facilities in Denver, CO, on 23 October to ‘receive briefings on the status of the X-20 and Titan IIIC programs’ (HQ AFSC 1963e). In reality, the defense secretary wanted far more than a status briefing (Moore 1963d). On the appointed day in Denver, McNamara, accompanied by his deputy Roswell L. Gilpatric, DDR&E Brown, and Brockway McMillan (now under secretary of the Air Force) received the latest briefing by Titan IIIC and DynaSoar officials. At the conclusion of the Dyna-Soar presentation, Col Moore said, ‘it would be desirable to have a public announcement from his [OSD’s] office expressing confidence in the program and the intent of the Department of Defense to continue with the X-20A program’ (ibid). The Dyna-Soar program director then asked if there were any questions.

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McNamara and Brown both asked a series of questions about the need for manned military space systems. McNamara said, ‘In March we talked about the payload for the Dyna-Soar and how it could include additional experiments which could be conducted in orbit as part of the current program. We also talked about how to extend the time on orbit of the X-20. What has been done?’ (Lamar 1963d; Moore 1963d; Moore and Ruegg 1963).3 The following quotes within the next few paragraphs are from that series of questions and discussions on 23 October 1963. Moore reminded the defense secretary of the details contained in the previous briefings and white papers he had received on Dyna-Soar’s military missions and specifically of Lamar’s ability to modify the spaceplane’s capability to provide a 14-day orbit. These answers did not sway McNamara. He continued to question Moore by asking, ‘why is it necessary to conduct a manned reconnaissance or inspection mission in space and what is the relative value with respect to other kinds of systems? What experiments do you propose to conduct [to make this comparison]? What equipments should be used to conduct those experiments? What are the mission or in-orbit times required to conduct those experiments?’ Lamar stated, ‘I have not been authorized to study those particular [systems and] questions although we were quite interested in trying to get those kind of answers for the X-20 program and have done some work internally as part of the [Space Systems Division] 706 [Anti-satellite] studies and in preparation for the White Paper which you received in response to your questions on the X-20 and Gemini’. Nevertheless, Lamar presented a very detailed, mission-by-mission, briefing on exactly what a man would be expected to do, why a machine could not do the same thing, and the types of systems required to perform these missions. The chief of Dyna-Soar engineering detailed the 19,000 hours of mission simulator training the Dyna-Soar pilots had already done and why, even with this extreme amount of simulation time, it was ‘still necessary to fly in space in order to verify the inputs to the simulator’. Changing the subject, McNamara asked, ‘I want to know what is planned for the X-20 after maneuverable re-entry has been demonstrated’, even if it took a million dollars, but he insisted he could not ‘justify the expenditure of some $1 billion for a program that is dead-end. I am not interested in additional Dyna-Soar expenses until I have an understanding of what the space missions are. It seems to me that 50 to 100 of this country’s brains could be gathered together and obtain these answers at a cost of 100,000 to 500,000 dollars. It is imperative that a mission analysis be conducted in order to determine what has to be done’. Lamar replied by showing him a set of charts that illustrated why Dyna-Soar provided the fundamental technology and building blocks of future manned military missions and what those missions would be. Secondly, it also showed how Dyna-Soar, like today’s space shuttle, possessed the basic capability to test and return high value military payloads from space. Lamar also pointed out

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that many of the payloads to be tested in space might be one-of-a-kind experimental test-beds worth a million dollars and not easily replaced in a reasonable time period. Therefore, it was highly desirable and cost effective to return them from space. Thirdly, to exploit these basic capabilities and to obtain answers to McNamara’s critical questions regarding military use in space, Lamar proposed a study (like the one he had just briefed minutes before) of specific experiments, man’s functions, and means of quantitatively measuring man’s performance and the equipment performance. He reminded the defense secretary that this kind of study had already been proposed by secretary Zuckert and the Air Force secretary had authorized accomplishment of these tasks. Fourthly, ‘it is possible to modify the X-20 to improve its basic capability in space. For example, extended duration, and another crew member, and if we did this, this could improve the test capability and provide a capability to explore [operational rather than experimental] military missions and even conduct some’. McNamara reoriented his line of questioning again by stating, ‘this study simply shows how we could do a job and doesn’t answer my question on why we should do the job. What does man do other than fly the vehicle?’ Lamar explained that besides doing all the specific functions he had already described, the pilot could place the vehicle on automatic control [pilot] and thus free himself to conduct some additional tests in orbit. ‘Wasn’t’, asked McNamara, ‘the X-20 cockpit about the same size as Gemini?’ Boeing’s chief Dyna-Soar engineer, Harry Goldie replied, ‘The X-20 has a cockpit for one man [that is] larger than the cockpit in Gemini for two men and even though other equipment is in the cockpit the man [in Dyna-Soar] has a lot more room than does a man in Gemini’. McNamara then asked another series of general questions about Dyna-Soar’s ability to perform military missions over a 14 day period. When Goldie and Lamar discussed the comparative costs of a satellite inspection mission, McNamara refused to believe their 30 million dollars cost estimates. Using the estimated overall cost of the Dyna-Soar program as a base, Brown stated, ‘You want $1 billion for ten shots: that’s $100 million per shot. What can you do that is worth $100 million? What can you do that SAMOS can’t?’ Restating the last portion of Brown’s comments, McNamara specifically asked Lamar to tell him what could Dyna-Soar do that SAMOS couldn’t and followed this by repeating his belief about the lack of a clearly defined purpose for Dyna-Soar. When he finally conceded that even Dyna-Soar’s ‘once-around’ reconnaissance mission was a valuable complement to existing systems, he said ‘it can be done cheaper than $25 million (McNamara’s figure) per launch with unmanned assets’. The secretary evidently placed little value on getting the information back to a specific landing site. Nor would the Air Force’s ability to access space more quickly and routinely be worth the cost of the program. Ultimately, the secretary returned to his early statement: until he received proof of why the Air

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Force needed a man in space, he considered Dyna-Soar’s future questionable at best. In contrast, for Moore and Lamar’s proofs to be validated by the defense secretary, McNamara needed to be willing to either accept the service’s historic doctrinal justifications for why manned military missions were needed as well as the thousands of hours of ground-based tests and simulations conducted by Lamar and his engineering staff or allow the Dyna-Soar team to prove and validate the spaceplane’s worth in flight tests. Yet, a few months before these briefings, there were indications of an uncertain future for Dyna-Soar. Several boost-glider displays and activities planned for the Air Force Association convention in the middle of September had been canceled. One of the proposed events involved the continuous showing of a brief film on the nature and objectives of the DynaSoar program. Although this film was an updated version of a previously unclassified version, OSD officials refused to grant it an unclassified security clearance for the convention (Deputy Chief of Staff 1966). Furthermore, neither Dr A. C. Hall, DDR&E Brown’s deputy director for Space, nor Dr Alexander H. Flax, now the assistant secretary of the Air Force for research and development, agreed to be briefed on the necessity for manned military spaceflight by the Air Force plant representative at Boeing’s Seattle plant (Price 1963). Boeing officials became even more concerned over the future of the program after this visit and lost briefing opportunity. In addition, DDR&E Brown did not approve the release of funds for the Dyna-Soar’s range requirements at Edwards AFB, thus jeopardizing the program’s flight date of October 1965 (Estes 1963c; Deputy Chief of Staff 1966). Last, Brown, in a speech before the United Aircraft Corporate Systems Center at Farmington, Connecticut, criticized the Air Force’s manned space programs. Voicing his beliefs 6 days prior to the 23 October meeting with Col Moore, Bill Lamar and Boeing engineer Harry Goldie, he felt both the Gemini and Dyna-Soar programs had very limited abilities to answer the question of what a military man could do in space: Dyna-Soar [in its current configuration] pays for this capability [reentry on-demand to a conventional landing at a field of the pilots choice] in that the man’s access to the equipment in orbit is somewhat cramped; and it pays in limited orbit time, though its large booster – and, therefore, its large total weight – improves its capability, for example with Gemini. NASA has the Gemini program which the Department of Defense is participating on a limited scale. Gemini also has a very limited payload and a limited volume for instruments to try in space, even if man is left out – and the feasibility of this is not completely obvious. Both programs, therefore, have very limited ability to answer the question, ‘What can man do in space?’ And by themselves [in their current configurations] they produce rather little operational capability. For these reasons, both programs, or any combination thereof, should

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be shaped by the answers to the question, ‘What follows them in the way of a manned space-flight program strongly oriented to the nearearth orbit?’ In other words, it’s not clear what these two will do except show that a man can live in space and come back. They won’t show very well what [a military] man can do in space. The results of those programs should be fed into whatever follow-on there may be; no such follow-on now exists, except as a study … Indeed, unless some questions can be answered affirmatively there shouldn’t be any successor. Both those programs and their follow-on – call it NOSS [National Orbital Space Station] or something else; there’s a new name every couple of months – must face a question from the Department of Defense: What can man do for military purposes in space? Although there are a number of possibilities there are not yet clear, affirmative answers … we have to answer that question first as best we can by ground experiments and experiments in aircraft. This procedure, I think, will allow us to answer some questions about what a man can do in orbit better than machines (Brown 1963c). Importantly, interim operational capabilities could be performed by DynaSoar and, to a lesser extent, Gemini that would prove what a military man could do in space, but would these interim mission capabilities be enough to convince Brown and his fellow OSD officials? ‘There are’, said Brown, ‘a number of possible answers’ (ibid).4 One was surveillance, the capability, as Bill Lamar would detail for him in their 23 October meeting, of a man ‘to notice events against a varied background, which actually results from the combination of eye and brain that a machine doesn’t have’. A man can take a poor resolution view of a wide area from space and, ‘if an event of interest turns up, be able to shift very quickly to a much more limited area with a much higher resolution. We haven’t been able to make a machine that will do this. But a man can do this [indeed, U-2 operations and today’s shuttle astronauts have proven just how valuable these kinds observations can be]’ (ibid). Additional military missions were also addressed: ‘Are satellites best identified and attacked from the surface or space? Now, a sure identification may require a rendezvous, which is clearly something that can be done well from space and is indeed an intrinsic part of an orbital space station program. However, I think a considerable amount of identification can be done from the surface much more cheaply, although it won’t buy the same kind of certainty’ (ibid, emphasis added). While Brown already favored a space station approach over Dyna-Soar, the DDR&E felt the same way about bombs in space as he did the anti-satellite mission, ‘The same considerations that govern the value of the bomb in orbit and guidance accuracy also favor intercept by surface-launched vehicles. If you launch a vehicle from the surface, for a given booster you have better accuracy and more

