Good morning, everyone! In last week's update, we reviewed the millitary side of the American response to Vulkan, with a particular focus on SDI--and touching on some of the interesting offshoots from that work. This week, we're returning to the manned space side of the response, checking up on operations in orbit, and preparations on the ground for both Mir and Freedom. We'll also be checking in on the work for Multibody, and the status of Saturn 1C operations. I promise that doesn't end up as boring as it sounds. With no further ado, then, let's get on with it, shall we? 983 replies, 120588 views
Eyes Turned Skyward, Part II: Post #14
Despite their new neighbors, most American on-orbit operations between 1983 and 1986 were routine, carried out according to plans set before Vulkan Panic. The Apollo Block III+ proved as solid of a spacecraft as its three predecessors, with no mission-critical failures occurring. In addition, the cargo upmass capability provided in the MM on every flight proved a valuable addition to the existing Aardvark far beyond the simple numbers. While 1,000 kg per flight might have seemed insignificant compared to the nearly 12,000 kg of payload each Aardvark carried to the station, the benefit wasn’t so much in the sheer mass, but rather in the regularity of its availability. Even the expanded requirements of Spacelab’s 5-person crews still required only one Aardvark flight a year, where Apollo’s MM capacity was available every three months. This meant low-mass but time-sensitive payloads (such as experimental samples, spare components, or crew preference items) could be sent up more regularly even when they couldn’t justify an entire extra Aardvark flight by themselves. However, carrying cargo downhill remained a major constraint, since while Apollo’s heat shield could handle the extra mass, the 5-person crews of Block III+ left very little excess volume inside the cabin. It was thus possible to return only relatively small and high-density items, and not entire used experimental apparatus for study or failed equipment for inspection. While Spacelab’s low-modularity system design had taken this inability into account, Freedom’s more modular experiment and equipment racks would benefit substantially from an ability to return and reuse entire experimental setups instead of smaller samples, or being able to return, inspect, repair, and re-certify failed equipment. As a result, NASA examined several plans to provide such downmass, including dedicated small cargo capsules or flying short-crewed Apollos on “mail runs.” Eventually, the need for downmass would be met by the European Space Administration’s proposal to develop their Minotaur recoverable logistics capsule for station logistics contributions. NASA’s acceptance of the vehicle’s lower upmass was in part due to how well its design let it address the critical downmass requirements for Freedom [1]. In addition, NASA developed a small interim cargo system, consisting of a small capsule which could be flown up with an Aardvark, filled on-orbit, then substituted for an Aardvark’s docking system during its departure. After the Aardvark’s deorbit burn, the capsule would separate, and be recovered in much the same fashion as film capsules for the Key Hole series spy satellites, with a payload of roughly 50 kg.
The crew operations similarly continued trends already established in earlier missions. The long-duration flights begun with Story Musgrave’s 8 months on-orbit were followed by other, similar-duration flights, and the results were examined closely to establish the chance for even longer flights, either on Spacelab or in the future on missions to the Moon, Mars, or beyond. Additionally, the Spaceflight Participation Program continued, making use of a mix of full-rotation flights, such as those used by Japan’s second astronaut in 1983, while others continued to make use of some “short-stay” opportunities that the long-duration flight experiments created. American beneficiaries of the SFPP tended to be part of NASA’s public outreach and STEM education programs, with teacher Laura Kinsley [2] becoming the first American non-astronaut to fly in 1984. William Anderchuk also flew in 1984, spending a full rotation on board Spacelab 22 as part of the international element of the SFPP, his flight being bargained as part of the diplomacy relating to the international agreements over Freedom. 1986 would see the flight of Turkey’s first astronaut, part of efforts to reach out to the Middle East, but the bigger news in the US was the flight of journalist Jim Lehrer. The PBS anchor was selected to avoid showing favoritism to any of the three major networks. Though reluctant to leave his duties to his co-host for the required training period, the chance to be the first reporter in space proved enough to convince Lehrer, especially the added access to Freedom and insight for comparison to the ongoing Soviet program. He spent a week and a half on-board Spacelab during the overlap between Spacelab 26 and 27 in May, recording video of the station’s operations and of the Earth below, and documenting the experience of being in space, both his own thoughts and those of the astronauts he shared the station with.
