Category Salyut – The First Space Station

The development of the Soviet space tracking network began in the early days of rocketry to facilitate the tracking of intercontinental ballistic missiles in test flights from Baykonur. The system was then expanded and increased in scope to deal with orbital flights. The relatively brief Vostok and Voskhod missions were managed at Baykonur by Sergey Korolev, as the technical director for space missions, with the support of the so-called Operation Group of the Strategic Rocket Forces. The first Flight Control Centre (TsUP) was at Scientific Research Institute No. 4 (NII-4) in Bolshevo, near Moscow. For the Voskhod missions it was relocated to the control centre of the Ministry of Defence’s General Staff, which had better communications. Colonel Amos Bolshoy headed the Operation Group of the TsUP in Moscow for all manned space missions until 1966, providing continuous contact with seven ground stations known as Ground-Test Polygons (NIP) which formed a chain that stretched across the Soviet Union. They were at Bear’s Lake near Moscow, Kolpashevo, Yeniseysk and Ulan Ude in Siberia, Sarishagan in the south, Petropavlovsk in the Far East and Ussuriysk on the Kamchatka peninsula. At each site, military and civilian engineers analysed the parameters of the spacecraft’s orbit derived from radar tracking, and the conditions of its systems from telemetry received during communications sessions lasting at most 12 minutes. The Operation Group relayed the data to the TsUP and provided continuous contact with Korolev at Baykonur. The NIP sites were part of the Command-Measurement Complex (KIK) operated by the Strategic Rocket Forces.

Due to the complexity of the Soyuz programme and the ambitious plans for lunar missions, the flight control system underwent a major revision in the mid-1960s. The TsUP was moved to NIP-16 near Yevpatoriya on the west coast of the Crimea, which had been responsible for controlling automated interplanetary probes. Known as TsUP-E (‘E’ for Evpatoriya in Russian), it was much more capable than the old TsUP, and it controlled all Soviet manned space missions between 1966 and 1975 – when a new facility was build in Kaliningrad.[36] Some 500 people worked around the clock in three shifts. NIP-16 was the USSR’s largest command-measurement site. It was in radio communication with the other sites, and could receive from or transmit

to spacecraft. It had many very distinctive antennas, some of which were very small, similar to domestic television antennas, while others were extremely large. Some of its antennas looked as if they had been constructed in a hurry, others had a beautiful design even although in some cases their construction had taken only a few months – for example the enormous antenna complex that was built to communicate with the first probes dispatched to the planet Venus.

The TsUP-E was established in a small two-storey building. On the first floor was the communications centre, which had apparatus to register the telemetry from the spacecraft in the form of graphs on long rolls of paper. On the second floor was the control room housing the flight controllers, experts on all flight procedures and the civilian experts on the systems of the spacecraft. They jointly compiled a flight plan to be radioed to the crew specifying what must be done on each orbit. Alongside the control room were representatives of the TsPK, with one of the active cosmonauts serving as the communication operator who spoke to the crew in space, and also the military specialists for the technical segment of NIP-16 and, by radio, its sister sites.

The core of the mission management team was the Chief Operative and Control Group (GOGU). The military part of GOGU was responsible for the operation of all ground stations, including the necessary technical support. In 1966 Major – General Pavel Agadzhanov, a veteran of the tracking network, was appointed as head of the GOGU for Soyuz flights. His Deputy was Colonel Mikhail Pasternak. There was a separate GOGU for the L1 circumlunar missions, with Colonel Nikolay Fadeyev in charge of flight operations. The other members of the GOGU were technical people from the TsKBEM. From 1966 to 1968 the technical director for Soyuz missions was Boris Chertok. In this role he was responsible for all decisions relating to each space mission. Prior to this, he had been responsible for the control of interplanetary probes. In 1969 Yakov Tregub, who had commanded the cosmodrome at Kapustin Yar, took over this role. He was Deputy Chief Designer of Complex No. 7, which managed the testing of systems for spacecraft, the training of cosmonauts and flight control. Another member of the GOGU was Boris Raushenbakh, a department chief and expert in the control and guidance systems of

spacecraft. His team planned the actions needed for rendezvous, docking and un­docking. For Soyuz 10, the key men were therefore Agadzhanov, Tregub, Raushenbakh and Chertok, with cosmonaut Pavel Popovich communicating with the crew.

In contrast to the American mission control facility in Houston, Texas, which had rows of controllers at consoles and large computers to process data in real time, the main control room at TsUP-E was remarkably unimpressive. On the front wall there was a large map of the world displaying the position the spacecraft in its orbit, and a large black-and-white screen on which television transmissions were shown. The members of the operative group sat around a long table and analysed data traced on rolls of paper. To the side were several controllers. After commanding the Apollo 8 mission in December 1968 Frank Borman made a goodwill tour of the world, and in the summer of 1969 he became the first American astronaut to visit the Soviet Union. On a visit to Yevpatoriya he was so surprised by the modest facilities of the TsUP-E that he presumed the real control centre was somewhere else, highly secret, and perhaps hidden underground!