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payload than if you start in space and are aiming at another satellite’ (ibid). Unless an affirmative answer that would satisfy OSD officials and the administration – rather than satisfy Air Force officials and their requirements – were found, there would be no successor to these programs. Following the 23 October meeting, participants arrived at varying conclusions concerning McNamara’s reaction to the briefing. Boeing engineer Goldie optimistically thought the secretary did not appear to be firmly against Dyna-Soar nor in favor of Gemini. Rather, he seemed ‘willing to allow the Air Force to use the X-20 as a test craft, and as a military system, if a strong case could be made for a manned military space system’ (Goldie 1963). Lamar did not believe that the secretary of defense was satisfied with their response. As such, ‘drastic consequences’ were likely if a reply could not be made (Lamar 1963d). Indeed, Col Moore stated prophetically that McNamara ‘probably would not ask again’ (Moore and Ruegg 1963).

OSD alternatives to Dyna-Soar In fact, OSD officials had no intention of asking again. On the day following the 23 October 1963 briefing, Dr Brown offered a manned orbiting laboratory program to Air Force chief of staff LeMay in exchange for the Air Force’s agreement to terminate Dyna-Soar. LeMay did not agree. Instead, he told Lt Gen Ferguson to prepare a rebuttal. In August 1963, Brown had approved an Air Force request to conduct a study of an orbital space station and had authorized a million dollars for it. Ferguson’s staff would focus on the reconnaissance mission with the objective of refining the tasks a military man could perform in space to explain why he needed to be there rather than on the ground (Brown 1963b). Before the Air Staff could complete the space station study, Brown recommended the program to McNamara in a 14 November 1963 memorandum. The DDR&E analysed varying sizes of space station systems that would incorporate either the Gemini or Apollo capsules as ferry vehicles (Brown 1963d). Concerned about Gemini’s landing methods, Brown suggested the development of ‘a low lift-to-drag ratio vehicle’ capable of performing maneuverable re-entry and conventional landings. A close associate of Aerospace Corporation president Ivan Getting and Space Systems Division commander Maj Gen Funk, Brown proposed that the Air Force expand Funk’s existing lifting-body research (the SV-5A/P unmanned and manned vehicles, respectively, of the PRIME program) and the unmanned Aerothermodynamic, Structural Systems, Environmental, Test (ASSET) program of the Aeronautical Systems Division’s Flight Dynamics Laboratory (Hallion 1998). The DDR&E suggested, ‘models of such a craft could be tested as part of the ASSET program during 1964 and 1965’. He estimated an improved ferry vehicle could be available for later station tests. The total for this more sophisticated vehicle program would amount to 443 million

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dollars for FYs 1964 to 1968 (Brown 1963d). Interestingly, he knew the rest of the Dyna-Soar program would be less than or equal to this cost and achieve the objective sooner. Dr Brown’s recommendation to secretary McNamara was brief and to the point: cancel Dyna-Soar and begin development of a new manned military space station (Cantwell 1967). Additionally, Brown believed management of the Gemini program should be transferred from NASA to the DoD by October 1965. Ironically, he would later criticize Air Force officials for suggesting this very same concept because changing the management and disposition of a NASA program fell outside the power of OSD (Brown 1963d). Discussions between NASA and DoD officials throughout November made it clear that the space agency would agree to a coordinated military space program, but it was not prepared to support a joint national space station program. Instead NASA suggested a program for an orbiting military laboratory without ferrying, docking, and resupplying. Naturally, Brown advised McNamara that his space station proposal of 14 November still remained the most feasible and should be initiated (Brown 1963f). As deliberations continued, tragedy struck the nation. On 22 November, John F. Kennedy was assassinated in Dallas, TX. Had he delivered his planned speech to the Dallas Citizens Council, the Dallas Assembly, and the Research Center of the Southwest, he would have told the nation that America’s space effort ‘... is expensive, but it pays its own way, for freedom and for America. For there is no longer any fear in the free world that a Communist lead in space will become a permanent assertion of supremacy and the basis of military superiority. There is no longer any doubt about the strength and skill of American science, American industry, American education, and the American free enterprise system’ (Kennedy 1964; Launius and McCurdy 1995). America’s strategic missile build-up, its successes in the Cuban missile crisis and with the Nuclear Test Ban Treaty eased national concerns about the missile gap; equally important, the CORONA satellites were providing proof of America’s superiority every time their canisters of film were caught by one of the recovery squadron’s aircrews or plucked from the ocean by one of the recovery fleet’s crews and developed for Kennedy’s review. The president’s continuing efforts to negotiate additional arms control and space exploration agreements with the Soviet Union focused DynaSoar’s military mission on its reconnaissance abilities, placing the Air Force in direct conflict with the NRO and its highly classified and compartmented black reconnaissance satellites and their follow-on programs. A topic only obliquely broached during McNamara’s 23 October meeting with DynaSoar officials in Denver. Now, former vice-president Johnson resided in Kennedy’s place. The new president wanted to see the report he had requested on the merits of a national space station and the pace of

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McNamara’s quest for commonality between DoD and NASA hardware. Sensing the conflict between DoD and NASA over a national space station, on 30 November Brown suggested to McNamara that he offer NASA a proposal for a separate military space program rather than a joint effort. While NASA countered with a simplified Gemini approach, it by no means concurred with OSD’s proposed termination of the Dyna-Soar program. Associate administrator for advanced research and technology, Dr R. L. Bisplinghoff, reiterated the importance of developing the technology of maneuverable hypersonic vehicles with high-temperature, radiatively cooled metal structures. Test facilities or simulators could not recreate a similar lifting re-entry environment. Consequently, Dyna-Soar flights would be necessary to provide such data. Regarding commonality, NASA had always supported Dyna-Soar through research at several of its laboratories. Should it be canceled, the space agency ‘would have to initiate a substitute program’ (Bisplinghoff 1963; Brown 1963g; Flax 1963b; Moore 1963f). The Air Force replies to OSD On the same day, in a memorandum to the secretary of the Air Force, assistant secretary for Air Force research and development Alexander Flax firmly disagreed with Brown’s 14 November memorandum recommendations. Flax knew OSD officials refused to seriously consider Dyna-Soar as an element in any of the space station proposals. He emphasized the need for modifications in both the Gemini and Dyna-Soar to complement any space station program. Furthermore, Dyna-Soar offered several advantages: the vehicle could make emergency landings without the costly deployment of air and sea elements, there would be a more tolerable force of vehicle deceleration during re-entry, and it would be cost effectively reusable. Additionally, its technology would not only support the development of future re-entry vehicles – including Brown’s proposal to the Space Systems Division for a lifting-body ferry vehicle – but it would also support an entire generation of new hypersonic winged-vehicles. Because about 400 million dollars and thousands of hours of testing had already been expended on the Dyna-Soar program, the assistant secretary severely questioned any proposal to cancel Dyna-Soar and initiate a new, unproven, program with similar objectives. While he endorsed Brown’s purposed space station program, Flax believed the decision to begin such a program was independent of the question to terminate Dyna-Soar (ibid). Immediately, secretary of the Air Force Zuckert forwarded Flax’s 1 December memorandum to McNamara, noting that it represented the best technical advice available. Both he and Brockway McMillan agreed with Flax’s position. Indeed, secretary Zuckert did not wish to see the Air Force abandon a well-established program such as Dyna-Soar and start a new program based on an ‘optimistically compiled set of schedules and costs’

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created by the program’s rivals for a manned space mission at the Space Systems Division (Hester 1963; Zuckert 1963a). With a Dyna-Soar approach to a space station program, it would not be necessary to have a separate program for an improved ferry vehicle. Therefore, Maj Gen Hester recommended the initiation of a space station program employing the spaceplane and, if economy became an issue in the national space program, the cancellation of the Gemini program, and allow NASA to complete its objectives (like the Gemini Program Planning Board was facilitating with Gemini) through experiments on Dyna-Soar (ibid). On the next day, Zuckert forwarded Hester’s memorandum to McNamara. The Air Force secretary felt the Air Staff study ‘clearly indicated no definite reason existed for omitting the X-20 from consideration as a re-entry vehicle for the manned orbiting laboratory program’ (Zuckert 1963a; McDougall 1970; Rudenko 1973; Newkirk 1990; Kirpil and Okara 1994).5 He considered the safety and cost advantages Dyna-Soar offered for long-duration orbital missions particularly important. Zuckert believed the Dyna-Soar alternative ‘deserved serious consideration’ (ibid).

