Aracnid, I really appreciate you saying that. When I'm writing these, I tend to think I'm doing it only for myself, but then you say something like that and it inspires me to do the next one.
The Manhattan Project: Or, How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the ICBM
- Thread starter Amerigo Vespucci
- Start date
Fragments of exploded V-2s were transported from Britain and mainland Europe to the United States, where they were examined by Manhattan Project scientists. Though some were surprised at the poor construction and crude techniques, most followed Wyld’s thoughts — that the V-2 was merely a crude military version of something far deadlier hidden from view. Rather than reassure the scientists, those who had the chance to see the V-2 were not comforted. Each new launch brought a new fear that the next one might be big enough to reach the United States. Special military teams were assigned a low-ranking scientist and deployed to Europe to scoop up whatever rocket-related papers or research was left behind the advancing Allied army. There wasn’t much — a few half-built launch sites in France and Belgium, a launcher truck captured in eastern France. The real prizes would come after the advance into Germany, but the Allied armies were stalled along Germany’s western border during the winter of 1944-1945. Each day that passed was both a relief and a terror — relief that no new German weapon had yet appeared, and terror that one might come the next day. The end was coming for Germany, everyone saw that, but would it come soon enough?
Adding to the fears of the Manhattan Project were the health issues of its two most prominent figures. In April 1944, Goddard had a recurrence of his persistent tuberculosis. Though the warm, dry air of Utah helped fight the disease, he continued to suffer from it for the rest of his life. He learned two months later that deadline was closer than anyone knew. During a checkup for the TB flareup, he was diagnosed with throat cancer. Though an aggressive treatment regimen was begun, he was given no more than 18 months to live. Despite this diagnosis, he continued to dedicate himself to his work, often neglecting his treatment in favor of more hours in the Oak Canyon laboratories. The same month that Goddard’s cancer was discovered, von Karman was also diagnosed with cancer. His was an intestinal cancer, and thanks to excellent treatment by doctors specially assigned to his case, he was able to make a full recovery two months after surgery removed three feet of intestine. A less-skilled surgeon might have caused complications from the procedure, which was not as common in 1944 as it is today, but von Karman was granted special treatment because of his position as head of the Manhattan Project’s scientific contingent.
The health problems of the Manhattan Project leaders did not slow the project’s progress one iota, however. The talented minds in Oak Canyon and elsewhere were fully capable of working on their own, and the problems they were addressing during the summer and fall of 1944 were ones that had been identified long before. As those problems began to be solved, and the Howitzers became close to reality, a search began for a large testing range for the long-range versions of the Rifle and the Howitzers themselves. Though Utah offered ample space for normal rocket testing, the Howitzers were planned to have a range of more than 4,000 miles — far more than could be offered in any continental United States location. Indeed, what was needed was someplace on a coastline, allowing for long-distance shots over the ocean, where falling rocket debris would not harm anyone and where security could be maintained in a landing area. Unfortunately, security concerns precluded many of the scientists’ choices. Although German U-boats and Japanese submarines were no longer a major threat, the possibility of shore-landed saboteurs loomed large in the minds of Manhattan Project security.
Sites on the Florida and California coasts were preferred by the scientists but discarded because of those fears. In the end, a site near Texas’ Gulf coast was selected. It offered a relatively secure portion of unpopulated coastline, a somewhat open section of ocean, and a hospitable climate for launching rockets. As planned, rockets would be launched from the site southwest of Houston, southeast, over the Gulf of Mexico, the Caribbean, and into a section of open ocean in the Atlantic northeast of Brazil. Radar stations were erected in the Caribbean, with the British offering several locations on colonial islands in the area. Mexico provided a site on the Yucatan and France offered a radar site in Guyana, which were accepted. These radar stations were key to recording the flight paths of rockets launched from Texas. Data from those flight paths would be used to calculate the navigation tapes loaded into the Howitzers before launch.
In September 1944, a crew of Army engineers arrived at a barrier island south of the small town of Matagorda, Texas. Fighting through a cloud of mosquitoes, tortuously hot and humid weather, they blasted and filled terrain to create a launch complex. There were few facilities when they started. The sole transportation link was a dirt one-lane farm road leading from Matagorda across a sandy isthmus to the barrier islands. This road was widened and paved, water pipelines were laid, and latticed steel towers began to rise above the beaches. The first launch came just four months after construction started and well before it finished. That rocket, a three-engine Rifle, splashed down in the Gulf of Mexico just west of Cuba. The facility was named Port Matagorda, and that name served two purposes. It provided a cover story for the work going on — that the U.S. Army was building some kind of military port to bypass Corpus Christi and Galveston/Houston. It also was embraced by the more utopian scientists at Oak Canyon, who envisioned that the port would be a gateway to space.
