“Fuel’s all loaded,” Bud remarked as the two boys approached the launching area.
The last tank truck was driving away. Mechan—
ENEMY ROCKET 61
ics swarmed over the huge silvery projectile, checking valves and tightening connections.
As the moment for takeoff approached, radar scanners swept the sky. The boys rode by conveyor up to the pilot’s compartment in the rocket’s nose, high as a five-story building.
“All hands clear the launching area!” a voice boomed over the “squawk box.”
In the flight cabin, Tom spoke into the mike. “Radar report!”
“All clear!” George Billing called back.
Tom fed the flight tape into the automatic pilot. Electric timers began ticking in the concrete blockhouse. The boys lay flat on their acceleration couches and buckled the straps.
“X minus twenty second!” blared the loudspeaker. “X minus nineteen … X
minus eighteen …”
The boys exchanged grins.
“Never can figure out why my heart always thumps so loudly just before blast-off,” Bud said, chuckling.
Bo-o-o-oom! Smoke rolled over the launching area. For an instant, the rocket seemed to be poised on a pillar of fire. Then it was arrowing upward into the blue at lightning speed.
The shock of acceleration flattened the boys against their cots. Gradually the pressure eased off as Tom’s anti-G neutralator took effect. Moments later, a red light flashed and a warning buzzer sounded as the timer gun kicked loose the 62 THE RACE TO THE MOON
first stage of the rocket. A fresh blast of power shook the cabin. One by one, the other two stages were jettisoned.
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