OSD cancels Dyna-Soar On 8 December 1963, a rumor circulated around the Air Staff: DoD was reducing Dyna-Soar FY 1964 funds from 125 million to 90 million dollars and the program would get no money at all for FY 1965 (Deputy Chief of Staff 1966). The next day, OSD officials conferred with the president. In meeting with McNamara, deputy defense secretary, Roswell Gilpatric, chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, General Maxwell D. Taylor, secretary of state, Dean Rusk, budget director, Kermit Gordon, presidential science advisor, Dr Jerome B. Wiesner, and Wiesner’s assistant, McGeorge Bundy, the president made an extensive and thorough review of military spending and forecasted what it would be for years ahead. Repeatedly emphasizing his desire to curb military spending, Johnson looked for opportunities to make cuts. As vice-president and chairman of the NASC, Johnson had enthusiastically supported the civilian space program as an instrument of national prestige and technological growth. He also championed a military space program. Yet, as president, Johnson faced a different set of decisions. Under strong political pressure to hold FY 64’s budget to 103 billion dollars, he asked McNamara to reduce defense spending by five billion a year through 1967. The skepticism of OSD officials about the military need for DynaSoar, an opinion supported outside OSD by Wiesner and other presidential science advisors, offered the defense secretary an opportunity to implement a decision he had reached well before Kennedy’s assassination. He suggested the cancellation of Dyna-Soar. The new president agreed. As

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such, Johnson’s first space policy decision was in full countenance with his January 1962 national space policy statement and its economic ramifications (New York Times 1963b, c). On 10 December, McNamara announced the cancellation of the boostglide program. While the cancellation of Dyna-Soar was a severe setback for the Air Force, the secretary of the Air Force and the Air Staff now pragmatically viewed the loss as a reduction of one program in an overall system of manned military space operations (Haugland 1963). Although McNamara questioned the need and architecture of their system at every turn of its evolution, in the wake of Dyna-Soar’s cancellation, he gave tacit approval for the development of a Manned Orbiting Laboratory (MOL) based on Gemini technology and for continued research on a ferry vehicle, albeit a lifting body rather than a boost-glider. Not completely believing a need for an operational military space station truly existed, McNamara saw MOL solely as a research building block for the investigation of manned space operations (New York Times 1963c). Ultimately, he had not wanted Dyna-Soar to become an operational system; consequently, he would not want MOL to become an operational system. The secretary of defense also said there would be an ‘expanded ASSET program (a part of Brown’s 14 November memorandum)’ to explore a wide range of manned and unmanned re-entry shapes and techniques (ibid). By taking the Gemini approach to a military space program, McNamara estimated 100 million dollars would be saved in the following 18 months. In the news conference, the defense secretary publicly explained his reasons for canceling Dyna-Soar: The X-20 [Dyna-Soar] was not contemplated as a weapon system or even as a prototype of a weapon system … it was a narrowly defined program, limited primarily to developing the techniques of controlled re-entry at a time when the broader question of ‘Do we need to operate in near-earth orbit?’ has not yet been answered … I don’t think we should start out on a billion dollar program until we lay down very clearly what we will do with the product, if and when it proves successful (McNamara 1963e). The purpose of the program, according to McNamara, had been solely to demonstrate maneuverable re-entry and landing at a precise point. The Dyna-Soar vehicle was not intended to develop a logistics capability for space operations. Furthermore, the boost-glider was not intended to place substantial military payloads into space, or to fulfill extended orbital missions. In his view, ‘about $400 million had already been expended on a program still requiring several hundred million dollars to achieve a very narrow objective’ (ibid). While his explanation was inaccurate, this public exegesis would stand as the reason for the program’s cancellation.6

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A few days after the termination announcement, Brown replied to the arguments of assistant secretary of the Air Force for research and development Flax and Gen Hester in a memorandum to the secretary of the Air Force. Brown (1963g) said OSD officials had ‘carefully considered the Air Force alternatives’ before reaching their decision. They found three objections. The Air Force-recommended program involved construction of a space station as well as a new and larger Dyna-Soar. He and McNamara considered such a large step unjustified. Instead, they felt a laboratory test module and Gemini spacecraft were the logical first steps. Furthermore, the Air Force suggestion to cancel Gemini was not within the power of the DoD because it was a NASA program (yet Brown had suggested a DoD takeover after 1965, among other possibilities, in his 14 November memorandum). Last, the Air Force recommendation involved a greater degree of ‘schedule risk’ than their program. Consequently, the Air Force proposal could not be accepted as a feasible substitute for the Manned Orbiting Laboratory program (ibid). Conclusion During the early 1960s, proponents of lifting-body technology at the service’s Space Systems Division and the Aerospace Corporation competed with the proponents of boost-glide technology at the Aeronautical Systems Division to capture the Air Force’s manned military space program. As this interagency rivalry continued, McNamara and Brown redirected manned military space operations away from hypersonic boost-glide re-entry technology and towards ballistic re-entry technology, an approach initiated by General Schriever when he was commander of the space division’s predecessor, the Western Development Division. This presumably occurred because of the proven ability of ablative materials to cool a spacecraft during reentry as opposed to the unproven, but well researched, nature of radiative materials (Geiger 1963; Hallion 1998; Schweikart 1998). Ultimately, Air Force leaders found themselves forced into accepting a building block approach focused on the research of manned military spaceflight and based on proven ballistic re-entry technology or conceding all hope for a manned space program. In such an environment, hypersonic flight became a means of ferrying pilots to a research space station rather than establishing an operational military weapon system (Puckett 1963). Air Force secretary Zuckert remembered President Kennedy’s science advisor, Dr Jerome B. Wiesner (the author of the Report to the PresidentElect of the Ad Hoc Committee on Space which highlighted the critical importance of unmanned reconnaissance satellites) saying, ‘the way they have the program now, it looks to me like about 1965 or 1966 you will have a sub-orbital roller coaster ride’ (Zuckert 1964; Burrows 1986; Richelson 1990). Wiesner’s 1962 comments were glibly focused on the tech-

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nological objective of Dyna-Soar’s Step I phase and the lack of an existing booster to lift the glider directly into orbit. His focus was not on the hypersonic boost-glider’s military subsystems or operational ability, the objectives of Step II and III. Because the President ‘got his views’ from his science advisor, his opinion would be a major factor in the decision to cancel DynaSoar. Initially skeptical of the technological approach Dyna-Soar engineers had selected, Dr Joseph V. Charyk, the first NRO director and the under secretary of the Air Force, also saw Dyna-Soar as an experimental system, ‘... a logical follow-on to the X-15 in the exploration of aerospace’. Charyk’s observations strengthened the views of other officials within the OSD. In sharing his personal files with Dwayne Day (a space analyst and political scientist from George Washington University), Amrom H. Katz, a principal RAND proponent of unmanned reconnaissance satellites, seconded Charyk’s remarks when he described the competitive nature of reconnaissance systems and where RAND believed Dyna-Soar would fit into this competitive milieu. Katz saw Dyna-Soar operating in ‘a flight regime where it is being squeezed at the top and the bottom. Aircraft altitudes are going up. ... [a sub-orbital mission of] Dyna-Soar flies lower than the satellite ... but, because of the fundamental problem of [taking pictures through] the window, whether it be made of glass or quartz, looking through a hot turbulent image-distorting atmosphere, has not been adequately explored either in the literature, the proposals, or by experiment’ (Katz 1958).7 Given this scenario, Katz did not believe Dyna-Soar could compete with the automated reconnaissance satellite systems being developed by the Air Force’s Ballistic Missile Division of the Air Research and Development Command nor could it compete with the CIA’s high altitude U-2 aircraft, ‘trying to take pictures out of the Dyna-Soar will be like trying to take pictures standing over a hot stove with the shimmering fluctuating image destroying atmosphere’ (ibid). Contrary to the visions championed within the scientific community, Air Force chief of staff LeMay’s vision for DynaSoar encompassed military applications and not just basic research. In addition to specific military missions complementing national reconnaissance capabilities, LeMay believed Dyna-Soar’s ability to provide logistical support would be crucial. ‘Since space systems are extremely expensive, one of the first tasks of a manned space vehicle would be to repair equipment operating in our unmanned satellites’ (Office of Information 1963). While LeMay envisioned an important logistics role for Dyna-Soar, a role that could dictate the near-term architecture of satellite development as well as the long-term architecture of an evolutionary Dyna-Soar derivative, Eisenhower’s scientific advisors focused their attention on near-term solutions to the administration’s need for strategic intelligence about Soviet intentions. Automated satellites provided those near-term intelligence gathering solutions. Once they began to provide vital intelligence information to

