WRW Radio 59. Next.
And now, another tale well calculated to keep you in...
Suspense.
What will man's first flight into space be like?
Will he be able to re-enter the Earth's atmosphere?
And how will he feel?
Well, we don't know for sure.
So this is only imagination as we bring you George Bamber's Flight of Fancy.
Re-entry.
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I don't think I'll ever get used to getting up and fixing your breakfast at 4.30 in the morning.
A lot of men get up and go to work at 4.30 in the morning.
Want some more eggs?
Howard, would you like some more eggs?
Oh, no, no, this is fine.
Today's the day, isn't it?
What day?
Today's the day you take it up, isn't it?
Yes, I suppose so. If everything checks out all right, there's no reason why not.
It's silly, but I keep wanting to ask you if the ship's all right,
if it can really go up that high and withstand the heat and shock of the plunge back to Earth.
Oh, I know it is or else you wouldn't take it up,
but I just want to hear you say everything's going to be all right.
Aaron, mechanically the X-15 has been engineered to perfection.
It's passed every test, metallurgical, wind tunnel, powerless flight.
In theory, we've flown it a million times.
On the ground, we've taken it as far as we can go, and now we have to take it up.
And see once and for all if it's possible for a man to ride a skyrocket.
And if he can, can he steer it back to Earth without it falling apart from heat and shock?
Aaron!
Oh, Pappy, I'm sorry. I have to bite my tongue.
I promised myself a million times that when the day came I wouldn't say a word.
Here I am.
Oh, please forgive me.
I know as well as you do that everything will be all right.
More coffee?
No, no, I'd better be going.
You want the station wagon today?
Yes, I've got to get groceries.
All right.
Let me walk you to the door.
You got everything? Briefcase, notes?
Mm-hmm.
I suppose on this day of days I should be able to think of something witty and brave to say,
but all I can think of is be careful.
Well, don't worry, I will.
Bye now.
Bye.
Pappy?
Yeah?
You want to look in on the kids before you go?
Before? I'll see them when I get home tonight.
Oh, yes, of course.
Bye, dear.
Well, that's it, Pappy.
Everything has been checked and double-checked.
The X-15's locked in and ready to go.
At 0730 hours Ed here will take off and carry you and your craft to 36,500 feet.
Ground control will wait two seconds and then ignite your rockets.
From then on you're on your own.
There's no change in aircraft tests?
No. Just don't take it more than 100 miles up.
All we're interested in in this trip is reentry.
And I don't think we'll have any problems there.
Any questions?
No, sir.
Very well then. I've got to get over to operations or I'll miss the whole show.
Good luck to you both.
Thank you, sir.
Well, let's take the jeep over.
Right.
Well, how does it feel to be a white-collar hero?
What do you mean by that?
Is there any doubt in your mind, Pappy, that you'll make it?
There's always doubt, Ed. That's why I fly, to eliminate doubt.
Tell me something, Pappy. Are you scared?
What do you think?
Well, if you're like me, I know.
I wonder what it will feel like to fly into the edge of space,
to be out there all alone, the first man up.
Ed, I know that at first I'll be heavy from the thrust of the rocket, seven times my own weight.
And then I know I'll be weightless when they cut out.
And then during reentry, as the atmosphere starts to drag against the hull of the ship,
I'll slowly gain weight again.
More than that, I don't know what I'll feel.
I'll find out when I get there.
Pappy, when we're seven miles up, I might be so busy getting ready to drop your plane,
I might forget to wish you luck. Let me do it now.
Thanks, Ed. I might need it.
Well, you drive or shall I?
I'll drive.
X-15, this is ground control.
You are now zero, minus one minute from drop-off.
Roger, ground control.
X-15, this is aircraft commander.
X-15, this is aircraft commander.
Your loxie and ammonia have been topped off and disconnected. You are free to fall.
Thanks, Ed.
Our altitude is 36,500 feet and our airspeed is five-zero constant.
The flight plan is now yours.