With that first launch in February 1945, the Oak Canyon scientists discovered that launching from the coast was a great deal different from launching in Utah. One of the first launches ended in an enormous explosion. The reason behind it wasn’t because of a flaw in the rocket’s design — it was because the man hauling the liquid oxygen fueling hoses had dragged its end in the sand. Just a few grains had entered the tank, but during the launch process, they had become trapped in the finely machined fuel valves and stuck them open. Minor problems like these plagued launches from Texas. More often than not, the scientists were left at a loss about what caused the failure. Only through cautious analysis of film footage and instrument readings could the story of the accident be reconstructed. The work of British scientist Archibald Low and New Zealand-born William Pickering helped in this regard. Each man was an expert in radio telemetry and control, and although they were unable to bring their expertise to controlling the Howitzers, their techniques excelled at developing information from tests. Radio instruments mounted in Rifles returned critical data to a receiver at Port Matagorda, which recorded the information on a spool of paper.
Adding to the fears of the Manhattan Project were the health issues of its two most prominent figures. In April 1944, Goddard had a recurrence of his persistent tuberculosis. Though the warm, dry air of Utah helped fight the disease, he continued to suffer from it for the rest of his life. He learned two months later that deadline was closer than anyone knew. During a checkup for the TB flareup, he was diagnosed with throat cancer. Though an aggressive treatment regimen was begun, he was given no more than 18 months to live. Despite this diagnosis, he continued to dedicate himself to his work, often neglecting his treatment in favor of more hours in the Oak Canyon laboratories. The same month that Goddard’s cancer was discovered, von Karman was also diagnosed with cancer. His was an intestinal cancer, and thanks to excellent treatment by doctors specially assigned to his case, he was able to make a full recovery two months after surgery removed three feet of intestine. A less-skilled surgeon might have caused complications from the procedure, which was not as common in 1944 as it is today, but von Karman was granted special treatment because of his position as head of the Manhattan Project’s scientific contingent.
The health problems of the Manhattan Project leaders did not slow the project’s progress one iota, however. The talented minds in Oak Canyon and elsewhere were fully capable of working on their own, and the problems they were addressing during the summer and fall of 1944 were ones that had been identified long before. As those problems began to be solved, and the Howitzers became close to reality, a search began for a large testing range for the long-range versions of the Rifle and the Howitzers themselves. Though Utah offered ample space for normal rocket testing, the Howitzers were planned to have a range of more than 4,000 miles — far more than could be offered in any continental United States location. Indeed, what was needed was someplace on a coastline, allowing for long-distance shots over the ocean, where falling rocket debris would not harm anyone and where security could be maintained in a landing area. Unfortunately, security concerns precluded many of the scientists’ choices. Although German U-boats and Japanese submarines were no longer a major threat, the possibility of shore-landed saboteurs loomed large in the minds of Manhattan Project security.
Sites on the Florida and California coasts were preferred by the scientists but discarded because of those fears. In the end, a site near Texas’ Gulf coast was selected. It offered a relatively secure portion of unpopulated coastline, a somewhat open section of ocean, and a hospitable climate for launching rockets. As planned, rockets would be launched from the site southwest of Houston, southeast, over the Gulf of Mexico, the Caribbean, and into a section of open ocean in the Atlantic northeast of Brazil. Radar stations were erected in the Caribbean, with the British offering several locations on colonial islands in the area. Mexico provided a site on the Yucatan and France offered a radar site in Guyana, which were accepted. These radar stations were key to recording the flight paths of rockets launched from Texas. Data from those flight paths would be used to calculate the navigation tapes loaded into the Howitzers before launch.
In September 1944, a crew of Army engineers arrived at a barrier island south of the small town of Matagorda, Texas. Fighting through a cloud of mosquitoes, tortuously hot and humid weather, they blasted and filled terrain to create a launch complex. There were few facilities when they started. The sole transportation link was a dirt one-lane farm road leading from Matagorda across a sandy isthmus to the barrier islands. This road was widened and paved, water pipelines were laid, and latticed steel towers began to rise above the beaches. The first launch came just four months after construction started and well before it finished. That rocket, a three-engine Rifle, splashed down in the Gulf of Mexico just west of Cuba. The facility was named Port Matagorda, and that name served two purposes. It provided a cover story for the work going on — that the U.S. Army was building some kind of military port to bypass Corpus Christi and Galveston/Houston. It also was embraced by the more utopian scientists at Oak Canyon, who envisioned that the port would be a gateway to space.
With that first launch in February 1945, the Oak Canyon scientists discovered that launching from the coast was a great deal different from launching in Utah. One of the first launches ended in an enormous explosion. The reason behind it wasn’t because of a flaw in the rocket’s design — it was because the man hauling the liquid oxygen fueling hoses had dragged its end in the sand. Just a few grains had entered the tank, but during the launch process, they had become trapped in the finely machined fuel valves and stuck them open. Minor problems like these plagued launches from Texas. More often than not, the scientists were left at a loss about what caused the failure. Only through cautious analysis of film footage and instrument readings could the story of the accident be reconstructed. The work of British scientist Archibald Low and New Zealand-born William Pickering helped in this regard. Each man was an expert in radio telemetry and control, and although they were unable to bring their expertise to controlling the Howitzers, their techniques excelled at developing information from tests. Radio instruments mounted in Rifles returned critical data to a receiver at Port Matagorda, which recorded the information on a spool of paper.
