Eagle, I don't want to form an alliance anymore.

By the end of 1988, the United States was in the midst of the Great Depression, and NASA's funding was cut by another 25%, even canceling the planned launch of the Space Shuttle Resumption program in 88. Since the Challenger disaster, the U.S. Space Shuttle program had been at a standstill.

NASA almost won again. On September 29th of last year, the US Space Shuttle Discovery successfully returned to service, and it seemed the US could easily defeat the Soviet Union from the space shuttle stage. But then—

Reagan! Reagan! How could you have let the American economy get into such a mess while you were in jail? You were so foolish!

Thanks to the superiority of the capitalist market economy system, NASA can now just sit there staring at the planes in the warehouse.

As for the space station program that the Americans also wanted to pursue? This program has been repeatedly cut by Congress. In November 1988, the US Congress directly canceled the space station project, leaving more than $3 billion in funding to be used for economic recovery.

The new president, Gephardt, is a populist focused on the domestic economy and trade; space exploration has never been on his priority list.

Since the United States chose to stagnate, the Soviet Union had to take big strides forward.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

Baikonur Cosmodrome, Kazakhstan, November 15

Baikonur is the world's largest space launch site.

The name was actually a smokescreen—the actual launch site is hundreds of kilometers away from Baikonur. The name was chosen purely to mislead Western spy satellites into searching for the wrong location. The real launch site is located in the open fields near Leninsk, a flat, iron-smooth Kazakh steppe.

When Slava arrived, it was snowing heavily. The wind was strong, howling across the grassland and slinging snowflakes like sandpaper onto people's faces.

Meteorological data from the launch site showed that the wind speed reached 20 meters per second, while the standard for terminating a launch is 15 meters per second.

When Slava arrived at the command center, the launch director was standing there. Slava asked curiously what had happened.

"Comrade General Secretary, the wind speed has reached the termination standard. Technically speaking, we should postpone the launch."

Slava stroked his chin and said, "I don't really understand the details of what you tech people are talking about. I'll listen to the professionals—what do our scientists say? Don't be afraid of failure, and don't worry about me putting pressure on you by coming here."

The path of scientific progress is paved with countless failures and thorns. We must allow for failure so that we can witness success. Comrades, don't put too much pressure on yourselves.

The launch director saluted Slava: "Thank you for your understanding, Comrade General Secretary!"

He didn't announce a postponement because the wind speed only met the termination criteria, not that they had entered a danger zone. He waited a while longer, with technicians bringing reports up and running back down like worker ants. Half an hour later, he finally made a decision.

"Continue the launch mission."

Slava was somewhat surprised. After all, the decision to launch under conditions exceeding the standard carried immense responsibility. But the launch director made this judgment—he trusted the system, trusted the rocket, and trusted the engineers who had conducted final checks on the launch pad in sub-zero temperatures and snow.

On another timeline, the Buran spacecraft was launched in similar weather conditions and succeeded. But we only found out about that afterward!

Beforehand, this launch order was made with one person's career and thousands of tons of fuel at stake.

This really takes a lot of courage.

While his supervisor was thinking, Slava had wanted to go to the launch site to get a closer look at the rocket and space shuttle. He told his supervisor that he wanted to walk to a distance from the launch pad for a better view.

The launch supervisor quickly stopped him.

"Comrade General Secretary, the rocket has already been fueled, you cannot approach it."

"Is there a risk of explosion, and is the force so great that I could be affected even if I'm standing far away?" Slava asked.

"Yes, the Energia rocket is fueled with liquid oxygen and liquid hydrogen, and the boosters use liquid oxygen and kerosene. With all fueling complete... the rocket carries approximately two thousand tons of propellant."

If something goes wrong, the explosion of over two thousand tons of high-energy fuel will tear everything within a radius of several hundred meters to shreds. People, buildings, equipment—nothing will be left.

Slava nodded and did not insist further.

The supervisor then added, "General Secretary, you may not know this, but a similar accident occurred at this launch site 28 years ago."

That was October 10, 1960.

That year, the Soviet Union was rushing to test the R-16 intercontinental ballistic missile. This missile was developed by the Yanger Design Bureau and was a competitor to Korolev's R-7 series.

Everyone was rushing to complete the test launch before the anniversary of the October Revolution.

This is a political task, and there is a fixed deadline; it must be completed as soon as possible!

Marshal Mitrovan Nedelin, Commander-in-Chief of the Strategic Rocket Forces, even flew to Baikonur to oversee the operation. Political pressure was mounting on everyone.