Okay, Ed. Everything checks out across the board.
Now, just for kicks, do you have your rocket throttle set on prime?
I've been through this maneuver so many times I can do it in my sleep.
Everything here is straight stick.
Good. You are now seven miles above the face of the earth.
Would you like to try for a hundred?
I have a lady in the balcony, doctor.
This is ground control. Please clear the air.
You are now zero, minus 30 seconds from drop-off.
Please clear the air.
Will you listen to them up there talking just like it was any other day?
What do you want them to do? Get out on the wing and pray?
I'll do something.
They've never fired those engines in the air before.
I bet they blow right up in his face as they fire it off.
Knock it off, Sarge. When they were making the freefall test,
you swore that ship would fall like a stone.
While it didn't, he flew it down better than a glider.
The freefall was different. This time I'm right.
She doesn't blow to smithereens when he cuts in them rockets,
and she'll heat up and fall apart on reentry.
One way or the other, he's not coming back.
You wouldn't like to make a little wager on that, would you?
I bet you a month's pay.
You're on. Naked two months of your pay.
You E3s don't make enough for a man to live on.
Okay, my show against your one says he makes it back.
And I say he don't.
All right, men, knock it off. Tend to your equipment.
Yes, sir.
We're now zero, minus 13 seconds from drop-off.
Ready for countdown.
Roger, ground control.
Stable table. On.
Primer. On.
All controls operational.
I'm ready to roll.
Countdown.
Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, drop-off.
Dr. May, why doesn't he say something?
His orders were to talk as much as he can.
Minus 30 seconds to burn out.
Give him time.
As soon as the rocket motor's cut out, he'll be able to talk.
Right now, he's plastered back against his seat with seven Gs.
He feels that if he opens his mouth right now, his jaw will tear off.
Aircraft commander to ground control.
We're ready to roll.
All right, men, let's get this thing rolling.
We're ready to roll.
All right, men, let's get this thing rolling.
All right, men, let's get this thing rolling.
His jaw will tear off.
Aircraft commander to ground control.
He's out of sight now.
Both engines fired perfectly, and he climbed upstairs faster than anything I've seen in a lifetime of flying.
Tell Ed a good job. Well done.
Sir, radar reports X-15 on course and climbing steadily.
How about telemetrics?
Respiration twice normal.
Heart beat up from normal, 65 points.
Body temperature normal, 90 seconds.
90 seconds is all it takes him to burn seven tons of fuel and climb 25 miles.
That sounds fast enough, but down here it seems like forever.
Take it easy, general. He'll make it.
Yes, I know.
Flam up.
But why doesn't he say something?
As soon as the rocket's cut out, he's weightless and coasting.
He should be able to talk.
Ground control, make sure we have radio contact.
X-15, this is ground control.
X-15, this is ground control.
Do you read me? Over.
Ground control, this is your old Pappy, and I read you just fine.
Just fine.
What's the matter with him? He doesn't sound right.
He's completely weightless now.
I think he's experiencing a side effect of exuberance and exhilaration.
It's to be expected.
Hello, Pappy. This is General Brighton. Can you read me?
Yes, general.
Us chickens hear you loud and clear.
Try to keep us informed as much as possible on your observations and operations.
How does the ship handle?
Like a dream, baby. Like an effortless dream.
Everything is pinpoint control.
It seems like I'm just sitting still, but the stable table says we're still climbing at 45 degrees.
And if I'm to believe the airspeed indicator hanging on the wall, I'm traveling at 3,900 miles an hour.
Pappy, describe the effects of weightlessness. Do you feel nauseated? Dizzy?
No, I feel fine.
I feel like I'm home for the first time in my life.
Like this is where I belong and I want to stay.
It's so easy to move. If I want to lift my arm, it jumps up.
If I stick it straight out in the air and relax, it stays where I leave it.
So I can rest it anywhere I want it.
But that isn't the best, Dr. May. Not the best.