For the American’s new Soviet neighbors aboard Salyut 7, their operations required learning the routines of modular assembly and multi-crew operations. Much of the drive for Vulkan’s high flight rate was the logistic needs for Salyut 7. In fact, though this had been foreseen, it’s exact impact and cost ended up going above expectations. Once again, Glushko’s decision to insert the transitional facility between the small Salyuts and Mir seemed both a blessing and a curse. The benefits in being able to put ideas to the test prior to using them on Mir’s MOK modules proved invaluable in finding the optimal ways to use the TKS system for manned and unmanned cargo, and identifying the problems of modular stations in practice while there was still time to modify the MOK and DOS modules that would make up Mir, but the costs of developing and supporting Salyut 7 (and the need to incorporate lessons learned) resulted in yet more slips to the MOK construction and outfitting schedule, pushing the first launch back another year into 1987, almost three years behind the original 1984 target. While Glushko’s ambitious plans had certainly had the desired effect of spurring respect for the Soviet Union’s technical prowess abroad, his inability to control the growth of Mir’s costs made the Central Committee even less favorable towards his ambitious dreams of following up on Salyut 7 and Mir by using the heavier 5-core Vulkan-Atlas to launch lunar missions or perhaps flights to Mars.
Even though Glushko’s long-term dreams were steadily being pruned, his present plans were moving forward steadily. The two MOK cores and 4 DOS labs that would make up Mir were being steadily assembled and checked out at Baikonur. The sheer scale of the endeavor would stress the Soviet’s payload handling capabilities. For one, like the Vulkan cores themselves, the MOK labs were too large to transport by rail from the manufacturing plants in Russia and Ukraine to the launch pad at Baikonur; while this would not have been a problem in the American program, with barge access to Kennedy, for the land-locked Soviet program it was a major constraint. While the DOS labs could thus be constructed in Moscow as usual and shipped by rail to Baikonur for launch, the MOK cores would have to be assembled and fitted out at Baikonur itself, as their weight and size made them incapable of being transported in their entirety. The need for these large fitting-out spaces required extensive and costly construction to be completed before final integration could be carried out, but in 1986 the final integration and checkout for the MOK cores was finally underway, with the first demonstration flight of a three-core Vulkan-Herakles being prepared to clear the way for the station’s launch.
Meanwhile, on-orbit, Salyut 7’s operational tempo stood in stark contrast to its American neighbor. Unlike the clockwork regularity of Spacelab’s logistics flights and crew rotations, Salyut 7 continued the more chaotic pattern of previous Salyuts. Some crews would stay up for only three or four months, while others were on-station for more than six, and logistics flights with TKS were equally irregular. The added headaches of working out station resupply flight schedules given the needs of the more military side of the program, who had grown used to their sole reign over Proton, only added to the growing pains of the Soviet program. It was never entirely unplanned, but at times the results were stressful both for station personnel and ground-side engineers and technicians.
Like the Soviets, ESA was also having to step up its preparations. The first flight of Europa 3 finally came in March 1985, even as their new Minotaur program was mandating the acceleration of the development of the revised Griffin core, Blue Streak boosters, and shortened Aurore-B upper stage for the Europa 4 family. In addition, development and testing was afoot to define the details of Minotaur, the Columbus lab, and the two nodes for Freedom, with the result being a tremendous strain on ESA’s budgets. Even with 4 years, accomplishing all the tasks required required increases in the funding levels provided by all the major participant nations, and even so the planned development to allow phasing out of the solid-boosted Europa 2-TA in favor of the Europa 2-HE had to be deferred to no earlier than 1990 to save on costs and preserve engineering development and testing resources. Nonetheless, ESA was able to stay on track to meet the requirements for the Freedom program, though resources were tight in terms of both time and money. Their astronaut corps continued to expand, as they cycled to and from Spacelab. Unlike the Americans, who tended to recruit based on an assumed average of 2.5 flights per astronaut, the Europeans instead flew more astronauts with an average more like 1.5. While some ESA astronauts would fly multiple times, it was less common than in the American program, partly reflective of a desire to cycle astronauts from more nations through flights, and to build a cadre of experienced astronauts for potential future manned Minotaur missions.
