Category China in Space

Even though project 714 was one of the more successful secrets of the period, rumors of Chinese plans for manned spaceflight surfaced repeatedly during the 1980s. Pictures of spacesuited astronauts appeared from time to time, in isolation chambers, simulators, centrifuges, and observatories, almost certainly at the Institute of Space Medicine (there was even a profile in the domestic press, on 10th—11th January 1980, for example). It was a story that just never seemed to go away. We now know that a group of 12 men was recruited in April 1979. They were never formally constituted as an astronaut squad, even though they studied the stars, tested isolation and pressure chambers, underwent all the difficult physical tests such as the orientation chair, tested negative body pressure suits, tasted space food, made drop tests, and may even have undertaken simulated space missions.

In 1992, the Hong Kong press reported that plans for a manned spaceflight were now under way. Considered at the time as just another rumor, this story was actually true, for the government made such a decision that year, as confirmed by its code name, project 921, derived either from the first decision of “92”, 1992, or else 21st September of that year (the 21st of the ninth month). The decision arose from two feasibility studies carried out under the project 863 research program (for background to the program, see Chapter 5). In February 1987, an expert group, 863-2, was set up

Name Design bureau Features

Source: Lan, Chen: Dragon in Space: A History of China’s Shenzhou Manned Space Program. Spaceflight, 47(4) (2005); Wade, M. Tian Jiao 1, available online at www. astronautix. com.

to establish long-range goals for the space sector. It determined that having a space station in Earth orbit was the hallmark of a great power in the twenty-first century, signifying national strength and international visibility. Plan 863-2 led to two sub­studies: 863-204 was for a new manned spacecraft and launcher, while 863-205 was for a manned space station [1]. The competition was run by the Ministry of Aerospace, which gave it an additional title: project 869. Six designs were presented in June 1988 and these are detailed in Table 8.2.

In the event, the China Academy of Launcher Technology (CALT) shuttle design, the Tian Jiao, was rated first (84%), followed closely (83%) by the China Academy of Space Technology (CAST) design. The proposals went to a conference in Harbin in July 1988 where the debate revolved between a conservative design (CAST) and a leapfrogging design (CALT), but one with higher design risk and a later date. An expert group took a year to reach a final decision, reversing the original recommendation in favor of CAST. At the time, we knew nothing of this great competition, although relics of it were in fact hiding in plain view. The aerospace – plane design was displayed at the 1990 International Astronautical Congress and may still be seen in the company office. Tian Jiao, meantime, was exhibited at the Hanover, Germany Expo 2000.

The proposal entered a three-year period of great uncertainty, being alternately on and off while technical, economic, and political issues were argued out in party and government, eventually forcing Deng Xiaoping out of retirement to prevail on his colleagues and especially reluctant premier Li Peng to make a decision. As an

interim step, there were further studies to refine outstanding issues and an exchange program with Russia, whereby 20 young engineers went there, while the Russians sent expert lecturers in exchange. The technical studies focused on deciding between three possible versions of the CAST design:

• a three-module configuration, with the re-entry module on top and the orbital module in the middle;

• a two-module configuration, with no orbital module (like the Soviet Zond spacecraft);

• a version close to the Russian Soyuz, but with a larger orbital module capable of 180 days’ independent flight, originally proposed by Ren Zinmin in 1987. This was the choice.

Although the politburo eventually made its decision on 21st September 1992, it was not confirmed or publicly announced until the end of the decade. The original plan foresaw an unmanned launch by 1998, manned launch by 2002, a small space station by 2007, and a Mir-class station by 2010. Put in charge of project 921 was a disciple of the Soviet chief designer (1966-74) Vasili Mishin: Wang Yongzhi. A special Human Spaceflight Project Office was established to manage the program, reporting back directly to the state council. The name “Shenzhou”, or “divine heavenly vessel”, was applied to the project in 1994. Key tasks were assigned to different bureaus. Although led by CAST, the Shenzhou propulsion system went to SAST (Table 8.3).

Shenzhou: Qi Faren

Launcher, CZ-2F: Liu Zhusheng

New launch complex at Jiuquan: Xu Kejun

Recovery: Zhao Jun

Tracking system: Yu Zhijian

Astronaut training: Shu Shuangning

Payloads, applications: Gu Yidong

Evidence of an emerging Chinese manned space project became ever more compelling when, in 1996, two Chinese cosmonaut instructors were spotted in Star Town in Moscow: Wu Tse and Li Tsinlong, both 34-year-old Air Force pilots with over 1,000 hr flying. Although Star Town had now become very cosmopolitan, with many Europeans and Americans in training there, there was only one reason why Wu Tse and Li Tsinlong could have been there: they were cosmonaut instructors in training.

In fact, China had renewed its relationship with its long-estranged partners in Moscow in early 1993 and a formal cooperation agreement had been signed there on 25th March 1994. The following year, the Chinese went shopping, deciding to buy critical elements for their manned space program. They bought an entire spacecraft Ufe-support system, a Sokol spacesuit, a docking module, a Kurs rendezvous system,

and a full Soyuz capsule, but it was a stripped-down shell, without any equipment or electronics (the Chinese had hoped to buy a complete Soyuz, but negotiators would not agree a price). Thermal protection systems were tested in Russian wind tunnels. The Chinese baulked at the €8m price of the stabilizer for the launch escape system and built their own in the end.

The two cosmonaut instructors spent a year in Star Town, learning how they could train a squad of their own, assisted by 20 specialists. As they did so, recruitment began for China’s second astronaut squad in 1996. As was the case before, Air Force pilots were favored, with a preference for over 1,000 flying hours, with an initial pool of between 1,000 and 1,500 people, reduced to 60, then 20, and finally whittled down to a final selection of 12 in 1998, with the two instructors later added, giving a second squad of 14 men (no women). The criteria were for height up to 175 cm, weight up to 80 kg, age 20-45 (but 25-36 preferred), a university degree in science, and a foreign language. Table 8.4 shows those who were selected.

Table 8.4. China’s second group of astronauts, 1996.

Zhao Chuandong Chen Quan Pan Zhanchun Zhang Xiaoguang Deng Qingming

Wu Tse (also written Wu Jie) (instructor)

Li Tsinlong (also written Li Qinglong) (instructor)

Although they did most of their training in China, they did travel to Russia for weightless training in the 11-76 plane. One outstanding question remained: what to call China’s spacemen? The original term for someone who flew in space, from the 1930s to the early 1960s, was “astronaut” (someone who traveled to the stars). On the first anniversary of Yuri Gagarin’s flight, in 1962, the Soviet Union introduced a term devised by writer by Ari Stemfeld – “cosmonaut” (someone who traveled throughout the cosmos) – as a distinctive term for its fliers. The most popular term used in China, dating to the 1950s, was “yuhangyuan” – the official term and the one used in this book. Several others have also been used, including “hangtianyuan”, a professional or academic term, and “taikongren”, the term most familiar to overseas Chinese and people in Hong Kong and Taiwan. An anglicized version of “taikongren” is “taikonaut”, which has the merit of symmetry with “cosmonaut” and “astronaut”. This was favored by the Western media and even gained ground in China itself.

