Category Salyut – The First Space Station

On the second day after the fire the mood of the cosmonauts noticeably improved. Volkov and Patsayev even gave a 5-minute TV report in which they showed some of the scientific equipment – in particular demonstrating how the enormous bulk of the solar telescope dominated the compartment. They also talked about monitoring the Earth from the station. Of course, by this point they had removed all evidence of smoke, and at no time did they refer to the fire. Watching the broadcast, Kamanin noted a “discordance” between the tired unshaven faces of the cosmonauts and the impressive background of the solar telescope.

On direction from Chertok, the controllers read to the crew the plan for switching on the apparatus. One by one all the medical equipment and several of the scientific instruments were reactivated. All worked normally. The scientists were keen for the remaining apparatus to be reactivated in order to resume the scientific investigations but Yeliseyev and Tregub, who was now at the TsUP, with the support of Chertok in Kaliningrad, decided to await a comprehensive analysis as to which of the various investigations should be continued.

After a brief medical check, Patsayev resumed using the Orion telescope to study stars in the ultraviolet.

7.24 a. m.

Patsayev: “Can you hear me well? The Orion experiment was performed at the planned time: the second regime, the second star on map No. 3. I started working at 6.34 and the timer was started at 6.45. Exposures of 10, 30, 90 and 270 [seconds] were made. I will determine the rewind time and let you know later. All indicators changed colour: green, orange and white. As for the rest, it was all normal. Report finished.”

Zarya: “Yantar 3, continue. The Control Group appreciate you resuming normal work.”

Dobrovolskiy: “Yes, he is happy too.”

Zarya: “Yantar 3, a reminder: don’t forget to check the No. 5 panel for the control of the scientific apparatus before the start of the second part of the experiment.”

Patsayev: “I won’t forget. I prepared it earlier. I cleaned the porthole and the glass of the visor. All is normal.’’

Zarya: “Excellent, excellent. According to preliminary results, everyone is happy with the first part of the experiment.’’

Patsayev: “Yes, it wasn’t bad. We are happy too. The object was held stable, and the automatic system worked well.’’

1.21 p. m.

Patsayev: “I’m reporting the situation with the Orion. The third star went well except that we could not finish the final exposure planned for 810 seconds owing to the sunrise; it was just 720 seconds, f had to cut it short because of the glare from an illuminated antenna, The remainder of the operation was normal,”

Zarya: “Understood, Yantar 3, Thank you for the information,”

Patsayev: “You’re welcome,”

Zarya: “Yantar 3, as we aren’t going to be on duty tomorrow, Happy Birthday from the Control Group,’’

Patsayev: “Thank you, thank you,’’

Zarya: “We wish you all the best, The others are preparing greetings for tomorrow, Most sincere greetings to you,’’

Patsayev: “Thank you,’’

Zarya: “All of you should have a tube of juice tomorrow, to make a toast,’’ Patsayev: “But there is no glass,’’

Zarya: “We hope Yantar 2 will find something for this occasion, See you later,’’

At 2,30 p, m, Salyut began its 182nd orbit in its manned regime,

ft had been intended that on 20 June the cosmonauts would observe the launch from Baykonur of the third N1 lunar rocket in order to test the Svinetz instrument that the military had designed to detect intercontinental ballistic missiles, but on 18 June the launch was delayed, initially to 22 June, then later to 27 June, which ruled out the possibility of the cosmonauts making the observation since on that day the station would not pass over the cosmodrome, However, Kamanin confirmed that the plan for them to observe night launches of solid-propellant missiles from Baykonur would proceed, Meanwhile, Mishin had flown to the cosmodrome to supervise the preparations for the N1 launch, The postponement meant that he would not be able to fly from Baykonur to Yevpatoriya until a few days before the planned end of the Soyuz 11 mission,

10.19 p. m.

Volkov: “f have just awakened, f slept for about seven hours, f slept well, and feel well, The others are now resting,’’

Zarya: “Where are the others sleeping? fn the working compartment?’’

Volkov: “Yes, Again on the floor, next to the filters, They support themselves on both sides by their legs, and sleep,’’

From Patsayev’s notebook:

Here, we don’t need legs – we swim like fish in an aquarium, Loose objects will float out of reach if you don’t attach them to something, Untidy people are not welcome in space! There are interesting differences to being on the Earth – for example to drink water, to eat, in movement, with clothing, and with sleeping, Here, we must learn everything afresh, , , , Weightlessness is both good and bad, ft is good when working with instruments, and facilitates easier movement, But the return to gravity will be difficult, fn the future we will need spacecraft with artificial gravity,

Although the Soviet press resumed their familiar routine of reportage on 18 June, the radio monitors at the Kettering Grammar School in England detected telemetry on the Soyuz 11 frequency – the first such transmissions since 9 June – indicating that for some unannounced reason the cosmonauts had powered up their ferry.[85]

Day 14, Saturday, 19 June

The birthday of Viktor Patsayev on 19 June further relieved the stress on the crew. They performed medical examinations and operated such scientific apparatus as the TsUP permitted. In fact, the Control Group had decided to scale down the scientific experiments, prohibit the communication of unnecessary information, and gradually increase the physical exercise regime in preparation for the return to Earth.

Several times during the day, the cosmonauts were moved from one experiment to another. They were physicians, biologists, astronomers and meteorologists, and the scientists back on Earth were keen for the results. Astronomers wanted observations from above the atmosphere of cosmic radiation that would provide information on how the universe was structured. Physicians and biologists wanted to know how the human body and other organisms reacted to long-term exposure to space – both in terms of weightlessness and the radiation environment. Physicists wanted to know how various materials behaved – fluids, for example, display interesting properties in weightlessness. Technologists wanted to know if it would be possible to create a whole new range of materials possessing unique attributes. When Salyut was being designed the Academy of Sciences had suggested that a scientist be included in the crew, the logic being that only a scientist could analyse the results of an experiment in space and suggest a procedure to follow up an interesting observation. However, because a commander and a flight engineer were required to operate the station, and the Soyuz could accommodate a maximum of three cosmonauts, there was room for only one researcher on the crew. It was therefore decided that the third member of each crew should be a professional cosmonaut who had been trained as a researcher and investigator – which is why Patsayev’s role on the crew was ‘research cosmonaut’. The scientific programme was developed by the scientists, who spent a great deal of time explaining how to use the apparatus and how to analyse the results. In addition, senior representatives for each scientific investigation were permitted access to the TsUP, and there was a special radio channel between the scientists and the station’s crew to enable the scientists to discuss the performance of their experiments and to offer the cosmonauts advice. Although the scientists and the crew worked together closely, the cosmonauts never spoke the surnames of the scientists on the radio for security reasons. When an experiment was successful, the contented scientists were often able to exit the TsUP with graphs and tables. If a problem developed, then the scientists would retire to attempt to understand the failure and devise a remedy for the next opportunity. Despite some frustrations, the experience gained in attempting to undertake a scientific programme on an orbital station was priceless. Sometimes a modification of the apparatus or a revised operating procedure was suggested for a future flight. In some cases, it was concluded that the work would be better done by an automated satellite – for example, once a telescope had been precisely aligned on a celestial source, the observation could be marred by the vibration of the station in response to the cosmonauts moving around. But, on the other hand, there was merit in testing new apparatus on a manned station to ensure that it worked properly prior to assigning it to an automated satellite.

