Category China in Space

The mission profile for Shenzhou 7-а space walk – was announced as far back as 2005 and Chinese men were already practicing in the hydrotank in Moscow’s Star Town that February. Two years later, it was announced that work had begun on their spacesuit. By then, the astronaut training center had its own hydrotank in the training center, 10 m deep and 23 m across, with a crane to lower astronauts into the water and a team of six to eight divers to accompany the simulation. Zhang Baiman was announced as being in charge of the mission. On 10th July 2007, an Iliyushin 76 delivered the spacecraft to Jiuquan, the arrival being greeted by school children with flowers.

The first space walker, Zhai Zhigang, was named in the press in August and followed in the tradition of the first space walkers, Alexei Leonov (March 1965) and Ed White (June 1965). Zhai Zhigang came from Longjiang, Qiqihaer, Heilongjiang. His domestic circumstances were difficult, for his father was invahded and his mother ilhterate, although determined to get her children an education. Like Nie Haisheng, the Air Force was his route to a career. His colleagues reckon that he won selection because of his sanguine behavior – “he always wore a smile, whatever happened”, they said. His hobbies were fixing gadgets, calligraphy, and dancing. His companions were Liu Buoming and Jing Haipeng, both Air Force pilots. All were born in 1966, the year of the horse, considered a good omen in China. One difference from the 1965 missions was that the commander would make the space walk (back then, the commander was the man who stayed inside). Liu Buoming would join the space walk but remain mainly inside the cabin, while Jing Haipeng stayed in the fully pressurized command module.

For the mission, China had bought nine Orion suits from Russia in April 2004 – three flight suits, two low-pressure training suits, and four suitable for hydrotank tests. From them, China had built its own suit, called the Feitian. For purposes of comparison, the space walker would wear the Chinese Feitian, but a second yuhangyuan would wear an Orlan suit in the depressurized orbital cabin. For their own suit, they tested both Russian-style oxygen-nitrogen (air) Orlan suits and Ughter

American-style oxygen-only suits at 0.3 atmospheres but which require pre­breathing for about a half-hour, as well as preventative measures against fire and the bends, deciding on the American system. The suit weighed 110 kg, had an endurance of 7 hr, and carried 1.9 L of water [12]. A number of other important changes were made. First, the exterior of the orbital module was stripped down so as to make a clear path for the space walkers. The solar panels were removed, as were 16 thrusters. In their place, the designers installed handrails, five air bottles, two cameras, a 40-kg subsatellite, and an experimental package. The primary purpose of the mission was to make a space walk and, once that was accomplished, Shenzhou would return to the Earth, mission duration being set at 68 hr.

For tracking, five comships were deployed: Yuan Wang 1 and 2 in the eastern Pacific, Yuan Wang 3 in the Atlantic, and Yuan Wang 5 and 6 in the north Pacific, supplemented by 12 tracking stations (including the overseas ones in Malindi, Swakopmund, Karachi, and Santiago), as well as the Tian Lian data relay satellite over the Indian Ocean. This time, tourists were invited to watch the launch, the fee being ¥15,000 (€1,500).

The CZ-2F was brought out to the pad on 23rd September 2008 and fuelled up. The three yuhangyuan held a press conference the following day, the 24th, and met the president. On the afternoon of 25th September, they suited up and traveled to the launch pad in the transfer van, to be greeted by a noisy crowd of workers, children, and well-wishers. The three men made their way to the launch station, where they stopped, saluted the launch commander, announced their readiness to carry out their mission, and, to further jostling and cheering, mounted the lift. They shd in turn into the command cabin through chutes in the orbital module.

It was night by the time the count concluded at 21:10 China time. The engines of the CZ-2F gushed yellow and orange flame with black smoke and began to rise in the night sky. It could be seen ascending into a typical ice-clear Jiuquan night, bending over in its climb, making the distinctive “cross of Korolev” shape of clustered burning engines. In a few minutes, they were in orbit of 200-337 km, 42.4°, raised on the fifth orbit to 330-337 km. Over Honolulu, amateur American trackers picked up signals on 2,224 MHz. Shenzhou 7 benefitted from the Space Environment Prediction Centre, set up in 1998, which updated its forecast radiation levels every 8 hr and confirmed that it was safe to go ahead with the space walk. Chinese doctors had meantime developed a medicine to combat space sickness – a combination of difenidol, theotydramin, promethazine, and cofferine, taken both before launch and before the space walk. Combining American and Russian experience with traditional Chinese medicines, a new pill was introduced to combat fatigue and improve performance during spaceflight, called the taikong yangxin.

The long-awaited space walk took place on 27th September, the third day of flight, on the 29th orbit. It had been deliberately delayed to then so as to enable any symptoms of early-mission pace sickness to pass. Pre-breathing and anti-decom­pression precautions were carried out for the Feitian. The whole event was relayed live on Chinese television and its worldwide feed, beginning when Shenzhou 7 was passing over Malindi. There was a brief gap in signal as it left Malindi and was picked up by Tian Lian 1, which was to cover the crucial period of the space walk. Viewers could see the hatch being opened by the two yuhangyuan from within the orbital module. Later, the unfolding events would be followed on the outside by a backward-facing camera mounted on the front of the orbital module.

Zhai Zhigang and Liu Buoming had difficulty opening the hatch. Even though the cabin had depressurized, there was still sufficient air outgassing from items in the cabin to apply pressure on the hatch – identical to difficulties experienced by Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldin when they tried to open their lunar module hatch for their walk on the Moon. Zhai Zhigang was the first to emerge in his Feitian suit and could be seen coming out of the hatchway with the length of Shenzhou in the foreground and the blue Earth in the background. With his body now well out of the

hatch, he waved to all the viewers, greeting the Chinese people and all other viewers. Grabbing the handrail, he attached two tethers, one of which must be connected at a time. He then moved entirely out of Shenzhou, swam vertically, and, holding a small Chinese flag, waved it aloft to the world.

In the meantime, Liu Buoming emerged from the orbital module in his Russian – made Orlan suit. He stood by while Zhai Zhigang retrieved a small panel of experimental samples and handed it back to him inside. The purpose of the experimental package was to test 80 individual items of 11 types of solid lubricants and polymers and compare them with a ground sample: once back on the ground, the erosive nature of the space environment was apparent. After 14 min outside, Zhai Zhigang came back in and closed the hatch. Viewers watched the two yuhangyuan waiting in the orbital module for re-pressurization. Although it was a short space walk, this was very much in line with the duration of the Leonov and White space walks 40 years earlier. Depressurization time was 45 min, of which hatch open time was 22 min. Later, China intended to develop a manned maneuvering unit so that an astronaut could use its engines to move freely up to some distance away, without a tether. Several hours later, the subsatellite was released from the front of the orbital module. Later, the orbital module began its period of independent flight, making six changes of path, testing engines that would later be used on the Tiangong orbital station.

The following morning, the three yuhangyuan prepared to return to the Earth. The landing was again carried live on Chinese television. Retro-fire took place at 09:50 UT and, at 10:25, a dramatic image of the single parachute filled the screen, cameras following the cabin down all the way to touchdown at 10:36, the actual landing taking place behind a low hill. Cameras followed jeeps as they fanned out across the Mongolian grasslands and helicopters quickly touched down beside the cabin. Shenzhou had landed on its side and the hatch was soon open. In mission control, where Prime Minister Wen Jiabao was the principal visitor, there was relief and joy.