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the administrations top advisors, Eisenhower then Kennedy, would not allow anything to stand in the way of their future evolution. In a round table discussion with Dr Ivan A. Getting and General Samuel C. Phillips (director of the Minuteman ICBM program in 1959), Schriever recalled Wiesner’s views about the Air Force’s ability to field new technology like Dyna-Soar and the need for these new weapon systems, ‘Jerry Wiesner, the President’s science advisor, said that we had “plateaued out” in the field of technology. You remember that. We were on a plateau’. Getting responded, ‘He wouldn’t say something as stupid as that’. To which Schriever replied, ‘He did say it. Jerry is a good friend of mine, but I had nothing but arguments with him. Over in DDR&E [Harold Brown and John Rubel], they strangled advanced development [like Dyna-Soar] for fear that advanced development would lead to a new system and they wanted to nip it in the bud’ (ibid). Phillips continued in a similar direction, ‘By then [October 1962] the Kennedy Administration, with Mr McNamara as Secretary of Defense ... was canceling a lot of programs. It was also in that 1962 period that the Secretary of Defense announced that he would approve changes exceeding $10 million. I still remember the campaign of 1959–60 that led to Kennedy’s election in 1960. The “missile-gap” was a big issue and it was a crisis. That was the crisis that sustained the Air Force, in parallel with the Navy with its Polaris, to operate with highly delegated, decentralized authority and processes to be able to get a job done. Then as you come into the 1960s, there were a different set of forces at the top [of the government] that caused priorities at the top to change and programs to be canceled and constraints to be imposed. Those constraints, in turn, then stifle the organization and its true ability, when unconstrained, to be able to get a job done’. Schriever replied, ‘Now those cancellations were not for technical reasons, but for policy reasons’ (Neufeld 1993). Again, Dyna-Soar’s operational, Step III, altitudes were always explained as orbital, not sub-orbital, and it would perform more than the single military mission of photographic reconnaissance. The original sub-orbital flight profiles were primarily planned for Step I, the basic research phase. If an orbital booster were still not available by the time Step II began, then Step IIA flights – designated for the development of the first military subsystems – would continue with a sub-orbital flight path, transitioning to an orbital booster and the development of more refined military subsystems in Step IIB. Administration officials superimposed these advanced objectives onto the near-term technology of Dyna-Soar’s Step I research hardware as they demanded that Dyna-Soar proponents prove the competitive military utility and cost effectiveness of their hypersonic boost-glider to NASA’s Gemini spacecraft and to the NRO’s unmanned reconnaissance satellites (ibid).8 Similarly, Dyna-Soar’s survival became a question of whether the research information, rather than military information, it could yield would

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be worth its cost. When McNamara went to Seattle in March 1963, Zuckert estimated the program could still be saved because of the amount of money already invested in the program and because of the program’s relationship to its Titan IIIC orbital booster. Dyna-Soar offered the nation a uniquely important capability and, once it had the capability, Zuckert felt the administration would find additional ways of using it. Yet McNamara saw the spaceplane as a research project at a time when he was not sure whether the nation needed the operational capability a mature hypersonic weapon system would offer.9 Regardless, proving the effectiveness of human operations through on-orbit research and fielding an operational weapon system are two separate issues. Air Force leaders had, from Dyna-Soar’s conception, defined the military requirements for the weapon system as they placed the program into the broader context of the administration’s national defense policy. In 1958, when the Eisenhower administration began to centralize the management of its highly classified and compartmented space programs outside the purview of the service, Air Force leaders fought to keep them, justifying their arguments in terms of their previous experience with missile development and the Soviet threat. Yet, the Eisenhower administration’s military space policy, begun in 1955 with NSC 5520, emphasized the strategic importance of automated reconnaissance satellites and the need to make their overflights internationally legal. At the same time, Eisenhower did not trust the military to develop these programs secretly and wanted no part of a space race or an arms race in space. The Kennedy administration maintained Eisenhower’s space-for-peace policy while imposing an information black-out on reconnaissance satellites and placing the US in a race to the moon. As the NRO’s reconnaissance satellites continued to provide Kennedy with critical strategic information about the Soviet Union, the Soviets began to embrace the politically stabilizing principles of mutual overflights by reconnaissance satellite. The administration’s black-out policy gave the Soviets an alternative to military action because they were not publicly embarrassed by information from America’s reconnaissance satellites. These changes to Eisenhower’s policy prompted McNamara and Brown’s reconsideration of manned military space operations. In fact, McNamara canceled Dyna-Soar largely because the program’s military missions were incompatible with the administration’s space-forpeace policy. They jeopardized international relations, the secretary of defense’s desire to establish a principle of hardware commonality within the national space program, and, at a time when the propensity of OSD officials to require comparative proof of man’s ability to meet or exceed the abilities of existing unmanned weapon systems dictated a near-term solution, Dyna-Soar’s radiatively cooled re-entry technology had yet to be demonstrated in flight. By 1963, when the US and the Soviet Union tacitly accepted the principle of mutual satellite overflight, Dyna-Soar’s Step II mis-

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sion of reconnaissance seemed to complicate, rather than complement, the on-orbit capabilities of NRO’s classified reconnaissance satellites in the eyes of OSD officials. Because Dyna-Soar had not been affected by the administration’s black-out policy, its public profile made its Step III aerospace superiority mission a political hindrance, threatening to unbalance international stability (Cantwell 1966).

Conclusion: the legacy of Dyna-Soar

... it is national policy to maintain a viable space program, not a separate program for NASA and another for Defense and still another for each of several other agencies. Likewise it is understood that the US does not have a division between peaceful and non-peaceful objectives for space, but rather has space missions to help keep the peace and space missions to improve our ability to live well in peace (Lyndon B. Johnson, Vicepresident, January 1962, Kennedy 1962). The NRO [National reconnaissance Office] is established as an operating agency … The NRO thus will be a separately organized, operating agency concealed entirely within other agencies, using personnel and other resources of these agencies on a full or part time basis as required (Memorandum for NRO Program Directors and the Director, NRO Staff 23 July 1962, Perry 1999).1

Following McNamara’s news conference on 10 December, Lt Gen Ferguson informed all Air Force commands of the termination of DynaSoar and the initiation of the Manned Orbiting Laboratory (HQ Air Force 1963b). On the same day, Gen Schriever met with some of his staff to discuss the new space station approach. He felt the orbiting laboratory and the expanded ASSET programs should be placed under the management of Maj Gen Funk’s Space Systems Division (Scoville 1963). Later, the AFSC commander tasked the chief of his Research and Technology Division, Major General Marvin C. Demler, to aid the space division in their preparation of a new expanded ASSET development plan. The objective of this program, as first pronounced by Brown, remained unchanged: the development of an advanced lifting-body ferry vehicle (Schriever 1963c). During the rise of Dyna-Soar, only a handful of personnel had been involved and a limited amount of technology. At its fall, the Air Force calculated that Boeing had completed nearly 42% of its tasks. MinneapolisHoneywell, the associate contractor for the primary guidance subsystem,

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had finished 58%, and RCA, the associate contractor for the communication and tracking subsystem, had completed 59% of its work. Boeing had 6475 people involved in the Dyna-Soar program, Honeywell had 630, and RCA 565. The governmental expenditure for these contracts amounted to 410 million dollars and assembly of the first vehicle was 55% complete (Geiger 1963). Although Col Moore and Bill Lamar did not receive official instructions from Gen Schriever until 17 December, they instructed their contractors and various Air Force agencies to stop all activities involving the expenditure of Dyna-Soar funds on 10 December. The next day, secretary Zuckert authorized the Air Force to terminate the program. Lamar, however, requested continuance of certain boost-glider efforts that he deemed important to other space programs. The secretary agreed to listen and wanted a preliminary report before 16 December (Secretary of the Air Force 1963; Zuckert 1963b). The day following this direction, Moore recommended the continuation of ten activities: studies of pilot control of booster trajectories, fabrication of the Dyna-Soar heat protection system, construction of the full pressure suit, fabrication and testing of the high-temperature elevon bearings, final development testing of the nose cap, flight testing on the ASSET vehicle of coated molybdenum panels, final acceptance testing of the test instrumentation subsystem ground station, development of the very high frequency (VHF) search and rescue receiver and transmitter, employment of existing Boeing simulator crew station and flight instruments for further research, and development of certain sensoring and transducing equipment for telemetry instrumentation (Geiger 1963; HQ ASFC 1963f).2 On 18 December, Lt Gen Ferguson informed Col Moore that secretary Zuckert had approved the ten items. Concurrently, representatives from Schriever’s headquarters, Maj Gen Funk’s space division, Maj Gen Reugg’s aeronautical division, and Maj Gen Demler’s research and technology division revised the list. These officials decided to identify the items not only by technical area, as originally presented by Lamar, but also by four categories. Category A involved efforts whose cost for completion would be equal to the termination expense. Category B comprised items applicable to various space programs. Category C included items contributing to the advancement of the state-ofthe-art. The final classification, Category D, contained efforts possessing a potential future use (HQ AFSC 1963f; Geiger 1963).

Long-term legacies In addition to these short-term, immediate legacies, long-term political and technological legacies continued. In fact, elements of these political legacies – questions regarding the utility of manned military spaceflight – and technological legacies – questions regarding the viability of a boost-glider to

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provide routine, lower cost, access to space – remain unanswered or contested.

Technological legacies During the early 1960s, proponents of lifting-body technology at the service’s Space Systems Division competed with the proponents of boost-glide technology at the Aeronautical Systems Division to capture the Air Force’s manned military space program. As this interagency rivalry continued, McNamara and Brown redirected manned military space operations away from hypersonic boost-glide re-entry technology and towards ballistic reentry technology, an approach initiated by General Schriever when he was commander of the space division’s predecessor, the Western Development Division. This presumably occurred because of the proven ability of ablative materials to cool a spacecraft during re-entry as opposed to the unproven, but well researched, nature of radiative materials (Geiger 1963; Hallion 1998; Schweikart 1998). Ultimately, Air Force leaders found themselves forced into either accepting a building block approach focused on the research of manned military spaceflight and based on proven ballistic reentry technology or conceding all hope for a manned space program. In such a program, hypersonic flight became a means of ferrying pilots to a research space station rather than establishing an operational military weapon system (Puckett 1963). These opposing views about the technological practicality of Dyna-Soar to provide a viable means of reconnaissance (or any other military mission) shaped the program’s technological legacy by keeping the question of whether or not boost-glide technology could provide routine, lower cost, access to space open. Colonels Herrington and Moore, as well as Bill Lamar and his team of Air Force and contract engineers, were repeatedly forced to prove the technological feasibility of the boost-glider’s medium lift-to-drag ratio, the ability of Boeing’s radiatively cooled structure to withstand the intense heat of re-entry, the military benefit of a 1500 nautical mile crossrange (the number of miles a spacecraft can turn away from its unaltered path of re-entry) with a precision landing at any airfield a mission might dictate, the reusability of the craft’s all-metal construction, and the comparative cost effectiveness of this means of routinely accessing space by conservatively simulating mission profiles in the nation’s wind tunnels, laboratories, and test centers. Despite detailed explanations about these successful tests, Dyna-Soar’s program managers and engineers could not persuade the president’s scientific community or his OSD officials (who viewed Dyna-Soar’s means of gathering intelligence information about the Soviet Union society as too risky, politically, to establish as an operational system) to embrace their visions of a military boost-glider. Similarly, today’s proponents of various single-stage-to-orbit and two-stage-to-orbit hyper-