For the early manned space flights, contact was possible only while the spacecraft was over Soviet territory. During ‘silent orbits’, when a spacecraft was crossing the oceans or over other continents, the crew would either rest or perform experiments that did not require communication with the TsUP. However, in order to achieve a landing in the prime recovery zone on Soviet territory it was necessary to perform a succession of critical operations leading up to re-entry while over the Atlantic Ocean. To provide communications with the spacecraft during these operations, and during the planned manned lunar missions, a number of Scientific Exploration Vessels (NIS) of the Soviet Academy of Sciences were included in the space tracking and control system. Although some ships had been equipped in the early days to receive transmissions from the unmanned Vostoks, four ‘modern’ tracking ships were laid down in 1967, starting in June with Kegostrov, which had a displacement of 6,100 tonnes. It was stationed off the coast of Africa in the Gulf of Guinea. Morzhovets and Nevely, which were smaller, operated in the South Atlantic. Borovochi operated elsewhere. In addition, three smaller ships were capable of receiving radio signals from spacecraft: Bezhitsa, Dolinsk and Ristna.

Later in 1967 the first of the second-generation ships was added. At 17,500 tonnes, Cosmonaut Vladimir Komarov was much larger, with a variety of antennas capable of providing all functions of a NIP ground station, including relaying transmissions between a spacecraft and Yevpatoriya – making it a ‘universal’ communications ship. For manned flights it was stationed in the North Atlantic, near Sable Island, off the coast of Nova Scotia. In January 1969 it was the first to congratulate the Soyuz 4/5 crews on accomplishing their external transfer. In October that year it participated in relaying a transmission from a manned spacecraft (Soyuz 8) through a Molniya satellite to enable, for the first time, the TsUP-E to communicate with a crew while not over Soviet territory.[37]

In December 1970 the network was augmented by Academician Sergey Korolev, which was even larger, having a displacement of 21,460 tonnes and a length of 182 metres. It had over 50 antennas, the largest of which was 12 metres in diameter. In March 1971 it relieved Cosmonaut Vladimir Komarov in the North Atlantic, which then concluded its seventh voyage by sailing to Odessa for refurbishment.[38]

Each ship had a TsPK cosmonaut-engineer to communicate with a spacecraft. For example, Yuriy Artyukhin was on board Cosmonaut Vladimir Komarov and Anatoliy Kuklin was on Academician Sergey Korolev. In addition, for the Soyuz 10 mission, there were experts from the TsKBEM familiar with the design of the DOS docking system to provide advice as necessary. A favourable pass lasted 10-12 minutes. As soon as the spacecraft rose above the ship’s horizon, the controllers began to decode its transmissions. The decoded data was transmitted through a

Molniya satellite to the TsUP, where it was analysed by the GOGU, which then drew up the necessary commands for transmission to the spacecraft when it came within range of the next station.

For the 18-day Soyuz 9 mission in June 1970, medical experts from the Institute for Biomedical Problems were admitted to the main control room of the TsUP-Е for the first time. They analysed data from the medical sensors attached to the bodies of Nikolayev and Sevastyanov, and contributed to the organisation of the crew’s time, which was a serious issue on a long-duration flight. The most active periods were while the spacecraft was over Soviet territory, in range of the NIP ground stations. The transmission of data was at its highest rate during such passes. In addition, the crew could submit reports on their observations, comment on specific events and ask questions. Once beyond Soviet territory, they resumed working independently of Earth. By breaking the familiar sleep pattern of the cosmonauts, this organisation upset their circadian rhythm. A major challenge was to ensure that the crew of the first space station were able to work effectively throughout their month-long flight.

In essence, the Salyut space station was a series of cylinders with small, medium, and large diameters. It had a total length of 13.6 metres, a maximum diameter of 4.15 metres and a mass of 18.6 tonnes. It comprised four sections. At the front was the transfer compartment. This was the smallest habitable section. It was 3 metres in length, just over 2 metres in diameter and had a volume of 8.1 cubic metres. It contained the life support and thermo-regulation systems. It also contained the No. 5 control panel for the Orion ultraviolet telescope. On the outside of this section were various masts and antennas, and a pair of solar panels which were identical to those on the Soyuz. The docking cone was on the axis at the front of this section. The hatch on the inward side of the docking system was one of three hatches in the compartment. There was a second axial hatch to provide access to the work compartment, and also a hatch on the outer wall with diameter of 80 cm to facilitate spacewalking, but there were no plans to go outside – indeed DOS-1 carried no EVA suits.

To enter the station, the cosmonauts had first to clear the docking system from the tunnel and then open the hatch to pass through the transfer compartment to the work compartment beyond. This was the largest component of the station and was in two sections. The smaller section (known as the first work compartment) was connected to the transfer compartment via a conical section 1.2 metres long. It was cylindrical, 2.9 metres in diameter and 3.8 metres long. It contained the central control panel, which incorporated a computer – the first on a Soviet manned spacecraft. Facing the panel were seats for two cosmonauts – the commander on the left (as viewed from the rear) and the flight engineer to his right. It was one of seven workstations for controlling Salyut’s systems and experiments. The No. 1 station was to control the life support and thermo-regulation systems, and to control the automatic orientation and navigation of the station, but it also included a periscope for manual orientation. From there, actually, the commander could control and fly the station using displays and control handles similar to those of the Soyuz. The central panel consisted of the main control panel and command and signal devices. It provided information on the station’s position over the Earth’s surface, the number of the current orbit, the times at which the station would enter and exit the Earth’s shadow and the periods during which it would be able to establish communication with the TsUP.

The system for orientation and control consisted of the following apparatus:

• ion sensors to measure the orientation of the station relative to its velocity vector;

• infrared sensors to determine the local vertical;

• Sun sensors;

• sensors for the angular speed during the rotation of the station;

• gyroscopes for measuring the angle of the station in three axes;

• an integrator for longitudinal accelerations;

• a stabilisation system;

• a control system for the orientation engines; and

• radio-location rendezvous apparatus.