The crew was required to remain in the cabin for a half-hour for acclimatization so, in the meantime, water bottles were passed inside. Liu Buoming was first to emerge, followed by Zhai Zhigang and then Jing Haipeng. They were quickly seated in director’s chairs before being given flowers and making thank-you speeches. Later, they were brought away for a hero’s welcome in a motorcade with garlands of flowers. Mission time was 68 hr 28 min. With a full crew on a short mission, there was little scope for experiments on Shenzhou 7, but, echoing experiments carried out by the Soviet Union on Korabl Sputnik 2 in August 1960, Shenzhou 7 carried muscle cells to study the effects of spaceflight, finding that they became quite degraded over the short period of the mission. After the mission, the three yuhangyuan went on tour around the country. Shenzhou, with a Feitian suit and a Sokol suit, Zhai Zhigang’s gloves and flag, the recovered external samples, as well as a working model of Banxing were exhibited in the science museum in Hong Kong.

The 40-kg subsatellite provided quite a postscript for the mission. Called Banxing (“companion satellite”), built in Shanghai, it had its own thrusters and propulsion system for station-keeping and maneuvering. It appears to have been an initiative of the Academy of Sciences, like the Chuangxin micro-satellites. The satellite was developed by the Shanghai Satellite Engineering Centre with Nanjing University of Aeronautics and Astronautics. It had, for the first time in China, a gallium arsenide solar array powering a lithium ion battery. Lead designer was Zhu Zhencai. The propulsion system used liquid ammonia vaporization. Following its spring ejection, its original orbit was the same as Shenzhou at the time, at 329-338 km, but, over the next week, it maneuvered first around Shenzhou and, later, its orbital module, maintaining a distance of 4-8 km for 25 orbits, practicing station-keeping with the orbital module. It operated within an ellipsoid of between 3,800 m and 7,600 m (figures of 540 m-20 km were also given), adjusting it six times, concluding its mission in January 2009. There were reports that it then moved away to a distance of 470 km, only to return to the orbital module. There was nothing new about such distance-and-chase maneuvers – they had been done by the USSR in the 1980s with the Czechoslovakian MAGION subsatellites – but it was a first for China. The subsatellite made a total of 13 maneuvers during its 100-day primary mission.

Banxing had two cameras, one wide-view and one narrow-view. Over 1,000 images were sent back by its two cameras, although only a small number – albeit excellent ones – were published. In January 2009, engineers reported that they were still in contact with the small spacecraft, which still had some fuel left. According to the subsequent mission report, Banxing demonstrated “inspection and proximity

alone-track relative posiiion km

The spiraling ellipses of the BX-1 flight pattern. Courtesy: COSPAR China.

operations” and tested new technologies such as gallium arsenide solar cells, lithium batteries, a micro-ammonia thruster, micro-attitude tracking controller, cameras with double-focusing systems, and a micro-USB responsor [13].

Banxing had a second postscript. American analyst Richard Fisher used data made available by the US Strategic Command to show that, 4 hr after its launch, Banxing flew to 45 km to the right of and below the ISS. Although the satellite was

released when the two were 500 km apart, at 15:07 UT, Banxing would have passed close to the ISS while they were overflying the sea between Australia and New Zealand. According to Fisher, the close pass arose either because the micro-satellite was out of control at the time, which was dangerously irresponsible, or there was a surreptitious maneuver to test on-orbit interceptions [14]. Banxing burned up on 29th October 2009, while the orbital module lasted longer, to 4th January 2010.

While awaiting the Long March 5, many of the most interesting developments in world rocketry have been at the other, small end of the market. There was a huge growth in the requirement for small payloads in low Earth orbit. Several countries developed new small launchers, like the European Vega, while, in the United States, the Orbital Sciences Corporation developed Pegasus, a small rocket lifted to altitude by a Lockheed Tristar airplane, from whence it was dropped, ignited, and flew on to orbit.

In the late 1990s, China redeveloped the old Long March 1 rocket, used only for its first two satellite missions, as a new small satellite launcher. After a suborbital test flight in November 1997, it sought foreign customers but fell foul of the American embargo. China then tried another approach. Following the Russian experience of converting solid-fuel missiles into launchers (the Topol), China then developed a small four-stage solid-fuelled truck-based launcher, called Kaitouzhe (“Pioneer” in English) or KT-1. The aim was to place 40-100-kg payloads into 300-km-high polar orbit from a mobile launcher. Compared to the liquid-fuel rocket fleet, this was a small launcher, only 14 m tall and weighing only 20 tonnes. Its nearest comparator was the Russian START launcher, briefly used for small payloads in the early 2000s, based on the SS-20 missile called, coincidentally, Pioner.

Models of Kaitouzhe went on display at the Shenzhen 4th International High and New Technology Achievements Fair in October 2002. There were unconfirmed reports that an attempt was made to launch Kaitouzhe 1 on 15th September 2002, but it failed because of a guidance fault. A second launching took place from Taiyuan on 16th September 2003, which appears to have suffered a fourth-stage failure. Stamps were even issued in Xian to mark its maiden flight in August 2005, but it never happened. The Kaitouzhe then disappeared from view, unexpectedly reappearing at the Zhuhai air show in 2009. Not only that, but a longer version was modeled – the KT-1A, with a mass of 30 tonnes and able to put 200 kg into 700 km orbit, as well as one with two strap-ons, the KT-1B, mass 65 tonnes, able to put 500 kg into the same orbit. Later, they acquired the name of the Long March 11 (CZ-11). Regardless of its future, the Asian Joint Conference on Propulsion and Power, held in Xian in March 2012, heard of initial Chinese preparations for a new generation of solid-fuel launchers, using the segmented design typical of the American Space Shuttle.

This chapter looks at how the current space program was constructed – its organization, institutes, architecture, infrastructure, ground facilities, cosmodromes, rockets, and rocket engines – starting with the people who made it all possible: the designers and their institutes.

DESIGNERS, BUREAUS, AND ARCHITECTURE

The leader of the Chinese space program was, as we have seen, in its early years Tsien Hsue Shen. The Chinese program followed a model of development that had similarities to the Soviet one, based on the concept of design institutes and chief designers (glavnykonstruktor, in Russian). Whether the system was consciously imitative or arose from a common political inspiration is not known. Either way, in the Chinese system, a number of chief designers emerged, as did various institutes and design bureaus, though there was a much more remote connection between designers and individual bureaus. As was the case in the Soviet Union (1946), an original group of chief designers was formed in China (1956), with key scientists assigned to projects and specialisms (e. g. engines, computers, radio systems, propellants). To the present, individual chief designers are associated with key projects, such as Qi Faren (Shenzhou). The original designers have since retired, although, in keeping with the Chinese tradition of longevity, many have lived and still live to old age and retain a lively interest in their former occupation. While Tsien Hsue Shen will always remain the great designer, in recent years, China has come to recognize other designers and scientists who have made big contributions to the Chinese space program; 2009, for example, saw the presentation of state awards to mathematician Gu Chaohao, who calculated the trajectories for the early space missions and Zhukovsky graduate spacecraft designer Sun Jiadong.

A second imitative feature of the Chinese space program was that it was carried out by sonorous-sounding institutes that concealed their true identity (the Soviet program was directed by the “ministry of medium machine-building”). There was no equivalent of NASA in the early years: the space program was run by the Fifth Academy from 1956 and by the Seventh Ministry from 1964. The Fifth Academy

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

DOI 10.1007/978-l-4614-5043-6_3, © Springer Science+Business Media New York 2013 was formed by the drafting in of approximately 1,000 engineers and military officers, most of whom knew nothing about spaceflight but who quickly made up for it by hard study, but now the space program can call on skilled scientists and administrators from the universities. Not until 10th June 1993, when the Chinese National Space Administration (CNSA) was formed, did the Chinese space program have a visible governmental face. Organizationally, it was part of the structure of the State Commission for Science, Technology and the National Defence (COSTIND).

