Category China in Space

In the first decade of the twenty-first century, observers of the night sky were able to watch the construction of the International Space Station in the sky above. A conspicuous, steady star would blaze across the dark sky from west to east, becoming ever brighter as new modules and cargoes were brought up until it outshone all the other objects in the heavens in what was humankind’s largest ever construction project.

From 2011, observers were able to spot a new, rival space station, the Tiangong, cross the sky. They could pick out the much smaller Shenzhou spacecraft as they chased Tiangong across the night skies to bring crews up to the station. Now planet Earth had two space stations: one belonging to the traditional big space powers; and one made in China.

The emergence of China as a spacefaring nation should, over the long course of history, be no surprise. Way back in what were sometimes called the Dark Ages in Europe, the rocket was invented in China. In the twentieth century, many of the engineering calculations necessary for rocket flight were done by one of the world’s great space designers, Tsien Hsue Shen. The Chinese space program was founded on 8th October 1956, a year before the first Sputnik was even launched. On that day, China’s political leadership decreed the foundation of the Fifth Academy to spearhead China’s space effort and requisitioned two abandoned sanatoria to be its first laboratories. Had it not been for subsequent political upheaval – the great leap forward and the cultural revolution – China might have achieved much more, much sooner.

As it was, China’s first satelhte in orbit was the biggest of the superpowers. China was the third space power to recover its own satellites, put animals in orbit, and develop hydrogen-fuelled upper stages. China developed a broad program for Earth observations, navigation, communications, weather forecasting, and materials processing. China achieved space superpower status in 2003 when Yang Liwei flew into orbit. China overtook Europe in launchings per year and, in 2011, surpassed the United States.

The Chinese space program has sometimes been called the last of the secret space programs. Details of its early history still remain obscure. Writing about the early

Chinese space program is like trying to assemble a jigsaw where some of the pieces are not colored in and others are missing altogether. Even today, its facilities are still the least accessible of the space powers. In more recent times, China has become more forthcoming in detailing information on its current programs and future intentions.

Penetrating the fog enveloping some aspects of the Chinese space program is one problem. The level of Western misunderstanding of the program is a challenge of similar magnitude. With some honorable exceptions, many in the Western media who ought to know better responded to Chinese space developments with a mixture of puzzlement, patronizing down-putting, and dismissal. Chinese capabilities are often played down on the basis that their equipment is alternately primitive or imitative. If it works, the presumption is that it must have been stolen. There was, and remains, an extraordinary reluctance to concede to the Chinese the credit of having created, designed, and built their own equipment. This is a problem not peculiar to the space program, for the West often forgets how China pioneered so many things – from medicine to mathematics and public administration, as well as such inventions as the suspension bridge, paper-making, the compass, chemistry, printing, paper money, the stirrup, the plough, the lock gate, the wheelbarrow, and clockwork. The observations by the ancient Chinese astronomers are renowned for their accuracy.

This book is the third in a series. It was originally published as The Chinese Space Program – From Conception to Future Capabilities by Praxis/Wiley in 1998 and told the story of the program from its pre-history, through its first launch (1970), and its subsequent development in the 1980s and 1990s. The story was brought fully up to date, when Yang Liwei circled the Earth, as China’s Space Program – From Conception to Manned Spaceflight (Praxis/Springer, 2004). This book begins with the construction of China’s space station, the Tiangong (Chapter 1), and is a detailed account of the contemporary Chinese space program. The earlier history is condensed into a single chapter (Chapter 2) and those interested in the detail of the early history should re-read the previous two books in the series. The subsequent chapters take the reader through the contemporary program: organization, infrastructure, and launchers (Chapter 3), recoverable satellites (Chapter 4), communications satelhtes (Chapter 5), applications satellites (Chapter 6) and space science (Chapter 7). Chapter 8 describes the manned spaceflight program, while Chapter 9 examines current Chinese exploration of the Moon and Mars. Finally, Chapter 10 looks at China’s ambitions in space, future programs, and their most likely lines of development.

Finally, a note on terminology. A complicating feature – one familiar to students of the Soviet space program – is the use of different designators for the same satellites. In the West, Chinese satellites were named China 1, 2, 3, and so on, also PRC-1, PRC-2 (People’s Republic of China), and even Mao 1, 2, and 3. At the time, the Chinese simply referred to these missions by their date of launch or in connection with political events. Eventually, the Chinese introduced a set of designators and applied them retrospectively. That should have been an end to the matter, but the Chinese then revised some of these designators several times over – and then changed them again! Even to this day, different designators are applied to the same program. As if this were not complicated enough, inconsistent translations mean that many institutes, bodies, and organizations acquire, over time, slightly different names. Sometimes similar-sounding names turn out to be the same thing – but sometimes not. The Chinese also applied a series of numerical codes to their various space projects. Some were based on dates, others not. All this must be carefully disentangled. Here, the most consistent and most universally understandable systems have been used, but readers should be aware that others are also in use. We must also note that the Chinese have sometimes, though not always, followed the Soviet practice of not giving a number to the first satellite of a series. Finally, in the area of personal names, this book generally follows the Chinese practice of identifying people by their surname first.

Perhaps the most important and expensive infrastructural element of any space program is its launch site facilities. China has three launch sites, with a fourth in construction. The first, Jiuquan, was built in northern China for China’s first satellite, Dong Fang Hong, and is the base for the manned space program. The second, Xi Chang, was built in Sichuan in south-western China for launches to equatorial orbit. The third, Taiyuan, near Beijing, was built for launches to polar orbit. Construction has already started of a large launch site on Hainan, China’s largest and most southerly island. For the sake of completeness, one should mention a minor launch site for sounding rockets, Haikou, also on the island of Hainan. Details are given in Table 3.1.

Of the three main launch sites, the busiest is Xi Chang. Table 3.2 lists the total number of launches from each.

The FSW 1 series was introduced in September 1987, barely a month after the conclusion of the FSW 0 series. The “1” series was heavier (2,100 kg), with a greater payload and able to orbit up to 10 days (although eight days was the norm). A digital control system was introduced, new gyroscopes were added to help control attitude, new sensors were added, the satellite could be reprogrammed when in orbit, a control computer was installed, and the pressure inside the cabin could be regulated. Later, the Chinese stated that the FSW 1 series was a cartographical and mapping satellite, making it comparable to the Russian Kometa series.

FSW 1 continued the significant move into microgravity experiments [4]. The first mission, FSW 1-1, was devoted to biological and material processing: seeing how algae would grow in orbit and processing gallium arsenide. One of the biological cargoes was rice and other seeds, which were planted afterwards on the Earth on a 660-ha plot. It was found that space-flown rice grew taller, tilted wider, lasted longer, generated seeds of longer duration, and had greater yield and higher fat content. Whereas a ground version of Japonica rice had a yield of 4,500 kg/ha, the space – flown variety had a yield of 7,500 kg/ha. Indica rice had a 12% higher yield. Green pepper seeds were promising, generating peppers of 300 g and a yield up by 122%. Tomatoes had 20% higher yield and better disease resistance. Wheat and barley were flown in 1988 and 1990 and had greater height, except for those hit by high-energy particles, which did not germinate. Garlic, though, did not like the space environment and growth was weak but, by contrast, rape benefitted [5].