Oh, you should be up here, doctor. It's beautiful. Just beautiful.
What's beautiful?
Space. The threshold of the universe.
It's the beginning, Dr. May, and it's the end.
Dr. May, and it's the end.
Describe it, Pappy.
Well, it's black. The universe is black.
For a long while it was misty blue-gray, but now it's just black velvet.
And the stars, the stars are brilliant.
They crawl through the universe like huge Christmas tree bones, steady, blue, green, yellow.
And they don't twinkle. They just hang there.
And if I keep going, I can reach one just a little bit farther.
X-15, this is ground control. You have now reached an altitude of 95 miles. Begin reentry maneuver.
Well, if it's all the same to you, ground control, I've got enough gas. I just think I'll just go a little bit farther.
X-15, you've passed the apex of your flight. Your orders are to level off or reentry.
But I have to keep going. I'll be back.
What's the matter with him?
Evidently, the aura of well-being that weightlessness produces has given him a dangerous false sense of security.
Please, just let me climb another ten minutes.
Another ten minutes? By that time he won't be able to reenter. He'll shoot out into space.
Try giving him a direct order. In this childlike state, he might respond to the first positive suggestion.
X-15, this is General Brighton. I order you to level off that aircraft and commence the classic reentry maneuver.
Do you read me?
Sir?
That ship is property of the United States government. I order you to level off and return it to this field in accordance with your contract.
But, sir...
Don't argue with me. Bring it down.
Yes, sir.
What's he doing, Radar?
He's leveling off, sir. Now he's beginning the 45-degree angle of reentry.
Telematrix, what do you read?
Temperature normal, pulse normal, respiration normal. Radar reports the aircraft has definitely begun the correct angle of reentry.
Pappy, Dr. May again. If it doesn't interfere too much, we would appreciate it if you'd keep giving your sensations and reactions whenever you can during reentry.
What for? I don't see any point in it.
Please, Pappy. It may be important.
All right.
When I pushed the nose down, the edge of the earth broke above my instrument panel like the rim of a great sea.
A sea that has turned to blue-green mud, covered with a cataract film of clouds.
The rivers of lead are beginning to pour through my veins, wading down my arms.
It's getting harder to breathe.
Sound is beginning to come back.
And I feel like I'm turning my back on a new world and reentering a dead one.
Sound is beginning to come back.
Sounds like the plane is falling apart and there are people standing on my wings outside.
She's getting difficult to handle.
The ship is pitching and yawing as she hits each shock wave of atmosphere.
And I can feel it start to heat up.
In spite of the air conditioning and insulation, the heat is almost unbearable in here.
No!
What's happened?
No! No! I can't! I can't!
Pappy, do you read me? What's going on out there?
I can't! I can't come back to that crumbling world of gravity and death!
I can't! I won't!
She's enjoying the thermal thicket. What's going on out there?
This is where you'll melt apart in midair.
I don't belong down there. Nobody does.
I'm going back while there's still time.
Okay, Cox, I'll raise you another month's pay.
Money in the bank.
Pappy, what's wrong?
I've got to get back before it's too late.
My arms are getting so heavy.
My fingers hardly move.
The ship's so hard to fly.
I've got to get out of this safety harness.
The ship must be too hot to fly. He's trying to bail out.
I think he's losing his mind.
Pappy, listen to me. What do you think you're doing?
Man was never meant to live on Earth, Dr. May.
We were meant to live free.
Free from the oppressive weight of flesh.
Man was made to live in space, and I'm getting out of this safety harness and going back out there.
Mad, he's mad.
Pappy, I order you to fasten your safety harness and bring that ship in.
You can't order me, General.
It's getting hotter in here.
I can see the skin on the nose change from black to dull cherry red.
It looks like a hot piece of steel.
Hot and dirty like the call of a cigarette on the cement.
I have to disconnect this umbilical cord.
Pappy, do not disconnect the umbilical cord. You cannot live without it.
Right now you think you can, but you cannot.