The body responsible for space policy and oversight body is the Space Leading Group of the State Council (formed in its current shape in 1991), which comprises senior governmental officials (the prime minister; the chairman of COSTIND; the vice-chairman of the State Committee for Science and Technology; the minister of the aerospace industry; the vice-minister of foreign affairs; and the vice-chairman of the state committee for central planning) which reports to the president. The CNSA reports to the Space Leading Group, as does the Central Military Commission, which manages the cosmodromes and tracking system, and the Human Spaceflight Office, which oversees the manned program [1].

Underneath the CNSA are the institutes or academies, so-called because they operate under the China Academy of Sciences. As is the case in the Soviet Union and parts of Europe, most scientific and engineering development takes place in scientific institutes, rather than in universities, as is the case in Britain and the United States. These are the main academies:

1. Chinese Academy of Launch Technology (CALT), in Nan Yuan, Beijing;

2. Chinese Academy of Mechanical and Electrical Engineering (CCF), in Beijing;

3. Chinese Electro-mechanic Academy (CHETA), in Haiying;

4. Chinese Academy for Solid Rocket Motors (ARMT), in Xian;

5. Chinese Academy of Space Technology (CAST), in Beijing;

8. Shanghai Academy for Spaceflight Technology (SAST), in Shanghai;

9. Chinese Academy for Space Electronics Technology (CASET), in Beijing;

10. Chinese Academy of Aerospace Navigation Technology;

11. Academy of Aerospace Liquid Propulsion Technology (AALPT).

The most eminent are CALT, CAST, and SAST. The Chinese Academy of Launcher Technology (CALT), originally called the Beijing Wan Yuan Industry Corporation (1957), is located in Nan Yuan, 50 km south of Beijing, and was once, like equivalent Soviet facilities, secret and closed to visitors. It has responsibility for the design, construction, completion, and delivery of the Long March launchers and has six factories in Beijing and Shanghai. CALT has its own railway termini: rockets are assembled horizontally then transported by rail to the appropriate launch site. CALT is also responsible for testing materials, parts, and components, and has its own static halls, vibration test towers, and engine test stands.

The China Academy of Space Technology (CAST) (1968) is the primary body that designs and manufactures scientific and applications satellites. Its core is the Beijing Satellite Manufacturing Plant in Beijing, formerly the Science Instruments Plant of the Chinese Academy of Sciences. Like the old Soviet facilities, there are gleaming interiors inside a shell of unattractive exteriors and the plant includes a museum of backup and unflown satellites. New spacecraft integration hangars, test facilities, and laboratories were built in the 1990s on a fresh 100-ha site in Tangjialing, north-west Beijing. A 7,000-m2 lunar section was opened in late 2009. The total CAST workforce was given in 2003 as 110,000 of which 41,000 were of technical grade [2]. CAST has a substantial infrastructure, the main elements of which are:

• Beijing Centre for Space Technology Development and Testing, with integration hall, electro-magnetic compatibility laboratory, mechanical environmental laboratory, KM6 space environment simulation laboratory, mass properties test laboratory, compact radio test field, acoustic laboratory, and electron welding systems;

• National Centre of Engineering Research for Small Satellites and Applica­tions, sub-divided into design, test, and integration centers;

• Dong Fang Hong Satellite Co.;

• Integrated Centre for Recovery and Landing Research;

• Centre for Optical Remote Sensing Engineering;

• Centre of Specialized Technologies;

• Centre for Control and Propulsion Systems Design;

• Satellite Manufacturing Factory;

• Institute of Space Scientific and Technological Information;

• Institute of Space Machinery and Electricity;

• Beijing Institute of Control Engineering;

• Beijing Institute of Metrology and Test Technology; and

• Beijing Institute of Satellite Information Engineering.

As was the case with the Soviet design bureaus, it has branches outside Beijing such as:

• Xian Industrial Park, for the development of communications systems, microwave payloads, and applications, including Xian Institute of Radio Technology (XIRT);

• Tianjin Industrial Base;

• Yantai Industrial Base for the development of satellite electronics;

• Lanzhou Industrial Base, for the development of cryogenics and tanking;

• Lanzhou Institute of Space Technical Physics;

• Shantou Institute of Electronic Technology;

• Shanxi Institute of Space Mechanical and Electrical Equipment; and

• Shandong Institute of Space Electronic Technology.

To complicate the story, institutes have been renamed and transferred from one academy to another. XIRT, for example, which played a lead role in satellite electronics, was an independent academy when formed in 1956, but was transferred to CAST in 1968.

After CAST, the largest bureau is the Shanghai Academy of Space Technology (SAST), sometimes loosely referred to as “the Shanghai bureau”, set up 1961 by

Mao Zedong in Minhang, Shanghai, China’s leading industrial base, where an old tobacco hall was requisitioned. It was assigned major projects from the 1970s, such as the Feng Bao launcher and, since then, key tasks of the space program such as the Long March 2D and 4 rockets and important parts of Shenzhou (e. g. propulsion module, electrical systems, command and communications, and the main engine) and there is a full-scale mockup of Shenzhou on display there. Rockets are not the only product of the SAST, which has 10 commercial companies and has branched out into defense equipment, cars, office equipment, machinery, electrical products, and even property management. There was a substantial, 80-ha expansion of its Minhang facility (also called Minxing) from 2005 as a “Space Industrial Park”, with a large part dedicated to the manned spaceflight program. Also located in Shanghai is the Shanghai Institute for Satellite Engineering (Hauyin), which first built the Ji Shu Shiyan Weixing (JSSW) series of satellites (Chapter 2) and then the Feng Yun weather satellites (Chapter 6), and is well endowed with high-quality technical facilities such as vacuum chambers and a centrifuge. Also located there are the State Meteorology Administration and the Shanghai Institute for Technical Physics (established in 1958).

Dealing with the other academies, ARMT (1962) in Xian makes solid-rocket motors, kick stages, apogee engines, retrorockets for the Fanhui Shi Weixing (FSW) recoverable cabins and other small rockets, and the escape tower for Shenzhou. The tenth academy, the Chinese Academy of Aerospace Navigation Technology (2001), was formed to bring together a dispersed and uncoordinated range of small companies and institutes involved in the design and production of inertial instruments, optoelectronic products, electrical and electronic components, precision instruments, and computer hardware and software in navigation and guidance systems.

Liquid-fuel rocket engines were originally made in what was originally called the “067 base” in Mount Qinling in Shaanxi (though 1970 is given as its date of formation). Broadly speaking, its role corresponded to that of the Gas Dynamics Laboratory, now Energomash in the Russian space program. The company diversified in recent years in this case into such areas as fire-fighting, environmental protection, electronics, machinery, and electronics. A subsidiary, the Shaanxi Space Dynamics High Technology Co., was set up to apply rocket engine technology across a broad range of economic sectors. The various liquid-propulsion laboratories, 067 base, the Beijing Aerospace Propulsion Institute, the Beijing Institute of Aerospace Testing Technology, and the Shanghai Institute of Space Propulsion were brought into a new academy in 2009 in Xian: the Academy of Aerospace Liquid Propulsion Technology (AALPT), with 11,400 staff.