The manned space program decided on in 1992 meant a huge expansion of the infrastructure of the Chinese space program – indeed, its most systematic develop­ment since it began. The first need was for a training center, set up as a walled village in Haidian, a secluded area protected by military guards in the north-western suburbs of Beijing, whose function was comparable to Star Town and the American facilities in Houston [2]. It was built on the site of the original training center in 1970
and was not that different in layout from Star Town in Moscow. The main elements were a Shenzhou simulator, docking simulator, launch escape slide, and centrifuge 8 m long, able to run at 42 rpm and achieve 16 G (although 6 G is the normal run). A typical training period to qualification was four years. The training center had a spinning chair which whirled people up and down, left and right, around and around, in dizzying combinations, and an isolation, thermal, and vacuum chamber from which the air was sucked out and where astronauts learned to live in an air-free environment for several days, testing their psychological fitness to the limit and subjecting them to a range of temperature and humidity regimes. For gravity tests, the astronauts were put in a cylindrical tower 10 m tall and then shot up at great speed, to simulate the stresses of launching. To test the other end of the mission, they were dropped in a fast lift in a four-storey-high building. There was plenty of theory to learn, too. When they arrived, the yuhangyuan were handed a 600-page manual, Manned Spaceflight Engineering, covering everything from flight dynamics to cosmic rays and navigation systems.

The astronauts trained there five days a week. They returned home to their families each weekend. They had ordinary apartments to the standards of a cadre division commander. During the week, they had their own transport and police escort for visits outside the training center but, at the weekend, they were expected to get around like anyone else by bicycle or car. As was the case with many in the Russian cosmonaut squad, most of their wives also worked in the training center or in the space industry.

At the same time, a mission control center was built in Yenshan (Swallow Mountain) district, 40 km north of Beijing’s center, not far from one of the emperor’s summer palaces. Called the Beijing Aerospace Command and Control Centre (BACCC), it opened in March 1996. BACCC has five walls of consoles, 100 in all, connected by fiber optic cables, with a huge wall-to-wall screen at the front, with clocks, images of the worldwide tracking system, and television relays from the launch center, its gleaming and futuristic appearance confirmed by up to four presentations of three-dimensional displays at the front. Its appearance was not unlike that of mission control in Moscow, the TsUP, used to control the International Space Station (ISS). In between missions, the controllers spend time honing their skills in simulations. When they are not doing this, the screen puts up a graphic of a Long March taking off against a background of pagodas and distant mountains. Computers and high-speed links connect BACCC to China’s national ground control system in Xian and the Yuan Wang comships. Mission control handles not just manned, but lunar and interplanetary, missions.

In the meantime, China went to Mars – but on the ground. This was a 520-day-long ground experiment conducted by Russia, which had a long history of simulating long-duration missions going back to 1968, when three men made a year-long “spaceflight”. These tests were important for addressing life-support, ergonomic, medical, biological, and psychological issues long ahead of the real thing. In the early 2000s, Russia announced its intention of simulating a full-duration Mars mission in its Institute for Medical and Biological Problems (IMBP) in Moscow, using its simulation module called “the box” (“botchka” in Russian), a habitat of 550 m3. It would be as lifelike as possible, with a simulated landing on Mars for half the crew (while the other half orbited above) with a Mars walk and even a 40-min delay in transmission times to match the real delay at such a distance. Although these simulations were ridiculed in the British press (“Why don’t they simulate the Olympics too?”), they had a serious purpose in laying the groundwork for the definitive mission many decades later.

Originally, it was a Russian-European project. There were lengthy delays in getting it started, probably due to lack of money on the Russian side, to the point that a 105-day simulation was run instead from March to July 2009 with four Russians, a German, and a Frenchman. At one stage, it seemed that Mars 105 might be an abbreviated conclusion to the project but, suddenly, in April 2010, the Russian-European Mars 500 project was on again – but this time with a Chinese crewman, Dr Wang Yue, aged 27. He was a graduate of Nanjing Medical College in preventative medicine (in 2005) and went straight from there to the astronaut training center to work as a physiologist, being closely involved in the Shenzhou 7 space walk and the selection of China’s third group of astronauts. It was an all-male group (Russia seemed to have a problem including women in these tests) of four Russians, two Europeans (France and Italy), and a Chinaman. There is reason to believe that China was able to pay sufficient money for its participation to make the mission economical for the IMBP, which may have explained its sudden restart.

The mission began at 11:49 European time on 3rd June 2010, with the door of the bochka being ceremonially shut. Key simulated moments of a Mars mission followed, such as a mid-course correction on 24th December and entry to Mars orbit on 2nd February 2011 after 244 days. Forty days into the mission, communications were interrupted because of a solar storm. Later, there was a power cut – all part of a process of testing the men’s self-reliance. The high point of the experiment was when a sub-crew of three – Alexander Smolevsky, Diego Urbina, and Wang Yue – made a simulated landing on Mars on 12th February. For this, they transferred to a separate landing module measuring 6.3 x 6.17 m – their sole home for 16 days. Getting out on the surface, they made three space walks using real Russian Orlan spacesuits, each led by the Russian, with Wang Yue’s big moment taking place on 18th February. The cosmonauts traversed a simulated Martian terrain of 10 x 6m – actually part of the car park at the back – modeled on Gusev crater, where they collected samples, drove a rover, and planted the Russian, European, and Chinese flags. At night, Wang Yue slept in a 35-kg spacesuit at an angle with his head down to simulate the gravity of Mars after a long period of weightless, feeling the blood rush to his head. Then they left Mars on 23rd February, docked in Mars orbit four days later, and headed out Earthward on 1st March.

During the mission out to Mars and the long, monotonous journey home, Wang Yue provided daily blood and urine samples. He had his own 3-m2 cabin, where he hung a picture of Yang Liwei. The cosmonauts exercised regularly. Much of the day was spent on experiments, maintenance, and cleaning, as on a real spaceship. The

experiment he most disliked was an attention-level test in which he had to use a cursor to move 16 randomly swirling dots into a bubble. They could bring a small number of personal items on board, such as books, videos, and laptops. They spent a lot of time e-mailing friends, Wang Yue writing to his girlfriend but complaining that she did not write enough back. He spoke later of how his mood would fluctuate, at times becoming depressed and angry. For recreation, the crew watched videos, generally comedies and cartoons. Once they watched the film Apollo 13, but it left them depressed for days. The working languages of the mission were Russian and English, but Wang Yue initiated a course in basic Chinese for his colleagues. In an internet broadcast from the botchka on cosmonautics day, 12th April (the 50th anniversary of Yuri Gagarin’s flight), Wang Yue spoke in excellent English about how much Gagarin had been an inspiration to him.