Similarly, American preparations for Freedom and Multibody were well underway. By 1985, Rockwell began delivering results on the newly refreshed American logistics vehicles, including static test articles and hardware-in-the-loop testing for the enhanced AARDV bus, optimized with the ability to carry larger fuel supplies for acting as a tug to the larger modules of Freedom, as well as its derivatives, the Aardvark Block II logistics vehicle with its enhanced cargo capacity and the new unpressurized cargo bay and the Block IV Apollo with its enlarged Mission Module intended to enhance both cargo capability and crew support capability in the event of off-nominal missions. In addition, Rockwell had delivered the hull for the American laboratory module to McDonnell, where it began to be outfitted alongside the tank-derived hull of the Habitat and Support Module (HSM). As for the launch vehicles that Freedom depended on, after three years of increased production, by the end of 1985 a surplus of nine Saturn 1C first stages had been completed and placed into storage, which was to be sufficient to meet the needs of both the Spacelab program and the remaining Cornerstone-class science missions that would use the Saturn 1C, particularly the Saturn/Centaur-E pairing. 1984 had already seen the launch of the Galileo Jupiter probe, 1985 had seen the launch of both Kirchhoff and the Hubble Space Telescope, and May 1986 would see the launch of the International Solar Polar Mission and the start of conversion work for allowing the VAB cells to handle the Multibody family. Unlike the production lines at Michoud which could simply be stood down in preparation for Multibody conversions, the VAB was in constant action supporting Spacelab, and would be until Freedom flew. Thus, the four cells and three MLPs had to be carefully allocated to ensure the constant availability of two MLPs and two VAB cells to the active program, while still ensuring that conversion remained on track. It is a tribute to the skill and planning that this operation, which was so vast in scope, managed to occur almost entirely without issue, with launch operations never being substantially interrupted. However, in September of 1986, the Spacelab 28 launch would throw a major wrench into both the preparations for Multibody and the ongoing clockwork of Spacelab operations.
As had been the practice since the stockpiling of Saturn 1C cores began, the first-stage used on Spacelab 28 was stored at Michoud for the two years following its construction in 1984, until in June of 1986 it was drawn from the stockpile and shipped to Kennedy Space Center by barge. Once there, it was checked out in the VAB’s low bay, then moved to the transfer aisle, lifted to vertical, and moved into position on a mobile launch platform in High Bay 3, with the the S-IVB upper stage then being delivered, checked out, lifted, and stacked onto the first stage. As standard practice, this was performed months in advance of the actual flight to ensure availability of a backup Saturn if the flight before it should encounter difficulties at Spacelab that might mandate on-orbit rescue. When this once again proved un-needed, the flight’s Mission Module received final loading and checks, and then was lifted into place atop the booster. The launch fairing was added to enclose and protect the MM and support the capsule proper, which could then be lifted and stacked onto the vehicle, along with its abort tower. Finally, a week before launch, the completed stack and its MLP was lifted on the back of one of the massive crawlers, and transported to LC-39A, where the MLP was connected to ground fuel and oxidizer lines and other pad infrastructure. A series of wet dress rehearsals and launch simulations were conducted to ensure that the vehicle’s tanks and seals were working and that the launch staff and mission crew were ready, then the day of launch, the vehicle was loaded with kerosene, oxygen, and liquid hydrogen, and final preparations completed. Despite a delay of thirty minutes required to clear a particularly persistent pleasure boater which had been intruding into the downrange keep-out zones, the flight proceeded through a nominal countdown, and at 2:35 PM on September 19th, 1986, Spacelab 28’s F-1A main engine ignited, followed three seconds later by the release of the MLP’s hold down arms, and the 44th Saturn 1C lifted off the pad on top of two million pounds of thrust.