These are the main academies. In addition, there are many smaller institutes and centers, most of which operate under the broad aegis of the China Academy of Sciences, some emerging only in recent years. Examples are:

• Centre for Earth Observation (CEODE);

• National Astronomical Observatories;

• National Satellite Meteorology Centre;

• China Resources Satellite Application Centre (CRESDA, 1991);

• Satellite Oceanic Application Centre;

• National Space Science Centre (NSSC); and

• Lanzhou Space Research Institute.

One of the newest (2011) is the National Space Science Centre (NSSC), to take responsibility for planning space science, appointing Ji Wu as its first director – a move designed to both prioritize space science and bring coherent planning to the field. The NSSC took over the former Centre for Space Science and Applied Research (CSSR), in turn constituted from Zhao Jiuzhang’s Institute of Applied Geophysics (1958) which later became the Institute of Space Physics, with the Centre for Space Science and Technology (1978), and it has 507 staff. It has responsibility for research, design, assembly, coordination, and scientific support, and includes post-doctoral students. CSSR holds the China Space Science Data Centre and is the home of the China committee of COSPAR. It is responsible for Miyun ground receiving station, Hainan ionospheric observatory, the Beijing Cosmic Ray Observatory, the Beijing super neutron monitor, the sounding rocket base in Hainan, and the space plasma environment test laboratory. In 2011, it was allocated a budget of ¥300m (€38m), but with a view to this growing to ¥700m. Its staff complement was set at 450, including 50 scientists.

In advance of manned spaceflight, an Institute for Aviation & Space Medicine (many variations of this name appear) was established in Beijing (1968), led by China’s great expert in aviation and space medicine, Cai Qiao (1897-1990). From Jieyang in Gungdong, he studied psychology and then medicine in California and Chicago, subsequently in London and Frankfurt, returning to China after the revolution, becoming the author of six major books and over 100 papers, his main text being the ABC of Aviation Medicine. The institute became responsible for the development of spacesuits, underwater tanks to test space walking, and centrifuges to prepare astronauts for high gravitational forces on ascent and descent. The Institute for Aviation and Space Medicine built a 12-m, computer-controlled centrifuge able to reach a maximum acceleration of 25 G, while the Shanghai Research Institute of Satellite Engineering built a 15-m-long centrifuge, the biggest in Asia, which can achieve 17 G. Adjacent facilities work on water recycling, closed Ufe-support systems, growing food in space, and bed-rest research.

As was the case in Russia, production may be carried out in-house or contracted to specialized external production institutes or factories (e. g. Tung Fang Scientific Instrument Plant), but China also had an intermediate organizational type: the in­house specialized company, an example being the Dong Fang Hong Satellite Co., a medium-sized company of 450 staff, part of CAST. Shanghai had a concentration of production facilities, such as the Shanghai Electronic Equipment Factory (electro­nics); Xinyue Mechanical Electronics Plant (gimbaling systems and precision instruments); and the Scientific Instrument Factory (sensors).

In 2009, there was reorganization around industrial parks, bringing together a diverse range of companies derived from the different institutes. The main parks developed were in Shenzhen, Xian, Shanghai, Tianjin, and Hainan. Several CAST

facilities were consolidated in Xian, such as the AALPT, the Institute of Space Physics, and the North West Institute for Electronics. The main anchor companies in Shenzhen Park were Shenzhen Aerospace Spacesat Company and Shenzhen Aerospace Science & Technology, starting with a ¥160m (€20m) facility of 250,000 m2.

The principal communications satellite companies are Asiasat, Sinosat, and Chinasatcom, which includes APT (Asia Pacific Telecommunications Co.) Satellite of Hong Kong (Apstar), the last two being subsidiaries of CAST (they are described in detail in Chapter 5). The main computer companies are Beijing Shenzhou Aerospace Software Co., China Aerospace Times Electronics Corp., China Spacesat Co., and China Aerospace Engineering Consultation Centre.

Traditionally, satellites were constructed in-house or in subsidiary companies, but they were joined by university-based companies in the 1990s. Tsinghua Satellite Technology Company specialized in micro-satellites and space imaging. Sounding like a typical Western university-commercial company, it was a joint enterprise of China Space Machinery and Electrical Equipment Group, Tsinghua University Enterprise Group, and Tsinghua Tongfang Co. Located in Zhongguancun Science & Technology Park, Tsinghua Satellite Technology Company quickly found a Western partner to work with – the university-based Surrey Satellite Technologies Limited (SSTL), which operates on a broadly similar basis. Its aim is to develop China’s autonomous micro-satellite research capability in a short period of time and build high-performance, low-cost space applications satellites, especially in such areas as weather observations, disaster prevention, environmental monitoring, and carto­graphy.

On top of these, the China Aerospace Corporation (CASC) (1989) has overall authority for the main industrial groups concerned with spaceflight, notably the Great Wall Industry Corporation (1984), its promotional agency at home and abroad. The Great Wall is a multi-product promotional agency, its current portfolio including, as well as space rockets, bicycles, beer, safes, home-made ice-cream machines, and electric fans. It leads the drive to promote Chinese launchers and other space products, at one stage having offices in California, Washington, DC, and Munich, Germany.

Two universities are now dedicated to spaceflight – the only country in the world with such a distinction, both called universities of aeronautics and astronautics: Nanjing and Beijing. The latter has 23,000 students and is one of the main research centers for both theory and the practical development of new projects (e. g. it has an altitude chamber in which spacesuits are tested). Prospective astronauts study there. For amateurs, there is the Chinese Society of Astronautics (CSA), which attempts to bring together engineers, scientists, amateurs, and enthusiasts for spaceflight. It is the body affiliated to the International Astronautical Federation, although, in the best traditions of science and politics, there is a rival Chinese Society of Aeronautics and Astronautics. In 1992, China joined the international committee on space research, COSPAR, originally set up after the International Geophysical Year to bring together the scientists of the USSR, United States, and Europe in the post­Sputnik period. China has a national committee for COSPAR, which furnishes triennial reports on its space science activities to COSPAR headquarters in Paris.

The Chinese space program now has an extensive infrastructure, comprising three launch centers and a fourth in construction, with ground facihties for manufacturing and testing; a worldwide land, sea, and space-based tracking system; a fleet of operational medium-lift launchers, about to be replaced by a new generation of light to heavy rockets; and a well-established institutional architecture. Its rockets have achieved high records of reliability. Recent promotional brochures of the program illustrate the gleaming, new, soaring buildings of light steel and glass, the new institutes and facilities conveying freshness, modernization, and a sense of purpose. The contrast with the old Chinese space program could not be greater. When the 067 base was set up, now the new Academy of Liquid Propulsion Technology, security imperatives were such that it must be located far inland in mountains. The country’s best rocket engine engineers were assigned to live in a bamboo village indistinguishable from any other and cooked by all accounts meager meals using locally collected firewood, foraging further afield for rice, meat, and cooking oil.

REFERENCES

[1] The current organization is described in Sourbes-Verger, I. Du reve a la realite. Presentation, Conference 3AF, 29 September 2009.

[2] Bai, Jingwu; Li, Feng. Footprints of China’s Launch Vehicles and Their Further Evolution. Presentation to 54th IAC, Bremen, 2003; United States Congress. Report of the US China Economic and Security Review Commission. US Government Printing Office, Washington, DC (2011).

[3] Guo Huadong; Ma Jianwen. Earth Observation Technologies for Sustainable Development. China Journal of Space Science, 30 (5) (2010).

[4] Grahn, S. JLC Town: An Interpretation of the Space Image. Available online at www. svengrahn. pp. se; Grahn, S. Jiuquan. Presentation to the British Interplane­tary Society, June 2006.