FSW 1-2 carried both a Chinese remote sensing package and a German protein crystal growth experimental package called Cosima. The German experiment, developed by Messerschmitt Bolkow Blohm and the German space agency, DLR, was intended to find new ways of producing the medical drug interferon from large and pure protein-based crystal. Germany paid €440,000 and the package was handed back to DLR the day after landing.

Guinea pigs and plants were carried on FSW 1-3 as part of a microgravity experiment. In doing so, China became the third nation to send animals into orbit and recover them. FSW 1-4 carried a Swedish satellite, Freja, piggybacked into orbit while the main spacecraft carried Chinese and Japanese microgravity experiments (the latter being a 710°C microgravity furnace). The Chinese experiments involved testing how rice, tomatoes, wheat, and asparagus would grow in orbit (apparently,

much faster). One of the early missions carried mice, but they died after five days due to a pollutant in the atmosphere in the cabin. Subsequent examination found that, prior to that, there were changes in the blood vessels in their brain and lung tissue as a result of weightlessness. Later mice experiments showed a clear shift of blood concentration to the brain [6].

The FSW 1 series carried a suite of three furnaces:

• Temperature Gradient Furnace for gallium arsenide;

• Advanced Gradient Temperature Furnace for remelting; and

• Solution Growth Facility for crystal growth from solutions.

For gallium arsenide, a small 11-kg furnace was used, able to work for 270 min, drawing 150 W of power and able to generate a maximum temperature of 1,260°C. Pioneer of gallium arsenide was Li Lin and she was able to show that

superconductors made in orbit were superior to Earthly ones. Chen Wanchun was the pioneer of lithium and he grew more than 50 crystals on the FSWs of August 1988, October 1992, and July 1994. The 1996 mission experiments were led by the Institute of Physics of the Academy of Sciences and the Institute of Physics in Lanzhou. They cut a 20-mm silicon gallium arsenide crystal ingot with uniform results, solidified nitrate and phosphorous alloys, and grew 51 boules of calcium hthium crystals. According to experimenters Chen and Wei, the processes of crystal growth in orbit were very complex, involving a mixture of factors that are still not well understood. Iron samples were also smelted [7].

One satellite failed spectacularly – FSW 1-5, which did not return to the Earth when commanded to do so in October 1993. The satellite failed to rotate downward for the return to the Earth, but instead the engine fired in the direction of travel, propelling the FSW into a much higher orbit, as far out as 3,023 km. More critically, its perigee of 181 km was deteriorating fast, with the risk that the uncontrolled satellite might survive the fireball re-entry and crash on inhabited zones of our

planet. These developments were especially unfortunate, for FSW 1-5 was flying a number of unusual cargoes. In addition to scientific equipment, the cabin had 1,000 stamps, 3,000 first-day covers, credit cards, photos, 194 calling cards, and 235 ornaments and gold-studded medallions of Mao Zedong – apparently destined for sale to Japanese collectors, where such items reached premium prices. The media, as ever, warmed to the apocalyptic prospect of a rogue satellite plunging destructively to the Earth, only to be disappointed when, after several days of bouncing off the upper layers of the atmosphere, FSW 1-5 came down in the southern Atlantic on 12th March 1996.

The FSW 2 series was introduced in August 1992, even before the FSW 1 series had come to an end. Its principal innovation was the ability to maneuver in orbit, but there were other improvements. Compared to the FSW 1 series, the “2” model had a greater weight (3,100 kg), 53% heavier payload (350 kg), 20% greater cabin volume, and it could stay in orbit for up to 18 days. The length of the spacecraft was increased by a third to 4.6 m, with a much larger service module, part of which was pressurized. FSW 2 carried a more sophisticated attitude control system and an advanced computer. The much-increased size of the FSW 2 meant that it required a larger launch vehicle, the Long March 2D, an improved version of the 2C (although the C continued in operation for other missions).

FSW 2-1 (August 1992) was a dual-purpose mission, with both remote sensing

and microgravity experiments (in this case, cadmium, mercury, tellurium, and protein crystal growth). It used its maneuvering system to change orbit three times during the mission. The first attempt to re-enter, on the 12th day of the mission, failed but, after going through the procedures again carefully, ground controllers were successful on the 16th day. FSW 2-1 marked the first tests of protein crystal growth in orbit devised by professors Gong and Bi of the Institute of Biophysics of the Academy of Sciences. Sixty percent of proteins grew better than on the ground. There were 10 protein growth experiments in 48 cells, one including snake venom: crystals were grown in a multi-purpose finishing stove, a furnace able to provide heating of 813°C. The results were encouraging, with space crystals growing larger, more uniform, and clearer than the control group on the Earth. The Institute of Superconductors flew an experiment to make a perfect 10-mm single crystal, one of the four attempts being successful. This experiment was repeated on the later FSW 1­4 mission, this time with lithium crystals, 30 being grown. Both the cell culture experiment and microbial cultivation experiment were declared a success [8].

FSW 2-2 flew in July 1994 and also maneuvered in orbit; it carried an even more exotic cargo: rice, water melon, sesame seeds, and more animals. Fourteen protein crystals were tested, with much better results than on FSW 2-1, the experiment being repeated on shuttle mission STS-69, where three proteins were crystallized using a liquid diffusion method but, overall, that experiment was less successful. FSW 2-2 carried a tuber-like vapor diffusion apparatus. With 48 samples, nine proteins crystallized, the highest qualities coming from egg white, snake venom, and hemoglobin from the bareheaded goose. Twenty-two lithium crystals were also grown, the quality being more consistent than those grown on the Earth. DNA chromosomes were modified in large-grained rice [9].

FSW 2-3 carried Japanese microgravity experiments for the Japanese Marubeni Corporation with Waseda University, involving the development of indium and gallium mono-crystals. The Chinese materials processing experiments concerned the production of mono-crystalline silicon, photoconductive fiber with impurities of 10-7, and medicines to prevent hemophilia. China also carried its own microgravity materials processing experiments, as well as a biology package of insect eggs, algae, plant seeds, and small animals for the Shanghai Institute for Technical Physics. For the first time, the information collected by the satellite in orbit was stored on compact disk. FSW left, as normal, the equipment module behind in an orbit of 167— 293 km. In an innovation, its engines were re-lit on 11th November to lift it into a higher orbit of 212-299 km – a maneuver not explained at the time.

For the Chinese, the next stage was to operate a weather satelhte in geosynchronous orbit. Called the Feng Yun 2, this would complement the Feng Yun 1 series. The concept was that Feng Yun 2 would send back constantly scanning pictures of China and the western Pacific from its high vantage point 36,000 km out, while Feng Yun 1 and 3 would send back detailed weather maps from their lower, regular 100-min passes over China from an altitude of 900 km. Locations set for the new series were 86.5°E and 105°E. The original program envisaged two experimental and then operational satellites, with three and five channels, respectively. Chief designer of the imaging system was Tong Kai (1931-2005), a graduate of the Leningrad Institute of Telecommunications Engineering, who later went on to the navigation satelhte project. Construction of ground systems began in 1988 and was completed in 1994.