Volkov and Patsayev conducted a multispectral optical study of the atmosphere at sunrise and sunset – each of which occurred in orbit every 90 minutes, providing a wealth of data. During this experiment they established the diversity in colour of the atmospheric upper layers during sunset and sunrise, and its correlation with aerosol particles. At 2.58 p. m., when the station flew over the northwestern coast of Africa, the cosmonauts saw a vast sand storm. In addition, they placed the station into solar orientation and checked the accuracy of the gyroscopes after such a prolonged time in space.

Continuing their medical programme, the cosmonauts made further measure­ments of their cardiovascular systems and bone density. They also assessed the ability of their eyes to differentiate colours in order to determine the degree to which the eye is affected by weightlessness.

Conditions inside the station were normal: the temperature was 22°C, the pressure was 880 mm of mercury, and the smell of smoke had cleared.

7.13 a. m.

Zarya: “We all send Happy Birthday greetings to Viktor Ivanovich. We wish him successful work.”

Patsayev: “Thank you.”

Zarya: “We hope that the commander will organise a party.”

Dobrovolskiy: “We offered him a day of rest apart from physical exercise, but he has so much technical work.”

Then, after a pause, Dobrovolskiy reported: “We performed photography of the twilight horizon. When the Sun appeared, a small part, less than half of its disk, was visible. We took pictures of it.”

10.19 a. m.

Zarya: “Yantar 3, again we all send our greetings on your birthday – we wish you a successful flight and happiness in your life. Your family sends their most sincere wishes.”

Patsayev: “Thank you for your greetings. Although you are far away from us, we always feel your support.”

Patsayev’s 38th birthday was the first birthday to be celebrated in space. Knowing the recent crisis and tensions between the members of the crew, the psychologists at the TsUP had prepared a special programme. Patsayev’s wife and children were in the communication centre in Kaliningrad, watching the TV signal from the station.

With them was the famous TV anchor, Yuriy Fokin. The communication officer at the TsUP was Nikolayev.

Nikolayev: “How is the table prepared?”

Patsayev: “The table is prepared excellently: cold veal, cookies and blackberry juice in tubes.”

Nikolayev: “Did you find the bottle?” He was referring to the traditional bottle of celebratory champagne.

Patsayev (laughing): “No, we didn’t. We looked for the bottle everywhere, but we couldn’t find it. The delicacy was the onion, which was a present from Vadim. We sliced it into three parts and shared it. Zhora’s present was lemon.’’

The onion and lemon were smuggled on board by Volkov especially for the first birthday in orbit. The TV viewers could see the table set with tubes of juice, cheese, fruits, nuts and cans of veal. The items were held in place by tapes across the table. Patsayev sat at the table and Dobrovolskiy and Volkov floated in the background, smiling happily. Not having champagne glasses, they toasted loudly with the plum juice tubes. Patsayev said that of his presents he most enjoyed the onion, which was the first ‘fresh’ food that any of them had tasted since entering space.

His son Dmitriy recalls: ‘‘We were invited to the communication centre and had a chance to talk with dad, but only for a brief time. I don’t really remember what we said – I was 13 years old and there were many interesting devices in the room that distracted me. However, I do remember that Dobrovolskiy and Volkov presented an onion to him.’’

Svetlana Patsayeva, even younger, remembers the visit only by what her mother

told her: “The crew were given congratulations from their friends and relatives. And there was music too. Our friends especially asked that our father’s favourite song be played. Previously, the people on the ground had recorded the congratulations from our family. They brought me home from Young Pioneers’ camp for this. Someone came to our home with the equipment to record our words, me playing the piano (in fact, I was just starting to learn music, and my playing was not very good), and the sounds of our parrot.’’

After the communication session Patsayev’s friends gathered in his apartment in Moscow, where his wife, Vera, had prepared a celebratory lunch. It was an unusual birthday party, as the person being honoured was not present. Someone had a bottle of French champagne, but it was decided to defer opening it until Viktor was home. A note was affixed to the bottle bearing the signatures of all the attendees, together with the message: ‘Vitya, you were searching for this bottle in space, but it was here on Earth.’

From Dobrovolskiy’s notebook:

19 June. Viktor’s birthday. His wife sent a greeting letter with the words: ‘‘Mum has arrived, she is feeling well.’’ Viktor was so impassioned.

From Volkov’s diary:

19 June. Today is Viktor’s birthday. We laid the table. The onion was a real delicacy. Zarya gave him their greetings. The Earth asked for a report.

21.30. Start my duty. I will be the first to see the globe instrument indicate ‘1,000 orbits’. This historic event will occur during my time on duty. Simply unbelievable.

I slept at the new place, which is similar to the roomette in a wagon.[86] For the last two days I have slept well – about eight hours. Tomorrow we expect the radio programme With Good Morning to be transmitted.

So, with the stress of the fire behind him, Volkov was once again sleeping well.

Let us consider the function of the valve which was the technical cause of the loss of the Soyuz 11 crew. The limited capacity of the launch vehicle obliged Feoktistov and his design team to make the Soyuz descent module a very small vehicle – it is so cramped that it is right on the limit for accommodating the human body. In fact, the bell-shaped module stands 2.16 metres tall, has a maximum diameter at its base of 2.2 metres and weighs only 2.8 tonnes. Yet it had to contain couches for three cosmonauts and all the necessary life-support equipment, together with the systems to operate the spacecraft in space and two large parachutes for landing. The ‘free volume’ of the cabin is a mere 2.5 cubic metres, which is less room per cosmonaut than the Vostok capsule! The air in such a cramped module can support the lives of three men for only a short time – but this is viable because it operates autonomously only for the 30 minutes from the separation of the orbital and propulsion modules through re-entry and landing. Nevertheless, once the main parachute deployed at an altitude of approximately 5 km, two valves were to be opened to allow fresh air to enter the cabin; both to equalise the internal and external pressures and to eliminate the risk of the cosmonauts asphyxiating in the event of their having to remain inside for some time after landing, as might occur if the hatch were unable to be opened as a result of a technical problem or if the module were to land in water and the hatch was partially submerged.

The fact that both valves are closed during the majority of the mission and then opened only a few minutes prior to landing confused the State Commission. Surely the recovery team would open the hatch promptly, or if the module landed off target the cosmonauts would open it themselves! Given that the premature opening of one of the valves caused the deaths of three cosmonauts, what where the valves actually for? Was their inclusion a terrible error by the designers? The explanation from the TsKBEM of the risk of asphyxiation if for some reason the hatch was unable to be opened promptly was inconclusive. An additional confusion concerned the fact that each valve had two shutters. In fact, this aspect of the design would prove to be one of the most important factors in the Soyuz 11 tragedy.

To understand what happened, we must examine the valve’s structure. The design was straightforward, involving a cylinder of cork with a rubber ring and a piston rod supported by a ball-lock shutter that was automatically controlled. The crew had no

The valve 303

control over the automatic shutter, which would be opened by a pair of pyrotechnic charges after the deployment of the main parachute. Next to the automatic shutter was one that the cosmonauts could open manually by a small rotating knob. So long as at least one shutter remained closed, the valve ought to be shut. The valves were placed below the ring of the hatch: the No. 1 valve above Dobrovolskiy’s couch and the No. 2 valve above Patsayev’s couch, on opposite sides of the hatch so that if the module were to land on water there would be no chance of both of the valves being submerged. In the event of a splashdown, the manual shutters would be operated as required to prevent water ingress. This was the only circumstance in which the crew were to operate the manual shutters.