Bill Cameron
Banned
Gents,
Okay, I believe I've a handle on how this time line is going to play out...
Consider the following:
That leaves the US Army in the time line with in interesting position: They've an amazing weapon delivery system with no suitable weapons for it to deliver.
Using the "Howitzer" to deliver a ten-ton conventional warhead, whether HE or napalm, is a waste of resources. The B-29 can deliver the same load and, unlike the "Howitzer" which is a one-use delivery system, the B-29 can be used many times.
All this means that the WW2 setting of the time line is a nice example of clever misdirection. The "Howitzer" isn't going to be used in WW2 or, more accurately, isn't going to be used to any great effect in WW2.
The time line's WW2 thus plays out as follows:
ETO - No real changes. Hitler swallows his gun, the Germans surrender, and the Allies arrange their occupation zones on schedule and as was done in the OTL. The Western Allies' interest in the personnel behind Germany's missile programs; i.e. Operation Paperclip, will be less successful than in the OTL due to the deaths that occurred during this time line's bombing of Peenemunde; i.e. the death of von Braun and others.
PTO - Fewer changes than you'd first believe. Japan still surrenders in 1945, most likely late in the year. The OTL Soviet invasion of Manchuria and other Japanese territories takes place and includes all of Korea. The US blockade and operations against the Home Islands continue with many more Japanese cities burned down as LeMay rearranges the rubble. Japan eventually bows to the necessity of surrender, not thanks to the shock of the nuclear strikes and Soviet entry, but after a months long period of grinding and daily destruction of the Home Islands from the air and sea.
The war ends with no real use of the "Howitzer" thanks to a lack of a suitable payload. The war also ends without an alt-Trinity test of the atomic bomb. Because there is no longer pressure to "win the war", the need to use the Bomb is lacking and the weapon can be studied instead. Tests of the bomb reveal that, while it would be a perfect payload for the "Howitzer", the after effects of a nuclear detonation, especially those concerning radiation exposure, are not at all desirable. This realization leads to the idea of "Teller's Rocks" being re-examined and, by the 1955 date mentioned earlier, the US is deploying ICBMs carrying kinetic energy warheads.
Just how, where, and why those warheads are used or threatened to be be used is still an open question. There's no Korean War in this time line thanks to the Soviet's occupation of the entire peninsular, for example, but other Cold War flash points, old or new, will still exist. Whether KE warheads are every used or not is moot however as by the 1970s the "fruits, nuts, and flakes" depicted in the opening post feel strongly enough about KE weaponry to protest against it.
Bill
Okay, I believe I've a handle on how this time line is going to play out...
Consider the following:
- The time line's progress in nuclear weapons is slower than that of the OTL
- The time line's progress in guided missiles is greater than that of the OTL
That leaves the US Army in the time line with in interesting position: They've an amazing weapon delivery system with no suitable weapons for it to deliver.
Using the "Howitzer" to deliver a ten-ton conventional warhead, whether HE or napalm, is a waste of resources. The B-29 can deliver the same load and, unlike the "Howitzer" which is a one-use delivery system, the B-29 can be used many times.
All this means that the WW2 setting of the time line is a nice example of clever misdirection. The "Howitzer" isn't going to be used in WW2 or, more accurately, isn't going to be used to any great effect in WW2.
The time line's WW2 thus plays out as follows:
ETO - No real changes. Hitler swallows his gun, the Germans surrender, and the Allies arrange their occupation zones on schedule and as was done in the OTL. The Western Allies' interest in the personnel behind Germany's missile programs; i.e. Operation Paperclip, will be less successful than in the OTL due to the deaths that occurred during this time line's bombing of Peenemunde; i.e. the death of von Braun and others.
PTO - Fewer changes than you'd first believe. Japan still surrenders in 1945, most likely late in the year. The OTL Soviet invasion of Manchuria and other Japanese territories takes place and includes all of Korea. The US blockade and operations against the Home Islands continue with many more Japanese cities burned down as LeMay rearranges the rubble. Japan eventually bows to the necessity of surrender, not thanks to the shock of the nuclear strikes and Soviet entry, but after a months long period of grinding and daily destruction of the Home Islands from the air and sea.
The war ends with no real use of the "Howitzer" thanks to a lack of a suitable payload. The war also ends without an alt-Trinity test of the atomic bomb. Because there is no longer pressure to "win the war", the need to use the Bomb is lacking and the weapon can be studied instead. Tests of the bomb reveal that, while it would be a perfect payload for the "Howitzer", the after effects of a nuclear detonation, especially those concerning radiation exposure, are not at all desirable. This realization leads to the idea of "Teller's Rocks" being re-examined and, by the 1955 date mentioned earlier, the US is deploying ICBMs carrying kinetic energy warheads.