Geosynchronous meteorological satelhtes are expensive, requiring a big launcher and high operating standards. However, the vantage point of 36,000 km can provide quality weather coverage of large land masses around the clock. The United States operated their first geosynchronous metsat in 1974 (Synchronous Meteorological Satellite 1), Japan and Europe in 1977 (Himawari and Meteosat, respectively), and Russia not until 1994 (Elektro).

Feng Yun 2 was a drum-shaped satellite, 4.5 m tall, with a diameter of 2.1 m and a weight of 1,380 kg. It carried a five-channel Visible and Infrared Spin Scan Radiometer, which transmitted a visible picture of 2,500 lines and 1,250-m resolution every 30 min, infrared images of 2,500-m resolution, and water vapor images of 2,500-m resolution to stations in China and Melbourne, Australia, made by the Institute for Technical Physics in Shanghai. It was intended to provide cloud, temperature, and wind maps. It was designed by SAST, developed by the Shanghai Aerospace Technology Research Institute of the China Aerospace Corporation, and built in the Hauyin machinery plant. Service life was three years, the last to fly in 2013 before the FY-4 came in. The FG-36 solid-fuel apogee motor was designed to achieve the final insertion: it was 1.53 m long, 900 mm in diameter, 729 kg in weight, with a thrust of 44 kN or 289 sec ISP.

The Feng Yun 2 series got off to a disastrous start. When Feng Yun 2-1 was being loaded with propellant in the processing hall at Xi Chang launch site on 2nd April 1994, the satelhte exploded, killing one technician and injuring 31 others. The satellite itself, valued at over €88m, was a write-off and it took over three years to redesign the propellant tank system so as to make sure this accident would never happen again.

The replacement Feng Yun 2-1 was eventually launched on the Long March 3 rocket from Xi Chang on at 9:00 pm Beijing time on 10th June 1997. Twenty-three minutes after launch, the hydrogen-powered third stage fired to send it on its way to its permanent position at 105°E, with a scheduled lifetime of three years. It also carried a solar x-ray spectrometer and space particle detector. By September, it had completed its full range of systems testing and was ready for handing over to the state meteorological administration. Its instruments were calibrated against those of Feng Yun 1-3 using, as a ground-based reference point, Qinhai Lake.

Feng Yun 2-1 lasted until 10th April 1998, only six months of full operations, when it was lost. Ground controllers managed to regain control at the end of the year, but the resumption was limited to six images a day. Contact was off and on during the year, good images being returned from time to time. In March 2000, meteorological operations with the satellite appear to have ended and the satelhte was moved to 86°E by the end of April. Station-keeping maneuvers continued there so it must have still returned some data. It was taken out of orbit on 1st September 2006.

The gap in operations did not last for long, for a replacement satellite, Feng Yun 2-2, was lofted into orbit by Long March 3 on 25th June 2000, soon arriving at 2-1’s old station, 105°E. A month later, following on-orbit testing, the imaging systems were turned on by the National Satellite Monitoring Centre. Twenty-five minutes later, after they had completed a full scan of the Earth, full disk images in color, infrared, and water vapor came flooding into the center, showing clouds swirling over south-east Asia, a clear view of southern Australia, and tropical storm Tembin menacing Japan. Resolution was as sharp as 5 km, which, from 36,000 km out, was good. Three images in each format were, from thereon, sent to the monitoring center every 25 min. Feng Yun also collected and retransmitted data

from automatic weather platforms at sea. Feng Yun 2-2 was even designed to monitor solar radiation, carrying a solar x-ray spectrometer and space particle detector to monitor solar activity and charged particle radiation. It was taken off orbit on 7th October 2006 when it was moved to 123°E and began drifting [6].

Feng Yun 2-3 was launched to 105°E on 19th October 2004, with visible and infrared equipment to watch ocean conditions, fog, hailstorms, sandstorms, and fires. It was declared operational the following May and was described as the first operational version. It was the first Feng Yun to use the CZ-3A, the 3 having been retired. Feng Yun 2-4 was launched on CZ-3A on 8th December 2006 to form a pair with 2-3 but at 86.5°E. The next Feng Yun, 2-5, was launched on CZ-3A on 23rd December 2008, entering transfer orbit after 24 min. At this stage, the series, which had a relatively simple numbering system, began to get complicated. First, the Chinese began to applying lettering, so that the missions were called 2A, 2B, etc. Second, it was announced that the December 2008 launch was 2-6, not 2-5 as expected – a move designed to acknowledge the loss of the first intended mission (now 2-1). Whatever the number, Feng Yun 2-5 was unusual in that the CZ-3A final stage was reignited after 1,500 sec to take the stage out of orbit, a debris mitigation measure.

China reported that, as a result of the Feng Yun system, the country had received advance warnings of typhoons, been able to take flood diversion measures, brought ships back to port ahead of storms, harvested crops before bad weather, and controlled river flows through dams. They had enabled China to estimate crop growth from vegetation and moisture indices, map land use and desertification, and provide data on urban hot spots, smog and dust, algal blooms, forest pests and diseases, pollutants, and even the ozone hole over the Antarctic. By 2006, China had over 100 receiving stations for Feng Yun data. That year, it signed an agreement for eight countries to take the data – Peru, Thailand, Bangladesh, Thailand, Pakistan, Mongolia, Iran, and Indonesia. An information dissemination system was established, called FengyunCast, for domestic and foreign users in Asia and Australia (Europe has EumetCast and the Americans have GeonetCast).

The Feng Yun 4 series will replace the “2” series from the mid-2010s, with 10 visible and infrared channels and microwave sounder. Locations will be 86.5°E and 107°E and six will be launched in 2013-20. The “4” series will have optical and microwave sounders to enable the compiling of three-dimensional maps of atmospheric temperature and humidity, supplemented by four instruments: solar x-ray imager, extreme ultraviolet imager, solar x-ray radiometer, and extreme ultraviolet radiometer. China’s objective is to have an integrated system of FY-3s and FY-4s by 2020 providing data on the atmosphere, hydrosphere, biosphere, lithosphere, and cryosphere, with morning and afternoon FY-3s and a three-satellite system of radar rain measurers. The series is summarized in Table 6.2.

As had been the practice in the Russian space program, Chinese scientists used applications satellites to carry scientific instruments (equivalent Russian add-on packages were called пайка modules, “nauk” being the Russian word for “science”). These were flown on the first communications satellites in 1984 and 1986. Both the first, Shiyan Tongbu Tongxin Weixing, and the second, Shiyong Tongbu Tongxing Weixing 1, carried particle detectors (semi-conductor and electron detector, semi­conductor proton detector) and a broadband soft x-ray detector to measure solar bursts and resultant x-ray storms. Their purpose was to measure changes in the intensity of electrons and protons in 24-hr orbit, as well as static electricity on the spacecraft. A small telescope studied proton fluxes in the 10-30-MeV range and electrons from 0.5 MeV to 1 MeV. Solar bursts were detected and measured on 21st April 1984 and 4th February 1986. Solar x-rays were surveyed in the 1-8-A range.