The launch initially proceeded nominally. The vehicle cleared the tower, and control was passed from the launch site in Florida to mission control in Houston as the vehicle pitched and rolled into the gravity turn trajectory that would minimize drag and gravity losses on the climb to orbit. However, when the vehicle’s computers commanded the vernier roll thrusters and the main engine gimbal to return to neutral settings after the completion of this maneuver, the main engine gimbal overshot the correction, which caused a slight but increasing reversal of the commanded trajectory. At the same time as this warning sounded on the flight dynamics officer’s console, the booster’s computer began to report low hydraulic pressure in the main engine’s gimbals. It became clear within moments that the booster was no longer controllable in pitch, as the booster continued to pitch in spite of the commands from the onboard computers. The call was clear--what had been moments before one of the most complex assemblages of technology in the history of mankind was now an out-of-control bomb. Just as the ground controllers were coming to the same conclusion, and calling for an abort to be initiated manually, the Emergency Detection System in the Apollo capsule saw sufficient data to initiate an automatic abort. The booster’s engines were commanded to shut down, then the Launch Escape System fired, its powerful solid rocket motor pulling the capsule away from the booster. Between the thrust termination on the first stage and the more than 12G acceleration of the LES, the capsule was more than half a kilometer away when, three seconds later, the booster was destroyed at the command of the range safety. Explosive packages vented the tanks and destroyed the vehicle’s integrity, and it disintegrated in mid-air. Meanwhile, the LES’ motors burned out, and the tower’s canard assembly flipped the capsule and tower to put the base of the capsule forward. This completed, the tower had done its job, completing its entire primary objective in just 14 seconds of operation, and the abort tower and boost protective cover separated, leaving the capsule positioned to deploy parachutes. As the capsule’s attitude stabilized, and the drogue and then the main parachutes deployed, leaving the capsule drifting gently down to the waters of the Atlantic Ocean below, the mood in the Mission Control Center in Houston grew tense as the tracking cameras relaying video from Florida worked to stay on track with the capsule. Finally, after a few seconds that seemed like an eternity, the computer screens began to fill again with telemetry from the capsule. In a soundbite that would run as breaking news on every major news channel, Spacelab 28 Commander Don Hunt’s voice came through on the communications circuit. “Houston, this is 28. Rough ride up here, but we are okay. Do you copy?” The room erupted into cheers, and it took several seconds for the Flight Director to restore order, and get recovery assets to the projected landing point. In the end, only 35 minutes after lifting off the pad, the Spacelab 28 capsule was winched aboard the rear deck of the recovery ship Liberty Star [3], and the crew was assisted out of the capsule. It became clear that all the tension in Hunt’s voice in the communications was not just stress--he had been reaching to manually trigger the abort just as the automatic systems had commanded it, and the acceleration had slammed his wrist against the corner of his armrest, breaking it. With the crew safely recovered and one their way into port, the focus of NASA quickly converged on documenting the investigation into the cause of the failure aboard Spacelab 28. With Multibody still a year and a half away and Saturn 1C production shut down, it was critical to determine what had gone wrong--and if the rest of the stockpiled Saturn 1Cs were similarly suspect.
[1] Similar to OTL ISS after Shuttle’s retirement--if you look around, the real benefit Dragon contributes isn’t necessarily cargo up or cost, it’s the cargo it can bring back down. Note that CRS-1 brought more cargo home than it carried to orbit.
[2] Fictional. Teacher in Space gets started a couple years early due to Vulkan Panic. She flies a short-stay.