While firing the manoeuvring engine, small orientation engines would hold the station stable. The system for manual control allowed the crew to align the station towards the Earth, the Moon, the Sun or the stars. While in stellar orientation, they would use a globe marked with the constellations and all stars brighter than the fifth magnitude.

The life support system controlled the gas mixture, eliminated strong smells and filtered out dust. In terms of millimetres of mercury, the pressure was maintained at 760 to 960, the oxygen concentration was 160 to 280, and carbon dioxide was never allowed to exceed 9. The air was cycled through a regenerator which contained an active chemical substance that removed carbon dioxide. Another unit topped up the oxygen. Water vapour was removed by a condensation trap. Special filters absorbed unwanted chemicals released by the materials on the station, the experiments and the crew. The equipment for the air regeneration system was to the left of the No. 1 control station.

The No. 2 station was for manual orientation and navigation. It included the control handles for the orientation of the station, a periscope and a means of stabilising the cosmonaut at his work position. Next was the No. 6 station, which included the flight engineer’s seat. To the right, on the side of the compartment, was the No. 7 control panel to operate the scientific apparatus installed externally to analyse the environment around the station.

Aft of the central panel of the No. 1 station was the table for preparing and eating meals. Each cosmonaut had four meals per day, consisting of breakfast, morning tea, the main meal (lunch) and dinner. For the main meal, each cosmonaut had one item (soup or coffee) warmed on a small heater beside the table. They could choose on a daily basis between three types of ration for each of the four meals. For example, ration No. 1 had the following products:

• The 1st breakfast (705-756 calories) о Sausages

о Borodin bread о Chocolate о Coffee with the milk

• The 2nd breakfast (600-700 calories) o Russian cheese

o Rizhskiy bread o Cookies

• Lunch (798-928 calories)

o Green shchi (a type of soup with mixed vegetables) o Chicken meat o Bread

o Plum jam with nuts o Blackcurrant juice

• Dinner (593-745 calories) o Caspian roach

o Puree o Bread o Honey cake.

The water tanks were located nearby the table and at the aft end of the working compartment. Each man was allowed 2 litres of water per day, but actually they did not use more than 1.2 litres. As on Soyuz 9, silver ions had been added to the water tank prior to launch to keep the water fresh.

Usually, the cosmonauts spent their spare time in this first working compartment, where they had a tape recorder with a selection of pre-recorded music cassettes, a small library and a sketchpad.

Externally, the larger section was 2.7 metres in length and 4.15 metres in diameter. It was joined to the smaller compartment by a short conical adapter. There was no internal distinction, however; the compartment was a single room with total length of 7.7 metres and a volume of 74 cubic metres. Including the transfer compartment, the total habitable volume of the station was 82 cubic metres. The central part of the larger working compartment was occupied by the main scientific equipment (ONA), which took the form of a large white conical unit that rose from the floor almost to the ceiling. It included the OST-1 orbital solar telescope, the RT-2 X-ray telescope, the ITS-K infrared telescope and spectrometer, the OD-4 optical viewer that had a magnification of 60, the FEK-7A photo-emulsion chamber, photographic apparatus and various other apparatus. On the walls around it were three portholes. The No. 3 station to control the scientific apparatus was adjacent to the ONA and included a viewing port. Unfortunately, the protective cover had failed to release when Salyut achieved orbit, and therefore these scientific instruments were unusable. The second control panel of this compartment was the No. 4 station, which was mounted on the adapter between the two sections of the working compartment. It was to control the main medical research equipment, and comprised scientific experiments, a viewing port and a chair.

In the upper corner to one side of the ONA sleeping bags were slung from hooks, but if they preferred the cosmonauts could sleep in the Soyuz orbital module or in the transfer compartment. On the opposite side and in front of the ONA there were exercise devices, including the KTF treadmill, an exercise bike and chest expanders. The crew had special ‘penguin’ suits designed to stimulate the muscles that would otherwise decay in weightlessness. The Polynom medical apparatus was for general monitoring of the crew’s health. A small medical kit, identical to that carried on the Soyuz, provided pain relief, heart stimulation, relief of gastric problems, antiseptics, bacteriostatics and sleeping and stress relief tablets.[66] In fact, during the entire flight there were very few cases when the cosmonauts required medication.

At the aft end of the compartment, behind the ONA and separated from the rest of the working area, was the sanitary and hygienic unit. It had its own ventilators and its surface was a washable material. An airflow drew urine into a collector, where it was separated into its fluid and gaseous components. Solid waste was stored in hermetic tanks. Also at the aft of the compartment were the fridges containing food.

To assist the cosmonauts orientate themselves, the work compartment was painted in different colours – the front and rear were light grey, one wall was green, the other was light yellow and the floor was dark grey.

The cosmonauts had a collection of underwear and sports T-shirts. For cleansing their faces, hands and bodies following experiments, maintenance work or physical exercise they used wet and dry tissues and special towels made of bacteriological materials. From time to time, they were to clean the station using a vacuum cleaner.

Detachable panels on the walls and the floor covered support apparatus, electrical cabling, equipment for operating the station, monitoring the composition of the air, thermo-regulation, radio-links and the main command lines. The cosmonauts could open every panel and check the apparatus mounted on the compartment’s structural frames. Hand rails on the walls and floor allowed easy movement in weightlessness. The walls held lockers of food, equipment, documentation, packed clothes, books, hygiene supplies and miscellaneous spare parts for repairs.