Why did the automatic valve open at an altitude of approximately 150 km, rather than at 5 km? The orbital and descent modules were connected by a dozen bolts in the ring that housed the hatch. During the assembly of the spacecraft, the bolts had been fastened using a special tool, then the joint was checked in an altitude chamber to ensure a hermetic seal. The combined force of all the bolts was about 100 tonnes. To separate the modules in space, the bolts had to be severed simultaneously. Hence each bolt incorporated a small explosive charge and an electric circuit. According to the programme, a timer would cause electricity to be supplied to the bolts in order to detonate the explosive charges and sever the bolts, applying a force of 100 tonnes for

a duration of one microsecond, in the process sending a shock wave across the metallic surface of the craft. The valves were located close alongside the connecting ring, and so would have been particularly sensitive to the propagation of this shock. In the case of Soyuz 11 this caused an automatic valve to pop open. The fact that particles of gunpowder were found inside one valve was conclusive proof that it had opened at the moment of separation.

On 26 April 1971, immediately after his return from the Soyuz 10 mission, Shatalov was promoted to Major-General. Two months later he superseded Kamanin. This appointment was largely the result of his close relationship with Marshal Kutakhov, who was his mentor prior to becoming a cosmonaut, his participation in organising the historic visit to Baykonur of President Charles De Gaulle in June 1966,[137] and his excellent management skills. His promotion coincided with the Soyuz 11 mission, and his first duty was to participate in the State Commission which investigated the loss of that crew. This recommended a thorough restructuring of the manned space programme. As part of this review, the training of cosmonauts was broadened and, among other things, they became more actively involved in the preparation of the experiments which they were to perform in space.

During Shatalov’s 16 years as the head of cosmonaut training he was responsible for equipping the TsPK with simulators and other training facilities, the recruitment of new military cosmonauts, and the selection of crews for a succession of DOS and Almaz space stations. In the meantime, in April 1972 he defended a master’s thesis at the Gagarin Military Air Force Academy, and in 1974 he was promoted to the rank of Lieutenant-General.

Kamanin’s successor, General Vladimir Shatalov, with Lebedyev (centre) and Klimuk in training for Soyuz 13.

When Gorbachov initiated his reforms of the Soviet Union in 1985, these affected the Army too. The structure of the Air Force began to change. Many older generals were retired, including Georgiy Beregovoy, the 65-year-old Director of the TsPK. After three possible successors had been rejected, it was suggested to Shatalov that he should take on this role in addition to his existing duties. As he was 58 years old at the time and according to the new law his retirement would take effect at age 60, he asked that he be allowed to remain in post for longer. On being promised that he would be able to serve until 65, he accepted. His task would be to organise training for the ambitious Mir and Buran programmes. For Shatalov, the direction of this unique training center, which at that time employed about 400 people, represented a special challenge. When it was put to him that the TsPK should be transferred from the Air Force to the Space Army (as the Strategic Rocket Forces, which managed the Baykonur cosmodrome, had become) he disagreed. When he was promised the rank of Colonel-General in return for his acquiescence, he refused. He also resisted Glushko’s efforts to transfer the TsPK to NPO Energiya. His campaign to keep the

TsPK in the Air Force was not helped by the antipathy of the leading military figures. In the aftermath of the upheaval in the Soviet Union in 1991 he was transferred to the reserve corps of the Commander in Chief of the Air Force, and then ordered to retire in March 1992.

By September 1991 Shatalov had been a member of all State Commissions over two decades that had made the final decisions on launching manned space missions. He related his role in the space programme in his autobiography, published in 1978 as The Hard Road to Space.14 He also co-authored the books The Application of Computers in Spacecraft Guidance System (1974), People and Space (1975), The Soviet Cosmonauts (1979) and Space to Earth (1981). For almost three decades he led a society which promoted friendly relations with Cuba. A 21-km-diameter crater on the Moon was named after him.

As regards retirement: “I have decided that after 65 years of life, of which almost 50 were devoted to the Army, I have some right to live for myself. I have not started attaching myself to political, religious or commercial organisations…. They have no interest for me. Although I had many offers, especially in 1992, I have not gone into politics either – it was suggested that I become a member of one of the many parties and enter parliament.” Ever since 1957 he has been interested in underwater fishing. The sea attracts him now, as once he was attracted to the sky and to space: “I cannot imagine the sea without submarine life. What is the point of lying on the sand to sunbathe, without wondering what might be found under water. No matter where I travel, I carry my mask, my fins and 8 kg of iron as ballast for diving. If the weather is suitable, I also like to ski. I love to spend time in my vacation house, to mow, and to tend my small garden. My wife is devoted to agronomy. Every spring we start with transplantation, and plant new sprouts. . . . I want to spend what is left of my life peacefully with my family, children and grandchildren. Now, as a retired person, I analyse the events of my tempestuous life in cosmonautics.”

At 2.14 a. m. the Salyut space station completed its 1,000th orbit since its launch on 19 April. It was in the communication zone at the time, and cosmonaut Gorbatko was the communication officer at the TsUP. He pointed out that the crew had been on board for 206 orbits, and joked that perhaps they should remain for an additional thousand orbits. In accordance with the flight plan, 20 June was a rest day in space. They made a TV report showing off the station’s various sections and its equipment. While in radio contact, they reported observations of the Earth and its atmosphere that they had made in recent days, including the African sand storm they had seen the previous day.

From Volkov’s diary:

20 June. The third week of our work in orbit has started, but the station has been in space for two months, making 1,000 orbits. Because the commander Dobrovolskiy and research engineer Patsayev are sleeping, I’ll be on duty at the time of the 1,000th orbit. In the sleeping bags, I can only see their heads. In these ‘beds’ you get so comfortable that sometimes you grow reluctant to get

up.

There is only one orbit until the 1,000th circle. It has just started the 999th. In a few minutes, Zarya will call me. Through the static I hear:

‘‘Yantar! Here is Zarya. On line!’’

‘‘Zarya! I am Yantar 2, I hear you excellently!’’

‘‘Yantar 2, how is it going?’’

‘‘How is it going? Normal. My crewmates are asleep. With no one to talk to, I don’t feel so cosy in this huge space home. It is a feeling that is familiar to anyone who, as the sailors say, has duty on the ship’s bow. As I speak to you I feel as if I am at home. I know that the weather below isn’t very good, being cloudy, windy and rainy. Up here, away from the portholes, the Sun is blinding and the Earth is covered with the clouds.’’

‘‘Don’t you have rain?’’ Zarya asked in jest.

‘‘No, we don’t have rain. Nothing Earth-like is in this vicinity. Just the real splendour of space!’’

‘‘Here, they are preparing the With Good Morning radio programme.’’ ‘‘That is good news.’’

We have heard the pre-recorded selections of music on our tape recorder so often that they are no longer our favourites! We are therefore eager for the promised radio programme, in particular our music requests.

It is interesting how the commander and I look with bearded faces on the TV screens. My beard reminds me of a Tatarian-Mongolian man. Honestly, I don’t tend to it any more.

The Earth asked: ‘‘How do you hear the short waves?’’