As expected, the rocket experienced a technical malfunction on the launch pad. The normal procedure in this situation is to first evacuate the fuel, evacuate all personnel to a safe distance, and then return to investigate the malfunction.

This procedure is an ironclad rule, written in the operation manual, and a rule bought with blood!

But Marshal Nie Jielin refused to wait.

He ordered technicians to perform repairs right next to the fueled rocket. He himself—a Soviet marshal, the highest-ranking officer of the entire Strategic Rocket Forces—even sat in a chair just tens of meters from the launch pad!

Then, for some unknown reason, perhaps a spark during maintenance ignited the fuel, and the rocket's second-stage engine unexpectedly ignited. The second-stage flame ignited the first-stage fuel. The propellant used by R16 is unsymmetrical dimethylhydrazine and nitric acid—a highly toxic and corrosive mixture. If leaked or ignited, its destructive power extends beyond just the explosive shockwave; it also releases toxic gases.

The entire launch pad was engulfed in flames within seconds. Marshal Nedelin died instantly, along with a large number of rocket engineers, officers, and technicians, including many of the Soviet Union's top missile experts!

The disaster was kept secret by the Soviet Union for decades. The cause of Nedelin's death was publicly stated as a plane crash, and it was not revealed until after the collapse of the Soviet Union.

...

Slava retreated to a distant observation point.

The observation point is several kilometers away from the launch pad, and the launch supervisor prepared a telescope for the General Secretary so that he could get a good look at it.

Slava bent down and put his eyes on the goggles.

He saw her.

The Energia launch vehicle and Buran space shuttle combination stands on the launch pad amidst the snowstorm.

The Energia rocket's main body is a massive cylinder, eight meters in diameter and nearly sixty meters high, housing four liquid oxygen and liquid hydrogen engines. Four boosters, each nearly forty meters tall, are strapped to either side of the core stage and use liquid oxygen and kerosene.

The four boosters support the central pillar like four pillars, making the whole structure look like a steam-shrouded white chapel that seems to grow out of the ground.

The wind across the Kazakh wilderness whipped snowflakes onto the rocket's surface, only to have them carried away by the steam. Through the telescope, the rocket appeared to be breathing. White steam billowed from its pipe connections and pressure relief valves, trailing fleeting streaks in the grey sky as it was dispersed by the wind.

On the side of the rocket, carried on the back of the Energia rocket, was the Buran space shuttle.

The aircraft features delta wings, twin vertical tails, and black heat-resistant tiles covering its belly. Its nose is rounded and blunt, resembling the warhead of a ballistic missile—a shape designed to withstand temperatures of several thousand degrees Celsius upon re-entry into the atmosphere.

Four large red characters were printed on the wing:

CCCP

“The Union of Soviet Socialist Republics…” Slava murmured, gazing at the crystallization of the wisdom of the working people.

The countdown began quickly, and numbers were broadcast over the loudspeakers in the command center.

“十

nine

...

three

two

One

ignition!"

A burst of orange-red light suddenly erupted from the bottom of the launch pad, and it took about ten seconds for the sound to reach Slava's ears.

A continuous, thunderous roar rolled in from the horizon, and the ground beneath our feet trembled under the thrust generated by the burning of thousands of tons of fuel.

The Energia started moving.

This nearly 2,700-ton monster initially emerged slowly, bit by bit, from the launch pad's grips. The flames at its base scorched the launch pad's undercarriage into an orange-white inferno, the steam and exhaust mingling together like an upside-down white flower.

Then it started to accelerate.

"boom----"

Its speed increased rapidly, and within seconds it transformed from a stationary object on the launch pad into a beam of light shooting into the sky with a fiery tail.

Slava tilted his head back.

He no longer needed a telescope; the Energia rocket had reached an altitude visible to the naked eye, resembling a shooting star flying against the direction of its descent in the gray-white sky.

The sky, still covered in snow, was torn open by this man-made object, revealing light created by human hands.

A few dozen seconds later, the booster separated. By then, Slava had returned to the control room and was watching the tracking camera footage of other areas on the big screen.

On the rocket, which had become a tiny dot, the four boosters unfolded and detached like flower petals, tumbling and plummeting towards Earth. The core stage continued upward, growing smaller and farther away, its fiery tail becoming a thin, almost invisible line.

Then that line disappeared too.

It pierced through the clouds, crossed the boundary of the atmosphere, passed the limit visible to the naked eye, crossed the von Kármán line, broke free from the shackles of gravity, and headed to the distant place that humankind had dreamed of for generations!