The thermo-regulation system had two major elements, one to cool the station and the other to warm it, each with an internal and an external loop. The fluid was based on antifreeze. The external loop ran through radiators with a total area of 21 square metres installed on the surface of the main compartment. The system maintained the air temperature between 15°C and 25°C, the humidity between 20 and 80 per cent, and the maximum airflow at 0.8 metres per second. The temperature and the airflow could be controlled from the central control panel.

An unpressurised section extended the line of the main compartment 1.4 metres to the rear. This was the only section which was inaccessible to the crew. It housed the

An inside view of the Salyut space station showing the main control panel, the seats for commander (left) and flight engineer, and the open hatch leading to the transfer compartment.

KTDU-66 propulsion system comprising a main and a backup rocket engine. It was based on that of the Soyuz, but had larger tanks containing 1,490 kg of propellant (UDMH fuel and nitric acid oxidiser) for a total burn time of 1,000 seconds. At the rear was a smaller cylinder 1.8 metres in length with a diameter of 2.17 metres that housed 32 small orientation engines and had a second pair of solar panels installed on its exterior. Each of the solar panels had an area of 7 square metres, for a total of 28 square metres. In ideal conditions, they had a total output of 2 kW. Because the panels were carried in a fixed orientation on the side of the station, it was necessary to align the station to maximise the illumination of the panels. However, 40 per cent of each orbital period was spent in the Earth’s shadow, and at such times cadmium

accumulator batteries supplied direct (dc) and alternating (ac) electrical currents. A static voltage stabilisation system limited the variation in the voltage to 1.5 per cent. In the docked configuration, the solar panels of the Soyuz spacecraft fed electricity to the station.

In addition to two-way voice and telegraph links, the radio system fed telemetric data to the TsUP. The antennas were on the exterior of the main compartment. The cosmonauts had helmets incorporating headsets. Salyut had four TV cameras: two inside and two outside. One of the inside cameras was static and viewed the area of the central control panel of the working compartment. The other could be set up to record activities anywhere in the station. At launch, one of the outside cameras had documented the separation of the station from the third stage of its Proton rocket. The other had shown the rendezvous and docking operations. The cosmonauts also used them in orienting the station.

Specific references

1. Davidov, I. V., Triumph and Tragedies of Soviet Cosmonautics. Globus, Moscow, 2000, Chapter “Полет продожается” (Flight Continues) (in Russian).

2. Kamanin, N. P., Hidden Space, Book 4. Novosti kosmonavtiki, 2001, pp. 316­317 (in Russian).

3. Chertok, B. Y., Rockets and People – The Moon Race, Book 4. Mashinostrenie, Moscow, 2002, pp. 316-320 (in Russian).

4. Vasilev, M. P., Salyut on Orbit. Mashinostroenie, Moscow, 1973, pp. 38-42 (in Russian).

5. Clark, Phillip, The Soviet Manned Space Programme. Salamander Books, London, 1988, pp. 56-60.

EARLY DAYS

Special Design Bureau 1, OKB-1,[3] is situated some 25 km northeast of the centre of Moscow in Podlipok, Kaliningrad (renamed Korolev in 1997), and it played a key role in the Soviet manned space programme: it designed the first satellites, the first lunar and interplanetary probes, and the Vostok spacecraft that carried the first man into orbit. In the years that followed those early achievements, it defined the major strands of the manned space programme.

The leader of OKB-1, and the main driving force of Soviet cosmonautics, was the legendary Chief Designer Sergey Pavlovich Korolev. After Korolev’s death during what had been expected to be routine surgery in January 1966, he was succeeded by his deputy Vasiliy Pavlovich Mishin, a rocket engineer who had worked closely with Korolev since 1945. Mishin promptly reorganised the work force of more than 60,000 employees, and on 6 March 1966, at the direction of the Ministry of General Machine Building (MOM), and no doubt in an effort to confuse spies, OKB-1 was renamed the Central Design Bureau of Experimental Machine Building (TsKBEM).

Mishin inherited from Korolev the task of completing the development of the new manned spacecraft named Soyuz (‘Союз’, meaning ‘Union’), and using this for the L1 programme in which two cosmonauts were to fly in a very high orbit that looped around the far side of the Moon before returning to Earth. But for Mishin the most important task was the development of the giant N1 rocket for the L3 programme to land a Soviet cosmonaut on the lunar surface.

The development of the Soyuz proved to be more difficult than expected, with a series of unmanned test flights revealing a variety of problems, but in April 1967 it was decided to proceed with the first manned test in which one spacecraft would be launched into orbit with a single cosmonaut and a second spacecraft with a

Early days 3

The founder of the Soviet space programme, Sergey Korolev (left) and his successor Vasiliy Mishin, who was Chief Designer of the TsKBEM from 1966 to 1974.

The Soyuz spacecraft was the workhorse of the Soviet manned space programme. On the left is the orbital module with the active docking probe, then the descent module with the crew cabin, and finally the propulsion module containing the main engine and solar panels.

crew of three would follow the next day. The two spacecraft were to rendezvous and dock, and two of the cosmonauts were to cross from one vehicle to the other by spacewalking. However, Soyuz 1, flown by Vladimir Komarov, ran into difficulties immediately on entering orbit. First, one of two solar panels failed to deploy and this resulted in problems with the star sensor, which made it difficult for the vehicle to maintain the desired orientation in space. The State Commission at the Baykonur cosmodrome in Kazakhstan cancelled the launch of Soyuz 2. After overcoming numerous technical problems, Komarov finally succeeded in orientating his craft and made the de-orbit burn. Unfortunately, the parachute failed to deploy and the descent module hit the ground at great speed and Komarov perished.