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sonic vehicles are competing with each other to prove the feasibility of their respective approaches. Perhaps wisely, Air Force leaders have chosen to refine their requirements rather then select a particular program to champion. The vision Dyna-Soar engineers and program managers held regarding the viability of their aerothermodynamic theories and technological solutions to perform a military mission became a living legacy to NASA’s shuttle, as well as each successive hypersonic proposal, ultimately culminating in today’s Space Operations Vehicle, Space Maneuver Vehicle, and Common Aero Vehicle approaches to military space operations. By establishing requirements and concepts of operations for a Space Operations Vehicle, a Space Maneuver Vehicle, and a Common Aero Vehicle the service has set the foundation for industry to meet these needs with whatever form of hypersonic technology they can successfully field.3

Political legacies Interestingly, 7 years after Dyna-Soar’s cancellation, as plans for the Shuttle began to solidify, Air Force engineers at the Air Force Flight Dynamics Laboratory at Wright-Patterson AFB, OH, sent a memorandum to the chief of NASA’s Office of Aeronautics and Research Technology for a new reentry vehicle that would have a reasonable (similar to Dyna-Soar’s approximately 2.5) lift-to-drag ratio and large internal volume (more than the previous lifting-bodies they had tested) to experiment with powered hypersonic cruise and validate advanced airbreathing engines (an airbreathing engine would not be tested; a XLR-11 rocket engine instead would be used) as well as build an unpowered orbital re-entry vehicle ‘capable of landing at virtually any convenient airfield’. With the concurrence of NASA, the Air Force awarded the Martin Marietta Corporation a 1.1 million dollar contract to modify their X-24A lifting-body into a longer and wider vehicle. With a 78° double delta platform for good center-of-gravity control, a boattail for favorable subsonic lift-to-drag characteristics, a flat bottom, and a sloping 3° nose ramp for hypersonic trim, the X-24B’s design was a lot like Dyna-Soar. The pilots who flew the vehicle were pleasantly surprised by its qualities. Even in turbulence the craft flew well; its handling characteristics, including landing approach, reminded pilots of their F-104 simulator – one of the means Dyna-Soar pilots used to simulate what they believed would be the spaceplane’s characteristics. Its subsonic handling qualities earned very high marks, in short, ‘it was a fine airplane’ (Hallion 1984). These successful tests lead directly into another series of tests to prove that the Shuttle, with its similar lift-to-drag ratio, could land on the relatively confined geographical and heading constraints of a fixed runway. The equally successful runway landing program, a major accomplish on the road to the Shuttle, brought the X-24B research program to a conclusion. Bill Dana,

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one of the Dyna-Soar program’s original NASA pilots, completed the last of the powered flights on 9 September 1975. On 26 November the X-24B dropped from the sky for the last time in a final unpowered flight. By keeping requirements and concepts of operations at the forefront of their Space Operations Vehicle, Space Maneuver Vehicle, and Common Aero Vehicle programs, the service has set the stage for industry to meet these needs with whatever form of hypersonic technology they can successfully field, much as NASA did with the X-24B. One facet of the political legacy has been the Air Force’s inability to provide civilian officials within OSD with the justifications they deemed necessary before they would allow the Air Force to proceed with an operational system. McNamara and Brown were unwilling to accept the Air Force’s rationales for why the service should have an operational boost-glide system and what military missions the weapons system would perform in space. In essence, these officials demanded that Moore and Lamar prove a human being could accomplish any given military mission better than a machine before they would allow the service to fly Dyna-Soar, even though Col Moore (as well as Lt Col Herrington before him) and Bill Lamar had done all they could do on the ground and now needed to fly the spaceplane to provide the secretary of defense and his DDR&E with the refined proof they required. With the full blessing of each successive president, automated systems flourished and evolved, forming the foundation of a national technical means – an independent space force – for gathering critical intelligence about the intentions and abilities of the Soviet Union. Meanwhile, Lamar’s team of Air Force and contract engineers used simulators, proved theories, and refined doctrine – the only means McNamara and Brown would fiscally support – in their quest to prove boost-glide pilots could provide the nation with something machines could not. Such actions allowed supporters of automated systems to maintain their ideological momentum while making the acceptance of any proof of the utility of a human system virtually impossible. Similarly, the priorities presidential scientific advisors established for creating a mechanized means of gathering information about the Soviet’s strategic military developments focused attention on the near-term possibility of whether or not Dyna-Soar’s Step I research phase could accomplish these same reconnaissance missions rather then complement them. As the president’s scientific advisors and the OSD community focused their attentions on the near-term research objectives of Step I, what they believed would be the operational nature of Dyna-Soar’s complex Step II and III technology competed with what they knew about the less complicated technology of existing piloted high altitude reconnaissance aircraft and automated reconnaissance satellites. What civilian and military officials within the Air Force said about the precise nature of the spaceplane’s long-term operational objectives did not matter (White 1958–9; Boushey 1959a;

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Office of Information 1963; Covault 1986, 1988, 1991a, b; Foley 1987; Loftus 1987). The need for secrecy formed another facet of Dyna-Soar’s political legacy. The Step I phase of Dyna-Soar’s development was generally managed like an unclassified NASA program, open to the public scrutiny of Congress and the press, as compared to the highly classified and compartmented management of the administration’s automated programs. Eisenhower’s opposition to a weapons-equipped satellite reflected concerns about jeopardizing his principle of freedom-of-space. Administration officials sought to ensure and preserve the right of unobstructed passage for reconnaissance satellites. Space-based military weapons systems, on the other hand, might be judged legitimate targets for destruction, an altogether different precedent that neither Eisenhower or Kennedy was willing to encourage (Peebles 1997). Nor did OSD officials within either administration believe Dyna-Soar’s program managers or engineers had a need to know about these extremely secret programs. Still, these same officials demanded detailed comparisons of how the spaceplane could outperform rather then complement them, a task Col Moore and Bill Lamar could not accomplish without detailed technical data from the managers and engineers of these deep black systems. ‘It’s just a shame, as we look back’, said retired General James Ferguson in an interview on 9 May 1973, ‘that we didn’t continue with Dyna-Soar. … I’m still a great Dyna-Soar fan. It would have been the Mark I [for NASA’s] shuttle if we had gone ahead, and we would have saved ourselves several billion bucks … We were halfway through an $800 million program to fly a dart shaped vehicle with two guys in it. The last meeting I went to at Boeing [the company’s Seattle, Washington, plant] we had a lot of NASA people and all the best scientists we could get in the country who gave their stamp of approval to the configuration and all the rest of it. Mr McNamara and his [OSD] people just felt that the mission wasn’t valid at the time’.4 Ferguson considered McNamara’s decision not to cancel the Titan IIIC, Dyna-Soar’s booster, odd but understandable. The Titan IIIC, because it would be very useful for a number of classified programs and the proposed Dyna-Soar follow-on, the Manned Orbiting Laboratory (MOL). Interestingly, the former commander of the Air Force Systems Command and deputy chief of staff for research and development suggested why McNamara felt Dyna-Soar, and later MOL, were not valid programs. Other ‘related developments [had] progressed to the point’ where these two manned systems, considered as competitive rather than complementary programs, could not compete with existing unmanned systems and the institutional momentum of their evolutionary success (ibid). ‘The thing, I think, that galls me more than anything else [is] that we couldn’t go ahead and finish up Dyna-Soar because we know an awful lot about what we want to do [with military personnel] in the space shuttle now. Of course the shuttle will be many, many times larger,

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but the general techniques of an aerodynamic configuration returning from space and maneuvering and landing at the pilot’s choosing is something that we’re nipping at a little bit here with our lifting bodies on the one hand and [will eventually get this military capability Dyna-Soar would have provided with] the shuttle later on’ (ibid). Meanwhile, decades of automated diplomats served as the eyes and ears of the national command authority, providing pivotal intelligence information; but if these silent sentries were to serve the operational needs of America’s geographic military combatant commanders, then a new architecture of data dissemination, as well as command and control, was needed from the highly classified infrastructure that had grown into a vast space force, separate from the nation’s highly visible NASA and military space operations. Today, America’s intelligence community is responding to these operational and tactical needs of its military leadership. Similarly, the Air Force is responding to these military requirements, as well as the need to foster a means to enforce the nation’s shutter control policy should civilian leadership deem such actions, or similar actions, necessary.

A last word In these pages, I’ve tried to tell the story that Walter A. McDougall believed deserved a telling when he wrote his Pulitzer prize-winning ... the Heavens and the Earth (McDougall 1985). My work has attempted to be contextual and interpretive, from the perspective of Air Force and contract managers, engineers, and pilots who were involved in the program. Yet, I also strived to place the program into its political and technological milieu and to tell the complex story of the Air Force’s quest for a hypersonic boost-glider that would provide a reliable, routine, lower cost means for manned military space operations, and how this quest contributed to the foundation of other hypersonic boost-gliders (Hallion 1978, 1984; Peebles 1987; Covault 1986, 1988, 1991a, b; Foley 1987; Loftus 1987). It’s a story that, until now, has not been told.