Just how, where, and why those warheads are used or threatened to be be used is still an open question. There's no Korean War in this time line thanks to the Soviet's occupation of the entire peninsular, for example, but other Cold War flash points, old or new, will still exist. Whether KE warheads are every used or not is moot however as by the 1970s the "fruits, nuts, and flakes" depicted in the opening post feel strongly enough about KE weaponry to protest against it.
Bill
maverick
Banned
I agree with Bill Cameron's analysis, except that the Howitzers could conceivably be used in the war, even if only in an attempt to justify the massive expenses by showing that the weapon is at least operational, and not just a money-drain.
Otherwise, the last chapter was very pleasing, as the war nears its end and so does the Manhattan project, I can only hope that a successful test in Texas can be done before the year is over.
Now, is Port Matagorda supposed to replace Houston as the center of Space exploration?
"Matagorda, we have a problem", nope, just not as catchy on those fancy Space Race movies
Otherwise, the last chapter was very pleasing, as the war nears its end and so does the Manhattan project, I can only hope that a successful test in Texas can be done before the year is over.
Now, is Port Matagorda supposed to replace Houston as the center of Space exploration?
"Matagorda, we have a problem", nope, just not as catchy on those fancy Space Race movies
Bill Cameron
Banned
Maverick,
Exactly.
They'll be used if only to justify the expense, but there will be no real use of the "Howitzers". That is, there will be no use in a militarily significant manner.
Bill
Well if you take the words of Amerigo that "it was ( in past ) the weapon that ended the war " your analysis is a bit off ...
Anyway excellent time line and history Amerigo, if the story ends the year of the first chapter, will we see some kick ass space race?
maverick
Banned
Exactly, although we cannot assume (or outright deny, either) the possibility that Amerigo has a plot twist and that the weapons could end the war, in a way that is to us inconceivable for the time being.
It says "ended" the war, not "won" the war.
Vagueness is always key when Foreshawoding..
Err... no. Alumin(i)um has a density of 2.7, Titanium 4.5. Titanium is only marginally lighter than steel, actually.
However, it's strong enough to make up for it.
Exactly, although we cannot assume (or outright deny, either) the possibility that Amerigo has a plot twist and that the weapons could end the war, in a way that is to us inconceivable for the time being.
It says "ended" the war, not "won" the war.
Vagueness is always key when Foreshawoding..
I suppose there might be an out here in terms of 'the war' may not be WWII.
Although I suspect that's somewhat unlikely.Steve
??? Gyroscopes are fine. No problem with them. The Nazis put them in V2s (you might even be engaged in overkill here, I'm not sure). So, knowing which direction they're headed is easy. But you haven't addressed the needed accelerometers (unless I missed something), and integrating distance based on acceleration is ... non-trivial for the time.The first part of the guidance dilemma ... I'm sure you'll let me know what I got wrong.
***
In the broadest sense, control consisted of two components: navigation and steering. Some initial work was done on external missile control, but this proved unfeasible in light of the long range of the Howitzers and the possibility that an enemy might intercept the steering commands and somehow jam or alter them. It was decided at an early date to have both control components internal to the missile. Thus, the problem became how to design a missile that could automatically detect where it was, then automatically alter its course as required. In modern rockets, this is done with high-speed onboard computers that determine if course corrections are needed in fractions of a second. No such techniques were available in 1943, and few people even thought such a thing was possible at the time.
The test rockets fired by Goddard and the other Oak Canyon scientists used gyroscopic stabilization to keep their rockets moving upward. This technique, however, did not immediately lead to success at longer ranges or under control. When used on the Rifle, the midsized rocket used for testing new techniques and approaches to be applied to the Howitzer, it was discovered that the strong vibrations caused by the Rifle’s more powerful engines were transmitted through the gyroscopes’ mountings, causing the gyroscopes to be forced away from their proper orientation. Enter Charles Stark Draper, founder of MIT’s instrument lab. In the first two years of the war, he developed a sealed gyroscope for use on antiaircraft gun emplacements, which had to deal with enormous vibrations as they were fired. In the first live-fire test of these stabilized AA guns, the battleship South Dakota downed no fewer than 39 Japanese aircraft, setting a record that still stands for a single battle. This achievement, which took place during the heated battles around Guadalcanal, brought Draper’s work on gyroscopes to the attention of the people in Oak Canyon. He was brought into the project with most of the other instrument lab people toward the end of 1943 and put to work on the guidance problem.
Through fits and starts, he came up with a unique solution. For the precise guidance needed, the gyroscope had to spin on fine jeweled bearings. But in order to cope with the stresses of rocket flight, the gyroscope had to be built sturdy enough to withstand vibration. The fine bearings couldn’t hold the weight of the sturdier gyroscope, which left Draper with an unsolvable problem. Faced with an insurmountable obstacle, he followed a military maxim and outflanked it. Rather than alter the gyroscope or the bearings, he encased the entire setup in a canister and suspended the canister in a fluid to reduce vibration. Thus, the gyroscope could rotate freely as required, and the bearings would not have to support the weight of a gyroscope built to withstand vibration — the fluid would take that role. Manufacturing these fluid-encased gyroscopes proved yet another engineering challenge, however.