When flights were resumed in October 1968, Soyuz 2 was launched unmanned. Georgiy Beregovoy, launched the next day in Soyuz 3, performed a rendezvous, but could not achieve a docking.

When two manned Soyuz spacecraft were finally able to dock in January 1969, Yevgeniy Khrunov and Aleksey Yeliseyev performed a spacewalk to transfer from Soyuz 5 to Soyuz 4, then returned to Earth with Vladimir Shatalov. When Boris Volynov attempted to land in Soyuz 5 the next day, the propulsion module failed to

Chelomey and the Kremlin 5

separate from the descent module, causing the vehicle to start its re-entry with the hatch – as opposed to the heat shield – facing in the direction of flight. Fortunately, the connections between two modules were severed by the heat before the descent module suffered damage, and the capsule rotated into the safe orientation. However, the off-nominal re-entry caused the capsule to descend 600 km from the planned recovery point and the impact was so violent that Volynov suffered several broken front teeth.

The docking of two manned spacecraft was one of the rare Soviet achievements during the race to the Moon. But the success of Apollo 8 in performing 10 orbits around the Moon in December 1968 had rendered politically pointless the simpler circumlunar mission for which the L1 version of Korolev’s spacecraft had been designed.

When Apollo 11 landed on the Moon in July 1969, the Americans won the race to the Moon, and the mood of the Kremlin was further diminished by two failures of the N1 rocket. In an attempt to once again impress the Soviet nation, and indeed the world, it was decided that the next mission should included three manned spacecraft with a total of seven cosmonauts.

Accordingly on successive days in October 1969 Georgiy Shonin and Valeriy Kubasov were launched on Soyuz 6, Anatoliy Filipchenko, Vladislav Volkov and Viktor Gorbatko were launched on Soyuz 7, and Vladimir Shatalov and Aleksey Yeliseyev – both of whom were veterans from the successful Soyuz 4/5 docking – were launched on Soyuz 8. Once all three spacecraft had rendezvoused in space, the crew of Soyuz 6 were to film Soyuz 8 docking with Soyuz 7. This time, however, it was not intended that any cosmonauts should make a spacewalk. Unfortunately, the Igla automatic rendezvous system onboard Soyuz 8 malfunctioned, and despite four manual attempts Shatalov was unable to complete the approach. Pursuing their own programme, Shonin and Kubasov performed the first vacuum-welding operation in space, then returned to Earth, followed in turn by Soyuz 7 and 8 over the next two days. As much as the Kremlin and TASS, the official news agency, had portrayed this ‘group flight’ as another achievement of Soviet cosmonautics, Mishin and his engineers were disappointed.

Mishin’s dilemma was that because the Soyuz was to be a ‘universal’ spacecraft, delays in perfecting it were holding up the programmes that were to exploit it, some of which, including the N1-L3 lunar landing programme, were already years behind schedule.

On the morning of their second day in space, the Soyuz 10 crew performed systems tests in preparation for the final manoeuvre, which was achieved as planned. When their trajectory brought them within 16 km of Salyut the Igla automatic rendezvous system was activated. When the radar had locked onto the station’s transponder the Igla began to steer Soyuz 10 towards its target, with the crew as mere spectators.

Just before midnight on 24 April the control room at the TsUP-Е was so crowded that late arrivals had to stand. The GOGU members were seated, as was Popovich at the communications system, but squeezed in around the table, some seated but most standing, were the TsKBEM managers, representatives of the other design bureaus involved in the mission, generals, politicians and members of the State Commission. One of the most anxious was Armen Mnatsakanyan, the Chief Designer of the Igla. This had failed when Soyuz 8 had attempted to rendezvous with Soyuz 7 in October 1969. He had been criticised by the Kremlin, but not punished.

The final phase of the rendezvous had been timed to occur over the Soviet Union, in order to have ‘live’ communications, but the loudest voices in the control room were those of Mishin and General Kerimov, demanding explanations of events from the members of the GOGU, including wishing to know what would be done if the Igla were to fail!

‘‘Approaching; Soyuz is two seconds in front of the Salyut!’’

‘‘Why do you give us seconds? Give kilometres!”

‘‘Granite reports radio lock-on achieved. Igla works!’’

General Agadzhanov, the head of the GOGU team, lost concentration and shouted into the microphone: ‘‘We understood you – the distance is 10 kilometres. Do not interfere!’’ In fact, only the first part was intended for the cosmonauts; his directive not to interfere was directed at Mishin and Kerimov, whose interminable calls for explanations were interfering with the work of the controllers, but

Agadzhanov still had the microphone keyed when he spoke these words. The cosmonauts, having no idea of the state of the control room, expressed surprise: “We only reported on the progress of our approach, according to the indicators on the command panel.”

One of controllers complained, saying that it would be a miracle if he survived the morning without suffering a heart attack.

General Kerimov, ignoring Agadzhanov’s direction, again demanded information. Struggling to remain calm, Agadzhanov offered an apology to the crew: “Igla works, understood! This is to Granite. Distance 11 kilometres. The rest was to our guests!’’ On hearing of the increased range, Mishin exclaimed: “How! Firstly 10, now 11? Who is guilty?’’

Ignoring Mishin’s question, Agazdhanov spoke a series of sentences, some to the crew and others to inform the people in the control room: “The DOS engine started! Granite reports about the work of its engine. The programme for the 81st orbit has been executed. The DOS engine worked for 60 seconds. I’m No. 12: Granite, on the 82nd orbit we await from you the most important reports about the operation of the Igla and the automatic approach.’’