‘‘It is good – especially in the western hemisphere. It is so pleasant to hear words in your own language while passing over South America.’’

Next a question about our plants: ‘‘Do you look after the shrubs?’’

‘‘Of course! In fact, more often than planned in our flight programme. We have a special love for our greenery. We feel that it links us to the remote – yet so close – Earthly realm. We devote great attention to our ‘little cosmic garden’. The vegetables grow well.’’

The communication session is over. The next will be on the 1,000th orbit. How long will my two crewmates sleep? Will I alone see the number 1,000 appear on the display of the globe? No, the crew commander will be with me. I’ll awaken him in half an hour. He will take the duty, and communicate with Zarya.

We know that the 1,000th orbit will start at 00.44.44 on 20 June. In these final minutes, the only thing that I do is watch the onboard clocks. Yes! The first seconds of the jubilee orbit have begun.

When journalists at the TsUP asked Yeliseyev, the flight director, about the crew, he said: “Each man has a different character and, of course, during communication sessions this is very noticeable. Patsayev doesn’t speak very often, we almost never hear him. He will just let us know which experiment he has finished, or ask details about his work. Volkov speaks the most. He also expresses his emotions the most. He not only talks about the flight programme and the investigations, he also asks us about soccer scores and weather conditions. He sends his regards. This is totally in accordance with his spirit and nature – on the Earth he was also so communicative. In terms of emotions, Dobrovolskiy is somewhere in the middle. He always speaks calmly and certainly.’’

0. 59 a. m.

Volkov: “The 1,000th orbit is a working orbit. Although today is a rest day, we decided to devote it to the Earth – we photographed the cloud cover, the oceans and the landscape for geological studies and issues relating to the national economy. In general, we are doing work which is usually assigned to working orbits. We want to spend every minute of our ‘leisure’ time maximising the results for return to Earth.’’ Zarya: ‘‘We send you our warmest regards – there are so many greetings.’’ Volkov: ‘‘About 4 o’clock, when Viktor wakes up, we’ll do our physical exercise and then do what I have already said – photographing and monitoring the Earth.’’ Zarya: ‘‘If you have the information to hand, please tell us what you have done for the last 24 hours in terms of medicine.’’

Volkov: ‘‘We are doing all the experiments required by the physicians.”

Zarya: ‘‘Understood. Thank you. Well done!’’

Volkov: “I carefully log our food and water consumption. Tell our comrades there who are responsible for this that I am logging it all. We have written reports on the operation of all the systems.[87] On board this ship, we are sharing our duties – each of us has a different area of responsibility. Everything is as planned.”

3.57 a. m.

Zarya: “Yantar 3. Firstly, we are happy with your Orion work. Tomorrow we also plan Orion work. Did you perform two sessions with Orion with one or two stars?”

Patsayev: “Two stars.”

5.30 a. m.

Dobrovolskiy: “Yesterday at 14.58.00 above the northwestern coast of Africa, I observed a sand storm at 344 degrees longitude and 17 degrees latitude.”

8.36 a. m.

Zarya: “One request: please water the plants twice a day – at the start of the day, and at the end.”

Patsayev: “In the instructions it says to water once only.”

Zarya: “Understood. However, it is necessary to do so twice. Report the general conditions of the shrubs, and in particular the development of the first real foliage. Report on it daily.”

For most of 20 June the cosmonauts rested and monitored the Earth, its clouds and ocean, and made observations of the stars. In addition, Dobrovolskiy provided a TV report for viewers on Earth – the request for which was probably an attempt by the TsUP to highlight his role as the station’s commander.

Television Report:

Zarya-25 (TV reporter): “Yantar 1, as the first commander of the Salyut orbital station, do you have any impressions?’’

Dobrovolskiy: “I have great impressions. I am lucky that my first space flight is to this station. It is composed of two spacecraft: the station itself and the transport ship docked with the station. It is a large complex. It allows us to conduct a great deal of scientific work. The designers, engineers and diligent workers did an excellent job of providing comfortable living conditions for the crew.’’

Zarya-25: “We understand that you have controlled both the Soyuz spacecraft and the Salyut station. Obviously, they have different characteristics. Can you speak of the differences in flying these vehicles in space?’’

Dobrovolskiy: “I can tell you that our training enabled us to master the techniques required. We have no difficulty. It is very easy to control the transport

Tracking ships 237

ship, and the entire orbital station is very responsive – easily controllable. In general, it is just as each of us dreamed flying in space would be like.”

Zarya-25: “Understand. Yantar 1. Specifically, what have you done as the station commander?”

Dobrovolskiy: “As a matter of fact, my first task was one of the most interesting operations – docking. We wanted so much to conduct it in the best possible manner. As for work, the station is so large and there are so many possibilities for work that each member of the crew has specific responsibilities. It is a complex issue. On the flight to the station we had some discomfort [adapting to weightlessness], but after entering the station we began to work at full strength and soon it was as expected.”

Zarya-25: “Thank you very much, Yantar.”

Despite the fact that the general health of the cosmonauts was acceptable, in their two weeks in space they had spent considerably less time on physical exercise than planned owing to the following reasons:

• when the load-bearing ‘penguin’ suits were worn during exercise, they tore, and their function was greatly reduced once the elastic sections had become damaged;

• some of the supporting struts of the Veter lower-body negative pressure unit were damaged early on, and thereafter the cosmonauts rarely used it; and

• use of the treadmill was restricted because the noise was sufficient to disturb anyone attempting to rest, and because it transmitted vibrations through the station’s structure which caused the solar panels and antennas to oscillate and the propellants to slosh.

How did the cosmonauts react? It is possible to make inferences from the analyses performed by the medics, the state of the cabin, and the data recorded by the ‘black box’. During the descent, each cosmonaut wore a medical belt with various sensors and the data on their vital functions was recorded. Prior to their return, the general physical state of each man was good. Dobrovolskiy’s pulse in a normal, unstressed state was 78­85 beats per minute. Volkov, being more dynamic and emotional, was usually higher, and at the time of undocking from Salyut his pulse increased to 120, perhaps reflecting his concern about the hatch seal. Patsayev’s pulse was between 92 and 106.

During the first second after the separation of the spacecraft’s modules the pulses of all three men dramatically increased. Dobrovolskiy rose to 114. Volkov shot up to 180! Four seconds after the onset of depressurisation Dobrovolskiy’s respiration rate was 48 breaths per minute; the normal rate is 16. Such rates are characteristic of a sudden oxygen starvation. The rapid increases in pulse and respiration indicate that the crewmembers were immediately aware of what was occurring. In addition to hearing the air leaking out and feeling the pressure fall, they would have heard a loud siren and seen the value of the cabin pressure decline on the indicator set in the lower left corner of the main instrument panel. There would also have been physical indications, including a rapid fall in temperature and air fogging as the water vapour condensed. They would have suffered the effects of decompression – an immediate strong pain in the head, chest and abdomen, followed by burst eardrums and blood streaming from the nose and ears. Their heart rates rose during the first 20 seconds, but by 60 seconds had reduced to just 40 per cent of the baseline.