[5] Oberg, J. China’s Space Effort Undergoing a Sea Change: Beijing Makes Plans for

New Rockets, Island Spaceport, Barge Transport. Posting on www. jamesoberg. com.

[6] Chen, Shu-Peng. Remote Sensing and Its Application. In: Hu, Wen-Rui (ed.), Space Science in China. Gordon & Breach, Amsteldijk (1997).

[7] Borrowman, G. The Chinese/Soviet Contribution to the North Korean Launch Capability. Paper presented at the British Interplanetary Society, 7 June 2008.

The battle over ITAR played to a polarized world, but international communica­tions and the companies operating them lived in a world in which international boundaries became ever more blurred. The ownership of Chinese communications companies was complicated, some having been started in Hong Kong before the handover, others having substantial Western investment and being publicly traded. Although most flew Chinese satellites on Chinese rockets, not all did and some flew Western satellites on Chinese launchers and sometimes did not even use Chinese rockets.

The three main companies were Asiasat, Sinosat, and Chinasatcom (which includes Apstar). Asiasat was formed in 1988 in Hong Kong when it was a British colony and was a China-Hong Kong-British company. As its title suggests, it aims to provide communications for the Asian region. Although its first satellite, Asiasat 1, was launched on the Long March, it later turned to Russian and Western suppliers. Asiasat 3S launched on a Russian Proton on 21st March 1999, followed by Asiasat 4, a Hughes 601 on an American Atlas IIIB on 11th April 2003, and Asiasat 5, a Loral 1300 on a Russian Proton on 12th August 2009. Asiasat 7, also a Loral 1300, flew on a Russian Proton on 26th November 2011. Carrying 28 C-band and 17 Ku-band transponders for Asia and the Middle East, it reached 105.5°E, where it replaced Asiasat 3S. In 2012, Asiasat ordered Asiasat 6, 8, and 9, more Loral 1300s, choosing the Proton, but with reports of an approach to the American SpaceX for its new commercial Falcon 9 rocket.

Sinosat is China’s main domestic operator, established in 1994 in Beijing, with German funding. It has its own ground control center in northern Beijing. Its first launch was Sinosat 1 in July 1998 (Chinese series name Xinnuo), its main function being TV, radio, and distance learning to the villages from 110.5°E, where it operated successfully until being moved off station in April 2012. Despite its name, Sinosat 1 was a Western Spacebus 3000 and flew before the Cox regime had set in. Since then, Sinosat turned to domestic satellites, Sinosat 2 being the first Dong Fang Hong 4 series, Sinosat 3 being one of the older DFH-3s, while DFH-4 orders have been placed for Sinosat 4, 5, 6, and 7.

Chinasatcom (Chinasat for short) is part of the China Aerospace Corporation (CASC) and is effectively a government company conglomerate. Chinasat took over APT (brand name Apstar) and subsequently Sinosat, a subsidiary with its own brand, and, in 2007, all were brought together under a holding company called the Orient Telecommunications Satellite Co. Ltd. Chinasat is a big communications supplier: it had 260 TV and 230 radio channels, as well as four Earth stations: Beijing, Shahe, Tai Po (Hong Kong New Territories), and Dujiangyan in Chengdu.

Its direct broadcast satellites have been given the brand of ChinaDBSat, although, thankfully, a separate designator is not used for them. It has four satelhtes on order: Chinasat 9A (92.2°E), Chinasat 11 (2013), Chinasat 13 (2014), and a backup for Thales-built Apstar 7, which was launched to 76.5°E in March 2012 (Apstar 7B). China’s commercial satellite launches are summarized in Table 5.5.

Despite this demonstrated ability to fly a scientific mission, there was a gap in the series of almost 13 years (Shi Jian 3 was a canceled Earth resources satellite). Shi Jian 4 was flown on the first flight of the Long March ЗА launcher on 8th February 1994 and was the second satellite to benefit from project 863. Shi Jian 4 was a 410-kg drum, 1.6 m in diameter, 2.18 m high, with 11,000 2 x 2-cm solar cells. Its primary purpose was to study the spatial and spectral distribution of the Earth’s charged particle environment, but an important objective was to test its damaging effect on spacecraft instrumentation. There were six scientific instruments of 20 kg, as shown in Table 7.2.

Table 7.2. Shi Jian 4 instruments.

Semi-conductor high-energetic electrons detector

Semi-conductor high-energetic proton and heavy-ion detector

Electrostatic analyzer

Electric potential meter

Static single events upset monitor

The Long March also carried into orbit an unspecified 1,600-kg payload called Kuafu, probably a technology demonstrator (in Chinese mythology, Kuafu chased the Sun), this name being revived recently for a new mission. Shi Jian 4 entered an orbit of 209-36,118 km, 28.5°, period 10.7 hr, calculated to bring it through the charged particles of the Van Allen radiation belts four times a day. Shi Jian 4 was designed to last for six months, before succumbing to the intense radiation of the belts. There were a number of problems with the mission: the power supply gave only 2 V instead of the 5 V for which it was designed and some of the instruments malfunctioned, but it lasted more than the half-year planned.

Shi Jian 4 made the first Chinese wide-range distribution of electrons, ions, and high-energy particles in the 0.1-40-keV range, followed solar particle radiation that did not enter the Earth’s magnetic field, measured the density of high-temperature plasma, detected high-energy charged particles in the radiation belts, and made a cross-section of the radiation belt. A map was made of proton fluxes and trapped electron fluxes and measured against altitude. Chinese scientists found that the in – and-out flow of the field-aligned current was very complex and hard to distinguish.

Dealing with the damage done by radiation to spacecraft systems, it tested a

Shi Jian 4, an important radiation mission. Courtesy: COSPAR China.

Shi Jian 4: Trapped protons. Courtesy: COSPAR China.

Shi Jian 4: Trapped electrons. Courtesy: COSPAR China.

system to re-start micro-circuits that had been knocked out by radiation. This happened when systems were hit by high-temperature plasmas up to -2,000 V, with 27 such episodes encountered. At 1,000 km out, Shi Jian recorded multiple large negative potential charging events. Shi Jian recorded 120 single-event upsets in the first 25 days, apparently caused by cosmic rays impacting on the inner radiation belt, averaging out at 3.4 a day in the end. At the end of the mission, the old Handbook of the Low Orbit Space Environment was updated, funded by project 863 [1].

Five years later, in May 1999, Shi Jian 5 was launched, riding piggyback with the meteorological satellite, Feng Yun 1-3 (Chapter 6). Weighing 298 kg, it marked the first operational use of the CAST968 bus made by the Shanghai Academy of Space Technology with the China Electronics Technology Corporation. Instead of the drum shape, it was a box measuring 1.1 x 1.2 x 1.04 m with two solar panels. Its orbit was out to 865 km, 102 min. Its purpose was similar: to study the terrestrial magnetosphere and single-upset events that damaged satellites in orbit. Experiments comprised a suite of cosmic ray detection instruments: a semi-conductor proton and heavy ions detector, a static electrical analyzer, an electrical potentiometer, a static single-event monitor, and a dynamic single-event monitor, with eight measuring points. The project was developed with Brazilian cooperation, but its precise nature is uncertain.

Shi Jian 5 was designed for a short lifetime of 90 days – an approach typical of early Soviet satellites – and the end-of-mission announcement came in August. It duly measured single-event upsets and the effect of the dosage of highly charged particles on the spacecraft. Many years later, it was learned that Shi Jian 5 carried China’s first experiments in fluid physics, to test the convection of bubbles in paraffin and the effects of multilayered thermo-capillary convection on crystalline growth and quality, the outcomes transmitted in real time. This was matched by

experiments developed on Mir at the same time (1999) and followed by more on Shenzhou 4 (2002), FSW 3-5 (2005), and six experiments on Shi Jian 8 (2006). It also tested a solid-state recorder and high-speed s-band transmission [2].