Scientific instruments were then fitted to weather satellites. Feng Yun 1-1 carried equipment to detect cosmic rays, protons, and alpha particles, as well as carbon, nitrogen, oxygen, and ion particles in the Earth’s radiation belts. Feng Yun 1-2 carried a cosmic ray composition monitor in the range of 4-23 MeV to detect and measure both solar proton events and galactic cosmic rays, and these were matched against readings at the Zhongshan Antarctic base. It detected helium, nitrogen, oxygen, heavy ion, and anomalous iron particles in the inner radiation belt and five solar proton events over September 1990 to February 1991. It flew through the inner radiation belt South Atlantic Anomaly and measured the changing intensities of protons, alpha particles, and carbon ion and iron atoms. Doing so at a time of solar maximum proved to be harmful to the satellite, for the radiation levels disrupted its logic board, causing a complete breakdown at one stage. Energetic particle detectors were designed to measure how heavy ions, protons, and electrons affect weather, one outcome being a mapping of the South Atlantic Magnetic Anomaly.

Feng Yun 1-2 carried two additional experiments – two balloons called Qi Qi 1 and 2 (the name Da Qi has also been used). Their purpose was to measure the density of the upper atmosphere between 400 km and 900 km, and they were tracked by seven ground stations. Made out of polyester film and measuring 2.5 m and 3 m in diameter, deployed in similar orbits, they decayed from orbit the following year, one in March, the other in July. Diagrams were duly published of fluctuations in atmospheric density over the first 90 days of the mission. They were the first scientific satellites to benefit from project 863. Combined with accurate ground observations, they proved to be a cheap but effective way of measuring atmospheric density during solar maximum.

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The geosynchronous Feng Yun 2-1 carried a high-energy particle detector and solar x-ray detector to measure solar proton and high-energy particle events, while later 2-3 carried a solar x-ray detector to measure x-rays from the Sun above 4 keY in 10 channels and the results were compared to the American Geostationary Operational Environmental Satellite (GOES). The spacecraft also carried two scientific detectors, one to measure 3-300-MeV protons and the other to measure

0. 15-5.70-MeV electrons. For 2008-09, they measured little, due to the solar

minimum, only finding electrons in the South Atlantic Magnetic Anomaly and around the North and South Poles. The problem of radiation damage to satellites operating in 24-hr orbit continued to bother the Chinese, for they fitted high-energy electron detectors to Feng Yun 2-3. They supplied three years of data, from 2005 to 2008, giving more accurate predictions of the frequency of upset events. Later FY-3s will be fitted with instruments to measure the ionosphere and auroras [10].

The scientific results of the Chang e mission were substantial. Data return was 1.4 ТВ of raw data, transformed into 4 ТВ of science data, but, more importantly, they enabled China to start building its own repository of scientific knowledge.

The first objective was for China to compile its own Moon map, essential for its subsequent rover and sample return missions. The map combined both the imaging system and the altimeter, whose purpose was to give a precise topography. To do this, the imaging system made 589 tracks of data (or complete photographic passes), matched against 9.16m altimeter measurements.

The definitive map from the Chang e mission was published in December 2009 in Science in China and the Chinese Science Bulletin, authored by Jinsong Ping, Qian Huang, Chao Chen, and Qing Lieng. This made China the third country to publish its own Moon maps, after the Soviet Union and the United States, with the bonus of three-dimensionality. It was a 1:2,500,000 map with contours at every 500 m. It provided a full topography with elevation – moreover one that revealed fresh details of the Moon, such as a possible fault structure along the Apennines Uke one of the Earth’s tectonic plates. Analysts put forward the idea that the Apennine chain was a fault line similar to the Himalayas on the Earth [5]. Five tectonic maps were also in preparation for later publication. A bilingual Chinese-English atlas was published in 2010.

The map refined existing maps and found new features. A new impact basin was identified – the 470-km-wide Guanghangong basin – and a new crater, 190 km across – Wugang. There was a new volcano, Yutu, 2 km tall and 300 km across in

the Ocean of Storms, with another volcano nearby – Guisho. New craters were named after leading Chinese scientists: Cai Lun, after the first-century вс inventor of paper; Bi Sheng, after the eleventh-century inventor of movable type; and astronomer Zhang Yuzhe (1902-86). Following representations from China, the International Astronautical Union approved the naming of 14 features on the Moon after Chinese scientists – a small but growing Chinese proportion of the 1993 named features of the Moon [6].

The use of the altimeter enabled a much-improved knowledge of lunar topography, with an accuracy of at least 31 m. It determined that the Moon was

more spherical than the Earth by a factor of 1/963.7256 compared to the Earth’s 1/298.257. The radius of the Moon was re-measured as 1,737.013 km. Mare Ignii was identified as the biggest mass concentration (mascon). Profiles were published of individual features, such as Mare Moscoviense. Several years later, a critical account of the imaging system praised its definition (“better than the American Clementine”), but criticized its handling of bright light levels [7].

The gamma-ray spectrometer enabled Chinese scientists to make a chemical map of the Moon. The gamma-ray spectrometer scanned the Moon every three seconds between 27th November 2007 and 25th July 2008 and sent over 2.4m spectra to Miyun and Kunming ground stations. A global map of uranium, iron, titanium, and KREEP abundance was published. Chang e provided the most detailed iron and titanium maps since the American Clementine probe. Such maps were especially important in reconstructing the history of the Moon: iron was generally found on the top of lava flows and its presence indicated the order in which the lunar seas were flooded. The imaging interferometer compiled an iron and titanium abundance map of 84% of the Moon between 70°N and 70°S and a cross-section of the Mare Crisium was published. Further analysis showed the distribution of orthopyroxines, clinopyroxenes, olivine, pigeonite, and plagioclase across highland and mare areas, with more detailed studies made of Copernicus, Zucchius, Mare Orientale, Ariastarchus, Tsiolkovsky, and Tycho. A new model of these processes was put forward by Lu Yangxiaoyi, showing how melts of basaltic lava reached the mare from deep in the lunar interior in three periods of lunar history over 2bn—4bn years ago [8].

The amount of Helium 3 was recalculated downward from 5bn tonnes to lbn tonnes: 658,000 tonnes on the near side and 286,000 tonnes on the far side. The presence of Helium 3 was closely connected to levels of solar wind, the age of the lunar surface, and the presence of titanium. Chinese scientists then turned to the long-standing problem of whether there might still be water ice on the Moon. Chang e’s four-channel microwave radiometer first made a temperature map of the south polar region. Then it focused on Cabeus crater, where the American LCROSS mission had already impacted and offered comparative data. It found that the temperature in the bottom and permanently shaded part of Cabeus was 70 К and suggested a water ice content there of 2.8% [9].