“Why do you speak so much?’’ demanded Mishin angrily.

Somebody attempted to calm Mishin by explaining that Agadzhanov was at the same time communicating with the cosmonauts and serving as commentator for the audience.

“Engine works 20 seconds; 25 seconds; 30 seconds; 35 seconds; 40 seconds; 45 seconds.’’

“Why don’t they turn it off themselves?’’

“The approach speed is 8 metres per second; steady radio lock-on.’’

“We see a bright point. Distance 15 kilometres, speed 24.’’

“Please! Silence in the room!’’

“Who will explain to me why they were at 11 kilometres and now the distance is 15? Chertok, Mnatsakanyan, Raushenbakh – why do you sit and do nothing?’’ “Igla is working,’’ Mnatsakanyan told Mishin.

“This is a mad house! Only Igla does not go mad,’’ said Raushenbakh quietly. Fortunately, the chaos in the control room was not matched in space. Soyuz 10 continued its automatic approach without any glitches.

“Distance 11, speed 26.5,’’ reported the crew.

“Distance 8, speed 27.5; distance 6, speed 27. DPO light. Starting to turn.’’

At this point Mishin exclaimed: “It can’t approach at that speed! Why do you do nothing? Tell the crew what to do!’’

Knowing that the rate of closure was according to plan, Raushenbakh explained to Mishin: “It isn’t necessary to intervene, it will brake now.’’

The spacecraft had turned and started its braking sequence. The crew continued to report the closure parameters.

“Distance 4, speed 11. We can see the target against the background of the Earth – its flashing navigation lights. Distance 2.5, speed 8.’’

The medical telemetry showed that the heart rates of Shatalov and Yeliseyev were 100 beats per minute; Rukavishnikov, less active, was only 90 beats per minute.

At 1,600 metres from Salyut the speed was 8 metres per second. At 1,200 metres it had slowed to 4 metres per second. At a distance of about 1,000 metres, the crew could see the station in the optical periscope.

With the approach going smoothly, the mood in the control room improved.

“Distance 800, speed 4.”

A few seconds later: “I see the target well and distinctly.”

At this point the spacecraft passed out of range of the last station in the chain that stretched across Soviet territory, leaving the people in the control room in a state of apoplexy during the 30-minute wait for the next communications opportunity.

Mishin demanded an explanation from Raushenbakh for why the docking had not occurred while over Soviet territory. Instead of answering, Raushenbakh noted that Soyuz 10 had consumed 80 kg of fuel in making the approach – almost twice the amount planned! When no one appeared to appreciate the implication, Raush – enbakh pointed out that if Shatalov failed to dock at the first attempt, the fact that 45 kg of fuel would be required for the descent meant that there would be insufficient to set up a second approach, and the crew would have to prepare for an immediate return to Earth.

Meanwhile, the Igla continued to steer Soyuz 10 towards its target. At 500 metres the approach speed was just 2 metres per second. Never before had any spacecraft approached such a large vehicle in space.

Shatalov recalls: “All the dynamic operations of the ship were conducted without any problems. The only issue appeared at the time that the Igla took control of the approach: the ship would oscillate from side to side periodically, requiring the firing of the correction engines. At a distance of 150 metres I took manual control. It was simpler than on the Soyuz 4 mission. The station grew bigger and bigger – in space, it appeared to be much larger than it had on the ground! When we were very close, Aleksey and Nikolay carefully inspected its docking mechanism, antennas and solar panels.”

The final approach was at about 30 cm per second. When the probe on the front of the Soyuz came into contact with the conical drogue of Salyut, the cosmonauts saw the Mechanical Connection indication on their instrument panel. The docking process was automatic, and the crew had only to monitor their instruments as the spacecraft slowly advanced in order to drive the head of its probe all the way into the drogue. There were some vehicle motions, and a scraping noise as the probe slide across the drogue. The probe engaged the mechanism at the apex of the drogue, and began to retract to draw together the two annular collars in order to establish a hermetic seal. The cosmonauts awaited the signal that would indicate that the retraction process was complete. Instead, a warning signal came on to indicate that the mechanism had stalled. How could this be? What had happened?

When Soyuz 10 flew into the next communication zone, Shatalov heard an eager call from Earth, and reported: “I am Granite, I hear you well! At 4 hours 47 minutes we made a manual approach. Contact and mechanical capture passed. The retraction began. But in the 9th minute the SSVP stopped. Retraction not completed. Docking not achieved. We don’t understand why. Look at the telemetry. Let us know what to do.’’

Everyone in the control room turned in silent expectation to the people who had designed the docking system. Pale faced, Vsevolod Zhivoglotov, a member of that team, explained that the active probe had touched the cone of the drogue according to plan. The length of the probe was 390 mm in its fully extended state. It started to retract, but when the length was down to 90 mm the mechanism was automatically commanded to halt. To the amazement of all concerned he explained eight things that could have gone wrong, including the possibility that one of the lateral levers of the probe had broken off – and he said that a pronounced swinging action just after capture strongly suggested that this had occurred.

Mishin exploded: “Why swinging? What are the dynamics? Raushenbakh! Why were there fluctuations?”