Death was not instantaneous. Due to out-gassing of oxygen from the venous blood supply to the lungs, the men would have remained consciousness for 50-60 seconds. However, they could have moved about and tried to remedy their plight only during the first 13 seconds; this being the ‘time of useful consciousness’, corresponding to the time that it took for the oxygen-deprived blood to pass from the lungs to the brain. Because the valves were situated above their couches, Dobrovolskiy and Patsayev attempted to take action. Being in the centre, nearest the hatch, Dobrovolskiy was in the best position to act. However, the cosmonauts did not know the actual source of the leak. Recalling the difficulty that they had faced in sealing the hatch, their initial diagnosis must have been that the air was leaking through the hatch. Dobrovolskiy unbuckled and pulled himself to the hatch. However, it was properly closed. When Volkov and Patsayev switched off the radio equipment in order to listen to the hiss in an effort to identify the source of the leak, this was realised to be one of the two valves. But which one? Valve No. 2, above Patsayev, was marked as ‘open’, so he went to try to close it. But it was No. 1 which was open. It is difficult to know who did so, but either Patsayev or Dobrovolskiy began to close the hand-operated shutter of valve No. 1. However, in normal circumstances it required at least 35 seconds to close the valve by hand, and by the time they passed out it was only partially cycled. Volkov was too far away from the valves to assist, so he remained strapped into his couch. By virtue of being more active, Dobrovolskiy and Patsayev would probably have lost consciousness before Volkov, for whom the frustration of being unable to assist must have been intense.

They died rapidly. The initial paralysis due to oxygen starvation would have been followed by general convulsions. During this time, water vapour rapidly formed in the venous blood, and in soft tissue. Blood and other bodily fluids boiled and turned to vapour, causing the body to swell to perhaps twice its normal volume. The heart rate initially soared, but then diminished to an unsustainable rate. The arterial blood pressure dropped to zero after about 60 seconds, but the venous pressure rose due to gas and vapour distending the venous system. Within a minute, the venous pressure exceeded the arterial pressure. In effect, there was no circulation of blood. After the initial rush of gas from the lungs during decompression, gas and vapour continued to flow out through the airways, and the sustained evaporation of water chilled the mouth and nose to almost freezing temperatures. The remainder of the body would have cooled more slowly. The first fatal damage occurred in the cosmonauts’ lungs, as the most vulnerable part of the body in such circumstances. They naturally tried to hold their breath, but as the cabin pressure declined the lungs and thorax became over-extended, tearing and rupturing the lung tissue and capillaries. The trapped air was forced directly into the blood, following the ruptured blood vessels and creating massive air bubbles in the vital organs, including the heart and brain. Clinical death began after 90-100 seconds, simultaneously in all three men. By 110 seconds after the separation of the modules there were no heart or respiration rates recorded. Ten seconds later, life was extinct. The cabin remained in vacuum for 11.5 minutes, then began to fill with air from the upper atmosphere.

After his third and final space flight on Soyuz 10 in April 1971 Yeliseyev became one of Yakov Tregub’s deputies, being responsible for the preparation and control of manned missions. He worked mainly on the development of the programmes for missions and the onboard instruction, the technical aspects of crew training, and the control of a flight. When Prime Minister Aleksey Kosygin and America’s President Richard Nixon signed an agreement which called for the first joint space mission involving the two space-faring nations, Tregub suggested that Yeliseyev should fly, but Yeliseyev did not wish to make any more flights. “I had the feeling that Tregub saw me as a potential rival. Supposing that I would be interested in working with the Americans, he said several times that perhaps I should fly as the flight engineer, but I had already made up my mind and did not wish to change my decision. Very soon I [138]

realised that my suspicion about Tregub was justified. When I was called by Minister Afanasyev, … he asked me whether I would agree to run mission control for the Soviet-American flight. … By rank, this offer ought to have been made to Tregub, so I concluded that they must have something against him. I accepted the offer.” In this way Yeliseyev became the director of manned spaceflight. In parallel, he gained his doctorate in February 1973.

It was at this time that the new Mission Control Centre was built in Kaliningrad. It was more capable than the old facility in Yevpatoriya. In the next eight years (until 1981) thirty manned flights were conducted under Yeliseyev’s technical direction. In the case of the historic Soyuz-Apollo mission he was given a delicate task. Once the docking had occurred, the intention was that two of the three astronauts would join the two cosmonauts in the orbital module of the Soyuz. Shortly beforehand, Yeliseyev was called to the office of the State Commission and was told by Ustinov that he was to transmit a congratulatory message by Leonid Brezhnyev. This would not be easy, as every minute of the joint activities had been meticulously planned. But the message had to be read. To avoid sending the message himself, Yeliseyev proposed that it should be done by a professional TV reporter. Ustinov agreed. Such a person was urgently delivered to the TsUP, given the text and instructed to read it, word by word, without omitting anything. Some minutes later the reporter came to Yeliseyev:

“I cannot do it.’’

“What can’t you do?’’

“I can’t read this word by word.’’

“Why not?’’

“It says here ‘L. Brezhnyev’.’’

“So what?’’

‘‘I cannot say ‘L. Brezhnyev’. I can say ‘Leonid Brezhnyev’, ‘Leonid Ilich Brezhnyev’, or simply ‘Brezhnyev’. What should I say?’’

Just in case, I decided to ask Ustinov. There was not much time left before the start of the session with the cosmonauts. Without hesitating, I sprinted to Ustinov and put to him the question posed by the reporter. Ustinov remained silent, pretending that he had not heard me. I realised that he did not wish to take the responsibility. I tried my best to assist: I suggested that the reporter should say ‘Leonid Brezhnyev’. Still Ustinov said nothing. I started to sweat. There was now just one minute to the beginning of the session. Noticing my nervousness, Afanasyev volunteered, ‘‘I agree with the suggestion.’’ Ustinov made a slight ambiguous nod that could be interpreted as his agreement, but also indicated that he considered the conversation over.

As the director of space flight, Yeliseyev sometimes had to make decisions on which depended the lives of cosmonauts in orbit: for example during the flight of Soyuz 25 in October 1977, which was unable to dock with Salyut 6 and had to be ordered home, and again when Nikolay Rukavishnikov was commanding Soyuz 33 in April 1979 and had a problem with his main engine (see below).

In December 1985 Yeliseyev officially left the cosmonaut-engineer group briefly

in order to serve as a deputy to the General Designer of NPO Energiya. Then, at the suggestion of the Minister of Education, for five and a half years he was the rector of Moscow’s Higher Technical School (MVTU) Bauman. But this was not a happy experience because his proposal to restructure the school faced opposition. He gave up the rectorship and went to work for IBM, which had begun to make a presence in the Soviet and Asian markets, remaining with them until January 1996. Today he is the head of the Festo international fund. In Russia this fund promotes education and directs a department of the Moscow Energy Institute. He travels a lot. With his wife Larisa he visits historic places in Russia. He reads books on economics by Western authors. He also thinks about life and his contribution to the space programme: “On asking myself what I achieved in all those years, it does not seem very much when compared to what was being done around me. Obviously that is the way it ought to be. A life time is no more than a particle in the kaleidoscope that represents men’s destinies – no more than a drop in the sea.” This sentiment inspired the title of his autobiography, Life – A Drop in the Sea, which was published in 1998.[139]

As noted, the mission of the first Salyut station was controlled from the TsUP in Yevpatoriya, Crimea, supported by several tracking ships of the Soviet Academy of Sciences.

