A recent LJ post from Gryphon set me to giggling and thinking Fenspacey thoughts.
Sucrose Octanitrate.
Proof positive that with sufficient motivation, you can make anything explode.
Quote:I remain, and expect I always will remain, hugely entertained by the way the Soviets handled their first space flight. I mean, we had half the damn Navy out there waiting to retrieve the Mercury astronauts at the ends of their flights, right? Not the Russians! The Vostok cosmonauts got to parachute out of their capsules into the middle of the great Soviet countryside, and then... well, then hitchhike back to base, more or less.--
No, seriously, Yuri Gagarin landed in a field near some farmers who had no idea who the hell he was, since the government hadn't announced beforehand that they were going to be doing any such thing that day, and, well, here's how he described what happened next: "When they saw me in my space suit and the parachute dragging alongside as I walked, they started to back away in fear. I told them, don't be afraid, I am a Soviet like you, who has descended from space and I must find a telephone to call Moscow!"
How awesome is that? "Hello! I've just made the first manned space flight in human history, CAN I USE YOUR PHONE".
Imagine that phone call, for that matter. "Hello? Comrade Khrushchev? It's me! Yuri! Hey, guess where I am?"
The whole thing just had such... panache. Low-rent panache, yes, but that was the kind of panache the Soviets did best.
Sucrose Octanitrate.
Proof positive that with sufficient motivation, you can make anything explode.