Cosmonaut Popovich, who had continued to talk with the crew, told Chertok that Yeliseyev had just reported that during the retraction process the orientation engines had been firing, causing a strong motion of the ship. For Chertok this was sufficient to indicate what had happened: “It is most probable that the mechanical breakdown occurred because of the large transverse oscillations – we didn’t turn off the control system!” As the probe penetrated the drogue, the spacecraft had been deflected and the control system had tried to eliminate the angular deflections. However, the ship was no longer free to manoeuvre, and instead of rotating about its centre of mass, as the control system expected, it swung on the end of the probe and this broke part of the mechanism. In conclusion: “To continue the docking attempt will be futile. We must make a decision about the undocking.’’

As Shatalov recalled of these dramatic moments: “Just after the capture, the ship swung to the right by 30 degrees, and then to the left. The period of oscillation was seven seconds. We were concerned that we might lose the docking mechanism. We didn’t know why this was occurring during the retraction operation. We approached the station with almost no difference between the axes of the ship and the station, so such motions ought not to have happened.’’ The continuous firing of the orientation engines consumed a lot of fuel. “Before docking, the pressure in the tanks was 220 atmospheres, and it was only 140 when the operation automatically terminated. It is unbelievable how much fuel was consumed during this period.”

Soyuz 10 was connected to Salyut only by small latches gripping the head of the probe. The disappointed crew were told to do nothing until the next communication session. Meanwhile, the engineers at the TsUP assessed the situation. The next time that the orbital complex appeared over Soviet territory Rukavishnikov was asked to enter the orbital module and check the electrical contacts of the docking mechanism to ensure that the retraction had not been halted by a faulty signal – since if that was the case the docking probe might not have been damaged at all, and the retraction should be able to be resumed. Rukavishnikov was fully familiar with the system. He removed a cover to access the electronics of the docking system, and confirmed that all of the connectors were as they should be. That was the last hope.

EARLY DAYS

The first few days on Salyut were reserved for reconfiguring the station’s systems, checking the equipment, starting the scientific investigations, and allowing the crew time to adapt to their new environment. Salyut was considerably more complex than any previous manned spacecraft, with more than 1,300 individual instruments and in excess of 1,200 kg of scientific apparatus.

The Soviet press, television and radio reported enthusiastically this latest success of the manned space programme – the official line was that the Soviet Union had never participated in a race to beat the Americans to the Moon, it was concentrating on space stations to conduct scientific research and benefit the national economy, at which it clearly led the way.

MEDICINE ON SALYUT Day 3: Tuesday, 8 June

The second day for the cosmonauts on Salyut started at 1 a. m. on 8 June, when the station entered the Soviet communication zone. After breakfast, they checked the life support systems and made a start on preparations for the scientific programme. At 11.02 a. m., the cosmonauts initiated a manoeuvre to raise the orbit to 239 x 265 km with a period 89 minutes. With Salyut’s systems confirmed to be in good order the Soyuz was powered down, since its interior would be ventilated by the station’s life support system. In operating the complex station for the first time, the cosmonauts made several mistakes. For example, because they forgot to disable the docking regime, they had a problem when they first attempted to reorientate the station.

Daily life on board Salyut involved six major activities:

• the flight programme;

• morning hygiene and toilet;

• physical exercise;

• four meals;

• individual rest time; and

• an 8-hour sleep.

The flight programme included the control and maintenance of the station and its systems, the scientific equipment and investigations (the schedule included almost 140 specific experiments), radio communications and TV broadcasts, photographic sessions, and other tasks for flight operations. Exercise was of crucial importance in weightlessness. In addition to 2 hours per day exercising on the treadmill and with a chest expander, each man was to spend 30 minutes light ‘walking’ on the treadmill prior to retiring. Many lessons had been learned from the 18-day flight of Soyuz 9 in 1970, and the complex for physical training (KTF) was more substantial than the one available on that mission. The gravitational load imparted by the KTF on Salyut during physical exercise was 50 kg. On ‘sports’ days, each man had three exercise sessions in a 24-hour period: two of 75 minutes and one of 30 minutes. The flight plan allowed each man 2 to 2.5 hours per day of leisure time, which he could spend as he wished: resting, reading a book, observing the Earth, taking photographs or preparing for a forthcoming experiment. Every seventh day was a ‘weekend’ for the entire crew. The three men were to follow a phased sleep pattern in order that there would always be at least one man on duty, and at least one resting.

Day 4: Wednesday, 9 June

From 3 p. m. on 8 June to 1 a. m. on 9 June Salyut was out of the communication zone. After their morning toilet and breakfast, for the first time the crew exchanged their flight suits for the ones named ‘Athlete’ but irreverently known as ‘penguin’ suits.1 These suits were designed to impart loads on certain muscles to simulate the forces experienced in everyday life on Earth, in the hope that this would minimise the deterioration of muscles and bones during a long period of weightlessness.[67] [68] The cosmonauts used part of a communication session to demonstrate the suits, and to thank the designers. A system of supports and elasticated straps were attached to the wearer, as it were, by rigid soles and shoulder straps. The plan called for each man to wear his suit only for 40 to 60 minutes, 3 to 6 times per day, while working. They initially had some difficulty in moving their arms and legs while compressed by the elastic, but soon found the suits to be so comfortable that they asked to wear them all day, and later became so used to them that they slept in them as well.

On this day the cosmonauts also began to use the treadmill, but when it was noted that the vibrations which were transmitted through the station’s structure caused the solar panels and antennas to ‘flap’ with an amplitude at their tips of about 5 cm they were asked to use the treadmill only for short periods.