[3] OTL, this is the name of one of the two specially-built SRB recovery ships. In Eyes, it’s one of several relatively standard workboats NASA operates, deploying them to cover abort zones off both the Pacific and Atlantic as needed.
Eyes Turned Skyward, Part II: Post #14
Despite their new neighbors, most American on-orbit operations between 1983 and 1986 were routine, carried out according to plans set before Vulkan Panic. The Apollo Block III+ proved as solid of a spacecraft as its three predecessors, with no mission-critical failures occurring. In addition, the cargo upmass capability provided in the MM on every flight proved a valuable addition to the existing Aardvark far beyond the simple numbers. While 1,000 kg per flight might have seemed insignificant compared to the nearly 12,000 kg of payload each Aardvark carried to the station, the benefit wasn’t so much in the sheer mass, but rather in the regularity of its availability. Even the expanded requirements of Spacelab’s 5-person crews still required only one Aardvark flight a year, where Apollo’s MM capacity was available every three months. This meant low-mass but time-sensitive payloads (such as experimental samples, spare components, or crew preference items) could be sent up more regularly even when they couldn’t justify an entire extra Aardvark flight by themselves. However, carrying cargo downhill remained a major constraint, since while Apollo’s heat shield could handle the extra mass, the 5-person crews of Block III+ left very little excess volume inside the cabin. It was thus possible to return only relatively small and high-density items, and not entire used experimental apparatus for study or failed equipment for inspection. While Spacelab’s low-modularity system design had taken this inability into account, Freedom’s more modular experiment and equipment racks would benefit substantially from an ability to return and reuse entire experimental setups instead of smaller samples, or being able to return, inspect, repair, and re-certify failed equipment. As a result, NASA examined several plans to provide such downmass, including dedicated small cargo capsules or flying short-crewed Apollos on “mail runs.” Eventually, the need for downmass would be met by the European Space Administration’s proposal to develop their Minotaur recoverable logistics capsule for station logistics contributions. NASA’s acceptance of the vehicle’s lower upmass was in part due to how well its design let it address the critical downmass requirements for Freedom [1]. In addition, NASA developed a small interim cargo system, consisting of a small capsule which could be flown up with an Aardvark, filled on-orbit, then substituted for an Aardvark’s docking system during its departure. After the Aardvark’s deorbit burn, the capsule would separate, and be recovered in much the same fashion as film capsules for the Key Hole series spy satellites, with a payload of roughly 50 kg.
The crew operations similarly continued trends already established in earlier missions. The long-duration flights begun with Story Musgrave’s 8 months on-orbit were followed by other, similar-duration flights, and the results were examined closely to establish the chance for even longer flights, either on Spacelab or in the future on missions to the Moon, Mars, or beyond. Additionally, the Spaceflight Participation Program continued, making use of a mix of full-rotation flights, such as those used by Japan’s second astronaut in 1983, while others continued to make use of some “short-stay” opportunities that the long-duration flight experiments created. American beneficiaries of the SFPP tended to be part of NASA’s public outreach and STEM education programs, with teacher Laura Kinsley [2] becoming the first American non-astronaut to fly in 1984. William Anderchuk also flew in 1984, spending a full rotation on board Spacelab 22 as part of the international element of the SFPP, his flight being bargained as part of the diplomacy relating to the international agreements over Freedom. 1986 would see the flight of Turkey’s first astronaut, part of efforts to reach out to the Middle East, but the bigger news in the US was the flight of journalist Jim Lehrer. The PBS anchor was selected to avoid showing favoritism to any of the three major networks. Though reluctant to leave his duties to his co-host for the required training period, the chance to be the first reporter in space proved enough to convince Lehrer, especially the added access to Freedom and insight for comparison to the ongoing Soviet program. He spent a week and a half on-board Spacelab during the overlap between Spacelab 26 and 27 in May, recording video of the station’s operations and of the Earth below, and documenting the experience of being in space, both his own thoughts and those of the astronauts he shared the station with.