The microwave sounder led to a detailed knowledge of the regolith, published by the Lunar and Planetary Research Centre, in “Methods and Advances on Lunar Soil Thickness” (Acta Minneralogica Sinica, 27(1) (2007)). Based on the temperature measurements of the microwave sounder, an algorithm was devised that made it possible to calculate the depth of the regolith all over, dividing it into a dust layer, regolith layer, and bedrock. The regolith was found to be much thinner than previous assumptions, but thicker on the far side:

• mare regolith ranged from 1.2 m to 11 m, the average being 4.5 m;

• it was thinnest in the Mare Imbrium, thickest in the Sea of Fertility and Mare Nectaris;

• highland thickness was 1-15 m, averaging 7.6 m;

• far-side thickness was thicker, at more than 8 m.

Using the same instrument, a temperature brightness map of the Moon was published, the equatorial regions showing up as bright red, with greens appearing the farther away one went and, at the poles themselves, the blues of shaded craters. The temperature brightness was higher in mare than in uplands, higher at the equator than at the poles, and higher on the near side than on the far side [10].

Chinese scientists compared their results with earlier American results (notably Clementine and Apollo), Russian findings (Luna), and their contemporaries (Chandrayan of India and Kaguya of Japan), especially to iron out differences between them due either to the calibration of instruments or interpretation of data. They specifically compared results to data gathered at Apollo landing sites, Apollo 16 being the benchmark. They later corrected their altimeter findings when a discrepancy of 145 m was identified. They also re-photographed the landing sites for Apollo 12, 14, and 15 [11]. Finally, the solar wind detector found few disturbances and low temperatures in the solar wind, except when the Moon passed through the Earth’s magnetotail.

Chang e achieved its four objectives of making a map, analyzing the chemistry and thickness of the lunar surface and characterizing the lunar environment, as well as overcoming the technically demanding trajectory used to reach the Moon in the first place. Chinese scientists should have been more than satisfied with the results and now had important data and analysis to share internationally.

Many people provided generously of their time and energies so that this book and its predecessors could be written. I especially acknowledge the late Rex Hall, who shared his knowledge, files, and information over many years, and Lynn Hall, who continued to make them available to me. Many others kindly provided reports, information and advice, and permission to use photographs and diagrams. I especially thank:

Zhu Yi, Xu Fongjian, China National Committee for COSPAR, Beijing Guo Jiong, Gu Yidong, China Manned Spaceflight Engineering Wu Yunzhao, School of Geographic & Oceanographic Science, Nanjing University

Ling Zongcheng, National Astronomical Observatories, China Academy of Sciences

Chen Shengbo, Jilin University, Changchun Yu Yang, Tsinghua University Wang Lina, Beijing University

Lu Yangxiaoyi, Sternberg Astronomical Institute, Moscow

Cindy Liu, Dublin Institute of Technology

Aaron Janofsky, COSPAR, Paris

Gabriela Nasciemento, INPE, Brazil

Patricia Leite, Assistant to the Director, INPE, Brazil

Suszann Parry, Mary Todd, Ben Jones, British Interplanetary Society, London

Paolo UUvi, Italy

Theo Pirard, Belgium

Dave Shayler, England

Phil Clark, Hastings, England

Pat Norris, England

Karl Bergquist, European Space Agency

Susan McKenna-Lawlor, Space Technologies Ireland

Dominic Phelan, Ireland

I am grateful to them all. For assistance with photographs, I thank those above and also Mark Wade, Hang Heng Rong, Zhang Nan, Thierry Legault, and Clare Hindson of Press Association. Other photos come from the author’s collection and from the previous editions, to whom I renew my appreciation.

Brian Harvey Dublin, Ireland, 2012

About the Author

Brian Harvey is a writer and broadcaster on spaceflight who Uves in Dublin, Ireland. He has a degree in history and political science from Dublin University (Trinity College) and an MA from University College Dublin. His first book was Race into Space: The Soviet Space Programme (Ellis Horwood, 1988), followed by further books on the Russian, Chinese, European, Indian, and Japanese space programs. His books and book chapters have been translated into Russian, Chinese, and Korean.

Jiuquan launch site is located in the Gobi Desert in north-west China. It is the home of the Long March 2 rocket. The launch site is 90 km north-east of the oasis city of Jiuquan, which marks the end of the forts of the Great Wall and is now a tourist destination. Jiuquan is a modern, well-equipped, prosperous city, laid out in a grid, softened by windbreaks and tree-planting campaigns, now featuring a luxury hotel.

Getting from Jiuquan city to the launch site is a 90-min train journey through desert featuring bushes and small trees. The environment is similar to Russia’s Baikonour launch site in Kazakhstan and, indeed, the long, winding trade route known as the Silk Road passes near both. Storms whip up the desert sands from time to time. Being desert, the average rainfall is very small – only 44 mm annually. A river runs through the site, though it normally dries out in the summer. This is a place of extremes. Temperatures range from -34°C in December to + 42.8°C in July. Averages are kinder: from -11 °С in January to +26.5°C in July. The winter nights are bitterly cold, down to -30°C, but the skies are brilliantly clear. It is cold to work in Jiuquan in mid-winter and personnel there receive a subsidy for their winter clothing. The thin soil is a light, dusty brown shale. There are few bushes there, only brown camelthom and a few wild animals, mainly yellow goats and wild deer. Later, some elms and red willows were planted. Not far from the launch site, Mongolian

The original map of Jiuquan compiled by American intelligence. Then it was given the name of Shuang Cheng Tzu. Notice the protective surface-to-air missile sites.

herdsmen may be seen from time to time minding their sheep. Camels wander past periodically.

Like Baikonour, there are two parts to Jiuquan launch center: the cosmodrome and the town, about 20 min apart by car. The cosmodrome is a closed area covering 5,000 km2, bordered by a rim of desert mountains, visited by foreigners only when involved in particular missions. Like Baikonour, the facilities are quite spread out, connected by railways and roads. At one point, sand dunes encroach onto the railway; a detachment of soldiers is assigned nearby, their principal job being to clear the dunes when they drift onto the track. The town is laid out in a grid and is equipped with a railway station from Jiuquan city, coal-powered power plant, reservoir, stadium, hotel, and even a karaoke club. It is divided into four areas: military, commercial, residential, and technical. Staff at Jiuquan must, to a certain extent, learn to be self-reliant. Some of them keep pigs. The reservoir for the launch

SSM LAUNCH FACILITIES

OPERATIONAL SUPPORT AND STORAGE FACILITIES

SAM LAUNCH FACILITIES

MAIN SUPPORT BASE

CONST RUCTIOI CAMP

SHUANG-CHENG-TZU AIRFIELD

* SITE 2

NAUTICAL MILES

Expansion of Jiuquan, as recorded by American intelligence.

Optical Tracking Station

LA2A Pad 5020/ DF-3.-4; CZ-1 LA2B Pad 138 / FB-1; CZ-2

Technical Center ■/ v /

41°0′ /

X LA4 / CZ-2F

Radar Station

Map of Jiuquan now, with the new construction after 1992. Courtesy: Mark Wade.

site, which is replenished during the rainy season, is used for breeding fish. Air conditions there can be extraordinarily clear: one observer brought out his particle detector at the launch site and found that the level of particles was one in a million – the standard of clean room conditions! We have only limited accounts of Jiuquan in its early days and did not get significant details until Swedish satellite engineers visited in the 1990s [4].

