The pursuit of space is a noble goal: it grants new technology, a greater understanding of
our universe - and a chance the extend our reach to the stars.
However, a more insidious side of humanity lurks in the shadows of progress.
The embodiment of war; and a currency of peace.
Nuclear weapons unlock the explosive power of the atom: pound-for-pound, a potential
a million times greater than TNT.
A destructive force that can strike terror into even the most powerful nation.
A secret struggle for superiority which would define the decades ahead.
The first nuclear weapons were designed to be delivered by aircraft: by dropping the
payload directly on the target.
A B-29 Superfortress named 'Enola Gay' embarked on an historical mission - the first atomic
bomb used in war: 1945, Hiroshima.
It's hard to keep something so loud a secret, and so America's time as sole nuclear power
was short: the Soviets tested their 'First Lightning' in 1949.
In the standoff that followed, strategic bombers were the agent of destruction: massive, long
range craft like the Tupolev Tu-95 and B-52 Stratofortress bearing the fate of the world
on their frame.
Aircraft were the most visible aspect of the tensions between two nations - and the missions
flown the closest approach to conventional war.
It wasn't just bombers - Cold War skies saw a menagerie of exotic birds, in tentative
sorties of all kinds: from spy planes like the U-2 and SR-71 Blackbird - to scrambled
air superiority fighters.
Flight simulators have long been used to train pilots, with scale simulacra far less expensive
than risking a real plane.
Amateur flight simulations made an appearance shortly after the rise of the 8-bit home machines,
with aeronautical enthusiasts seeking to emulate the thrill of aerial combat.
They vary in realism, with some titles taking authenticity very seriously - and others seeking
simpler, action-centric gameplay.
The Soviet MiG-31 caused quite a stir in the west in the late 70s, with claims of a new
super fighter faster than anything else and capable of intercepting cruise missiles.
This panic was reflected in 1982 film Firefox, along with its tie-in game on LaserDisc.
Even more popular was 1986's Top Gun, with dogfighting MiGs a backdrop to fighter pilot
drama.
It too spawned a number of video games to cash in on its name - and it likely influenced
Sega's After Burner, released in 1987.
Not a particularly realistic simulator, but the impressive scaling graphics, imposing
cabinet and non-stop action made for a memorable arcade experience.
The most pressing threat of the cold war wasn't delivered by aeroplane, however: but instead
a self-propelled means, able to target anywhere on the globe - and nearly impossible to intercept.
Inter Continental Ballistic Missiles, or ICBMs.
A sinister side effect of developing rockets able to travel to space, it was the Soviets
who devised the first in 1957: the R-7 Semyorka.
This was the same platform that launched Sputnik, but rather than reaching for the stars, its
nuclear payload was aimed squarely at American shores.
Naturally this caused a bit of a stir, and the US quickly developed a similar platform
in response: the SM-65 Atlas.
Total annihilation anywhere on earth, delivered in 30 minutes or less.
While the space race stole the limelight, the real struggle was behind the scenes: a
failure to keep pace with the Soviet's nuclear arsenal might be to cede superpower status.
Ballistic calculations have been a necessity since the earliest days of artillery.
The sooner you can calculate a projectile's trajectory - and thus its point of impact
- the more likely you are to strike your target.
Precalculated tables were the go-to means in the early 20th century, but as computer
technology took off their ability to rapidly crunch numbers meant that they soon played
an instrumental role.
Nuclear missiles are no exception, and the machines used in the 1950s to calculate their
path were typically analogue computers, reliant on variable voltage instead of discrete digital
bits.
These machines could simulate basic physical scenarios - and this ability gave yield to
a very early video game example: Tennis For Two.
Like an early version of Pong, the game is a two-player rendition of tennis: with the
ball shuttling back and forth between the players.
One of the first games ever to use a graphical display, it was created as an attraction for
visitors to the Brookhaven National Laboratory.
Technology designed to deliver destruction instead co-opted for peaceful play: swords
to ploughshares, doom to delight.
The threat of missiles raining from the sky was present for most of the Cold War: and
as nuclear arsenals swelled rapidly throughout the 1960s, their use seemed inevitable.
Atari's Missile Command perfectly encapsulates this fear: with an endless onslaught of missiles
headed towards an unwitting population.