For the American’s new Soviet neighbors aboard Salyut 7, their operations required learning the routines of modular assembly and multi-crew operations. Much of the drive for Vulkan’s high flight rate was the logistic needs for Salyut 7. In fact, though this had been foreseen, it’s exact impact and cost ended up going above expectations. Once again, Glushko’s decision to insert the transitional facility between the small Salyuts and Mir seemed both a blessing and a curse. The benefits in being able to put ideas to the test prior to using them on Mir’s MOK modules proved invaluable in finding the optimal ways to use the TKS system for manned and unmanned cargo, and identifying the problems of modular stations in practice while there was still time to modify the MOK and DOS modules that would make up Mir, but the costs of developing and supporting Salyut 7 (and the need to incorporate lessons learned) resulted in yet more slips to the MOK construction and outfitting schedule, pushing the first launch back another year into 1987, almost three years behind the original 1984 target. While Glushko’s ambitious plans had certainly had the desired effect of spurring respect for the Soviet Union’s technical prowess abroad, his inability to control the growth of Mir’s costs made the Central Committee even less favorable towards his ambitious dreams of following up on Salyut 7 and Mir by using the heavier 5-core Vulkan-Atlas to launch lunar missions or perhaps flights to Mars.
Even though Glushko’s long-term dreams were steadily being pruned, his present plans were moving forward steadily. The two MOK cores and 4 DOS labs that would make up Mir were being steadily assembled and checked out at Baikonur. The sheer scale of the endeavor would stress the Soviet’s payload handling capabilities. For one, like the Vulkan cores themselves, the MOK labs were too large to transport by rail from the manufacturing plants in Russia and Ukraine to the launch pad at Baikonur; while this would not have been a problem in the American program, with barge access to Kennedy, for the land-locked Soviet program it was a major constraint. While the DOS labs could thus be constructed in Moscow as usual and shipped by rail to Baikonur for launch, the MOK cores would have to be assembled and fitted out at Baikonur itself, as their weight and size made them incapable of being transported in their entirety. The need for these large fitting-out spaces required extensive and costly construction to be completed before final integration could be carried out, but in 1986 the final integration and checkout for the MOK cores was finally underway, with the first demonstration flight of a three-core Vulkan-Herakles being prepared to clear the way for the station’s launch.
Meanwhile, on-orbit, Salyut 7’s operational tempo stood in stark contrast to its American neighbor. Unlike the clockwork regularity of Spacelab’s logistics flights and crew rotations, Salyut 7 continued the more chaotic pattern of previous Salyuts. Some crews would stay up for only three or four months, while others were on-station for more than six, and logistics flights with TKS were equally irregular. The added headaches of working out station resupply flight schedules given the needs of the more military side of the program, who had grown used to their sole reign over Proton, only added to the growing pains of the Soviet program. It was never entirely unplanned, but at times the results were stressful both for station personnel and ground-side engineers and technicians.
Like the Soviets, ESA was also having to step up its preparations. The first flight of Europa 3 finally came in March 1985, even as their new Minotaur program was mandating the acceleration of the development of the revised Griffin core, Blue Streak boosters, and shortened Aurore-B upper stage for the Europa 4 family. In addition, development and testing was afoot to define the details of Minotaur, the Columbus lab, and the two nodes for Freedom, with the result being a tremendous strain on ESA’s budgets. Even with 4 years, accomplishing all the tasks required required increases in the funding levels provided by all the major participant nations, and even so the planned development to allow phasing out of the solid-boosted Europa 2-TA in favor of the Europa 2-HE had to be deferred to no earlier than 1990 to save on costs and preserve engineering development and testing resources. Nonetheless, ESA was able to stay on track to meet the requirements for the Freedom program, though resources were tight in terms of both time and money. Their astronaut corps continued to expand, as they cycled to and from Spacelab. Unlike the Americans, who tended to recruit based on an assumed average of 2.5 flights per astronaut, the Europeans instead flew more astronauts with an average more like 1.5. While some ESA astronauts would fly multiple times, it was less common than in the American program, partly reflective of a desire to cycle astronauts from more nations through flights, and to build a cadre of experienced astronauts for potential future manned Minotaur missions.