The doors of the botchka did not swing open again until November, when, in an event televised across Europe, the crewmembers emerged in their blue coveralls and bhnked in the natural Ught and the camera flashes of the hundreds of friends, family, and well-wishers who gathered to welcome them back to the real world.

Later, speaking of the mission, Wang Yue told viewers that the experiment had proved harder than he expected, but he had never thought of giving up and had received good support from family and friends. Readjustment after the mission was a challenge. He had difficulty sleeping and found everyday life very noisy after the quiet of the botchka. Director of the astronaut training center in Beijing, Chen

Shanguang, described his contribution to a future Mars mission as heroic, while IMBP deputy director and cosmonaut Boris Morukov commended his teamwork and determination. Wang Yue told of how he had spent his time off in reading, board games, and calligraphy, and had followed closely the rescue of the Chilean miners who had been trapped underground. Asked what he missed most, Wang Yue was very clear: home Chinese cooking. The food – which was similar to that on the International Space Station – was not enjoyable, he said, but it kept him from starving and gave him some energy. He had spent two birthdays on the Mars flight and was 29 when he returned. He volunteered that he was prepared to do the experiment again – “but not right yet”. A mission highlight was taking a shower every 10 days (so limited so as to conserve water). He went on a well-deserved holiday in Kunming, Yunan, and managed to put back on some of the 5-kg weight he had lost during the mission.

The mission was followed by a team of ESA psychologists led by Bernadette van Barsen of the Netherlands. Initial results showed that the crew had stood up well to the early part of the mission, but with morale dipping several months in but then recovering when the Mars landing approached. In a post-conference presentation of the results, the head of IMBP Anatoli Grigoriev spoke of the importance of the experiment in identifying the psycho-physiological stress points of a mission to Mars, such as decreased motor activity (hypokinesia), monotony, and frustration, as well as risks of cardiac arrhythmia and the demineralization of bones and tissue. Although this part of the mission was not simulated, experts were already alert to the problem of cancers from prolonged exposure to solar radiation – one which suggested that older astronauts should fly, for they would spread more slowly. Granted that astronauts were now flying in their fifties (John Glenn had famously flown at 77), Wang Yue could, even in 30 years’ time, be of a suitable age for such a mission. Would Wang Yue be the first Chinese man on Mars? Or would he follow down the ladder Liu Yang, the first Chinese woman?

CONCLUSIONS: TO THE MOON AND MARS

The lunar program was, like others, a beneficiary of project 863 (see Chapter 4), which enabled pre-studies to be undertaken of a lunar mission. Indeed, Deng Xiaoping’s wisdom in approving a horizontal science program as far back as 1986 became more apparent, for it made it possible for scientific objectives to reassert themselves within the space program and permitted ground work to be done thoroughly before a government decision (in 2003). It is possible that the success of the early Shenzhou missions gave China the final confidence necessary to proceed with a lunar mission, leading to the first launching to the Moon, Chang e, in 2007, followed by a second mission in 2010, Chang e 2. China was able to keep its costs down by using spacecraft originally developed for other missions, such as the DFH-3, and by adapting instrumentation from Earth resources satelhtes. The trajectories followed for both lunar missions were difficult and ambitious, for both Chang e’s elliptical trajectory to the Moon and Chang e 2’s subsequent move to L2 required considerable precision, navigation, computer power, and tracking. Their missions were carried out with apparently effortless ease – evidence of rapidly rising standards within the program and the thoroughness of preparatory work. The product of Chang e was a substantial body of indigenous scientific knowledge, giving China new, precise topographic and chemical lunar maps, with the identification of fresh lunar features and a new understanding of the regolith. They gave China a place in the international scientific community analyzing the Moon – a promising background for the rover and sample return missions to follow. Although the opportunistic but clever Yinghuo mission came to nothing, plans were already in preparation for missions to Mars from 2015. Preparatory work was even undertaken for a later manned mission to Mars, the Mars 500, over 2010-11. The years 2007-12 clearly marked a fresh dimension to China’s space program: its arrival in the field of missions to deep space.

Tiangong was China’s first space laboratory. The Chinese explained that there would be a second occupation of Tiangong, after which the laboratory would be de-orbited in the Southern Ocean, away from the shipping lanes. Its thrusters would fire for long enough to take it out of orbit: most of it would bum up but any fragments that made it through re-entry would impact harmlessly. Tiangong would be followed over the next five years by Tiangong 2 with 20-day visits and then Tiangong 3 with 40- day visits and a regenerative life-support system [4]. Tiangong 3 would be resupplied by an unmanned cargo craft based on Shenzhou, in the same way as Russia adapted Soyuz as the Progress cargo vehicle. This third station would orbit up to 450 km and would spend up to 10 years in orbit.

At 12 days’ duration, Shenzhou 9 doubled the length of the previous longest Chinese spaceflight. Although other countries, especially Russia, had made long – duration missions for many years (one cosmonaut spent 438 days in orbit), China lacked its own database on the effects of weightlessness. In anticipation, ground tests had been carried out, the focus being on bed-rest and head-down tilt experiments to simulate some of the effects of weightlessness. A 60-day bed-rest and head-down tilt experiment was carried out in 2007 in a three-sided project between the astronaut training center, the French space agency CNES, and the Chinese University of Hong Kong. Twenty-one men participated, the effects being lower cardiac activity accompanied by a loss of bone density and muscle mass. Countermeasures were developed during a 30-day bed-rest and head-down tilt experiment with 14 men in 2009 during the course of which they exercised with a bicycle, wore penguin suits,

and used negative pressure equipment, with positive results. Separately, using rats, experiments were conducted using traditional Chinese medicines, especially taikong xiele to slow bone and muscle loss [5].

As the design and building of Tiangong proceeded, China began work on a permanent station, something on the lines of the Soviet Mir space station. In the early 2000s, China issued illustrations of a station comprising a core block and three 8.5-tonne Tiangong-class modules, totaling 38 tonnes, with a permanent crew of three. This model was quite similar to the original design of the Mir space station, but much smaller than Mir in its final form (120 tonnes), still less the ISS (450 tonnes). The core block would be launched from a new launch site on Hainan Island in 2020, with Tiangong modules, manned Shenzhou spacecraft, and unmanned freighters flying up from Jiuquan. The station would orbit between 400 and 450 km, 42°, for 10 years. From time to time, the station would dip to 380 km, to facilitate the arrival of Shenzhou spacecraft. It would then be boosted back to altitude; 2023, the solar maximum, would be a trying year, for increased atmospheric density would require numerous orbit-raising maneuvers.