The original base was formally delimited as a 2,800-km2 military area in 1962. The site dates to its days as a missile base in the early 1960s, with two subsequent waves of expansion, the first in the 1970s for the first Earth satellite and the second in the 1990s for the manned space program. The original part is called the north site and comprises two pads (one sub-divisible into a second), simple concrete constructions, 60 x 60 m, with an underground control bunker with a periscope. For launches, rockets are brought to the pad on a 55-m-tall, 1,400-tonne moveable service gantry running on 17-m-wide rails. The rocket is then brought to a massive 11-floor umbilical tower with supporting arms which provides fuel, gas, and electricity right up to the final moments of the countdown.

Adjacent to the pads are the Huxi Xincun range control center, assembly buildings, blockhouses, and electricity station. The main processing building is 140 m long; it has an area of 4,587 m2 with a 90 x 8-m assembly hall and a 24 x 8-m

The original pad, Jiuquan, used from Dong Fang Hong onward.

fuelling hall. Equipment can be moved around by a crane able to lift 16 tonnes. Adjacent are 25 test rooms for checking out parts of a spacecraft. Beside them are a solid-rocket motor checkout and processing hall, 24 x 12 m, with crane, storage, and test facilities. The halls guarantee clean room standards of 100,000 class (one dust particle in 100,000 or less), temperatures of 20.5°C, and humidity in the 35-55% range.

Fuels are stored in underground bunkers. There are barracks for the militia who assist in the launchings and four-storey apartment blocks for workers involved in the maintenance of the site. Willow and white poplar trees are planted around the buildings and walkways to provide windbreaks and color. Launches from Jiuquan curve over to the south-east and visitors can watch launches from an observation site 4 km to the east of the pad, ringed by distant mountains. Sven Grahn, the first Western visitor to see a Chinese launch, recalled: “… tables and chairs were arranged directly on the sand and there were loudspeakers on telephone poles to relay the countdown in Chinese. Commands to personnel around the pad were given

by whistles and flags.” The main forms of surface transportation were steam trains and military trucks.

The second substantial expansion in the 1990s saw construction of a vertical vehicle assembly building and a new steel launch tower. The south site comprises:

• technical center – Vehicle Processing Building, transit building, non­hazardous operations building, hazardous operations building, solid-rocket motor building;

• crawler and paved road to the pad;

• two new launch pads;

• umbilical tower;

• launch control center.

Traditionally, Chinese rockets were assembled on the ground in a horizontal position, towed to the pad by tractor, and then reassembled vertically on the pad by cranes. Now, with the Vehicle Processing Building, it is possible to do all the assembly vertically indoors and roll out a ready-to-go rocket to the pad, with fuelling the major task remaining before countdown. At the new pad, the turnaround period is three days, which means that a new rocket could be ready for a mission within 72 hr of the previous launching.

The Vehicle Processing Building is the equivalent of – and looks like – the famous Vehicle Assembly Building at Cape Canaveral and is constructed from reinforced concrete. It is 92 m high, 27 m wide, and 28 m long, with a 13-floor platform, cranes able to lift 17, 30, and 50 tonnes, with two high bays and two vertical processing halls, and is thereby able to prepare two launches at a time. Engineers can access a rocket from nine different levels. The door of the building is 74 m tall, 8 m wide at the top, and 14 m wide at the bottom, and weighs 350 tonnes, made up of six 20- tonne sections. The building dominates the surrounding desert landscape and can be seen 20 km away.

Adjacent are the horizontal transit building, 78 m long by 24 m, class 10,000 (not more than one particle of dust in 10,000 cm3) with air ducts to blow dust away, used to test out the launch vehicle, transit room, non-hazardous operations building for spacecraft checking in clean room conditions, and a hazardous operations building where fuels are loaded before launch. Shenzhou is held in a 12-m-tall scaffold before being lifted by a 15-tonne crane to the top of its rocket. The preparation hall has motivational gold slogans printed on a red background.

Linked by fiber optic cable 7 km from the Vehicle Processing Building is the 400 m2 launch control center, equipped with a main control room with four rows of work stations and two smaller control facilities, facing the launch pad 1,500 m distant. The normal criteria for launch are temperatures of-10°C to +40°C, winds of less than 10 m/sec, visibility of 20 km, and no lightning or thunder within 40 km.

To get to the pad 1,490 m distant, the assembled Long March 2F travels on a crawler 24 m long, 21 m wide, 8 m high, weighing 750 tonnes, and able to travel at 1.02 km/hr. Powered by eight electric motors and traveling at 20 cm/sec, it takes the crawler 40 min to travel from the Vehicle Processing Building to the launch pad. There, the launcher and spacecraft are grappled by the umbilical tower, an 11-floor fixed steel structure 75 m tall, with floors for fuelling, electrical connections, fire­fighting equipment, and an elevator. Underneath is an underground equipment room. There is a lightning conductor, flame trench, and a steel pipe down which astronauts may slide in 60 sec in an emergency evacuation to a protected bunker.

A second pad branches just off to the left. It was first used only weeks after the first manned mission when a Long March 2D put into orbit the FSW 3-1 recoverable satellite. The FSW was brought down to the pad by a new, 91-m-tall launch tower used to test, integrate, and fuel the assembled complex, equipped with no fewer than 40 testing workshops. When images of a second, close-by pad were spotted by satellite in the 1990s, observers realized that the Chinese could only have one capability in mind: to launch a space station first and then a manned spacecraft in quick succession thereafter.

Jiuquan has progressed from being a secret, off-map facility in the 1960s. Scientists were admitted in connection with satellite launchings in the 1990s and the media in the 2000s to follow the Shenzhou missions. Jiuquan city is on the tourist map, its main hotel has Shenzhou memorabilia, and the cosmodrome’s existence is at last acknowledged (photo).

This was the last mission for some time. Rumors circulated in the late 1990s of a new version to come, the FSW 3 series, but this was complicated when China then announced its intention of flying a dedicated orbital mission to test improved varieties of grass, shrubs, and trees, which observers called the “seeds mission” for short. Wang Yusheng of CAST explained how the exposure of grasses to radiation could be used to develop different types of grasses – those that could spread quickly, or grow more slowly, or be capable of resisting harsh climatic conditions. Then, China announced plans to fly a silkworm experiment, contrived by Jingshan High School, Beijing, to follow the entire lifetime cycle of the silkworm from egg to adult in the course of a mission. The original aim was to compare the results with a similar experiment carried out on the last, lost flight of the American Columbia Space Shuttle. Silkworm experiments had been carried on 10 previous FSWs and Bions. Scientists found that, although weightlessness reduced the hatching rate, silkworms otherwise grew normally, produced better silk, and had better digestive ability than ground silkworms.