Draper and the Manhattan Project contracted out to Sperry Gyroscope Company of New York to build the new fluid-encased gyroscopes. Sperry was one of the largest gyroscope manufacturers in the country, and it had worked with Goddard before the war on gyroscopes for his rockets. Furthermore, James Webb, its vice president, was an enthusiastic member of the American Rocket Society, from whose ranks the Manhattan Project recruited many scientists and engineers. Though Sperry was already building gyroscopes for the famous Norden bombsight and antiaircraft gun emplacements for both branches of the U.S. Military, it agreed to accept the contract to build Draper’s new design. An entirely new factory was designed and built in Connecticut, and this facility produced virtually all of the gyroscopes for both Howitzer models until the 1950s. Because the jeweled bearings and the fluid encasing the gyroscope canister were sensitive to contamination, the entire assembly had to be put together in a clean room. The cleanliness demanded went far beyond anything in a large-scale American industrial production to that point: the air was filtered four times, through progressively smaller filters; the assembly room was pressurized to keep outside air from entering; employees entered the assembly room through an airlock; all were required to change into special clean suits before beginning their work.
When the first of the fluid-encased gyroscopes came off the assembly line, new problems were revealed. The fluid had to be heated slightly and it had to maintain a consistent temperature in order to zero the canister’s weight on its bearings and to prevent variation that might throw off the finely calibrated gyroscopes. Constant electrical voltage had to be arranged, and special line conditioners were installed on the cables leading to and from the gyroscopes. Each had to be calibrated and aligned perfectly, as three gyroscopes were needed in each rocket: one each to control pitch, yaw, and roll. Each had to work with the others in perfect harmony, otherwise small imperfections could cause large errors in control.
Ideally, a guidance system would incorporate some form of location detection and a computer able to calculate the appropriate action needed to correct for any course imperfection. Unfortunately, the state of computer technology during the war years meant that any computer capable of these calculations would weigh far more than the entire predicted payload of the Howitzer. In addition, the fragile vacuum tube-based electronics of the time couldn’t withstand the intense vibration of rocket flight, regardless of their complexity. As before, Draper was forced to sidestep the issue. Because the Howitzers would be unable to recalculate their trajectories based upon outside input, he built his guidance system around a pre-calculated tape containing punched holes. This tape was the result of extensive ballistics calculations on the new IBM/Aiken Mark I and provided by the mathematical subgroup of the structure unit. Fed into a complicated system of accelerometers and gyroscopes, the guidance section of the rocket “read” the punched tape, on which was encoded the appropriate accelerometer and gyroscope readings for that period in the flight. If the internal readings differed from the pre-loaded tape, mechanical linkages automatically increased or reduced power until the readings again matched those on the pre-loaded tape.
This was far from a perfect solution, as it could not compensate for outside forces, such as variations in high-altitude winds or other unforeseeable problems, but it was available during the war and constituted the core of the guidance system for the Howitzers used in the two attacks that ended the war. Also critical was the need to ensure that the calculations done in Oak Canyon and pre-loaded into the rockets were as accurate as possible. One misplaced variable, one improperly solved equation, and the rockets might land dozens of miles away from their intended target. As it was, Draper’s system promised accuracy only to 10 kilometers — about 7 miles. In the jargon of ballistics, it had a Circular Error Probability (CEP) of 10 km. That meant half the rockets fired at a given target would land outside that 10-kilometer radius. The other half would land inside it.
Draper’s first test of this new inertial navigation system took place in May 1944 aboard a B-29 flying from Los Angeles to Boston. The bomber had shades drawn over all of its windows, and its sole means of navigation was through the complicated 3,700-pound assembly of containers and crates in the belly of the aircraft. With Draper and two assistants aboard, the aircraft managed to navigate across the entire United States, missing its target by only 4 miles. As successful as that might sound, the aircraft was traveling at less than 2 percent of the speed of one of the Howitzers, and on a far simpler trajectory. Despite his disappointment, Draper set about improving the system for use in the Howitzers.
OK, you're idea of 'punch a paper tape, and correct for deviations' is very clever. VERY. but I worry. If wind at launching is 20mph one way, or another, or there's no wind at all, the rocket will have to make quite different corrections. If it is having to adjust speed laterally to compensate for wind, then it's probably not going up quite as fast, and ....
Actually 20mph surface winds may be a lot less of a problem than jetstream winds higher up.
Is the paper tape idea yours? or did someone else come up with it. If e.g. Rand Corp thought it would work, I'd be prepared to believe it might work (although I'd want to see details). You'd certainly have to adjust thrust as well as steering... As stands, it smells too much like Heinlein's domestic robots (see Door into Summer) which would not have worked at all.