Soon after Shenzhou 7, China announced that the next step would be the construction of an orbiting space station (Chapter 1). In the meantime, early progress was made on the expansion of the corps of yuhangyuan, necessary to serve the set of missions planned for the 2010 decade. For the first time, women were included. Selection began in May 2009 with 500, shortlisted to 30 men and 15 women. They were reduced to 15 who went for screening in the astronaut training center in October 2009. On 10th March 2010, the final selection of five men and two women was completed. The age group was 30-35, with an average of 32.5.

The recruitment of the first female astronauts went through a number of evolutions. The first move to include women came when, after the flight of Yang Liwei, Gu Xiulian, head of the women’s federation of China, demanded that a woman now be sent into space. The obvious place to look was among women pilots in the PLA Air Force. Here, China had recruited groups of women pilots ever since 1949, with subsequent intakes in 1957, 1965, 1973, 1981, 1989, and 1997, each being called a “generation” (first, second, third, etc.), with the 1997 intake the seventh generation. Generally, they were taken in at age 17-19 and 328 had been recruited by then. The seventh generation comprised 37 cadets, all born in 1978-80, of whom 21 had become transport pilots. The eighth generation was recruited in 2005: candidates studied for more than two years for an aviation degree and then for more than a year in flying, with 16 graduating from this group in 2009. Some of them were lucky enough to be chosen to participate in the fly-past that October to mark the 60th anniversary of the revolution. All would be in their mid-20s for a possible space mission, the same age as Valentina Terreshkova in 1963, who was 26.

For the third selection of astronauts in 2009, women were invited to compete and the age range was lifted to 35. This was an important decision, because it enabled not just the younger women in the eighth generation to compete, but also the older seventh generation. In effect, a decision seems to have been made to open the competition to women with more flying hours, even if they were in transport planes rather than fighters. In addition, the recruiters did not wish training to be interrupted by pregnancy, so they let it be known that they wanted married women who already had their sole child permitted under the Chinese system and also expressed the need for people who were “psychologically mature” (possibly a coded term for “motherhood”). In the event, the average age of the women candidates was 29.5 years.

Two women were chosen. The five men and two women reported for training on 7th May 2010. The finalists were not announced in the Chinese media, but their names turned up because, of all people, the military issued promotional biographies of all its top women pilots, which, coupled with mentions of new astronauts in the local media, made it possible to identify the new group – a detection exercise carried out by space writer Tony Quine. At the 2010 meeting of the Association of Space Explorers, Chinese officials were confronted with the names of the finalists, which they did not contradict. The parents of the new selections were, in no time, giving interviews to Chinese TV. What finally gave the game away was when, on 7th December 2011, a stamp cover was issued in advance of the forthcoming mission with, on it, Yang Waping and Liu Yang.

But who would be selected? Both had strong credentials. Yang Waping appeared to be firm favorite. She was already known for flying in help after the 2008 Sichuan Earthquake and for having seeded, from aircraft, clouds that might otherwise have rained on the Beijing Olympics. As for Liu Yang, she came from Zhengzhou in Hainan, where she was born in October 1978. She was described as a quiet studious teenager who surprised everyone when she applied to the Air Force aviation college when she turned 18 in 1997. She was away from home for four years and did not return there for any length of time until she graduated in 2001. Two years later, her plane suffered a bird strike. Pigeon blood spattered the windscreen and one of its engines lost power. Taking the precaution of sending out a mayday message, she managed to make an emergency landing – the kind of calmness under pressure that would appeal to astronaut selectors. Next year, in 2004, she married a fellow military officer, they moved to Wuhan, she was assigned to a squadron of transport planes, and she learned English. When she went for training in Beijing in May 2010, her husband joined her. As we know, she got the nod and the rest is history. The group was comprised as shown in Table 8.6.

Table 8.6. China’s third group of yuhangyuan, 2010.

Zhang Hu Chen Dong Cai Xuzhe Tang Honbo Yi Guangfu Yang Waping Liu Yang

The second selection brought the squad to 21, third in the world, behind the United States (68) and Russia (40) but ahead of Europe and Japan. During the Shenzhou 7 post-flight tour, deputy mission director Zhang Jianqi announced that the next, fourth group would comprise scientists and engineers and would be open to Hong Kong and Macao. Later, applicants from industrial companies would be welcomed [15]. China’s selection of astronauts is summarized in Table 8.7.

CONCLUSIONS: SHENZHOU IN RETROSPECT

This chapter outlined how China became the third manned spacefaring nation in the world. It is a program that had an uncertain start, or, to be more accurate, two starts. Its abortive start in 1971 tells us much of China’s long-term ambitions in space, as well as the peculiar political circumstances of the day. Few would now argue that this project was anything other than premature. The ideal of manned flight was, nevertheless, kept alive in the ground and medical training that continued. The second start to the program in 1989 is intriguing from many points of view. First, the decision to go ahead had a far from clear path, for it was characterized by much uncertainty in the Chinese leadership, even if such debates took place behind closed doors. Second, many of the designs considered, such as spaceplanes, were adventurous and very much geared to long-term objectives. In the end, the most conservative design was followed – one which has clearly worked well (we can only speculate when they might have a spaceplane or shuttle airborne). Third, it is also clear that, even after 1992, the success of the manned program was by no means assured. Attempts were made to cancel it, the designers struggled to meet deadlines, and the first 1999 mission may have been something of a gamble. It was a story of many What ifs? There was nothing inevitable about the Chinese manned space program. The early 1990s saw a consolidation of political structures and leadership in China, with clearly dehneated roles for president and prime minister. The timing of project 921 may have been fortunate, for this may have provided the stability necessary for it to bed in.

As for the program that eventually developed, the most striking feature is its slow but steady pace. Although Western observers might have expected China to have developed its manned space program at the pace seen in the United States and Soviet Union in the late 1950s and early 1960s, this was not the case. The development of the manned program was characterized by considerable caution, with four full unmanned missions (1999, 2001, two in 2002) before a single pilot was put on board for a short mission (2003). Even then, the pace of the program was slow, with two years elapsing before the next flight (2005), another three before the space walk mission (2008), and a further four before the first flight to the space station (2012). The slow, cautious pace was rewarded with comparatively incident-free missions. The approach has also been purposeful and economic, each manned mission representing a substantial step forward, with very little repetition of earlier achievements. Each one, though, ticked off all the key requirements necessary for the construction of a space station.

The program demonstrated a judicious combination of indigenous development with external know-how, Shenzhou itself being the prime example. The Chinese permitted themselves to learn from, rather than copy, the Soyuz system, but they chose to buy in Russian expertise where not doing so might well have delayed their progress, such as with spacesuits, environmental control systems, and cosmonaut training. The Chinese by no means allowed themselves to be boxed in by external example, as demonstrated by their use of orbital modules for an independent program, one of the surprises of the Shenzhou program – something which the Russians had never done with their Soyuz orbital module. It gave the Chinese a considerable bonus for each mission and, in the case of Shenzhou 2, 3, and 4, there was a substantial published scientific program. Table 8.8 summarizes the Shenzhou series, including orbital module durations.