Endnotes

Introduction 1. McNamara Press Release, 10 December 1963. 2. For a historical overview of hypersonic research from 1924 to 1995, consult Hallion (1998). 3. Mattingly chronicles the stabilizing role that diplomats played as each provided valuable intelligence about their host states to their sponsors. Just as Mattingly’s diplomats provided for the stability of nation-states in the Renaissance, I posit that reconnaissance satellites began to perform a similar stabilizing role for the US and the Soviet Union in the early 1960s, hence the phrase ‘automated diplomats’. Chapter 1 1. Although Dornberger would ask Sänger to join him at the Bell corporation in the early 1950s, neither individual collaborated with the other during the development of their respective programs. To support their research and development during the war, Germany built no less than 14 supersonic wind tunnels, including Mach 3.3 and 4.4 tunnels at a laboratory at Kochel, Bavaria. At war’s end, a Mach 10 hypersonic tunnel with a 1 m × 1 m test section was under construction at the same site. In Switzerland, home of the world’s first supersonic wind tunnel (a Mach 2 design located at the Technishe Hochschule in Zurich), SAG made arrangements to ship a complete Swiss-made supersonic wind tunnel, originally destined for Germany, back to Wright Field. 2. A similar Mach 10 wind tunnel would not emerge in the US until the Arnold Engineering Development Center (AEDC) placed its 50 inch tunnel ‘C’ into service in 1961. 3. For a detailed description of the A-9 through A-12 series of Germany hypersonic boost-glide concepts see Neufeld (1995: 283). Chapter 2 1. The meeting was scheduled to take place at 10:00 eastern standard time in 4E333 at the Pentagon. 2. In addition to Millikan, the panel members consisted of Dr William Bollay; Dr Francis H. Clauser; Allen F. Donovan; Dr Pol E. Duwez; Robert R. Gilruth; Professor Francis R. Shanley; and D. Homer J. Stewart. 3. George Kistiakowsky was the first chairman, Carl Overhage the third. Edwin Land and Allen Donovan were members from the panels inception in 1951.

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4. By November, Traux would solicit contractor studies for Weapon System 117L. Three contractors – Martin Company, Lockheed Aircraft Corporation, and RCA – would be awarded 1-year studies. 5. Interview, William Lamar, Chief, Dyna-Soar Engineering Office, WADD, Wright-Patterson AFB, by C. H. Uyehara (2 May 1960). Transcript at ASD/HO. 6. Interview, Joseph R. Trueblood, Offensive Mission Plans Division, Hq ARDC, by C.H. Uyehara (4 May 1960). Transcript at ASD/HO. 7. Although Dyna-Soar never flew, Air Force and Boeing engineers spent several years studying a military version of Dyna-Soar. The facts and figures presented in this flight of fancy are from these detailed documentary sources: Douglass (1961); Bershad and Reeves (1961); Toomey and Spear (1961); Goldie (1961; 1962); Miller (1962); Bernstein and Israel (1962); Thurlow (1963); Ledbetter et al. (1963). Additional information was also available from the personal files of William E. Lamar, Dayton OH, Dyna-Soar’s chief engineer and the deputy director of engineering for the program. 8. Interview, Bill Lamar by the author, 6–8 July 1994. Chapter 3 1. Interview, Bill Lamar with Author, 6–8 July 1994. 2. Lamar interview, 2 May 1960; Lamar Interview, 6–8 July 1994. 3. Lamar Interview, 6–8 July 1994. 4. The conceptual test vehicle concept will be discussed in more detail on later. 5. Lamar Interview, 6–8 July 1994. Chapter 4 1. Lamar Interview, 6–8 July 1994. 2. Kushner gives a detailed break-down of the 5 year developments. 3. Also, three new agencies resulted from the Act: the National Aeronautics and Space Administration, the National Aeronautics and Space Council (NASC), and the Civilian-Military Liaison Committee (C-MLC). The NASC consisted of the president, secretary of state, secretary of defense, NASA administrator, chairman of the AEC, and four additional presidential appointees. It would assist the president in surveying aeronautical and space activities while it provided for effective cooperation between NASA and the DoD. By 31 October, he reassigned Holaday from the director of guided missiles to chairmanship of the C-MLC (US Congress 1958d, e). 4. They would – Satellite and Missile Observation System (Davies and Harris 1988; Richelson 1990). 5. Lamar Interview, 6–8 July 1994. 6. Found in the Air Force Historical Research Agency’s archives, K140 11-1. 7. Lt Col Frank W. Jennings (1990), USAFR (Retired) contends he was the first person to write of the atmosphere and space as a continuum for use by US military vehicles, to combine the words air and space, and to use aerospace as a single unhyphenated word. 8. He projected only $35 million for FY 1960 (HQ ARDC 1959b). Chapter 5 1. Lamar Interview, 6–8 July 1994. 2. Lamar Interview, 6–8 July 1994.

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Chapter 6 1. Lamar Interview, 6–8 July 1994. 2. Lamar Interview, 6–8 July 1994. 3. In FY 1961, NASA’s budget surpassed DoD’s space budget for the first time. By 1963, the NASA budget was 3.62 billion dollars while DoD’s space budget was 1.57 billion. Indeed, between the two space policies, ‘space-for-peace’ enjoyed the lion’s share of the administration’s fiscal support—which included DoD’s budgetary support of the automated reconnaissance satellites that would become the purview of the Office of Missile and Satellite Systems on 31 August 1960 and the National Reconnaissance Office on 6 September 1961 (the respective dates of establishment for each). 4. Essentially, the US now had two national space programs. One under the direction of NASA and the other under the direction of the defense department and the Central Intelligence Agency through the NRO. The National Reconnaissance Program consisted of all satellite and overflight reconnaissance projects whether covert or overt. As a weapons system for the Air Force, DynaSoar was not a part of the National Reconnaissance Program; however, because the boost-glider was also designed to gather photographic and signals intelligence, administration officials paired it against the satellite projects of the nation’s highly classified National Reconnaissance Program for the same missions. 5. Aerospace Corporation Interoffice Memo to corporation president I. A. Getting. 6. Interview with Bill Lamar, John Trenholm (former Dyna-Soar assistant program manager) and Ralph Johnston (former program manager for Dyna-Soar’s boosters) by the author at Dayton, OH, 22–23 August 1995. 7. Interview with Lt. Gen. Roscoe C. Wilson, 13 October 1961, on file at Air Force Historical Research Agency, Maxwell AFB, Alabama. 8. Interview with Lamar, Trenholm, and Johnson, 22–23 August 1995. 9. Interview with Lamar, Trenholm, and Johnson, 22–23 August 1995. 10. Interview with Lamar, Trenholm, and Johnson, 22–23 August 1995. 11. The historical foundations for the Air Forces dual-role methodology are laid in Houchin (1999). 12. Interview with Lamar, Trenholm, and Johnston, 22–23 August 1995. Indeed, they did. The first flight, however, would not be in August 1965; it would be on 12 April 1981 when NASA’s Columbia lifted off from pad 39A at Florida’s Kennedy Space Center. 13. The fallout from this consequence persists today. See Heppenheimer’s (2000) critic in Air Power History. Surprisingly, Heppenheimer’s generalized observations regarding the ASSET and PRIME programs are inaccurate (refer to Hallion 1984 and Vitelli 1998 for specific details). The remainder of his first paragraph is misleading. Dyna-Soar was envisioned as a follow-on bomber to existing bombers with reconnaissance as a natural extension of its capabilities (refer to Houchin 1999). Within our nation’s nuclear triad, bombers did not compete with either the sea-based ICBMs of the Navy’s submarine fleet or the Air Force’s Strategic Air Command (SAC). They complemented one another. Indeed, bombers were considered necessary to offset the Soviet Union’s capabilities and to provide the US with a flexible deterrent. As an extension of SAC’s manned bomber wings, Dyna-Soar would have provided a similar high speedhigh altitude deterrent. Regarding CORONA’s capabilities, Dyna-Soar— again—would have complemented the automated systems of this highly compartmented program by carrying a camera with a different resolution (or

Endnotes

14. 15.

16. 17. 18.

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simultaneously carrying several cameras with different resolutions and/or a variety of other intelligence gathering sensors) and by having the versatility of a human being onboard. Heppenheimer’s second paragraph highlights the political possibility of the anti-satellite mission and provides a transition to his final paragraph. His last paragraph, however, restates what was mentioned in either the body or the notes of the article he critics. Believing he has addressed all of Dyna-Soar’s military missions, he fails to examine the spaceplane’s other viable capability—logistics. Interview with Lamar, Trenholm, and Johnston, 22–23 August 1995. Following Air Force regulations, Moore reluctantly submitted ARDC form 81A, offering the designation, XJN-1 but specifically asked to keep the name ‘Dyna-Soar’. Colonel Ferer of Lt Gen Bradley’s designated system management office for Dyna-Soar did not like the XJN-1 label. In its place he offered XMS1 to designate it as an experimental-manned-spacecraft. Other elements on the Air Staff and within the OSD objected to both designations. Finally, on 19 June 1962, Lt Gen Ferguson approved the designation, X20. Statement made during Senate hearings before the Committee on Aeronautical and Space Sciences (US Congress 1963; Houchin 1999). Statement made during hearings before the Committee on Aeronautical and Space Sciences. Interview with Lamar, Trenholm, and Johnston, 22–23 August 1995.