In March 1971 Academician Sergey Korolev had relieved Cosmonaut Vladimir Komarov in the North Atlantic, near Sable Island off the Canadian coast. Its first task had been to support Soyuz 10 in April. Now it was supporting Soyuz 11. Most of the crewmen of Academician Sergey Korolev originated from Odessa, the city in which Dobrovolskiy was born. They also had fond memories of Volkov, who had visited the ship in December 1970 and attended its launch. It had all the apparatus needed to control the most complex operations of the Soyuz-Salyut orbital complex, including orbital manoeuvres. It could communicate with the TsUP via a Molniya satellite. When the station’s path took it over the eastern region of North America or the North Atlantic, Academician Sergey Korolev would be able to communicate with it for up to 12 minutes, and two or three communication sessions were possible each day.

An older and less sophisticated ship was stationed in the equatorial region of the Atlantic Ocean. This was Bezhitsa, which was on its fifth voyage since its launch in

February 1967. It had taken its station at 13 degrees west and 1.5 degrees south in March 1971 to support the Salyut mission. It could communicate with the crew of a spacecraft and receive telemetry, but did not routinely transmit to the TsUP – this required the use of the internal channels of the Soviet Navy. Also in the southern Atlantic Ocean was Kegostrov, which was another of the smaller vessels launched in 1967, and also on its fifth voyage. It had sailed in February 1971 and taken its station at 24 degrees west and 22 degrees south. Like Bezhitsa, it was equipped to receive telemetry from the spacecraft and communicate with its crew. Depending on the schedule decided for the return of Soyuz 11, one or other of these two ships was to monitor the critical braking manoeuvre.[88] Several other communication ships were located in the South Atlantic to assist with the operation of Salyut: Morzhovets, Borovochi, Nevely and Ristna.

Specific references

1. Yeliseyev, A. S., Life – A Drop in the Sea. Aviatsiya and kosmonavtika, Moscow, 1998, pp. 77-79 (in Russian).

2. Siddiqi, Asif A., The Soviet Space Race with Apollo. University Press of Florida, 2003, pp. 778-780.

3. Vasilyev, M. P., Salyut on Orbit, Mashinostroenie, Moscow, 1973, pp. 81-107 (in Russian).

4. www. ski-omer. ru (in Russian, about Soviet tracking ships).

5. Kamanin, N. P., Hidden Space, Book 4. Novosti kosmonavtiki, 2001, pp. 320­325 (in Russian).

In analysing the actions of the Soyuz 11 cosmonauts during the decompression to assess whether they might have saved themselves, there are two basic approaches. Mishin and the TsKBEM engineers concluded that the crew should have been able to halt the leak – but they had panicked and failed to identify the source of the leak in time. But General Kamanin and the military cosmonauts at the TsPK thought that the decompression occurred so rapidly that the crew had no real chance of manually closing the shutter on the leaking valve.

Of the official sources, Kamanin provided probably the most realistic description of the fateful events. As he wrote in his diary, following the braking manoeuvre the cosmonauts felt the onset of deceleration – which meant that the ship had begun its descent:

Aboard, everything is normal. However, the cosmonauts, remembering their recent difficulty with the transfer hatch, carefully monitored the pressure in the cabin. A bang is heard – there is the separation of the modules. But what is this? The pressure in the cabin begins rapidly to fall. … Decompression! After unfastening from his couch, Dobrovolskiy goes to inspect the hatch. It is airtight, but the pressure continues to fall. They can hear the whistle of air venting to space. Because of noise from the transmitters and receivers, they cannot trace the source of the whistle. Volkov and Patsayev unfasten their shoulder straps and switch off the radio apparatus. The source of the whistle is above the centre couch – where a vent valve is located. Dobrovolskiy and Patsayev attempt to close the valve, but because they are weakened they fall back to the seat. As he loses consciousness, Dobrovolskiy manages to fasten the waist lock of his entangled straps.

Mishin argued that once the crew had realised that one of the valves had opened prematurely, they should have blocked the flow by placing a thumb over the inlet.[108] Some sources have pointed to a bruise on Dobrovolskiy’s thumb as evidence that he had indeed attempted to do this. Another source says the bruise was on Patsayev thumb, although this may actually have been a reference to his facial bruise. Mishin never accepted that the crew could not have saved themselves. To the end of his life he insisted that if only they had been better trained then they would have reacted properly, and therefore probably have survived: “How can you describe the deaths of great and brave people – a disaster which caused such pain to their relatives? It is more painful to know that it was avoidable. During separation, the explosive bolts generated a force that was too strong and the ball left its nest, opening the valve prematurely. The cosmonauts could hear the air whistling. Patsayev tried to close it using his thumb, but failed. There was a manually operated shutter with which it was possible fully to protect the cabin, but they either forgot it, or did not know, or missed it in their training.’’ In another interview, Mishin again criticised the crew: “During the decompression, the air would have escaped to space at such a high speed that the men had to have heard the whistling – a signal of imminent disaster. It was necessary to unfasten the belts, to stand up and to shut the valve. They could block the valve even using a thumb! . . . But the cosmonauts were disoriented. . . . Perhaps they were lost. . . . Patsayev seems to have realised what was the matter. He unfastened from his couch, but did not have time to stand up.’’

While Mishin was trying to blame the crew and to justify the spacecraft’s design, representatives of the TsPK thought differently. In contrast to Mishin, Kamanin was confident that the crew fought to save their lives right to the end: “Is it possible to accuse them of not knowing how ‘to plug the hole in the ship by finger’? We cannot presume this to be feasible at all, as no one has yet tried to do it. Indeed, outside the ship is the deep cold of the vacuum of space, which causes the instantaneous boiling of the blood. I think even in normal conditions it would be hard to hold a finger in open space for a period as brief as several seconds. In addition, the crew had first to locate the source of the decompression and then, ‘after plugging the hole by thumb’, to retain the hermetic seal of the cabin for 15-17 minutes during which they would be subjected to the increasing deceleration loads of the descent.’’[109]

Commenting on Mishin’s claim that a man could have blocked the valve using a finger, Dr. Yevgeniy Vorobyev pointed out that in such a rapid decompression the state of consciousness would have been diminished after 20 seconds. ‘‘To unbuckle, locate the hole under the cover and block this in 20 seconds would be unrealistic. It would have been necessary to train to do so. We tested the possibility of closing the valve manually, in the case of a splashdown. Even in a calm situation, this operation took 35-40 seconds. Thus, they had no chance of surviving.’’

General Shatalov openly condemned Mishin for his ongoing efforts to blame the crew. Cosmonaut Leonov tested manually closing the valve of the Soyuz simulator in the TsPK, taking 52 seconds, which was four times longer than the time available to the Soyuz 11 crew.

Although further explanations were given in Chertok’s memoirs, colleagues of the Soyuz 11 crew – in particular Yeliseyev, Kubasov, Shatalov and Leonov, together with Viktor Patsayev’s wife Vera – contributed the most to a full understanding the tragedy.

Aleksey Yeliseyev’s insight into the valves leads to the inevitable conclusion that the tragedy ought never to have occurred!