The design of the space station was modified in 2011 to become something more ambitious. New designs issued by the office of China Manned Spaceflight Engineering showed something much more on the scale of the ISS. First up would be the base block with a six-port node and robotic arm, followed by a small module

Table 1.2. Scientific platforms planned for large Chinese space station, 2020.

• Space Exposure Experimental Platform, with robot arm, for experiments in radiation biology, materials science, new components and materials, astronomy, space physics, and environment;

• Variable Gravity Experimental Platform, providing opportunities for experiments in biology, complex fluids, material science, and medicines from 0 to 2 G;

• High Temperature and Combustion Science Experimental Platform;

• High Microgravity Level Experimental Platform, for experiments in laser cooling atomic clocks, the verification of gravity, the equivalence principle, crystals, fluid science, laser and optical diagnostics, and colloidal crystals;

• Life and Ecology Experimental Platform, a greenhouse for cell and tissue cultivation, to cultivate plants, raise animals, and to test the disposal of waste gases and water;

• Protein Engineering Experimental Platform, for experiments with protein macromole­cules, liquid and gas diffusion, protein structures, and functions.

with solar panels, not unlike the Kvant module on Mir. The first occupation by a Shenzhou crew would take place next, with resupplies by unmanned cargo craft. Next would come a truss structure on which four huge solar panels would be attached. Four large laboratory modules would follow. There would be an airlock module from which numerous space walks would be based. A notable feature of the plan was that large solar panels would be added at the earhest possible stage, so that there would be sufficient power for the specialized modules.

As for the scientific experiments to be carried out in 2008, the Chinese Academy of Sciences had begun work on China’s scientific goals, subsequently published as Roadmap 2050 [6]. This outlined six science “platforms” to be installed on the station, comprising the instrumentation for the specialized modules. These are listed in Table 1.2.

An early priority was what was called the “cosmic lighthouse”, a 3-tonne external platform to survey the sky for dark matter and dark energy. Seven candidate projects were under consideration:

• large-scale imaging and spectroscopic survey facility, to study dark energy, dark matter, and the large-scale structure of the universe;

• high-energy cosmic radiation facility, to study the properties of dark matter, the composition of cosmic rays, high-energy electrons, and gamma rays;

• soft x-ray and ultra-violet all-sky monitor to study x-ray binaries, super­novae, gamma ray bursts, active galactic nuclei, and the tidal disruption of stars by supermassive black holes;

• x-ray polarimeter, to study black holes, neutron stars, accretion disks, and supernova remnants;

• galactic warm-hot gas spectroscopic mapper, to study the Milky Way, interstellar medium, and missing baryons in the universe;

• high-sensitivity solar high-energy detector, to study solar flares, high-energy particle acceleration mechanisms, and space weather; and

• infrared spectroscopic survey telescope, to study stars, galaxies, and active galactic nuclei.

Additional experiments were planned in optical and electron microscopy, diffractive and florescent analysis, mass spectrometry, confocal laser scanning microscopy, and interferometry. As for the yuhangyuan themselves, a range of experiments were planned in:

• psychology of crew and individual performance in an isolated, confined, and hostile environment;

• first aid, space sickness, immunity, and telemedicine;

• physical resistance to weightlessness, addressing bone loss, atrophy, and cardiovascular deconditioning;

• resistance to radiation hazards, cancers, gene mutations, and pharmacolo­gical protectors;

• Controlled Ecological Life Support Systems: food production, the balance of oxygen and nitrogen, the recycling and regeneration of water;

• fire safety – prevention, detection, control, and suppression.

Even as Tiangong was circling the Earth, China began work on the construction of the elements of this permanent station. First of all, a 12-m-tall, 7-m-diameter component-testing facility was built. One of the first items to be tested was a remote arm, for girders and remote arms had proved an important feature of the Mir space station. Harbin Polytechnical University, with Beijing Robot Research Centre, obtained funding under a horizontal research program called 863 for the development of a remote arm for the space station. It was much smaller than comparable Russian or Canadian projects, being of human size, with 96 sensors, 12 motors, four fingers each with four joints, and the ability to lift 10 kg. It could use screwdriver and spanner-type instruments and, according to its inventors, could even play the piano!

These designs and plans set the scene for an ambitious program of manned space exploration. But key to their ultimate success was the first-ever laboratory: Tiangong in 2012. The three missions are summarized in Table 1.3 and the chronology of the space station is shown in Table 1.4.

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Table 1.4. Chinese space station: chronology.

Year Event

1992 Russian-American agreement on ISS

1998 Start of construction of ISS

1999 Government approval of space station project; first designs

2000 Cooperation agreement between China and Russia extended to space stations

2011 Launch of Tiangong; rendezvous and docking by Shenzhou 8

2012 First occupation of Chinese space station by crew of Shenzhou 9 [2] [3]

China has developed two families of launchers – the Long March, known as the Chang Zheng (CZ), and the Feng Bao (FB, or Storm). The Long March family is divided into seven series – Long March 1, 2, 3, and 4, which have flown, with 5-7 forthcoming (these future launchers will be considered in Chapter 10). The Feng Bao launcher was used from 1971 to 1981 for the JSSW series and Shi Jian 2 (see Chapters 2 and 7), when it ended service and is not considered here; neither is the Long March 1, used for the first two launches, but not subsequently. The Chinese are visually helpful in enabling us to identify their rocket launchers, for their white – painted rockets invariably have the launcher type painted in big red letters in large English script on the side after the Chinese pictograms for “China” and “Hangtian”, the latter meaning “space” or “cosmos” in Chinese.

Although, to an outsider, all rockets, being rocket-shaped, appear to have the same means of propulsion, in fact there are many important distinctions between them. First, rockets may use either solid fuel or liquid fuel. Solid-fuel rockets operate on the same principle as fireworks. A gray sludge-like chemical is poured into a rocket container. When the nozzle is fired, the stage bums to exhaustion. Solid rockets are very powerful. Their main disadvantage is that they cannot be turned off – they simply burn out. They are less precise and less safe.