As for vacuum tubes not standing up - they put entire radar sets into SHELLS (which is what a proximity fuze is). So, by late in the war, you have SOME chance for a very rugged vacuum tube computer (which would also be very expensive, of course).
The temperature of the exhaust is 'easily' measured, and they know what the melting points of the various metals are. Why should they have to test them in engines to tell that there's a problem? That's something that's 'easy' to test ahead of time.Errr... Gimballing engines works fine for liquid rockets. Your paper-tape guidance system might, MIGHT work for liquids. Solids? Don't see how.
http://www.centennialofflight.gov/essay/Evolution_of_Technology/reentry/Tech19.htm
talks some about the evolution of blunt reentry bodies. It took them 3 years to go from the first realization of the solution to actually getting a working warhead reentry vehicle.
It does NOT say how long they wasted with needle nosed vehicles.
Also, did they HAVE sufficiently high-speed wind tunnels to test for the problems in 1944?
High-heat TNT? ?? cites?
Holy Cow! I was going to question a successful bowel resection that early, but there's a case dating back to like 1897 (I closed the window, so I might have the exact year wrong). OK. (Peritonitis is really, really, REALLY a problem. Penicillin is new and they hardly know how to use it. still, obviously possible.)
Thank you; I'll reword it.
It was used in different applications before the war and afterward, though not in missile guidance systems. It was used in areas where machines or devices needed to perform pre-set functions.
Unfortunately, as you stated, asking such a computer to do derivations from the recordings of an accelerometer and gyroscopes is a bit much for the wartime period. They'll be used in the missiles' proximity fuses and another secondary terminal radar guidance system which will be introduced in a later segment.
Though they know the capabilities of individual components, they do not know the capability of the entire assembly, whether some manufacturing stage might have introduced a defect, whether a component might have adverse effects on others, whether the brazing and welding might have weakened the structure ... and so on.
I'll clarify this, and mention that the solid Howitzers keep the vanes.
In a previous update, I mentioned the introduction of shock tubes, which are necessary for high-speed, high-temperature testing. This was done in early 1943, which allows for more than a full year of around-the-clock experimentation before the blunt bodies theory is developed. OTL, it was determined in 1951 despite a lack of funding for rockets.
Check out this paper from 1974 for some examples tested for use on the Space Shuttle. I'm being deliberately vague ITTL because I don't know the terminal temperature inside the re-entry vehicle and I don't know what compositions were available at the time. Whether simple RDX (which was available and had a higher detonation point than TNT) would do, I'm not sure because I don't know what temperatures could be expected.
Right, I just doubt that they can get it 'pre-set' enough. YMMV. I can't imagine adjustments for solids working, because you'd surely need to throttle the engines up and down a touch to adjust for side deviations. I THINK paper tape control for solids is ASB. Paper tape for liquids is - well, I don't think it'd work, but I'm not a rocket engineer.
right
Ummm... but look at the temperature of the burning fuel
http://astronautix.com/props/loxosene.htm said:
vshttp://astronautix.com/props/loxlh2.htm said:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Molybdenum said:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Niobium said:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tantalum said:
So... Columbium doesn't work for either; Tantalum might just barely work for LoxLH2; Molybenum doesn't work for either.
It's not a matter of structure, the vanes themselves are guaranteed to melt.
Ah, forgot that. Ja, probably possible.
Oh... You meant High Explosive, not TNT. Ja, sure, fine. TNT is NOT a generic for 'High Explosive', it is Trinitrotoluene (I think I got the spelling correct). I didn't see how much you could fiddle with a single chemical.
And yet the Pershing missile and other first-generation solid fueled missiles use them. ...
Edit: I see the problem; we were looking at the temperature of the liquid-fueled rocket exhaust and comparing it to the solid-fueled rocket steering vanes.
This radio telemetry was critically important to tests of the Howitzers’ staging system. There was no way to test the separation of the first and second stage from the launch towers near Oak City, so all the staging tests were done from Port Matagorda. The first staged rockets were launched in April 1945, and although three out of five failed, the failures were successes in their own way — they revealed imperfections in the design of the staging system. But the successful staged rockets — three-engine Rifles with a modified A-series rocket as the second stage — splashed down in the planned area east of the Windward Islands. These two rockets, one on April 4, the other on April 17, were the highest and farthest rockets flown in the history of humankind to that point. They reached an altitude of more than 150 miles, passing the altitude defined by all nations as the border of space. This mark had been reached by previous tests and by German V-2s as well, but improved instrumentation allowed reliable temperatures and pressure readings that showed a boundary had been reached.
In addition to the staging tests ongoing at Port Matagorda, the launch facility began receiving increasing numbers of noncommissioned and commissioned officers of the 315th Bombardment Wing (Very Heavy). This was the unit assigned by the U.S. Army Air Corps to be ultimately in charge of the military deployment and firing of the missiles once they rolled out of the factory. Their arrival at Port Matagorda had been delayed as long as possible because the Howitzers were not yet complete, but the needs of the war forced the training schedule ahead more than otherwise would have been the case.