Chapter 7 1. Interview with Lamar, Trenholm, and Johnston, 22–23 August 1995. 2. Lamar Interview, 6–8 July 1994. 3. He was specifically referring to the highly classified ‘deep black’ unmanned reconnaissance programs the NRO managed as well as the Air Force’s secret MIDAS early warning and 706 satellite inspection system studies. 4. In an interview with John Ranelagh, Richard M. Bissell, Jr.—former director of the U-2 and CORONA programs—emphasized just how important this capability had been. ‘In one case a [U-2] pilot used his authorization to deflect from his course. He was flying over Turkistan, and off in the distance he saw something that looked quite interesting and that turned out to be the Tyuratam launch site—and unlike almost every other target we went after, not even the existence of that had been suspected’ (Ranelagh 1986). Regarding the shuttle, refer to Covault (1986, 1988, 1991, 1991); Foley (1987); and Loftus (1987). 5. As OSD officials debated the future of Dyna-Soar, Chelomey’s OKB-52 launched Polet-1, a maneuverable satellite, into orbit and, in January 1964, OKB-52 launched another ‘maneuverable satellite’, Polet-2, repeating their triumph. Whether either of these was this the unmanned R-1 hypersonic boostglider or the manned R-2 is still unknown. Regardless, with the fall of Nikita Khrushchev on 13 October 1964, Chelomey’s successful boost-glide operations were over. By 1965, work on the Soviet boost-glider was suspended and the effort was transferred to the Mikoyan OKB where work began on an SST-based two-stage-to-orbit hypersonic glider—Spiral. OKB-52 shifted its focus to the military space station Almaz and to the Proton booster. Nevertheless, under Chelomey’s guidance, OKB-52 had developed and launched at least two hypersonic boost-gliders, whereas the US had launched none. Indeed, the US was about to cancel its only manned hypersonic space program and shift its emphasis to a military space station concept similar to Almaz. Interestingly, in 1974 Chelomey again attempted to develop a boost-glider. If the NRO’s CORONA satellites were providing this information to OSD and the administration,

228

Endnotes

McNamara did not believe it constituted a credible threat. 6. Indeed, historians still consider it valid. See Sunday and London (1995) and Day (1996) for arguments similar to McNamara’s. 7. From the personal files of Amrom Katz, June 1996. Copies of these documents are archived at the Space Policy Institute, George Washington University. 8. Air Force and Boeing engineers spent several years studying a military version of Dyna-Soar. The facts and figures presented in this flight of fancy are from these detailed documentary sources: Douglass (1961); Bershad and Reeves (1961); Toomey and Spear (1961); Goldie (1961, 1962); Miller (1962); Bernstein and Israel (1962); Thurlow (1963); and Ledbetter et al. (1963). Additional information was also available from the personal files of William E. Lamar, Dayton. 9. Zuckert interview, June–July 1964. While not drawing a direct comparison to Dyna-Soar, Volume 2 of Hallion’s (1998) The Hypersonic Revolution: Case Studies in the History of Hypersonic Technology provides a detailed and comparative foundation to examine how some of Dyna-Soar’s political legacies where manifested in the expectations and operations of the Shuttle, international hypersonic efforts, and in the National Aerospace Plane. Conclusion 1. Two months prior, an agreement between the Secretary of Defense and the Director of the Central Intelligence Agency on the Responsibilities of the NRO had been signed. The Director of the NRO would be designated by the Secretary of Defense and the Director of the CIA. He would be responsible directly to them for management and conduct of the National Reconnaissance Program (all overt and overt satellite and overflight projects for intelligence, geodesy and mapping photography and electronic signal collection). Two years later, DoD Directive 5105.23 reinforced this position within the DoD and again delineated the unique status of the institution as a separate agency. The NRO would be ‘organized separately with in the Defense Department …’ and ‘… responsible for consolidating all DoD satellite and air vehicle overflight projects for intelligence into a single program, defined as the National Reconnaissance Program and for the complete management and conduct of this Program in accordance with policy guidance and decisions of the Secretary of Defense’. 2. Funding for continuation of these contracts would be limited to $200,000 a month. 3. Interview with Major Richard F. Walker, 15 March 1999, in author’s personal collection; ‘Notional Space Operations Vehicles,’ Space Tactics Bulletin (1998); HQ AFSPC/DOMN (1999); Sponable (1997); Whitley (1997); Hess (1997); and Bender (1997). 4. Interview with General James Ferguson, 8–9 May 1973, on file at the Air Force Historical Research Agency, Maxwell AFB, Alabama, pp. 88–89.

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Index

A-12 program 115 Abott, Ira 82–3 Adams, Milton B. 149 Aeronautical Systems Division (ASD) 4 Aerothermodynamic, Structural Systems, Environmental, Test program (ASSET) 207–8 Air Force, United States (USAF) hypersonic program 19–21 independence 13–15 air space sovereignty 16–17 Allen, H. Julian 52, 62 Ames, Milton E. 189 Anderson, Samuel E. 81, 85–6 Apollo program 201 AQUATONE project 72 Armstrong, Neil A. 117–18 Arnold, General 5–7, 22 creation of RAND project 10–11 Atlas ICBM program 24, 30, 31 onset 32–4 operational date 44 prioritized 34–6 atomic weapons 8, 12, 13, 15 Soviet 47 B-17 bomber 44 B-52 bomber 44 B-58 bomber 44 Baker, James 26, 36 Beacon Hill Report 26 Becker, John V. 62, 82, 84–5, 94–5, 189–90 Bell Aircraft Corporation 6, 16, 20 bomber-missile program 25–7 boost–glide technology 52 Bell, Lawrence D. 16 Bisplinghoff, Raymond L. 189

Bissell, Richard M., Jr 34, 38, 61, 90–1 Blue Gemini program 181, 184 Bock, Charlie 117–18 Boeing Airplane Company, selection as Dyna-Soar contractor 119 Bomber-Missile (BOMI) Project 6, 20–1, 22 advantages 50, 51 consolidating research 62–5 contract 53–4 feasibility study 35, 48, 53 funding 61–2 human crew 51 lack of support 29–31 reconnaissance ability 40, 41 re-instatement 31–2 subprograms see BRASS BELL; ROBO; HYWARDS boost-glide programs range 51 Soviet Union 23 USA 24, 50–4 advantages over ICMBs 44–5 Boushey, Homer A. 74, 75, 88, 99 Boyd, Albert 36, 40 Bradley, Omar N. 18 BRASS BELL (part of BOMI) 54–5, 61 development plans 62–4 evaluation 66–7 Braun, Werhner von 7 Bredt, Irene 8 Brown, Harold 137 Brundage, Percival 42 Bush, Vannevar 12 Canberra bomber 29 Carter, John H. 91

254

Index

Central Aero-Hydrodynamic Institute (TsAGI), Moscow 7 Charyk, Joseph V. 116, 120–1, 123, 132, 145, 148–9, 213 Chelomey, V.N. 134 CL-282 reconnaissance plane 33, 37–9 Colchagoff 47, 48 Cold War 6, 10, 111–12, 171–172 Collbohm, Frank 58–9 containment policy against the USSR 14 Convair Aircraft Corporation 12, 19 CORONA project 89, 91, 93, 97, 99, 101, 109, 113, 139–40 countering military threats from USSR 6, 15, 17 forecasting to meeting future requirements 6–7 Cold War technological imperative 10 creating forecasts 7–9 initial von Kármán forecast 9–10 RAND 10–13 Craigie, Laurence C. 12, 17 Crawford, Alden R. 17 CROSSROADS atomic bomb program 58 Crowley, John W. 55 Cuban missile crisis 166 Dana, William H. 117–18 Daniels, Walt 117–18 Davies, Merton 87–8, 91–2 Davis, Waymond, A. 186 Demler, Marvin C. 31, 32, 142 DISCOVER project 91, 92, 104 DISCOVERER program 109, 111, 132, 139 Donovan, Allen F. 26 Dornberger, Walter R. 7–9, 16 Project Feedback 19 Douglas Aircraft Corporation 10, 19 Douglas, Donald 10 Douglas, James H., Jr 91, 107 Dulles, Allen 34 Dulles, John Foster 38 Dyna-Soar program 77 acceleration of program 161 alternative programs 180 Gemini program 180–5 OSD proposals 207–10

reconsidering hypersonic approach 185–7 redirecting manned military space operations 190–3 boost–glide technology 85 cancellation 1–2, 176–80, 210–12 stressing commonality 187–90 competing with other programs 105–9 contractors 97–100 DDR&E guidance 116–17 pilot selection and booster 117–19 development along side other programs 144–5 engineering team 2 histories, official 3 initiation 67–70 interagency rivalry 150–63 commonality 151–3 jurisdiction 100 legacies 2–3, 217–18 long-term 218–19 political 220–3 technological 219–20 military missions 200–2 national prestige 145–6 new development plan 127–8 configuration 128–30 go-ahead 130 problems 129 system development requirement 131–2 objectives 48 Phase Alpha 119–21 AFM 1–2, 124–6 direction 122–4 panel review 126–7 space policy report 121 Phase Beta 157 reconnaissance role 115 reconnaissance satelites 104–5 reviewing plans 147–8 Step III vehicle 88 symbol of technological superiority 148–50 loss of 167–72 two-step program 163–6 Earth Satellite Vehicle Program 11, 14 Eggers, Alfred J. 62, 81–2, 123