Liquid-fuel rockets are more complex. They have two tanks – a fuel tank and an oxidizer. Both are pressurized and fuel is injected, at great pressure, into a rocket engine where it is ignited. On liquid-fuel engines, the level of thrust may be varied (throttled) and the engine may be turned off and restarted. This system is complex but more versatile and, from a manned-spaceflight perspective, safer. Liquid-fuel rockets may be divided into three sub-categories, according to the type of fuel used. Most Russian and American civil rockets have used kerosene (a form of paraffin) as a fuel. These are powerful fuels, but they degrade if they are kept in a rocket for more than a few hours at a time. If a launching is missed, the fuels have to be drained and reloaded – a tedious and time-consuming process. From the 1960s, Russian and American military rockets began to use storable propellants, generally based around nitric acid or nitrogen tetroxide and UDMH (unsymetrical dimethyl hydrazine). The

advantage of storable propellants is that they can be kept at room temperature in rockets for long periods before they are fired – a necessity when military rockets must be kept in a constant state of readiness. The disadvantage is that such fuels are highly toxic, presenting hazards for launch crews and horrific consequences in an explosion. In 1960, a Soviet R-16 missile exploded at Baikonour cosmodrome. Ninety-seven engineers, supervisors, and rocket troops died in the ensuing fireball, but the level of casualties was made much worse by the toxic nature of the exploding fuel. It remains the worst rocket disaster in history. Finally, there is the use of liquid hydrogen as a fuel. Liquid hydrogen is enormously powerful, but has to be kept at extremely low temperatures. China has favored the use of storable propellants for main stages, with small solid-rocket boosters for the final kick to 24-hr orbit. The Chinese introduced a hydrogen-fuelled upper stage with the Long March 3 in 1984.

Now follows a description of each of China’s main launcher families. As with many aspects of the Chinese space program, this compilation is a hazardous exercise. Precise technical details of Chinese rockets vary slightly from one publication to another. Designators vary even more, especially when it comes to rocket engines.

For example, the YF-20 engine when clustered as a first-stage engine is called the YF-21; when used as a second-stage engine, it is called the YF-22, but when linked to YF-23 vernier engines, it is called the YF-24! Table 3.3 shows launches by launcher type.

Communications satellites are an important line of development of the Chinese space program. In 1984, China launched its first communications satellite – the beginning of a series that has brought television and modern communications to the whole Chinese landmass. This began the Dong Fang Hong series of communications satellites, now at Dong Fang Hong 4, with numerous derivatives (e. g. Feng Huo, Tian Lian). China attempted to open its space program to launching Western satellites, but this became the occasion of a prolonged and acrimonious stand-off with the United States which continues to the present day. Despite this, China has launched several comsats for foreign customers, like Nigeria and Venezuela, with more to follow.

Zi Yuan, Huanjing, Tansuo, and Tianhui focused on land masses. In the meantime, China had been working on a series of satelhtes devoted to maritime observations. These would require a quite different set of instruments. The potential of maritime observations had been well known ever since the American Seasat, the Franco – American Topex/Poseidon and Jason, and the Russian Okean. Theoretical work had been undertaken in China in the 1970s. The concept was especially promoted by Jiang Jing Shan, who had seen the other examples and managed to obtain project 863 funding in the 1980s. The program was eventually approved in 1997 [14]. It was developed for the Science and Technology Department of the State Oceanic Administration and planned as the first of a series of regular launchings of observation satellites able to photograph the ocean in three-dimensional color images. The aim of the series was to monitor the seas, tidal zones, offshore sandbanks, and the marine environment, picking out pollutants and sand pouring into the sea. In particular, it would focus on China’s coastal seas (Bohai, Huanghai, Donghai, and Naihai).

The first satellite, Haiyang 1 (later called Haiyang 1A), the Chinese word for “ocean”, was brought into orbit on 15th May 2002 as a companion of Feng Yun 1-4 (see above). Haiyang was a small (1.2 x 1.1 x 1-m), 365-kg oceanographic satelhte using the CAST968 bus. The original orbit with Feng Yun 1 was not suitable for Haiyang so, during the last week of May, a motor lowered Haiyang’s altitude to an operational height of 792-795 km, 100.7 min.

Haiyang had a 10-band three-dimensional ocean color and temperature mechanical scanner made in Shanghai with a swath of 1,164 km, resolution of 1,100 m, a revisit time of three days, and a four-band push-broom Charge Couple Device CCD camera made in Beijing of 500-km swath with 250-m resolution and a seven-day revisit time. The aim was to observe the oceans for chlorophyll,
plankton, fluorescence, sediment, temperature, ice and pollution, chlor­ophyll concentrations, surface tem­peratures, silting, pollutants, sea ice, ocean currents, and aerosols. It crossed China from 08:35 to 10:40 every morning, making observations while downloading data from the 2­GB memory tape recorder over a 22­min period at 5 MB/sec [15].

The original program envisaged a test satelhte with a two-year lifetime

(IA) before an operational satellite

(IB) . The satelhte was a success and relayed back high-quality images, from the Strait of Qongzhou to Mexico Bay. Haiyang 1 focused on the Bohai Sea, the Yellow Sea, the East China Sea, and the South China Sea, operating for 685 days to April 2004, making 830 surveys. Four problems were revealed by this test mission. First, its solar cells did not last as long as hoped. Second, the Chinese were not happy with the level of glinting of the Sun on the ocean’s surface and set the equator crossing time back from 10:00 am to 10:30 am to get a better angle on the next satellite. Third, memory was insufficient, so the next satellite was equipped to download not one, but five sets of data during each overpass. Fourth, the swath was too narrow and

Haiyang, China’s pioneering oceanographic was increased to 3,000 km. satelhte. The operational Haiyang IB was

duly launched on 11th April 2007, with a three-year lifetime, three times greater data capacity, higher resolution, greater tolerance to temperature and vibration, 10 computers, and improved solar cells. Its mission was to monitor the temperature of the ocean, track pollution, watch coastal development, and study environmental changes. It flew at 798 km, with weekly repeater orbits.

Like Huanjing, we have a good volume of information on the Haiyang program. Color sea temperature maps were published, such as an average sea temperature map for the Pacific north-west, ice levels and thickness in the Bohai Sea (which freezes for three months every winter), and river sediments entering the oceans. Maps of the

intersections of warm and cold waters have indicated where fish Uke mackerel, squid, and scad may be found. Hiyang made it possible to make estimates of the biological productivity of the ocean, a vital component in the carbon cycle – a slow and tedious process to undertake from ships – presenting not just maps of the seas around China, but a global productivity estimate. Estimates were made of the carbon dioxide partial pressure in the Yellow Sea so as to begin a model for the ocean carbon cycle. Wind and wave maps of the seas between the Philippines and Indo-China were published. Detailed maps were published of both green tide and red tide infestations, both of which had the potential to damage the marine environment, fishing, and tourism (the 2008 green tide affected the Olympics regatta in Qingdao). Sea ice updates were provided. Color maps were published of suspended sediment in the sea around costal zones. The Haiyangs were able to collect data that measured the level of phytoplankton, benthic plants, and autotrophic bacteria in the seas – indicators of the biological productivity of the ocean. The strength of winds and typhoons was measured and wave heights were calculated to 6 cm. Such information would have been infinitely slower and more costly to obtain from sea-based monitoring. In April 2012, it was announced that Haiyang data would soon be available on the internet from the country’s oceanographic administration, presumably on a system like that of CBERS.