Similarly, American preparations for Freedom and Multibody were well underway. By 1985, Rockwell began delivering results on the newly refreshed American logistics vehicles, including static test articles and hardware-in-the-loop testing for the enhanced AARDV bus, optimized with the ability to carry larger fuel supplies for acting as a tug to the larger modules of Freedom, as well as its derivatives, the Aardvark Block II logistics vehicle with its enhanced cargo capacity and the new unpressurized cargo bay and the Block IV Apollo with its enlarged Mission Module intended to enhance both cargo capability and crew support capability in the event of off-nominal missions. In addition, Rockwell had delivered the hull for the American laboratory module to McDonnell, where it began to be outfitted alongside the tank-derived hull of the Habitat and Support Module (HSM). As for the launch vehicles that Freedom depended on, after three years of increased production, by the end of 1985 a surplus of nine Saturn 1C first stages had been completed and placed into storage, which was to be sufficient to meet the needs of both the Spacelab program and the remaining Cornerstone-class science missions that would use the Saturn 1C, particularly the Saturn/Centaur-E pairing. 1984 had already seen the launch of the Galileo Jupiter probe, 1985 had seen the launch of both Kirchhoff and the Hubble Space Telescope, and May 1986 would see the launch of the International Solar Polar Mission and the start of conversion work for allowing the VAB cells to handle the Multibody family. Unlike the production lines at Michoud which could simply be stood down in preparation for Multibody conversions, the VAB was in constant action supporting Spacelab, and would be until Freedom flew. Thus, the four cells and three MLPs had to be carefully allocated to ensure the constant availability of two MLPs and two VAB cells to the active program, while still ensuring that conversion remained on track. It is a tribute to the skill and planning that this operation, which was so vast in scope, managed to occur almost entirely without issue, with launch operations never being substantially interrupted. However, in September of 1986, the Spacelab 28 launch would throw a major wrench into both the preparations for Multibody and the ongoing clockwork of Spacelab operations.
As had been the practice since the stockpiling of Saturn 1C cores began, the first-stage used on Spacelab 28 was stored at Michoud for the two years following its construction in 1984, until in June of 1986 it was drawn from the stockpile and shipped to Kennedy Space Center by barge. Once there, it was checked out in the VAB’s low bay, then moved to the transfer aisle, lifted to vertical, and moved into position on a mobile launch platform in High Bay 3, with the the S-IVB upper stage then being delivered, checked out, lifted, and stacked onto the first stage. As standard practice, this was performed months in advance of the actual flight to ensure availability of a backup Saturn if the flight before it should encounter difficulties at Spacelab that might mandate on-orbit rescue. When this once again proved un-needed, the flight’s Mission Module received final loading and checks, and then was lifted into place atop the booster. The launch fairing was added to enclose and protect the MM and support the capsule proper, which could then be lifted and stacked onto the vehicle, along with its abort tower. Finally, a week before launch, the completed stack and its MLP was lifted on the back of one of the massive crawlers, and transported to LC-39A, where the MLP was connected to ground fuel and oxidizer lines and other pad infrastructure. A series of wet dress rehearsals and launch simulations were conducted to ensure that the vehicle’s tanks and seals were working and that the launch staff and mission crew were ready, then the day of launch, the vehicle was loaded with kerosene, oxygen, and liquid hydrogen, and final preparations completed. Despite a delay of thirty minutes required to clear a particularly persistent pleasure boater which had been intruding into the downrange keep-out zones, the flight proceeded through a nominal countdown, and at 2:35 PM on September 19th, 1986, Spacelab 28’s F-1A main engine ignited, followed three seconds later by the release of the MLP’s hold down arms, and the 44th Saturn 1C lifted off the pad on top of two million pounds of thrust.
