But if he couldn’t be at the Cape, von Braun made sure the Explorer launch was in the hands of his very best people. Willy Mrazek oversaw the Jupiter-C’s propulsion system, just as he had the prototype A-4 in Germany. Walter Haeussermann’s guidance and control laboratory had perfected the booster’s inertial guidance, and Haeussermann was there that day for the final premission tuning. Ernst Stuhlinger, head of the research projects office, did the troubleshooting at the Cape. Overall command of the test launch was under Kurt Debus and his missile firing laboratory. Debus had supervised hundreds of V-2 launches in Germany and New Mexico.
All day, strong winds delayed the launch as the Jupiter-C sat on the concrete platform of Launch Pad 5, supported by a flame-blasted Redstone gantry tower. Von Braun’s tone on the telephone showed how anxious he was, but he trusted his colleagues too much to interfere.
Then, at 10:48 pm, Debus completed the countdown and issued the ignition command from the firing bunker. The striped cylindrical payload package was “spun up” like a captive toy to stabilize the upper stage in flight. An orange glare ripped out as the Jupiter-C’s Redstone first stage roared to life. For several seconds flame blasted sideways from the Jupiter as it stood stationary on the pad.
Then the rocket climbed away into the darkness. Two and a half minutes later the upper stages were separated by an automatic timer. For the next six minutes the payload coasted higher to an apex 225 miles above the Atlantic. Walter Haeussermann’s guidance package worked perfectly. The second-stage cluster of solid rockets was brought parallel to the Earth’s surface by small thruster jets. Stuhlinger transmitted the command to ignite the second stage. After six and a half seconds, he ignited the third stage, comprised of three clustered Sergeants. Finally, he pressed the amber fourth-stage ignition button and the single-Sergeant satellite kicker motor ignited, accelerating Explorer to over 18,000 miles per hour, orbital velocity.
Medaris had insisted on a media blackout to prevent embarrassment if the mission failed and to keep down speculation about interservice rivalry. [Despite two Sputniks and the multiple Vanguard failures, the Navy was still in the satellite game.] No reporters were there to watch the delayed countdown and the spectacular launch. Residents of nearby Titusville and Cocoa Beach simply thought another secret missile was being tested. Two hundred and twenty-five miles above West Africa, the tiny Explorer satellite glided silently through the day-night terminator line and into brilliant sunlight. The satellite was the size of an overgrown titanium milk bottle and weighed only 10.5 pounds. To achieve orbit, Explorer’s centrifugal energy would have to counter-balance Earth’s gravity.
The first American listening station positioned to receive the radio beacon from a properly orbiting Explorer was the Goldstone tracking site in the California desert. Signals should have begun coming in at exactly 12:41 Pentagon. Pickering was on the phone with his people in California as the deadline passed. There was no signal from Explorer.
“Why the hell don’t you hear anything?” Pickering yelled.
Secretary Brucker looked up from a table littered with coffee cups and overflowing ashtrays.
“Wernher,” he asked, “what happened?”
Von Braun watched the sweeping second hand on the wall of the communications room. If they didn’t get a signal in 10 minutes, he would have to consider the mission a failure.
At 12:49 am, Pickering whooped with joy, holding the receiver against his shoulder Goldstone had Explorer’s signal. Von Braun beamed, then frowned. “She is eight minutes late,” he muttered. “Interesting.”