Haiyang marked an important advance in remote sensing for China but, according to the program leaders, Jiang Xingwei and Lin Mingsen, China still lagged behind other countries. There was still much to be done to improve accuracy and extend the application of the data [14]. A three-type series was announced. While the Haiyang 1 series concentrated on ocean color monitoring, the Haiyang 2 series would use microwaves to monitor the dynamic ocean environment, while the Haiyang 3 series would use Synthetic Aperture Radar (SAR) for surveillance and

mo 105 по 115 120 125 150 155 140 145 150 \ ( )

Sea temperature map off the China coast, from Haiyang. Courtesy: COSPAR China.

monitoring of the ocean with a mixture of continuous and single-look monitoring with a grid antenna. Next in the Haiyang series would be a duo of Haiyang 1C (morning passes) and ID (afternoon passes).

The first of the next series, Haiyang 2 (also called 2A), was launched on 15th August 2011. A month later, over 15th-17th September, Haiyang 2A maneuvered to a holding orbit of 911-929 km, 99.36°, 103.38 min, before, on 29th September, reaching its final, almost circular orbit of 965-968 km, 99.37°, 104 min, and it was declared operational the following 2nd March. It was announced that, for the first two years, it would follow a 14-day cycle and then a 168-day cycle with a five-day sub-cycle. Its aims were to follow pollution and topography in shallow waters, ocean winds, waves, currents, tides, and storms. Its instruments comprised a microwave radiometer to measure ocean temperature, wind speed, and atmospheric vapor; a dual-frequency Ku and C-band radar altimeter to measure sea level, wind speed, and ocean height; and a radar scatterometer pencil – beam radar to measure wind speed and direction and to monitor ocean conditions. Cross-measurements between them should eliminate any inconsistencies in data. The scatterometer was the achievement of Jiang Jing Shan, who had seen how successful it was on Europe’s ERS satellite and the American Seasat. His design had two rotating antennae, horizontal and vertical. It was designed to measure wind speed within 2 m/sec and wind direction within 20° in a swath of 340 km [16]. It was announced that future missions would follow in 2012 (2B), 2015 (2C), and 2019 (2D).

In addition, China plans a joint oceanographic mission with France: CFOSAT (Chinese French Oceanic Satellite), whose objective is to monitor wind and waves globally for the purposes of marine meteorology (especially severe events), ocean dynamics, climate variability, and the surface processes. Taking advantage of French

experience in such missions as TOPEX/Poseidon, Jason, and Megatropiques, it is intended to improve knowledge of sea-surface processes, waves, and sea ice, especially in coastal areas. There are two main microwave radar instruments: the Surface Waves Investigation and Monitoring instrument (France), which will not measure wave height, but direction, amplitude, and wavelength; and a scatterometer supplied by China with six rotating beams designed to hit the waves at an angle that can measure their frequency. Launch is set for 2015 on the CZ-2C with data transmitted to both countries. The series is summarized in Table 6.8.

Table 6.8. Haiyang series.

Haiyang 1A 15 May 2002 CZ-4B, piggyback with Feng Yun 1-4

Haiyang IB 11 Apr 2007 CZ-2C

Haiyang 2 15 Aug 2011 CZ-4B

All from Taiyuan.

The most substantial challenge of project 921 was the manned spacecraft itself. Appointed chief designer was a person then unknown outside China (and probably little inside China either). Qi Faren, born in Fuxian, Liaoning, in 1933, represented the main design team from CAST, assisted by the Shanghai Academy of Space

Technology (SAST). He had graduated from the Beijing Institute of Aeronautics and Astronautics in the historic year of 1957 and, 13 years later, was involved in the building of China’s first satellite, Dong Fang Hong. He then went on to lead the Dong Fang Hong 2 and 3 programs and the Feng Yun 2. He was appointed general designer and leader of project 921 in 1992, with 1,000 scientists and engineers under his command.

At first sight, Shenzhou looks like the Russian Soyuz, a design going back to 1960. Like Soyuz, Shenzhou comprises a service or propulsion module, descent cabin, and orbital module. The service module contains four re-entry rockets with variable thrust (2,500 N, 150 N, 25 N), 28 maneuvering engines with variable thrust (150 N, 5 N), two solar panels, and radiators to discharge heat. The headlamp­shaped, sometimes called beehive-shaped, descent module has room for three, possibly four, crewmembers. It has a 65-cm hatch at the top, two portholes, a sighting window, and two parachutes (main and reserve). The orbital module, at the front, has two solar panels, maneuvering engines, two portholes, and room for a scientific package on the front. The cabin is designed to provide the astronauts with air, a temperature of 17-25°C, and humidity of 30-70%. For all its similarities with Soyuz, there were differences:

• Shenzhou is larger: 9.15 m long compared to 6.98 m;

• Shenzhou is wider, at 2.8 m in diameter, compared to 2.6 m;

• Shenzhou is heavier, at 7.79 tonnes compared to 7.2 tonnes;

• Shenzhou has solar panels reckoned to deliver up to three times more power than Soyuz: 1.53 m wide, span 17 m at the back, and placed not only the on the service module (24 m2), but also on the orbital module, span 10.4 m (although the latter were not deployed on Shenzhou 1 and 7);

• the orbital module is heavier (2 tonnes), can be left in orbit for independent flight, and has four groups of four maneuvering engines; it is longer than Soyuz: 2.8 m compared to 2.2 m;

• the descent module is slightly larger: 2.517 m in diameter (Soyuz was 2.17 m) and longer (2.5 m compared to 1.9 m), but has the same aerodynamic shape, with a volume of 6 m3;

• the propulsion or service module is 2.94 m in length and 2.8 m in diameter, compared to Soyuz’s length of 2.3 m and diameter of 2.2 m; it has four engines, compared to a single one on Soyuz;

• the escape tower is similar: 7.16 m long, diameter from 33 cm to 70 cm [3].

In other words, Shenzhou follows the general configuration of Soyuz but is far from a copy. The Chinese themselves made comparisons between Shenzhou and Soyuz. Overall internal volume is 13% larger, making Shenzhou, they say, larger, roomier, and better. It has a different docking system: an androgynous petal-style docking system, rather than the probe-and-drogue of Soyuz. Table 8.5 compares the two. As may be seen, Shenzhou is clearly influenced by the Soyuz design, but to describe it as a “copy” would be both inaccurate and unfair. The Chinese became sensitive to allegations of copying and at press conferences stressed that Shenzhou was “Made in China” (“Made in China” stated emphatically in English).