Those who arrived in Texas in early 1945 were the men who would train and instruct the ordinary airmen and noncommissioned officers in their tasks. They were the ones who drafted the first manuals, the first instructions given to the officers and men of the wing. Their job wasn’t an easy one. Just as the engineers building the missile plants struggled with constantly changing specifications, so too did these soldiers have to grapple with equipment and procedures in flux. A nozzle in one location on one version of a rocket might be moved to an entirely different location in the next version of the rocket. Wholly different fuel pressures were required, and five aircrew were killed in April when they overpressurized a missile during a test, causing its fuel tanks to rupture, spilling super-cold liquid oxygen.
Adding to the problems was that the 315th hadn’t been intended from the start to deal with missiles. When it was established on June 7, 1944, it was intended to fly B-29 bombers for the 20th Air Force in the Pacific against Japan. That mission was changed in late 1944, and instead of receiving their aircraft, the men of the unit instead received intensified classroom training in ballistics, high-speed aeronautics, and other fields that might prove useful in ultimately handling America’s top-secret weapon. Because of security concerns, they were not told what their ultimate task would be. This had a correspondingly poor effect on unit morale. The men of the 315th saw their fellow soldiers heading out to the Pacific while they were stuck in the United States, learning what seemed to them to be useless trivia. Only a few men were assigned to the unit’s few aircraft — a score of Piper Cubs and reconnaissance P-38s — and sent to Texas to work at Port Matagorda. The men in Texas were enthralled by their work and the idea that they would be the first to receive this new weapon, but those left in Colorado — a majority — stewed with resentment.
When they were finally transferred from Colorado, their arrival in Texas did not provide any relief of that resentment. They were pressed into work spreading concrete and laying pipelines and railroad track. When not building, they practiced with high-speed pumps and large cranes. A few at a time, they were brought into the secret. It was as much a matter of necessity as training — the nearby launches from Port Matagorda were visible for miles around, and only a fool would have failed to connect the two projects. Almost no one bought the cover story that it was part of a new oil drilling procedure, even when the enormous steel gantries began to rise above the Texas plain. Few civilians came close enough to see the work — enormous stretches of Texas were simply closed off. Because the area was sparsely settled, this attracted little attention. Those who did notice were happy enough to stay quiet after a visit from a friendly Army officer who impressed upon them the need to stay quiet to “keep the boys safe.”
The 315th soon had its first real training tool. On May 5, the first Howitzer first stage arrived in Texas. The first tests of the Howitzer’s eight-engine first stage had begun in November 1944 at Oak Canyon. Altogether, it was one of the most complicated pieces of machinery ever constructed. Each of its eight engines required intricate tubing for cooling and fuel. Each was gimbaled, and the controls for each gimbal required mechanical linkages. Even though it contained a dummy second stage, the launch of the Howitzer on May 12 was eagerly anticipated by the crowd who ventured from Oak Canyon to Texas to view the flight.
For the first minute after launch, it appeared to perform as planned. Ballast in the dummy upper stage simulated the weight of a warhead, fuses, and other equipment. It soared into the Texas sky and arced eastward as planned. But somewhere over the Caribbean, something went wrong in the guidance system. Instead of splashing down in the Atlantic Ocean, where a U.S. Navy destroyer was waiting, it landed in northern Brazil. Only swift diplomatic action, coupled with a fast response by Americans arriving from the radar station in French Guyana, ensured the rocket wreckage was secure.
Refinements were made, and the next Howitzer launched two days later, as part of an accelerated testing schedule. Over the month of May, Port Matagorda averaged a launch every 36 hours, the better to accumulate a mass of data for analysis. After every launch, radar recordings and instrument readings were flown from stations in the Caribbean to Texas, then on to Oak Canyon where the engineers and scientists determined what went wrong — or right — and what to do to ensure it went right the next time.
Germany’s surrender on May 7 strangely had little effect on the proceedings. Although the threat of German rockets was no longer present, the belief in the Manhattan Project had switched to one that rockets could be used to force a Japanese surrender without invasion. The battle for Iwo Jima, which had taken place that February, and Okinawa, which began April 1, cemented in everyone’s mind the idea that an invasion of the Japanese Home Islands was to be avoided if at all possible. The increased pace of American strategic bombing from Guam and the Marianas was one result. The continued pursuit of an effective military rocket was another.
In addition to the staging tests ongoing at Port Matagorda, the launch facility began receiving increasing numbers of noncommissioned and commissioned officers of the 315th Bombardment Wing (Very Heavy). This was the unit assigned by the U.S. Army Air Corps to be ultimately in charge of the military deployment and firing of the missiles once they rolled out of the factory. Their arrival at Port Matagorda had been delayed as long as possible because the Howitzers were not yet complete, but the needs of the war forced the training schedule ahead more than otherwise would have been the case.