You need the oxygen to breathe.
Pappy, that ship is property of the United States government.
The ship is yours. My mind is my own, General.
I have to go back.
Well, there's still time.
Well, there's still time to disconnect this ship.
Pappy, listen to me. You cannot live without the cord. You need oxygen to live.
Pappy, for the sake of Erin and the children, leave the cord alone.
Pappy, do you hear me?
What's the telemetric meters?
They've dropped to normal, sir.
Right across the board.
Normal?
Normal, sir.
Radar, what you're reading?
Aircraft adhering to the proper 45 degree angle of descent.
Losing altitude at the proper speed.
In just a moment, we will return for the concluding act of...
Suspense.
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Ladies and gentlemen, this is your news reporter, Dave Miller.
At the moment, I'm standing at the edge of Rogers Dry Lake in the Mojave Desert at Edwards Air Force Base in Southern California.
In just a few seconds, if all goes well, a sleek black ferrous alloy rocket-propelled aircraft will come hurtling out of the sky from the east,
slide across this flat desert at speeds up to 200 miles an hour, and stop just a few yards away from where I'm standing.
And then Mr. Howard Pappy Winfield will step from the cockpit and become the first man to have flown into outer space and returned.
It is a beautiful day at Edwards Air Force Base.
The sun is hot and bright, but there is a prevailing westerly wind.
Oh, right now, out of the ground control complex, I see officers and men coming out, climbing into vehicles.
It won't be long now.
There's General Brighton.
Perhaps I can get him to say a few words on today's test. General Brighton?
Yes, General Brighton, would you care to comment on the success of this afternoon's test?
It won't be counted as success until the plane is safely at a stop on that runway.
Well, is there any reason to believe it won't be a success?
No comment.
Several men are pointing off to the east, but as yet... yes, yes, now I see it too.
It looks to be hardly bigger than a speck, just a few feet above the horizon.
But it's growing bigger all the time.
Now, now we can see it quite clearly.
The pilot has jettisoned his ventral stabilizer.
This strange, dark-like aircraft has no wheels. It lands on steel skids on its underside.
There she's touching down. You can see a cloud of smoke from the floor where she hit.
She's outstuck. Now she's crying again.
This is the ship the newspaper men call the missile with the man in it.
And that's exactly what she looks like, a huge black missile with stubby wings.
A plume of dust is following her. It decreases as the ship slows down and it is slowing.
In a moment, in a moment, it will be almost a breath stopper. There it is. It has almost stopped.
Listen to the cheering of the technicians as they run toward the ship.
I'm trying to keep up with them. It sounds like Cape Canaveral on a good day.
I'm on pay, you want me? I'm on pay!
Getting closer to the ship, the dust is settling over her dull black surface. Her sharp needle nose looks deadly.
Now they're moving an aluminum ladder into place next to the ship.
Mechanics and asbestos gloves are working to get the canopy raised.
The latch is released. Slowly the canopy is being raised.
In just a moment, we catch our first sight of the first man from outer space.
If I can just get closer...
Ladies and gentlemen, ladies and gentlemen, there is no one there. The cockpit is empty.
Suspense.
You have been listening to Re-Entry, written for suspense by George Bamber.
In a moment, the names of our players and a word about next week's story of suspense.
In this day and atomic age, another place to find suspense is in the news.
And one reporter who never loses an opportunity to make the most of a colorful, suspenseful news story is Lowell Thomas.
This is Weekday Evenings on CBS Radio. Get into the habit. Get your news from Lowell Thomas.
Heard in tonight's story, we're a while to draw as pappy with Margaret Draper, Les Damon, Bob Reddick, Frank Thomas, Jr., Robert Donnelly, Mason Adams, Jim Bowe, Frank Butler, and Whitfield Connor.
Listen again next week when we return with The Last Trip, written especially for suspense by Ralph Bell and Eugene Francis, the story of a man's last ride.
Another tale well calculated to keep you in suspense on CBS Radio.