Slava stood in the Kazakh wilderness, looking up at the sky.

The sky had returned to its grayish-white state, and nothing could be seen. Only steam was still rising from the launch pad, and the wind carried the steam with a burnt smell.

He suddenly felt very insignificant.

In this vast wilderness, on the crust of this planet, before that force that just tore the sky apart from the ground... humanity is so insignificant.

He spent so many years climbing from an nobody to the top, becoming the leader of one of only two superpowers on Earth. His reforms, his efforts to save the alliance, and all the things he did seem meaningless at this moment, yet they all seemed to have found their answers.

Half an hour later, Buran successfully entered orbit and began orbiting the Earth.

The engineers hugged each other, some clapped, some shed tears, and a young engineer wearing glasses threw his hat towards the ceiling, where it was caught by another person.

This is the work of these people's entire lives. It is the culmination of decades of hard work, billions of rubles, and the labor of hundreds of thousands of Soviet spacefarers since the 1950s, all condensed into these few short hours of flight!

Slava watched the people celebrate from the edge of the crowd.

Suddenly, a figure caught his attention.

He was an elderly man in a wheelchair. People around him were celebrating, but he just sat quietly in his wheelchair, watching the large screen displaying the Buran spacecraft's orbital parameters.

The numbers on the screen were all normal, which was probably better for the old man than any cheers or hugs.

He was Valentin Petrovich Grushko, the head of the Energy-Blizzard Project.

Slava went over to visit him. The officer with him brought over a chair, and Slava sat down next to Grushko's wheelchair.

Grushko is seventy-eight years old this year. He is in poor health, and his face is covered with a grayish-yellow hue etched by the years.

He is a veteran figure in Soviet space history, on par with Korolev. Korolev and Grushko are the two roots of the great tree of Soviet spaceflight; Korolev built rockets, and Grushko built engines—without Grushko's engines, Korolev's rockets couldn't fly!

However, the feud between these two individuals is also a scar in the history of Soviet spaceflight.

Both men were imprisoned in the Gulag in the 1930s. In the Gulag, Grushko gave testimony detrimental to Korolev—which was later proven to have been obtained under torture.

Korolev served several more years in prison because of Grushko's "testimony," and nearly died there. From that time until his death, Korolev never forgave Grushko. Even after their respective releases and becoming pillars of the Soviet space program, the two men never reconciled for decades.

In 1966, Korolev passed away. Grushko survived and rose step by step to the highest position in Soviet spaceflight—he took over the huge design bureau left by Korolev, he promoted the initiation and development of the Energia rocket, and he took the Buran rocket from the blueprints to the launch pad it is today.

All of this took up all the energy he had for the rest of his life.

The Buran's successful orbital insertion today is probably the last highlight of its life.

"Comrade Grushko, the Buran is amazing! You are amazing too!" Slava praised.

Grushko turned his head and glanced at Slava, gave a perfunctory salute, and his lips twitched.

"Comrade General Secretary, I am not the remarkable one."

His voice was low: "The truly remarkable people are those people."

He pointed to the engineers who were celebrating.

“Those young people...those millions of working people...they are the truly remarkable ones.”

He paused for a moment: "But—being able to live to see the blizzard take flight, my life has been worthwhile."

Slava didn't respond; he knew Grushko had more to say.

Sure enough, Grushko slowly began, "Comrade General Secretary, would you like to hear an old man's opinion on where Soviet spaceflight should go?"

“I would like to hear what you have to say, Comrade Grushko,” Slava said softly.

Grushko's gaze fell on the large screen, where the Buran's orbital data was still scrolling.

"We Soviets must land on the moon."

He spoke softly, his words filled with determination.

"Comrade Korolev's biggest dream was to land on the moon. But N1 failed, and he couldn't do it. The Americans got there first."

This became his regret, and also a regret for the entire Soviet space program—we never caught up with that step in our lifetime.

He had let down Comrade Korolev, a regret that haunted him for the rest of his life. He had betrayed Korolev in the 30s and frequently sabotaged his cooperation thereafter; he hadn't even done his best for the Soviet Union's N1 rocket mission to the moon—at least that's what he believed.

"The thrust of the Energia rocket is now sufficient. Its low Earth orbit payload capacity exceeds 100 tons. If this thrust is improved, for example, by upgrading the Vulcan model with four boosters to eight boosters, the payload capacity can approach 200 tons."

What does sending 200 tons into low Earth orbit mean? It means we can assemble a lunar orbital station, conduct manned lunar landings, and even—”