As noted, each valve had both an automatic and a manual shutter. However, when the designers devised the valve no one considered the possibility that the automatic shutter might open spontaneously. In accordance with instructions, prior to launch both shutters (automatic and manual) on valve No. 1 were required to be closed – in the mode ‘closed-closed’. On the other hand, on valve No. 2 the automatic shutter was to be closed and the manual shutter open – in mode ‘closed – open’. What does this mean? During the descent, four pyrotechnic charges were to open the automatic shutters on both valves at an altitude of 5 km. However, because the manual shutter on valve No. 1 was closed, air would flow into the cabin only through valve No. 2, whose manual shutter was already open. As noted, the reason for there being a pair of valves was to ensure that in the event of a splashdown in which water leaked into the module through valve No. 2, there was another valve on the opposite side which would allow in air – the research cosmonaut seated near valve No. 2 would close its manual shutter to halt water penetration while the commander opened the manually operated shutter on the valve positioned directly above his couch. However, during the preparation of the ship there was a mysterious change to the procedure! Instead of being ‘closed-closed’, valve No. 1 was actually set ‘closed-open’; and instead of‘closed-open’, valve No. 2 was set ‘closed-closed’. As the valves were identical, the technicians did not pay special attention to this change.

Top: Cosmonaut Lazaryev works on the hatch inside the Soyuz simulator, with one of two valves installed in the vicinity. Three bottom photos show the opening of one of the valves (left), the control for the manually operated shutter and the ventilation switches.

As the explosive bolts were fired to separate the orbital module, the shock caused the automatic shutter on valve No. 1 to open. This valve was positioned very near to two of the bolts, and thus was exposed to the greatest stress by the explosive action. Since the manually operated shutter had been left open, air was able to leak to space. A detailed analysis of the telemetry recorded by the ‘black box’ established that the automatic control system had fired the attitude control thrusters to counter the force of the air venting at speed through this valve. After inspecting the seal of the hatch, the cosmonauts quickly realised that the automatic shutter had inadvertently opened in one of the valves. Knowing that both shutters on valve No. 1 were supposed to be closed, they directed their attention to valve No. 2, which they believed had been set to ‘closed-open’ and was ‘open-open’ as a result of the shock of firing the bolts, but in fact it was still hermetically closed. Patsayev’s effort to close the manual shutter of valve No. 2 was foiled by the fact that it had already been closed prior to launch! Realising that valve No. 2 was closed, Patsayev or Dobrovolskiy set about closing the manual shutter of valve No. 1, but managed only to partially do so before losing consciousness.

According to Yeliseyev the cosmonauts forgot, or in panic missed the fact that the order of the valves had been changed! He said: ‘‘If they had just remembered this! If even they did not recall, but they had begun to close both valves just in case, they would have saved themselves.’’ The revision to the manually operated shutters was also noticed by Kubasov, who, in addition, noted another important detail: ‘‘At the cosmodrome, according to instructions, the manually operated shutter on one of the two valves is open and on the other is closed. This is specified in both the onboard documentation and the documentation of the manufacturer. But on Soyuz 11, … according to the onboard documentation the valve that prematurely opened ought to have had its manually operated shutter closed, and in the documentation of the manufacturer it should have been open.’’ Thus we see that valve No. 1 had state

‘closed-closed’ in the onboard documentation, and the crew did not simply forget or in a blind panic miss the order of the open/closed shutters. They firstly tried to close valve No. 2 because in their documentation its manually operated shutter was specified as being open, but in reality it was closed! As in the case of the Soyuz 1 tragedy, the technicians who prepared the spacecraft had not followed the rules!

Vladimir Shatalov, who was member of the State Commission which investigated the Soyuz 11 tragedy, reported some details of his inspections related to the lack of technical discipline in the installation of the valves:

The most likely cause was a design fault or omission during the installation of the valves during the assembly of the spacecraft. Both valves had to be torqued to the certain level by using a special tool, even though access to the valves was problematic. . . .

During an inspection, it was found that for both valves the screw had not been sufficiently tightened, and the ball was free to jiggle about. When they examined the valves on already flown craft, including my Soyuz 10, it was noticed that the screws were torqued differently. The required force was 50 kg, but some of the descent modules had valves torqued at 30 kg, some at only 20 kg, and one had valves whose screws were barely tightened! There were no spacecraft already flown in space with valves torqued to the proper degree. I could not believe this. Well, it was an accident waiting to happen!

In the book Two Sides of the Moon published in 2004, Aleksey Leonov states he was in the communication centre in Kaliningrad for the undocking. As the crew worked through the checklist, he advised them to close the shutters of both valves, but to remember to reopen one once the parachute had deployed.

“Make a note of it in your logbook,’’ I instructed them.

Although this deviated from the flight regulations, I had trained for a long time for the mission they were flying, and in my opinion this was the safest procedure. According to the flight programme the vents were [to start closed] and then open automatically once the parachute had deployed after re-entry. But I believed there was a danger, if this automatic procedure was followed, that the vents might open prematurely at too high an altitude and the spacecraft [would] depressurise.

It seems the crew did not follow my advice. Unfortunately, my intuition proved right. . . .

The loss of the Soyuz 11 cosmonauts was a terrible blow to the morale of the whole corps. Everyone understood that we were in the business of testing spacecraft, and the deaths of these three men undoubtedly saved the lives of later crews, because of the substantial modifications made, but their loss was a tragedy. Not only was I deeply saddened by what had happened, but I was frustrated, too. Had I been allowed to fly in their place I am sure my crew would have survived.

Leonov also wrote that he never told anyone that the crew had failed to follow his recommendation. Many years later, Vera Patsayeva, who worked in the TsNIIMash and had access to the radio exchanges, “recognised the crew’s tragic mistake of not following my advice and made that fact public’’. He tried to avoid the children of the lost crew: “I could not bear to look into their eyes. Even though it was not my fault, I blamed myself for what had happened. It was not until much later that the children learnt how desperately I had tried to avert the tragedy.’’[110]

Leonov also noted that the cardiogram data showed that Volkov, who remained in his couch, died 80 seconds after the decompression, Patsayev after 100 seconds and Dobrovolskiy after 2 minutes. Leonov’s claim that if he had been in command then his crew would not have succumbed to such a failure was contradicted by Kubasov in an interview with Novosti kosmonavtiki, who, after analysing what they would have done, had concluded that death was inevitable.

In contrast to Mishin, who insisted that the crew had been at fault, the strongest criticism of the cosmonauts’ action ever to be made by any representative of the Air Force was Leonov’s claim that they had not accepted his advice to close both valves and reopen one after the parachute had deployed. On the other hand, this advice was contrary to the rules. It would have protected against a valve opening prematurely, but to have required that a valve be opened manually would have placed the crew at risk of asphyxiation in the event of stronger than expected dynamic loads during the re­entry rendering them unconscious – it was, after all, to preclude this outcome that the valves were designed to work automatically. But it indicates that Leonov’s crew had trained to perform re-entry differently to their backups. Furthermore, in training Leonov seems not to have described this alternative procedure to Dobrovolskiy.