Already, some seeds experiments had been funded under what was called “project 863”, a project that was to subsequently reappear in other parts of the space program. Project 863, really a program rather than a project, was authorized in March 1986, hence the “3” and “86” designators. It was a horizontal program for scientific modernization in China, in turn a response to the Star Wars program announced by President Reagan in March 1983. Star Wars provoked a strong response in the Chinese engineering and scientific community, but the lesson the Chinese took from it was not that they should re-arm, but that they had fallen far behind the West in technology – a gap that must be closed once more. In 1986, space scientist Yang Yiachi and three colleagues wrote a letter to Deng Xiaoping later published in the Journal of the Chinese Academy of Science proposing a systematic approach to technological modernization. He accordingly directed the state council to respond. Gathering together 200 experts for four months, they produced An Outline for a National High Technology Planning, proposing a budget of ¥10m. The government agreed what was called the National High Technology Development Program, or project 863 for short, but not the budget, which it increased by three magnitudes to YlObn. It was a horizontal program with seven categories (biotechnology and life sciences, information, aerospace, laser technology, automa­tion, energy, and new materials), 15 themes, and 230 sub-categories (the European Union uses a similar model, called the Framework Program (FP) for research). Between 1986 and 2001, €780m was invested in the program in 5,200 individual projects. The idea was to fund small cutting-edge projects (e. g. digital mapping, internet libraries in Chinese) that could be applied across wide areas of the economy – indeed, it led to 2,000 new patents in the first 15 years. The program contributed to Chinese advances in a number of areas, such as computers, where China developed the fastest computer in the word, the Tianhe 1, able to carry out 2,507 trillion operations a second (2.507 petaFLOPS). Project 863 funded a series of studies, exploratory projects, and missions in the space program, seeds being one of the first. Responsible for space research in project 863 was Min Guirong (1933- ), an engineer involved in the design of both the first satellites and the subsequent FSW series.

After a seven-year gap, the FSW series resumed in November 2003 as FSW 3-1 (the title Jian Bing 4 was also given for the FSW 3 series). Its weight was 3,800 kg and it was launched by the Long March 2D from the pad adjacent to the one where, two weeks earlier, Yang Liwei had made history as China’s first astronaut. The cabin returned to the Earth with its payload on 21st November after 18 days of circling the

Earth. In charge of the FSW program at this stage was Tang Bochang. The next mission, FSW 3-2, flew for 27 days starting on 29th August 2004, the mission being for surveying and mapping, confirmed by its lower perigee of 165 km. This was actually an older version of the cabin and used the CZ-2C, not the more recent D, so it could also be categorized as the FSW 1-6. The equipment module, 2,500 kg, remained in orbit but, by early October, it was tumbling and fell out of orbit on 6th November.

Soon after its return, China launched FSW 3-3 on 27th September 2004 on the CZ-2D from Jiuquan for geological surveying and area mapping. It maneuvered to an unparalleled height in the series: 560 km. FSW 3-3 carried 57-kg experiments for boiling heat transfer, air bubbles, melt mass, and cell cultivation. The mission lasted 17 days, the cabin crashing into a villager’s home beside the market in Tianbeizi, Sichuan. The roof was wrecked and supporting pillars were brought to the ground, but the cabin itself was undamaged. At this stage, the Chinese used two additional designators for the FSW series, both Jian Bing 4 and its number in the overall program (the 20th recoverable satellite, FSW 20). The next mission followed on 2nd August 2005 on the CZ-2C from Jiuquan. Named FSW 3-4 or FSW 21, it returned after 27 days on 28th August, while the equipment module orbited until 16th October. It was most likely a close-look photographic mission [10].

Only nine hours after it came to rest, FSW 3-5 (also FSW 22) was launched on Long March 2D from Jiuquan into orbit of 203-298 km, 63°, 89.5 min. This meant that Xian control was preparing the new mission at the very time it was recovering its predecessor – an impressive demonstration of control abilities. Western observers

interpreted the back-to-back mission as part of a military reconnaissance program to obtain six weeks of continuous coverage of high-value targets under favorable lighting conditions [11]. This at last carried the long-announced “silkworm mission” of Beijing Junghan Middle School to follow the spinning and cocooning of the silkworm in orbit. The students found that orbiting silkworms had a shorter lifespan (eight days) than on the Earth (10 days), in line with earlier results. FSW 3-5 carried a fluid physics experiments to study the migration of injected single and double air bubbles in silicon oil. Platinum wires were used to boil liquids to test the efficiency of heat transfer. Although heating was not affected by microgravity, the pattern of bubbles was dramatically different, producing many continually forming tiny

aluminum plate aluminum pi ale

pcllier element

radiators r~i step motor I

step motor 2

FSW experiment container. Courtesy: COSPAR China.

bubbles, the large ones staying on the surface. Three distinct types of bubbles were observed, some very small but coalescing into larger ones, enabhng a model of bubble development to be formulated differently from that on the Earth. Air bubbles injected into silicone oil tested the Marangoni theory that they would move into warmer water (they did). Liquids boiled more gently than on the ground and it was more difficult to know precisely when boiling takes place. In another biology experiment, bacterial cells were fed with glucose and hormones to test their consumption rates compared to ground samples [12]. The equipment module orbited until 16th October.

The first Earth observation satellite was America’s Landsat in 1972, followed by similar missions from Europe, Japan, and Russia. An indigenous domestic system was not approved by the Chinese until the mid-1980s and was given the name Zi Yuan (the Chinese word for “resources”). China had to build its Earth resources program from the very beginning. From the early 1970s, China had bought in Landsat data and used it to re-map the country by 1980 on a scale of 1:2,000,000, generating 738 sub-maps, and also bought two Citation light aircraft for instrument tests. China made extensive use of JERS, PROBA, the Space Shuttle, NOAA satellites, and, in particular, Europe’s Earth Resources Satellite (ERS) for rice mapping, land use mapping, following floods, oceanography, seismic activity, the atmosphere, climate, landslides, and forests [7]. With French SPOT data, China established a national medium-resolution (10-30-m) imaging database of 21 ТВ (terrabytes), one updated every five years, to be the basis for land management and ecological assessment. Some features were singled out for more detailed attention, such as forest shelter belts, the Three Gorges dam, the south-to-north water diversion project, and the Tibet plateau, as well as areas of high urban atmospheric pollution. China’s national reports to COSPAR suggest that, until Zi Yuan, they were quite dependent on Western satellite imaging. It would seem that the circulation within China of Fanhui Shi Weixing (FSW) images taken from 1975 (Chapter 4) must have been limited.

The Chinese chose to develop Zi Yuan in collaboration with Brazil as CBERS and this reached orbit first, in October 1999 (see next section), followed by the purely domestic version a year later, on 1st September 2000, put into polar orbit by a Long March 4B. Chief designer of the Zi Yuan was Ye Peijian, born in 1945, educated in Switzerland (1980-85), fluent in French and English, and awarded prizes for the Zi Yuan because it was the first long-life, real-time Earth observation satellite with high data rate transmissions and high-resolution Charge Couple Device (CCD) cameras. Ye later went on to the Chang e lunar program.