You are tasked with their destruction, by means of interception with counter-missiles
- careful placement required to make sure all threats are blocked.
Should a missile slip through your defences, one of the six cities at the bottom of the
screen might be hit - and permanently destroyed.
Missile Command is unusual in its defensive approach, rather than the conventional shoot-em-up
formula: while the mechanics are parallel, shooting becomes more about saving yourself
than destroying an opponent.
This is mirrored in real life with the Strategic Defense Initiative, or 'SDI' program, sometimes
known as 'Star Wars'.
It was an attempt to build a defensive shield against the soviet missile threat - a means
to defuse Mutually Assured Destruction, and to tilt the scales in favour of the west.
The technology required was a tall order, and an impermeable shield would have required
decades of research - by which time newer missiles capable of bypassing it might have
left the project moot.
Like in Missile Command, it was a futile effort - the missiles keep coming, in ever greater
numbers, until all your cities are destroyed and there's naught left to save.
Such is the nature of nuclear war.
Tensions reached a crisis point in 1962, when the Soviets brokered a deal with Cuba to host
their nuclear missiles.
This placed them a mere 90 miles from Florida, and granted a distinct advantage in first-strike
capability.
The Cuban Missile Crisis saw the world on a knife edge - and is probably the moment
closest to midnight: the world on the brink of its doom, with all-out nuclear war a button-press
away.
Thankfully, it was resolved via diplomacy: the Soviets withdrew their missiles in exchange
for the dismantlement of American missiles in Turkey, and an agreement to stay out of
Cuba.
For all the potential of the atom, it proves impotent through stalemate.
This futility is a common trait in the depiction of atomic weapons: providing instant obliteration
at your fingertips, but inviting your opponent to deliver the same fate unto you.
Such terrible weapons shape the balance of power - an opponent without an equal ability
to respond forced to capitulate, leaving an oligarchy of nuclear states left to battle
for superpower status.
With the prospect of a surprise decapitation - a strike rendering a nation unable to respond
- the concept of 'second strike' capability has the potential to upset the balance.
A secret fleet of submarines, each capable of launching multiple nuclear missiles - and
each instructed to retaliate should the enemy take action.
Perhaps you could eliminate every last missile silo - but can you be sure of destroying every
single submarine?
Retaining the ability to strike in retaliation serves as a very potent deterrent - and renders
any first-strike strategy almost untenable.
Almost.
Mutually Assured Destruction is an odd sort of equilibrium.
Who would dare launch the first missile? Who would dare disarm?
The only viable option is to match your opponent - to do otherwise might invite the apocalypse.
As technology evolves, so too will the balance of power: with neither side seeking destruction,
nor prepared to back down.
The power of nuclear weapons all but denies their use, but mandates an atomic quiver ready
for immediate despatch.
A power so compelling even Ghandi himself might not resist.
There's an art to this political game of chicken: the deft balance needed to stay close to the
edge without falling in: they call it brinksmanship.
It takes nerves of steel, but you can exploit your enemy's fear to gain political concessions:
treaties, disarmament, or currying public favour.
However, even the strongest leadership is subject to chance: and the most terrifying
thing about nuclear war might not be a deliberate act.
What if someone made a mistake?
In 1983, the Soviet early warning system detected the launch of an American ICBM - retaliation
was poised for immediate despatch.
It was a false alarm, a malfunction - but only the judgement of a single man prevented
the counterattack.
The event wasn't made public until the 1990s - but the potential for a nuclear false alarm
was the subject of 1983 film WarGames.
It was a fusion of cold war fear and the rising popularity of video games: a young Matthew
Broderick hacks into a military computer and unwittingly starts a training exercise in
the belief that it was just a game.
Truly, we live in a fragile world - with Armageddon hanging by a thread, and where a single mistake
invites destruction.
The fate of the world subject to a slip of a button:
How about a nice game of chess?
An unwinnable war, a futile pursuit - the only winning move not to play.
The ultimate weapon at mankind's disposal - and the first of our creations that might
prove our undoing.
Nuclear weapons might be a currency of peace -
but what a terrible price.
Coming up in part four: wishes for a nuclear winter - and what if the worst came to pass?
Thanks for watching - and until next time, farewell.