The Shenzhou fairing is 15.1 m long, 3.8 m in diameter, and it weighs 11.26 tonnes. Its tower can be ignited at any time from 15 min before launch to 130 sec after lift-off, when it is then fired free, while the shroud remains in place to 200 sec: its top motors can be used to pull Shenzhou free should an emergency develop during these later stages of launch. The escape system can be activated by the yuhangyuan, mission control, or by the automatic guidance system should it detect that the rocket is heading badly off course. Different combinations of its four engines can be used for escape below 39 km (the first three sets), 39-110 km (the second and third sets), and to whisk the tower away if still unused (the small top set). Escape at low altitude would be a memorable experience, pulling 20 G. A similar launch escape system was once used when a Soviet rocket exploded on the pad in September 1983. Cosmonauts Vladimir Titov and Gennadiy Strekhalov were grateful when it did indeed work as advertised. They had a bumpy landing but were very much alive. Development of the escape system proved to be one of the most difficult parts of the design and it took two years to make a successful test.

The escape tower might be called upon to work but, at the other end of the mission, the parachute of the descent module must always work. Here, the Chinese made the largest ever parachute for a returning manned spacecraft. The landing sequence would trigger as the descent module reached subsonic speed 15 km above

the ground. First, the hatch cover is jettisoned and the pilot chute comes out for 16 sec to slow the module from 180 m/sec to 80 m/sec. Next, the deceleration chute comes out, slowing the cabin to 40 m/sec, bringing out the main parachute. This is a huge canopy, at 80 m tall, 30 m across, weighing 90 kg, with an area of 1,200 m2 – 20% broader than the Soyuz parachute, held by 100 25-mm-diameter cords, each able to bear a weight of 300 kg. Once it billows out, it slows Shenzhou to its descent speed of between 15 m/sec and 8 m/sec. The parachute is made of 1,900 pieces of thin strong fabric able to withstand high loads and temperatures of up to 400°C. Should something go horribly wrong, like the parachute twist or Roman candle, then a reserve parachute can be ejected. This is much smaller – 63% of the size of the main chute, at 760 m2. The heat shield is then dropped at 5 km. But, assuming all is well, the final action takes place as the cabin comes in to land. Just 1 m above the ground, a gamma detector senses the touchdown and fires solid-fuel retrorockets to cushion the final descent to 1 m/sec, simultaneously severing the parachute so that it will not drag the cabin in a high wind. Once landed, the cabin includes survival suits, sleeping bags, radio beacon, smoke generator, signal rockets, dye, mirror and compass, life raft, pistol, knife, first aid, and even shark repellant. The main beacon begins sending signals from the end of blackout at 243 MHz while the spacecraft is still 40 km up, while the astronauts themselves can erect two high-frequency transmitters once they land. They also have a beacon to transmit on the international emergency frequency of 406 MHz.

The orbital module is sufficiently large for basic comforts to be provided for the orbiting yuhangyuan. They can sleep in sleeping bags mounted on the wall. A sealed plastic tent is provided so that they may shower – a facility never provided on Soyuz. Developing the spacecraft took much longer and was much more difficult than expected. By 1997, it had got little further than the shell of the prototype in the workshop, to the extent that opponents of the project made a fresh attempt to have it canceled. A counter-proposal for an unmanned lunar program to replace Shenzhou reached the state council, but Prime Minister Zhu Rongji would not approve such a late, radical change of course. The engineers decided, meantime, to buy time by putting into orbit a minimalist prototype, with an all-up version to follow later.

This final chapter looks at China’s space ambitions, focusing on the construction of the new cosmodrome on Hainan Island and the new Long March 5, 6, and 7 launchers. The chapter looks at whether we may expect China to send astronauts to the Moon and further afield and, if so, when? Other areas of Chinese technological development are discussed, such as space shuttles and advanced engines. This chapter looks at the Chinese space program in its global perspective (e. g. size of program, budget) and analyzes its key characteristics, features, focus, and rationale. Finally, there is speculation on its future lines of development to 2050.

CHINA IN A COMPARATIVE INTERNATIONAL PERSPECTIVE

If we define a space power as a country or block able to put its own satellite into orbit, the world has 10 space powers: Russia, the United States, France, Britain, Europe, China, Japan, India, Israel, and Iran. Of these, Britain and France no longer have a national satellite launching program, so the current relevant number is really eight (Britain cancelled its launcher program before its first successful mission, while France merged its launcher program with the European one).

Nevertheless, it is valuable to set the Chinese space program in a comparable international perspective, both over the whole period from 1957 and, for contemporaneity, the five most recent years (2007-11) and 2011, a landmark year (Table 10.1).

China therefore accounts for a tiny proportion of world space launches (2.8%). If we look outside the two leading superpowers, though, and focus on the minor powers, China then accounts for 30.76% of them – almost a third. What is more interesting is the changing order of launches. Russia has almost always been the leading spacefaring nation in terms of launches, followed closely by the United States and, some distance behind, Europe. In 2007, China overtook Europe as the third largest launcher and, in 2011, overtook the United States – two significant landmarks. By the end of June 2012, its mid-year total was only one launch behind Russia, with the United States trailing.

Looking at deep-space missions (the Moon, Venus, Mars, and beyond), six space powers have now launched deep-space missions: the United States, Russia, Europe, Japan, China, and India. Turning to geosynchronous orbit, only six countries have launchers able to reach 24-hr orbit: the United States, Russia, Europe, China, Japan, and, since 2001, India. China is consistently in the top league of the space nations.

China has a long history in astronomy, astronautics, and rocketry. Although ancient astronomy began in Babylon, China was not far behind and has the longest history of continuous observing of any civilization. Eclipses were observed as far back as 2165 вс and records of stars can be found carved into bones dating to 1400 вс. A supernova was observed in Antares in 1300 вс and the first star catalogs were found in 350 BC, outlining the “mansions” of the sky, Uke western constellations. The first meteor showers were recorded in 687 BC. Comet Halley was observed in 467 BC and sunspots in 28 BC. The first sundials were made in 104 BC, the same year as the building of the first observatory, Zijin Shan (Purple Mountain) near Nanjing. A golden age of Chinese astronomy opened from the seventh century, when the emperor Yao commissioned the first star maps and calendar (AD 650). These star charts had 1,340 stars, 12 constellations, over-the-pole views, and used the Mercator system of projection [1]. China has a continuous history of weather records dating 3,000 years.