The Long March 5, 6, and 7 would replace the existing launcher fleet and form the basis of China’s launcher capacity until at least 2050. The other line of launcher development was the shuttle concept and there were, over the years, intermittent reports of a Chinese interest in building a space shuttle. The Chinese never made any secret of their interest in spaceplane designs – indeed, Tsien Hsue Shen made such preliminary designs in California in the late 1940s. These led to America’s first spaceplane project, the Dynasoar (“dynamic soaring”), eventually cancelled in 1963, and a similar project was developed in the USSR: Spiral. Shuttles and spaceplanes held a number of attractions, especially reusabihty and the ability to land on airplane runways, although the promise of reduced cost proved to be elusive. In the event, only two countries successfully built a space shuttle – the United States and the Soviet Union – but both were hugely expensive; and the Russians even flew a small spaceplane, BOR, into orbit four times. Both Europe and Japan also tried to build spaceplanes (Hermes and HOPE, respectively), but gave up the unequal struggle and a further Russian foray into the area in the 2000s, called Kliper, was likewise abandoned.

Chinese spaceplane designs went back to 1964, with program 640 developed by Tsien Hsue Shen. China did not return to spaceplane designs until the 1980s, the first being Fully Reusable Launch Vehicle with Airbreathing Booster presented at the 1983 International Astronautical Congress in Budapest, Hungary. More extended work was undertaken under project 863 in the 1980s, called program 686-706, which funded a number of spaceplane studies. As outlined in Table 8.2, there was a ferocious competition for the contract for the first manned spacecraft, most of the designs presented being for shuttles, spaceplanes or aerospaceplanes. In the end, the Chinese opted for a conservative, traditional spacecraft design which became Shenzhou. The 1980s competition led to only one item of hardware: a spaceplane built and flown underneath an H-6 bomber – a version of the Russian Tupolev 95 Bear, called Shenlong, or “divine dragon”. The principal designer associated with Shenlong is Zhang Litong of the Northwestern Polytechnic. She is known for her work in engines, high-temperature alloys, and ceramics, and she once worked in NASA’s John Glenn Research Centre in Ohio [12].

The Chinese continued mainly with theoretical studies, as well as some practical ones, making it clear that a shuttle would be many years, possibly decades, distant. At the 2000 International Astronautical Congress, Chinese officials explained that much preliminary work had to be done first in the areas of propulsion systems, aerodynamics, super-light heat-resistant materials, and landing techniques. Progress would depend on overcoming key technical challenges in the areas of thermo­dynamics, thermal protection systems, propulsion, and structures. In 2006, China reiterated its long-term desire to develop a partly re-useable Single-Stage-To-Orbit (SSTO) system, followed by a fully re-useable one, pubhshing illustrative designs of their evolution. Ever since the 1970s, SSTO had been the holy grail of Western launcher research and the Americans put considerable effort into developing these technologies in the 1990s, though none led to the development stage. Despite their difficulties, SSTO was declared the ultimate goal of China launch systems, but their engineers made it clear that they did not envisage an in-service date until at least 2050. On the practical side, two advanced wind tunnels were built by the China Aerodynamics Research and Development Centre in Chengdu to test shuttle designs.

Chinese engineers spoke of the next step being drop tests from 4 km, leading to a mach 15 re-entry test on a Long March 2C to 100 km [13]. Many years later, this had still not progressed.

Ironically, at the time the Shuttle was being retired, the United States finally demonstrated an unmanned military spaceplane, orbiting the X-37B in April 2010 and bringing it back to an automated desert landing in December 2010, with a second X-37B mission flying from March 2011 to June 2012. Whether this would encourage the Chinese to step up the Shenlong and related programs remains to be seen.

From the opening of its space program in 1956, China established the full range of infrastructure necessary for a comprehensive space program. This comprised:

• a rocket engine testing station;

• static test hall;

• vibration test tower;

• wind tunnels;

• leak detectors;

• radio test facility;

• vacuum chamber.

One of the first was the Beijing Rocket Engine Testing station (1958), also called the Fengzhou Test Centre, now the Beijing Institute of Test Technology and formally part of CALT, 35 km from Beijing. The first set of four rocket test stands was completed in 1964 under the direction of Wang Zhiren and she designed them to run up to four engines at a time and simulate ground-level and high-altitude tests. A

Engine testing center, south-west of Beijing (Peiping), from declassified CIA files.

Rocket engine testing. Stands were built into the side of a mountain.

large stand was completed in 1969, 59 m high, with a cooling system drawing on a tank holding 3,000 tonnes of water cooling the engines with 35,370 nozzles. Subsequent stands were built for horizontal engine tests. Like Jiuquan cosmodrome, the engine testing station was quickly spotted by overflying American reconnais­sance aircraft and satellites. The ideal site for a testing station was a ravine, so that the stand could be built on the hillside and the flames deflected down into the ravine along a concrete outflow.

CALT’s static test hall was, when built in 1963, the largest building in China, taking eight months to construct and involving the driving of 1,300 piles – some as long as 10 m – and two pourings of more than 5,000 m3 of seamless concrete. Entire rockets can be tested there at a time. For the development of the communications satellite, a large vertical dynamic equilibrium machine was developed. Construction of the machine began in 1976 and it was operational five years later. Also constructed that year was a 50-m-tall vibration test tower. On the outside, it looked like an unprepossessing, shabby yellow-and-orange brick grain mill, but it was able to test all the likely stresses an ascending rocket was likely to experience. With 13 floors and 11 working levels, entire rockets were hoisted into place on the stand, gripped by bearing rails on the floors, and then shaken to exhaustion by 20-tonne hydraulic vibration platforms.

A series of vacuum chambers was built in Beijing and Shanghai in the 1960s, able to simulate up to 10-7 torr (1 torr = 1/760 atmospheres) and later, in the case of geostationary satellites, 10-13 torr. They are located at the Environmental Simulation Engineering Test Station in Beijing and the Huayin Machinery Plant in Shanghai. Here, spacecraft are lowered by crane to be alternately frozen, heated, shaken, and baked in a vacuum. Supercooled helium is the chief agent for freezing the chamber while pumps are used to suck the air out. The test station in Beijing has six chambers, called KM, the largest being 12 m in diameter and 22 m tall. The most recent is the 12-m-diameter KM6 (1998), designed to test the Shenzhou spacecraft. To test against leakages in satellites, the Beijing Satellite General Assembly Plant developed a highly sensitive leakage detector using krypton-85, able to pick up a leakage of 50 microns (half the width of a human hair). For the Long March 3 third stage, the Lanzhou Physics Institute developed a helium mass spectrum leakage detector. To test satellite radio systems, a test hall was built whose primary feature was that it has no metallic components, so it is made entirely of glued red pinewood.

More recently, testing facilities were built for spacecraft and the testing of robotics at Harbin Polytechnical University (2000). Called the Environmental and Engineer­ing Space Laboratory, it is designed to simulate the vacuum and radiation of the space environment, from elements to materials and full-scale spacecraft. For Shenzhou, CAST has a 100,000-class clean room, an anechoic chamber built with the help of European Aeronautic Defence and Space (EADS) Astrium, and a thermal vacuum chamber 24 m tall and 12 m in diameter. There is a Shenzhou simulator and a 10-m-deep hydrotank. China’s first wind tunnels were built in 1959 for the Aerodynamics Research Institute, Beijing, and were first used to determine the air flow and pressure on rockets climbing and staging, and more recently for testing airflow around shuttle-type spacecraft.

Chapter 4 tells the story of the Chinese Fanhui Shi Weixing (FSW) recoverable satellite series. This began in 1975 and, since then, China has carried out 23 recoverable missions, including one recently in the Shi Jian series, called “the seeds satellite”. These satellites have been important for testing new technologies, Earth observations, and biology.