Ever watchful Western observers noticed that Zi Yuan’s orbit was a full 40% lower than CBERS 1, at 468-493 km. By 10th September, Zi Yuan had used its engine three times to raise its perigee to 484 km and, between then and the end of October, fired a further three times to maintain an almost circular orbit of 488­496 km – still far lower than CBERS. Zi Yuan continued to trim its orbit every 9-47 days. Whenever the orbit dipped to 94.41 min, a small burst from the engine would send it back to 94.45 min. Its orbit was never quite circular, there being about 10 km between apogee and perigee. This pattern continued into 2002. It was со-planar but in a slightly different inclination from CBERS, both in Sun-synchronous orbits. By October 2001, Zi Yuan had made 21 orbital trims to keep its altitude at a steady 490­495 km, normally within a kilometer each side. It repeated the same orbital path in patterns of 13, 17, 21, 25, and 29 days. It eventually retired in December 2004. So, although Zi Yuan was similar to CBERS, its behavior was different, being in a lower orbit with regular path-keeping maneuvers while CBERS performed no maneuvers after reaching altitude [8]. Zi Yuan came at a time when the pre-digital FSW missions were drawing to a conclusion.

The Republic of China on the island of Taiwan alleged that Zi Yuan was flying the same cameras as CBERS 1 but at a much lower altitude in order to gather images for the military. The Chinese denied this and insisted that Zi Yuan was gathering civilian Earth resources information and played down the slightly different orbit. Evaluation of the nature of the Republic of China’s claims was inconclusive. We know that the ground resolution of CBERS 1 was 20 m so that, for Zi Yuan, at a lower altitude, its resolution was likely to be about 12 m, which was much poorer than could be obtained from the FSW satellites and well below the standards necessary for quality photoreconnaissance. Despite this, rumors of a military association persisted and Zi Yuan was connected by the Washington Times newspaper to a Chinese plan for an electro-optical reconnaissance program called Jian Bing 3, pictures of 5-m resolution (possibly 2-m) being sent back digitally (later, Jian Bing as a designator was confirmed). The Washington Times suggested that, whatever the situation regarding spying on the Republic of China, Zi Yuan was eyeing American forces in Japan and the rest of the Pacific. Zi Yuan imaging does

not appear to have been published until Zi Yuan 3 in 2012, adding to such suspicions.

This Zi Yuan was joined by a companion in a similar orbit on 27th October 2002 and the set became known as Zi Yuan 2A and 2B, respectively. By 12th November 2002, Zi Yuan 2B had maneuvered into an orbit of 475-504 km while Zi Yuan 2A continued in a similar orbit of 488-492 km, retiring in August 2006. Each covered the same ground path every five days so, between them, they could cover any ground location every two and a half days. According to Chinese space officials, the two craft were operating in tandem 120° apart. The third Zi Yuan, 2C, was launched on

Long March 4B from Taiyuan on 6th November 2004, entering orbit 12 min later and swiftly acquired by Xian mission control. Zi Yuan 2C’s orbit was originally around 480 km, similar to the others, but, in June 2008, it was raised to 520-533 km, in September 2008 to 530-590 km, and then in November to 550-610 km. This ended the series for the time being and it is possible that its role was taken over by the Yaogan series (below) [9]. There was a footnote, for there was a final launching in 2011 in the form of Zi Yuan 1-02C, this strange designator being explained away as being a leftover Chinese-built satellite from the original CBERS system constructed with Brazil. It entered a 773-774 km orbit some 13 min after leaving its Taiyuan launch site, then covered in thin snow. It carried two high-resolution cameras and one panchromatic multispectral camera for Earth imaging, being declared operational on 29th February.

The third Zi Yuan series, approved in 2008, was inaugurated as the world’s first launch in 2012. Zi Yuan 3 was a 2,650-kg high-resolution civilian stereo three­dimensional cartographic satellite put into a Sun-synchronous 498-506 km orbit, 97°, on a five-year mission to map the country’s western regions, providing information that would be used for water conservation and energy and transport planning. Xian control center reported its successful separation 12 min after launch and signals were quickly received at the Miyun tracking station of the Centre for Earth Observation and Digital Earth (CEODE) and later that day from stations in Kashi and Sanya. Its use was transferred that summer to the National Administration for Surveying, Mapping and Geo Information and hailed as a significant advance in China’s Earth observational capacity. Transmission rates to the ground marked a radical step forward, 56.6 GB in just 10 min, using a dual – polarized system. Zi Yuan 3’s images were posted just four days later, the first covering an area of 210,000 km2, and were linked to a Chinese Digital Earth project (tianditu. cn). Zi Yuan 3 also carried a small 28-kg satellite for Luxembourg, the LuxSpace Sari microsatellite called Vesselsat to assist Orbcomm’s automated maritime vessel tracking system, made by Deltatec in Liege. Vesselsat 1, a twin, had already been launched by an Indian rocket the previous October.

One of the purposes of Zi Yuan 3 appeared to be to replace foreign commercial sources for imaging China, for the launch announcement referred to the importance of China’s obtaining indigenous access to high-resolution geographical information. Even as Zi Yuan was phased in, China continued to reply on data from other countries, principally Europe, formalized in the Dragon program at a meeting of European and Chinese scientists in Xiamen in April 2004, compli­mented by an agreement signed at European Space Agency (ESA) headquarters in Paris the following year. Dragon gave China access to Envisat optical and radar data with the aim of improving cultivation of rice, forest mapping (a seventh of China), aquifers, floods, air quality, and desertification. Envisat was especially important for rice-monitoring, because China did not then have an operational radar system able to see through clouds and, in addition, Envisat’s SCIAMACHY instrument was able to measure the output of methane, a greenhouse gas, from rice fields. Similarly, Envisat’s radar was able to measure flooding in all weathers and by night. SCIAMACHY could also measure nitrogen dioxide and other pollutants

in the air while the MERIS instrument could measure red tides out from the Yangtze River.

As part of Dragon, Chinese forestry students studied at the ESRIN facility in Frascati, Italy. Sixteen projects were operated jointly by ESA and the National Remote Sensing Centre of China. The Dragon program ran to 2007, the outcomes being discussed at a symposium in Beijing in April 2008. Chinese scientists showed how they had used Envisat data for a broad range of interpretive analyses of the oceans, atmosphere, flooding, water resources, drought, flood plain mapping, forestry, agriculture (e. g. rice), terrain measurement (e. g. landslides), air quality, and even the impact of the Olympic Games on the urban environment. The program was extended as Dragon 2 (2008-12), covering wetlands, sea ice, forest fires, water quality, river deltas, coastal zones, the carbon dioxide budget, ecosystems, and topography. Dragon 2 included advanced training courses in fields such as land, ocean, and atmospheric remote sensing, with defined study areas, 400 scientists, 25 dedicated projects, and a young scientist program. Chinese contributions to the program came from the Haiyang oceanographic satellites, Huanjing land observa­tion satellites, CBERS, and Beijing 1 disaster monitoring satellite [10]. The Dragon 3 program was announced in summer 2012, with 50 projects, 700 scientists, and more advanced training courses. The Dragon program indicated a critical gap in Chinese know-how – one that China worked hard to close with European assistance. The series is reviewed in Table 6.3.