Chinese astronomy expanded rapidly in the second millennium, with instruments of great complexity such as clock drives, celestial globes, and equatorial spheres (1090-92). Song dynasty astronomers observed a pulsar, 0 Tauri, for 23 days from 4th July 1056. By 1150, the imperial library had 369 books on astronomy and a map of the Milky Way was made in 1193. In 1276, the Dong Feng observatory used a low wall to measure the precise distance to the Sun while Nankin observatory built the first telescope with an equatorial mounting. Perhaps the most intriguing feature of ancient Chinese astronomy was that, instead of Europe, where the sky was seen as a Umited, hemispherical orb, ancient Chinese cosmology (AD 336) conceived the universe as “infinite empty space” through which stars moved at speed. Both theoretically and practically, the Chinese were almost 1,000 years ahead of Europe.

The rocket – the word means “firing arrow” in Chinese – was invented in China. The ancient Chinese discovered the secret of gunpowder in the third century – some time between AD 220 and 265. The formula took 1,000 years to work its way westward, to reach England by 1248, where it was known to Roger Bacon (for the record, the formula is 50% niter KN03, 25% sulfur, 25% carbon). Gunpowder was fitted to the heads of arrows to explode on hitting their target and firecrackers were introduced for festivals at around this time. The use of gunpowder rather than the

B. Harvey, China in Space: The Great Leap Forward, Springer Praxis Books,

DOI 10.1007/978-l-4614-5043-6_2, © Springer Science+Business Media New York 2013

bow to propel the arrow was invented by Feng Jishen in 970, making it the first rocket. Primitive rockets were used by the Song dynasty in 1083. Later, the Mongols learned to use these rockets and made them the basis of the expansion of their empire. When the Japanese invaded China in 1275, Kublai Khan fired rockets to drive them away.

The Chinese then began to put their rockets into launching tubes. The first of these, Flying fire spear, used a paper container and was introduced in 1119. During the Ming dynasty (1368-1644), these early Chinese rockets came into their own. They possessed the fundamental elements of modern rockets: a combustion chamber, firing system, explosive fuels, and fin guidance systems (feathers). The Ming histories reported that over 39 types of rocket weapons were in use and a group of rocket troops was formed. They had names to match their fearfulness, like Soaring flame bird, Burning crow, and Poison sand barrel, large bird-shaped missiles that exploded on impact, scattering fire and poison. Fire dragon over water was a 150-cm multi-stage anti-ship rocket with a range of 1 km. In the twenty-first century, engineers re-examined these missiles and confirmed just how aerodynamically stable they were [2].

Some of these rockets eventually found their way to India, where they were retrieved by British soldiers in the late eighteenth century and became the basis for

their rocket troops that fired on Napoleon’s armies. More peacefully, a sixteenth – century inventor called Wan Hu designed a wickerwork chair with two kites above and 47 rockets underneath. Wan Hu disappeared in flame and smoke and was never seen again, but a crater on the Moon is now named after him, so in one sense he made it after all.

The Long March 2 was introduced with the recoverable satellite program (Chapter 4) and three versions are still in service:

1. Long March 2C, which introduced the FSW recoverable satelhte program in 1975;

2. Long March 2D, which introduced heavier, recoverable FSW satelhtes from 1992;

3. Long March 2F, used for Shenzhou and the Tiangong, also called Shenjian.

In addition, a heavy version, the Long March 2E, was used for Western communications satelhtes over 1990-95 (see Chapter 5). It flew seven times (with two failures) and is discontinued.

The Long March 2A made one flight in November 1974, the first attempt to put a recoverable satelhte into orbit. When it failed, the rocket was redesigned and called the Long March 2C. The Long March 2B was a canceled design for a version to carry a small payload to 24-hr orbit. The original role of the Long March 2C was to put recoverable satelhtes into orbit, the FSW series (see Chapter 4). As such, it put 14 satelhtes into orbit over 1975-93, all successfully (one was not recovered, but that was not the fault of the launcher). During a typical mission, the Long March 2C rocket begins to pitch over into its flight trajectory 10 sec after lift-off. Staging takes

place at exactly 2 min: it is a hot staging, with explosive bolts detonating the now – expired first stage, which falls away a second later. Twenty explosive bolts fire to separate and release the fairing over the payload at 230 sec, the second-stage engine completes its burn, and the payload is released at 569 sec. Telemetry relays back as many as 300 different parameters during launch.

The Long March 2C series might have ended in 1993 had it not been for the American Motorola company, which booked the Long March 2C for 11 double launches of its Iridium global telecommunications satellite (22 satellites altogether). The 2C was adapted with a longer second stage (2 m longer) and what is called a “smart dispenser” (SD), designed to spring the small comsats into orbit. The Taiyuan site was used for these flights, which flew into a new, higher orbit of 700 km at 58°E. This launcher is referred to as the Long March 2C-SD. A test of the SD was made on 1st September 1997, following which seven successful launches took place before Iridium filed for bankruptcy. A further refinement, the CTS was used for the Chinese-European Doublestar project in 2003. The launcher continued to operate for some time, experiencing a rare failure on 18th August 2011 when attempting to put into orbit Shi Jian 11-4. It transpired that the connection between the servo­mechanism and the second-stage vernier engine §3 failed during the later stages of the ascent.

The Long March 2D was introduced in 1992 to carry the heavier, third generation of FSW recoverable spacecraft, the FSW 2. The payload of the Long March 2D was 600 kg more, at 3,400 kg. The launcher was heavier (237 tonnes), with improved performance in a number of areas. With FSW 3-1 in 2003, a stretched version with fins was introduced, sometimes called the 2D2, and it used the new manned launch pad.

For China’s manned spaceflight, the Long March 2 was adapted and upgraded. Fifty-five engineering changes were made to make it capable of manned flight. President Jiang Zemin bestowed on it his own name, the Shenjian, or “magic arrow”, in 2002, though this is rarely used. The principal difference – and most obvious visual change – was the addition of an escape tower based on the Russian design for the Soyuz spacecraft. In the event of a mishap either on the pad or in the first 160 sec of flight, the tower fires, pulling Shenzhou rapidly high and clear of the rogue rocket. Once the thrust is exhausted (after only a few seconds), the cabin drops out of the bottom of the tower. This is a tricky maneuver, for the three Shenzhou modules must then separate very quickly, giving the descent cabin time to get free, deploy its parachute, and fill it with air. Four retardant panels are deployed on the tower to slow its fall and avert the danger of its tangling with the cabin. All this must be done in seconds. Assuming all goes well, the normal trajectory of ascent to orbit is 586 sec, at which point mission control in Beijing assumes control. The tower is jettisoned at
130 sec, the strap-ons at 160 sec, the fairing at 200 sec. For the Tiangong, the 2F was adapted to carry 8.7 tonnes, requiring a new launch shroud, but without the escape tower and numerous less-visible modifications. Details of the CZ-2 are given in Table 3.4.