After the mission of Soyuz 10 Rukavishnikov was nominated as the flight engineer on Leonov’s Soyuz 12 crew, which was to make the second visit to the Salyut space station, but this crew was stood down when it became necessary to revise the design of the spacecraft after the deaths of the Soyuz 11 crew. He made two further space flights. The first occasion was on Soyuz 16, which was a six-day test in December 1974 in preparation for the joint mission with the Americans the following summer. The spacecraft was commanded by Anatoliy Filipchenko, and Rukavishnikov was the flight engineer. He trained as the commander of the backup crew for Soyuz 28. This was the first flight of the Interkosmos programme, and took a Czechoslovakian cosmonaut to Salyut 6. When he flew Soyuz 33 in April 1979 he became the first civilian to command a Soviet ship. His passenger was Georgiy Ivanov (Kakalov) of Bulgaria. The Igla rendezvous system locked onto Salyut 6 and began to navigate towards it, but when the range reduced to 4 km and they saw the station for the first time a six-second firing of the main rocket engine was cut short after three seconds! Rukavishnikov manually restarted the engine, but there was a terrible noise and it cut off again. On board the station, Vladimir Lyakhov and Valeriy Ryumin reported to the TsUP that they had observed sparks from the spacecraft’s propulsion module. The rendezvous had to be abandoned. This was the first and only failure of the main engine of a Soyuz. The crew were told to rest while the engineers on Earth decided what to do. The technical director of the flight was Yeliseyev, who precisely eight years earlier had flown with Rukavishnikov on Soyuz 10 in an attempt to dock with the original Salyut station!

Meanwhile in space, Rukavishnikov found it difficult simply to rest:

Throughout the night I told myself that as commander I was responsible not only for myself and the ship but also for Georgiy. I had to analyse all of the variables and be ready to answer any queries from Earth, or to execute any directions they provided.

As I was thinking, Georgiy asked: “Captain, shall we refresh a bit?’’

We carried Bulgarian foodstuffs as a gift for the Salyut 6 crew. “Let’s get out the presents,’’ I decided.

“Can we?’’

“Now we can.’’

We refreshed ourselves. I only had a little, but Georgiy really ate well.

“Off to sleep,’’ I told him. “We have to get good rest. Tomorrow we’ll be busy.’’

Meanwhile, Yeliseyev called the engine designers and experts in ballistics to the TsUP and together they thoroughly analysed the situation. Luckily, the Soyuz had a reserve braking engine (DKD). Unlike the main engine this could be fired just once, for the braking manoeuvre. But there was some concern, because its propellant and electrical lines were located close to those of the main engine, which had evidently suffered a serious problem. ft was to be hoped that the reserve engine had not been damaged. ft was possible that the engine would start and then cut off prematurely. ff it were to fire for less than 90 seconds, the crew would require to execute a series of firings of the small docking and orientation engines (DPO) to depart from orbit, but this would result in a return far from the planned landing site. At 6.46.49 p. m. on 12 April the reserve engine was activated to make a 188-second burn. Rukavishnikov inferred from the buzzing sound transmitted through the structure of the spacecraft that the engine was not operating at full power. After 188 seconds had elapsed and it failed to shut off automatically he took the decision to keep it running for another 25 seconds before he turned it off. As a result, the descent was steeper than normal, and followed a ballistic trajectory that subjected the occupants to peak deceleration load of 8 g. To everyone’s relief, the descent module landed safely at 7.35 p. m. at a point 320 km southeast of Dzhezkazgan in Kazakhstan. When he reflected upon his second failed attempt to dock with a Salyut, he joked: “the stations did not wish me on board’’.

fn April 1980 Rukavishnikov gained a master’s degree at the Moscow fnstitute of Engineering and Physics (MfFf). Meanwhile, he was training as commander of the backup crew for Soyuz T-3. fnitially, the objective of this flight was to undertake an extensive medical research programme on board Salyut 6, but this was altered to perform maintenance on the station to enable it to operate long enough to complete the fnterkosmos programme. Undeterred, Rukavishnikov focused his hopes on the forthcoming Salyut 7, and from September 1983 to February 1984 trained as flight engineer for the mission that was to carry the first fndian cosmonaut. However, with just two months remaining to the launch date he caught the flu, and thereby lost not only his opportunity to visit a space station but also the chance to become one of the few Soviets to fly four times in space. His unsympathetic colleagues joked that all Salyuts had a built in “anti-Rukavishnikov device’’.

On leaving the cosmonaut group in July 1978 Rukavishnikov became a deputy to the director of one of the departments of NPO Energiya, then retired in November 1999. fn 1981 he became president of the Soviet Cosmonautics Federation,[140] and in this role vigorously sought support from the Kremlin for a number of programmes. He also arranged for a medal to be given to an anonymous artist who had for many years painted artwork depicting the space programme. fn addition, he led the radio show On Space Orbits. Although he gave the appearance of having a very serious personality, those who knew him well said he was vibrant and always interesting to be with.

Two views of Nikolay Rukavishnikov (foreground) and Anatoliy Filipchenko in the Soyuz simulator.

“The stations did not wish me on board.” Rukavishnikov (foreground) and the Bulgarian cosmonaut Georgiy Ivanov made a dramatic return after their Soyuz 33 spacecraft suffered a main engine failure on the way to the Salyut 6 space station.

In the space of six years Rukavishnikov’s family suffered three tragedies. First his wife Nina died in 2000. Those closest to him gathered for his 70th birthday on 18 September 2002, but his memory was impaired by Alzheimer disease. Although he had survived one heart attack, the second was followed by pulmonary problems and he died in Burdenko hospital on 19 October 2002. He was buried in Ostankinsko Cemetery. Finally, in January 2006 his only child, Vladimir, succumbed to a severe illness and died aged only 41. He was buried alongside his father. Until the very end of his life Vladimir had unselfishly offered details of his father’s life to anyone who expressed an interest.

FINAL DAYS

In their first fortnight on board the Salyut station the cosmonauts had performed a large amount of scientific work and accumulated results to be returned to Earth for analysis by specialists. As the mission drew to a conclusion, the crew were in high spirits.

Day 16, Monday, 21 June

Work resumed with the Orion astrophysical observatory, this time with stars in the constellation of Serpens. Volkov was in charge of navigation. He spent a lot of time ‘sitting’ by a porthole on the station’s floor, ‘hunting’ for landmarks on the Earth and in the sky. Once Volkov had selected a landmark, Dobrovolskiy would orient and stabilise the station to enable this to be viewed. During the next orbit, Patsayev controlled the two telescopes of the Orion system, one on the exterior of the transfer compartment and the other affixed to a porthole inside it, to simultaneously record spectrograms of a single star in different sections of the ultraviolet spectrum.[89] The cosmonauts also continued measurements of gamma rays, the electrically charged nuclei in cosmic rays, and the intensity of free electrons in the orbital environment. At 2.21 p. m. Patsayev, who had started his career in meteorology, sent a greeting on behalf of the Salyut crew to the attendees of the National Meteorological Congress in Leningrad.

From Patsayev’s notebook:

21 June. The Moon looks the same as when viewed from Earth. Sometimes a round rainbow ‘spot’, or halo, is visible through a porthole on the opposite side to the Sun.

The boundaries of clouds can be determined by their shadows. Thicker

clouds are moving away in regular order, and cloud belts on the night side are visible in moonlight. …

The can openers are inadequate, often creating shards while opening the can. The seal of the rubbish bags is unsuitable, letting the stench out. …

It is essential to have a work site for performing repairs, a workbench with instruments. . . .

The station lights are inadequate. The inscriptions on the push buttons for switching on the food heater and the vacuum cleaner are barely visible. It is too dark at the work sites, especially at No. 3 [which was located adjacent to the large conical module housing the main scientific equipment].