The launch initially proceeded nominally. The vehicle cleared the tower, and control was passed from the launch site in Florida to mission control in Houston as the vehicle pitched and rolled into the gravity turn trajectory that would minimize drag and gravity losses on the climb to orbit. However, when the vehicle’s computers commanded the vernier roll thrusters and the main engine gimbal to return to neutral settings after the completion of this maneuver, the main engine gimbal overshot the correction, which caused a slight but increasing reversal of the commanded trajectory. At the same time as this warning sounded on the flight dynamics officer’s console, the booster’s computer began to report low hydraulic pressure in the main engine’s gimbals. It became clear within moments that the booster was no longer controllable in pitch, as the booster continued to pitch in spite of the commands from the onboard computers. The call was clear--what had been moments before one of the most complex assemblages of technology in the history of mankind was now an out-of-control bomb. Just as the ground controllers were coming to the same conclusion, and calling for an abort to be initiated manually, the Emergency Detection System in the Apollo capsule saw sufficient data to initiate an automatic abort. The booster’s engines were commanded to shut down, then the Launch Escape System fired, its powerful solid rocket motor pulling the capsule away from the booster. Between the thrust termination on the first stage and the more than 12G acceleration of the LES, the capsule was more than half a kilometer away when, three seconds later, the booster was destroyed at the command of the range safety. Explosive packages vented the tanks and destroyed the vehicle’s integrity, and it disintegrated in mid-air. Meanwhile, the LES’ motors burned out, and the tower’s canard assembly flipped the capsule and tower to put the base of the capsule forward. This completed, the tower had done its job, completing its entire primary objective in just 14 seconds of operation, and the abort tower and boost protective cover separated, leaving the capsule positioned to deploy parachutes. As the capsule’s attitude stabilized, and the drogue and then the main parachutes deployed, leaving the capsule drifting gently down to the waters of the Atlantic Ocean below, the mood in the Mission Control Center in Houston grew tense as the tracking cameras relaying video from Florida worked to stay on track with the capsule. Finally, after a few seconds that seemed like an eternity, the computer screens began to fill again with telemetry from the capsule. In a soundbite that would run as breaking news on every major news channel, Spacelab 28 Commander Don Hunt’s voice came through on the communications circuit. “Houston, this is 28. Rough ride up here, but we are okay. Do you copy?” The room erupted into cheers, and it took several seconds for the Flight Director to restore order, and get recovery assets to the projected landing point. In the end, only 35 minutes after lifting off the pad, the Spacelab 28 capsule was winched aboard the rear deck of the recovery ship Liberty Star [3], and the crew was assisted out of the capsule. It became clear that all the tension in Hunt’s voice in the communications was not just stress--he had been reaching to manually trigger the abort just as the automatic systems had commanded it, and the acceleration had slammed his wrist against the corner of his armrest, breaking it. With the crew safely recovered and one their way into port, the focus of NASA quickly converged on documenting the investigation into the cause of the failure aboard Spacelab 28. With Multibody still a year and a half away and Saturn 1C production shut down, it was critical to determine what had gone wrong--and if the rest of the stockpiled Saturn 1Cs were similarly suspect.
[1] Similar to OTL ISS after Shuttle’s retirement--if you look around, the real benefit Dragon contributes isn’t necessarily cargo up or cost, it’s the cargo it can bring back down. Note that CRS-1 brought more cargo home than it carried to orbit.
[2] Fictional. Teacher in Space gets started a couple years early due to Vulkan Panic. She flies a short-stay.
[3] OTL, this is the name of one of the two specially-built SRB recovery ships. In Eyes, it’s one of several relatively standard workboats NASA operates, deploying them to cover abort zones off both the Pacific and Atlantic as needed.
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