PROJECT 911

China was the third country to recover a satellite from orbit. The idea of a recoverable Earth satellite in China went back to 1964 and the work of engineers in the Shanghai design team. They had been inspired by what they read of the American Discoverer series of recoverable satellites in the early 1960s. The concept was first formally proposed in the Chinese Academy of Sciences’ Proposal on Plan and Program of Development Work of Our Artificial Satellites, approved in August 1965, and hardened up during a design conference in March 1966. The Shanghai bureau was awarded the task and it was named project 911.

Design studies began immediately and were settled in the course of a three-day conference in September 1967. It was agreed to build a satellite with a weight of 1,800 kg (payload was 150 kg) and a typical orbit of 173-493 km, 91 min, 59.5°. It was given the name in Chinese Fanhui Shi Weixing, or “recoverable experimental satellite”. Apart from verifying the ability to recover satelhtes from orbit, the precise purpose of the program has never been entirely clear. The American Discoverer, although promoted as a research program, was actually a military photo­reconnaissance program designed to photograph Soviet military facilities and the Chinese later announced that the FSWs carried out Earth observation work, its cameras having a resolution of 10 m and a length of 2,000 m of film [1]. At the same time, another purpose of the FSW was probably to pave the way for an early manned flight (see Chapter 8). Whatever its original purpose, later versions of the FSW were also used to conduct a range of microgravity experiments in orbit. Whether this was because of an improvement in the international climate, or the Umited military reconnaissance value achieved from the FSW missions, or a form of

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

DOI 10.1007/978-l-4614-5043-6_4, © Springer Science+Business Media New York 2013

diversification is a matter of guesswork. The military intelligence benefit from orbiting a recoverable cabin collecting 10-m-resolution images for a week every year is probably quite limited. Ultimately, the lasting achievements of the program were in civilian applications.

The use of photography for military reconnaissance was developed in the 1960s by both the Americans (Discoverer) and the Russians {Zenit, Yantar). Both had flown high-quality film, which was then returned to the Earth in a descent cabin for developing and interpretation, also called wet-film technology. The principal drawback of the system was that no data could be examined until the cabin returned, which reduced its value in following a rapidly evolving military situation. From the 1970s, the Americans moved to digital imaging, with photographs relayed electronically from orbit, but the Russians persisted with high-quality film – recoverable technology right into the 2010s {Kobalt). Eventually, the Chinese would move to digital technology (Zi Yuan and Yaogan).

The task of developing the project fell to the China Academy for Space Technology (CAST), while a new rocket, the Long March 2, was developed by the China Academy for Launcher Technology (CALT). Just as the civil version of the Dong Feng 4 missile had been the Long March 1, so in this case was the Long March 2 related to the Dong Feng 5. Progress was held up by the later phases of the cultural revolution but for which the first launch might have appeared several years earher than it eventually did. Recovering satellites posed difficult engineering challenges: devising a protective heat shield to ensure the capsule survives re-entry temperatures of 1,200°C, the development of retro rockets, a very precise attitude control system, quality ground tracking to prepare the cabin for the precise moment of re-entry, and search-and-recovery systems. These engineering challenges required the development of ever more sophisticated ground-testing equipment. A thermal vacuum chamber called the KM3 was constructed by the Institute of Environment Test Engineering and the Lanzhou Institute of Physics, achieving a vacuum level of КГ9 torr. The Xian Satellite Surveying and Control Centre was built so as to follow the satellite in orbit.

The Chinese had no previous experience of making heat shields. They did not wish to use ablative heat shields of the type developed by the US and Soviet Union in the 1960s, in which the material progressively burned off during the descent, enough remaining for the cabin to survive, but they were very heavy. Equally, they knew they did not have the capacity to go straight to light, low-density foam-type shielding of the type subsequently used by the American and Soviet shuttles (tiling). They eventually found a non-ablative material whose qualities lay somewhere in between – a carbon composite material called XF, able to withstand re-entry temperatures of 2,000°C. Contrary to some Western reports, the shields were not made of wooden oak planks (Europe’s Atmospheric Reentry Demonstrator (ARD) did use resin processed from Cork oak).

The recoverable series required a relatively advanced level of automation: a new three-axis attitude control system using an infrared horizon scanner and a gyrocompass, with analog computers, Sun and Earth orientation sensors, an inertial measurement unit, and a cold gas thruster system to orient the spacecraft. A camera

system was developed by the Changchun Institute of Optics and Fine Systems, comprising cameras for ground photography and side-pointing cameras for stellar photography (so as to work out the precise position of the spacecraft in orbit). To come out of orbit, a solid-fuel rocket was developed. The parachute system proved problematical and four air-dropped cabins were lost in tests when the parachute failed to open.

The FSW satellites were a quantum leap in size and scale beyond the first two satellites. Coming in at just under 2 tonnes, the cabin itself was beehive-shaped, 3.1 m tall, and ranging from 1.4 m in diameter at the forward end to 2.25 m in diameter at the large end. The satellites comprised a blunt cone capsule placed on a service module. During the mission, the nose was pointed in the direction of travel. At the end of its mission, when it reached Chinese territory, the spacecraft was swiveled through 100°, pointed nose down directly toward the Earth, and the sohd retro-rocket was fired, to descend almost vertically from orbit. This was a crude means of returning to the Earth – one that used up a substantial amount of fuel, but had the advantage of ensuring that retro-fire could be commanded over China and recovery would take place in China (by contrast, Russian spacecraft made a gentler descent, but with retro-fire commanded far away over the South Atlantic). On the other hand, such a retro-fire maneuver required a big velocity change of 650 m/sec, much more than the standard Russian or American re-entry profiles (about 175 m/ sec), while the angle of retro-fire must be very accurate, for each degree out meant a 300-km difference in the landing spot. At 16 km, the FSW dropped its heat shield and retrorockets, a parachute opened, and the cabin came down at 14 m/sec in Sichuan province in southern China. The Chinese landing technique, guaranteeing

landing in China, was important if sensitive film were on board (the Russians fitted self-destruct devices to their spacecraft to stop theirs falling into unfriendly hands). To help rescuers find it, the cabin was equipped with a transponder and two location beacons.

Sichuan province in the south-west of the country was chosen as the recovery zone, although it is hilly and often subject to thick clouds and mists. Photographs from the recovery area have frequently shown Mil-type recovery helicopters hovering against a background of mountains, follow­ing the descent craft down, and then lifting it away for post-flight exam­ination. The scene is one of the space cabin lying on the hillside, its red – and-white parachute streamed out alongside, the recovery teams safing and checking the cabin, and rural workers gathering on the nearby hills to watch the excitement.

The chief designer of the rocket to carry the FSW, the Long March 2, was Tu Shoue and the rocket remains in service 40 years later (see Chapter 3). Made of high – strength aluminum copper alloy, it was the first Chinese launcher to use full computer guidance and gimbaled engines. Its lightweight medium-speed, small – capacity digital computer was the first of its kind in China. A particular feature of the ascent was interstage glide: once the second-stage engine had completed its burn, the maneuvering vernier engines would continue to fire as a main engine, which enabled an extra 500 kg of payload to be carried.

Chief designer of the FSW cabin was Wang Xiji, born in 1921 in Dali, Yunnan, a graduate of Xian University who went on to Virginia Institute of Technology, where he was awarded a doctorate in 1949, returning to China the following year and becoming director of the Shanghai Institute of Mechanical Engineering and Design in 1958.