Index Ehricke, Krafft 30 Eisenhower, Dwight D. 3, 18, 27–8, 49 space-for-peace policy 85 Estes, Howell, M., Jr 40, 41, 42, 155, 157 Feedback, Project 19, 27, 59 Ferer, Benjamin H. 163 Ferguson, James 154 Finletter, Thomas K. 14 Flax, Alexander H. 205 Fleming, David A. 42 forecasting future military requirements 6–7 Cold War technological imperative 10 creating forecasts 7–9 initial von Kármán forecast 9–10 RAND 10–13 Forner, R.C. 105 Forrest, Casey 22, 27, 35, 51 Gagarin, Yuri 145 Gallagher, James E. 52 Gardner, Trevor 32, 33, 78 Gates, Thomas S., Jr 130–1 Geiger, Clarence 3 Gemini program 180–5, 187–8, 194, 201 Gerhart, John K. 102, 124 Germany technology post World War II 5–6, 7–8, 10–11 division of captured scientists and research materials 8–9, 16 Getting, Ivan A. 158 Gilpatric, Roswell L. 158, 172, 180 Glenn, John 167 Glennan, T. Keith 100–1 Goddard, George W. 16 Goldie, Harry 159, 205–6 Goodpaster, Andrew 38 Gopher, Project 26 Gordon, Henry C. Hank 117–18 Grohs, W.R. 125 Halvorsen, G.S. 137 Haydon, Brownlee W. 58–9 Heaton, Donald H. 27 Herrington, Russell M., Jr 29, 103, 104 Holm, Florian A. 94–5

255

Holzapple, Joseph R. 147, 167 Horner, Richard E. 73 HYAC reconnaissance camera 92 hypersonic flight 6, 21–2 1958 status 94–6 boost–glide technology 50–4, 67–70 range 51 Sänger–Bredt RABO project 8 HYWARDS (part of BOMI) 56–7, 61 development plans 62–4 IGY satellite program 42–3 inter-continental ballistic missiles (ICBMs) 11, 12–13, 19, 22 advantages and disadvantages 44–5, 48–9 Atlas 24, 30, 31 onset 32–4 operational date 44 prioritized 34–6 Johnson, A.M. ‘Tex’ 160 Johnson, Louis 23 Johnson, Robert L. 21 Johnson, Roy W. 91, 93 Johnston, Ralph C. 137, 142 Joint Chiefs of Staff (JCS) 14, 18 Kármán, Theodore von 5, 6–7 Toward New Horizons report (1945) 10–11 visit to Europe (1945) 7–9 Where We Stand report (1945) 9–10 Katz, Amrom H. 58, 87–8, 91–2, 107 Kavanau, Lawrence L. 163 Keating, Tristan J. 165 Keese, William B. 167–8 Kennan, George 14 Kennedy, John F. 3, 102, 111–12 1960 presidential campaign 133–7 assassination 208 push for the new frontier 140–2 Khruskchev, Nikita S. 133–4 Killian, James R. 36, 73, 89 appointment as ‘missile Czar’ 84 Killian Report 39 King, William G., Jr 39 Kistiakowsky, George B. 130–1, 132–3 Knight, Pete 117–18 Knox, Omar E. 29 Korea, North 16 Korea, South 16

256

Index

Lamar, William E. 2, 21, 51, 94–5, 170–1 cancellation of Dyna-Soar 176 Land, Edwin 26, 84, 90–1 Lees, Lester 200–1 Leghorn, Richard S. 17–18, 21, 26, 92 LeMay, Curtis E. 11, 12–13, 15, 17, 21–2, 53 cancellation of Dyna-Soar 177–8, 213 Lipp, James E. 12 Ljunggren, Earnest N. 21, 40, 41 Lockheed 22 CL-282 plane 37–9 Long Range Development and Research Program 6 Macdonald, Duncan 58 Man-in-Space-Soonest (MISS) program 93, 106 manned ballistic rocket research system (MBRR) 48 manned glide rocket research system (MGRR) 48 Manned Orbiting Laboratory (MOL) 199 manned spaceflight 77–80, 114–16 Gagarin, Yuri 145 military operations 202–7 redirecting 190–3 Martin, J.L., Jr 103 Maxwell, Jules C. 26–7 McDougall, Walter A. 3 McElroy, Neil H. 80, 90, 92 McNamara, Robert S. 1, 135, 137, 141–2, 146, 151, 158–9 cancellation of Dyna-Soar 179, 183, 198–9, 211, 215 Gemini program 187–8 nuclear defense strategy 166–7 Mercury program 106, 115–16, 125–6, 167 Military Orbital Development System (MODS) 180, 184 Millikan, Clarke B. 35 Millikan, Robert 6–7 Mills, John S. 83 Missile Defense Alarm Satellite (MIDAS) 104, 135–6, 184 Moon mission 154 Moore, Col 153, 163, 164, 169, 170–1, 185–6

Morse, Richard S. 137 Myacheslav-4 bomber 36 NASA 96 manned space programs 114 transfer of Mercury program 208 National Advisory Committee for Aeronautics (NACA) 19–20 National Security Act (1947) 13 Navaho guided missile 24, 30 Nuremberg trials 9 Oder, Fritz 58 Office of the Secretary of Defence (OSD) 1, 4 cancellation of Dyna-Soar 193–4, 196, 210–12 proposed alternatives 207–10 commonality 197–200 Overhage, Carl F. 26 Paperclip, Operation 7, 9 Pellegrini, Joseph 152 Perkins, Courtland D. 122, 157 Phoenix space launch program 152 Pokrovsky, G.I. 86 Power, Thomas S. 35, 47 Powers, Francis Gary 130 Prandtl, Ludwig 7 Purcell, Edward 26, 36, 84 Putt, Donald L. 12, 15, 20–1, 31, 32, 85 Quarles, Donald H. 42, 49, 80, 105–6 Raketenbomber (RABO) 8 Ramo, Simon 39 Rane, John W. 21 Rawlings, Edwin W. 34 Raymond, Richard C. 57–8 reconnaissance overflights 17–19 balloon programs 60 diffusion of development responsibility 39–42 satellites 27–9, 42–3 shooting down of satellites 171 US policy 36–9 USSR satellites 172 Research and Development (RAND) project 10–12 satellite development 14–15, 16, 28 Ridenour, Louis N. 11–12, 26

Index Ritland, Osmond, J. ‘Ozzie’ 110–11, 120 ROBO (part of BOMI) 55–6, 61 evaluation 65–6 rocket technology post-World War II 7–8 Rogers, Russ 117–18 Rubel, John 182–3 SAINT program 150–1, 184, 186 Salkeld, R.J. 158 SAMOS program 132, 133, 135–6, 141 Sandstrom, R.J. 20–1 Bell glide-bomber program 25 Sänger, Eugen 8, 30 satellite technology see also Sputnik; Sputnik II FEEDBACK satellite program 59 IGY program 42–3 importance to Dyna-Soar 104–5 reconnaissance 42–3, 49 Saturn boosters 144 Saville, Gordon P. 19 Schriever, Bernard A. 28–9, 33, 34 Science, the Key to Air Supremacy (1945) 10–11 Scientific Advisory Group (SAG) 6–7, 11 disbandment 11 Seaberg, John D. 22, 33 Seamans, Robert C. 168 Sessums, John W. 100 Smith, Fredric H., Jr 152 Snark guided missile 24, 30, 44 Soviet Union (USSR) atomic bomb program 47 atomic device testing 15 boost-glide rocket-bomber program 23 hydrogen bomb program 30 hypersonic programs 3 ICBM program 23, 28–9, 32–3 inter-continental ballistic missile (ICBM) program 13 shooting down of U-2 130–1 shooting down of US satellites 171 space program 143, 162 see also Sputnik; Sputnik II Gagarin, Yuri 145 OKB program 140 technology post World War II 7

257

tracking of U-2 flights 60 Spaatz, Carl ‘Tooey’ 11 Space Systems Division (SSD) 4 Sputnik 3, 70–1, 74, 77, 86, 112 US reaction to 80–3 Sputnik II 83–5 Stalin, Josef 9 Stennis, John 151–2 Stoner, George 149 Strathy, Carleton G. ‘Stretch’ 57 Survival in the Air Age report (1948) 14 Swofford, R.P., Jr 97–8 Symroski, L.E. 94–5 Talbott, Harold E. 32 Teller, Edward 81 Terhune, C.H., Jr 118 Thibodaux, Joseph F. 82 Thompson, Milton O. 117–18 Titan boosters 118, 142, 181, 182, 183–4 Titan/Centaur boost combination 144 Toward New Horizons report (1945) 10–11 Traux, Robert C. 39, 58 Trueblood, Joseph R. 41 Truman, Harry S. 18 Twining, Nathan F. 35 U-2 program 57–61 shootdown 130–1 tracked by USSR 60 USA 1960 presidential campaign 133–7 national reconnaissance office 132–3 space policy 42–3, 100–4 space program authority over millitary programs 85–94, 109–12 interagency rivalry 150–63 national prestige 145–6 review 142–5 technology post World War II 5–6 forecasting to meet future requirements 6–13 V-1 (robot buzz bomb) 7 V-2 rocket 7 Vandenberg, Hoyt S. 14, 15, 20 Vanguard booster 80

258

Index

Veshinsky, Andrei 15 Walter, Bill 51, 68 Waterman, Alan 28, 42 Webb, James E. 13, 148 Where We Stand report (1945) 9–10 Wiesner, Jerome 137, 138, 142–3 Wilcox, Frederic 58 Wilson, Charles E. 39, 80, 161 Wood, Jim ‘Woody’ 117–18 Woods, Robert J. 20 World War II, immediate aftermath 5–6

Wright Air Development Center (Dayton, OH) 2, 15 WS 117L program 39, 45, 57–61 reaction to Sputnik 71–4 X-series experimental aircraft 20 X-15 program 47, 52 X-16 reconnaissance plane 33 X-20 program 189, 191, 193–4, 196, 203, 204 York, Herbert 84, 114–15, 117

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