Those who arrived in Texas in early 1945 were the men who would train and instruct the ordinary airmen and noncommissioned officers in their tasks. They were the ones who drafted the first manuals, the first instructions given to the officers and men of the wing. Their job wasn’t an easy one. Just as the engineers building the missile plants struggled with constantly changing specifications, so too did these soldiers have to grapple with equipment and procedures in flux. A nozzle in one location on one version of a rocket might be moved to an entirely different location in the next version of the rocket. Wholly different fuel pressures were required, and five aircrew were killed in April when they overpressurized a missile during a test, causing its fuel tanks to rupture, spilling super-cold liquid oxygen.
Adding to the problems was that the 315th hadn’t been intended from the start to deal with missiles. When it was established on June 7, 1944, it was intended to fly B-29 bombers for the 20th Air Force in the Pacific against Japan. That mission was changed in late 1944, and instead of receiving their aircraft, the men of the unit instead received intensified classroom training in ballistics, high-speed aeronautics, and other fields that might prove useful in ultimately handling America’s top-secret weapon. Because of security concerns, they were not told what their ultimate task would be. This had a correspondingly poor effect on unit morale. The men of the 315th saw their fellow soldiers heading out to the Pacific while they were stuck in the United States, learning what seemed to them to be useless trivia. Only a few men were assigned to the unit’s few aircraft — a score of Piper Cubs and reconnaissance P-38s — and sent to Texas to work at Port Matagorda. The men in Texas were enthralled by their work and the idea that they would be the first to receive this new weapon, but those left in Colorado — a majority — stewed with resentment.
When they were finally transferred from Colorado, their arrival in Texas did not provide any relief of that resentment. They were pressed into work spreading concrete and laying pipelines and railroad track. When not building, they practiced with high-speed pumps and large cranes. A few at a time, they were brought into the secret. It was as much a matter of necessity as training — the nearby launches from Port Matagorda were visible for miles around, and only a fool would have failed to connect the two projects. Almost no one bought the cover story that it was part of a new oil drilling procedure, even when the enormous steel gantries began to rise above the Texas plain. Few civilians came close enough to see the work — enormous stretches of Texas were simply closed off. Because the area was sparsely settled, this attracted little attention. Those who did notice were happy enough to stay quiet after a visit from a friendly Army officer who impressed upon them the need to stay quiet to “keep the boys safe.”
The 315th soon had its first real training tool. On May 5, the first Howitzer first stage arrived in Texas. The first tests of the Howitzer’s eight-engine first stage had begun in November 1944 at Oak Canyon. Altogether, it was one of the most complicated pieces of machinery ever constructed. Each of its eight engines required intricate tubing for cooling and fuel. Each was gimbaled, and the controls for each gimbal required mechanical linkages. Even though it contained a dummy second stage, the launch of the Howitzer on May 12 was eagerly anticipated by the crowd who ventured from Oak Canyon to Texas to view the flight.
For the first minute after launch, it appeared to perform as planned. Ballast in the dummy upper stage simulated the weight of a warhead, fuses, and other equipment. It soared into the Texas sky and arced eastward as planned. But somewhere over the Caribbean, something went wrong in the guidance system. Instead of splashing down in the Atlantic Ocean, where a U.S. Navy destroyer was waiting, it landed in northern Brazil. Only swift diplomatic action, coupled with a fast response by Americans arriving from the radar station in French Guyana, ensured the rocket wreckage was secure.
Refinements were made, and the next Howitzer launched two days later, as part of an accelerated testing schedule. Over the month of May, Port Matagorda averaged a launch every 36 hours, the better to accumulate a mass of data for analysis. After every launch, radar recordings and instrument readings were flown from stations in the Caribbean to Texas, then on to Oak Canyon where the engineers and scientists determined what went wrong — or right — and what to do to ensure it went right the next time.
Germany’s surrender on May 7 strangely had little effect on the proceedings. Although the threat of German rockets was no longer present, the belief in the Manhattan Project had switched to one that rockets could be used to force a Japanese surrender without invasion. The battle for Iwo Jima, which had taken place that February, and Okinawa, which began April 1, cemented in everyone’s mind the idea that an invasion of the Japanese Home Islands was to be avoided if at all possible. The increased pace of American strategic bombing from Guam and the Marianas was one result. The continued pursuit of an effective military rocket was another.
Astronautix doesn't list Isp for the engines we want to look at, but looking at the graph at the top of http://astronautix.com/props/solid.htm it looks like Isp on the early solids was a lot lower, which would suggest rather cooler temperatures. For that matter, how do they keep Shuttle SRBs from burning through their cases? Hmmm....?
They also show the introduction of Al to the fuel quite late (~60?), so you're jumping multiple generations of fuel in a single bound....
Hell, we're jumping multiple generations of everything at a single bound , but that can happen with directed research projects, especially in wartime.
, but that can happen with directed research projects, especially in wartime.