They started the scientific work by measuring the radiation level inside the station and the flux of micrometeoroids in space around the station. In addition, they tested the wide-angle periscope provided to enable Salyut to be precisely aligned relative to the Sun and the planets. At 10.06 a. m., Dobrovolskiy and Patsayev fired Salyut’s engine again to raise the orbit to 259 x 282 km. Although the atmosphere at orbital altitude is rarefied, it can impart a significant drag force that progressively reduces a satellite’s orbit, finally causing it to burn up. As the drag was greatest at the lowest point of the orbit, the manoeuvres were designed to raise this altitude. Reducing the rate at which the orbit decayed would extend the interval before another manoeuvre was required.[69] Although the initial engine firings were costly in terms of propellant consumption, in the long term this strategy made sense.

8.29 a. m.

Dobrovolskiy: “Last night I adjusted the orientation prior to stabilising the station; it is easy to control the spacecraft, it responds very well.’’

Volkov: “I’m doing a rotation according to the programme. The engines are firing smoothly. Viewing through the porthole by the right-hand command post, I can see the red-hot jets. I’m controlling the orientation; the jets are working and everything goes well.’’

10 a. m.

Volkov: “The engine is switched off. I’m tracking the time.’’

Zarya: “We understand.’’

Volkov: “A slight vibration. The machine vibrates.’’

Dobrovolskiy: “The engine was fired for 73 seconds. The integrator was switched off.’’

Patsayev: “The engine’s parameters are normal.’’

Zarya to Dobrovolskiy: “We understand, Yantar 1. Telemetry confirms that the engine fired for 73 seconds.’’

11.44 a. m.

Zarya: “In answer to your question about the ‘penguin’. The metal tail should be above your knee. You can regulate its height with the hidden cord in the lower part of your knee. To eliminate unpleasant feelings caused by the tail, move it parallel to the leg.’’

Volkov: ‘‘Yantar 1 is now feeling excellent in his ‘penguin’ suit.’’

In his notebook that day, Patsayev wrote up his first astrophysical observations, and made some suggestions for how to improve the design of future stations.

From Patsayev notebook:

The stars are almost invisible on the daylight portion of the orbit, even when observing through the porthole on the side facing away from the Sun. Only

Sirius and Vega can be seen. After sunset, the stars do not twinkle until their

line of sight is close to the Earth’s horizon.

Remark No. 1 – Add a protective cover for the button on the control handle.

Remark No. 2 – Modify the hermetic seal of the rubbish bags.

At 3 p. m. on 9 June, on the 38th orbit with the crew on board, the station left the communication zone.

Day 5: Thursday, 10 June

One of the primary tasks for this first crew was to determine the degree to which the human body (and indeed other organisms) were influenced by long-term exposure to weightlessness.

The crew were to have a detailed medical checkup every five days. This involved taking blood samples and electrocardiograms, and checking the composition of their bone tissue, in particular of their shins. The procedure was more sophisticated than on previous flights. For instance, whereas only the rate of breathing had previously been measured, now this was augmented by measurements of the volume and speed of inhalation and exhalation, and the overall lung capacity. In addition, the arterial blood pressure and the speed of pulsation waves through the arteries were measured by two separate methods. On Day 5 Patsayev took blood samples of all three men for the first time. He was to repeat this several times during the flight. Placed on the surface of filters, the samples were stored at reduced humidity in hermetic probes. After Soyuz 11’s return to Earth, doctors determined how the levels of sugar, urine and cholesterol varied in each man’s blood during the mission. The sugar level was normal in the blood samples taken during the first and third weeks, but increased in the fourth week just before the cosmonauts left the station. There was an increase in the level of urine in the blood of all three men owing to the manner in which their kidneys adapted to weightlessness. There was no detectable change in the level of cholesterol.

One of the most significant hazards of long-term exposure to weightlessness is the leaching of calcium from bones into the bloodstream, with possible implications for the kidneys. A special instrument was designed to investigate changes in the bones of the cosmonauts. Each day, every crewmember would place a medical belt around his chest. Before doing so, he would smear cream on his skin in order to minimise irritations. The belts had electrodes for vital body functions. During communication sessions with the station, the doctors at the TsUP would receive electrocardiograms, seismo-cardiograms and pneumograms (i. e. breathing activity) in order to monitor the cardiovascular systems of the cosmonauts. In addition, there was the Polynom apparatus to monitor their physiological activity. This could measure 25 different parameters, but only five at any given moment, and it involved two men: one as the test subject and the second to make the measurements, which were recorded for later transmission to Earth. Although more sophisticated than the belts, this apparatus was used only infrequently.

The results of the biomedical tests provided important information on the general health of the three men during their exposure to weightlessness. Dobrovolskiy and Patsayev both had increased hearts rates, increased arterial pressure and an increase in the blood’s exchange rate. In contrast, the cardiovascular system of Volkov, the veteran, was more stable.

0.51 a. m.

“Good morning,’’ called Zarya.

Dobrovolskiy: “Good morning. I report that everything is all right. Yantar 2 just finished exercising on the treadmill. Yantar 3 is resting. During the period between 16.00 and 18.30, ventilation fan No. 7 was buzzing. Obviously something has been drawn into it. We opened the panel. … Just after 18.30, the buzzing ceased. Can we switch to the second ventilator?”

Zarya: “We understand. Do that. During physical exercise please do the following experiment. During the running period on the treadmill, someone should enter the descent module and look through the portholes to observe the vibration of the solar panels. Monitor the period and amplitudes of any vibrations.’’

One innovative piece of apparatus on Salyut was the ‘Veter’ (‘Wind’).[70] With the ‘penguin’ suits, it was to help the cosmonauts to overcome the long-term effects of weightlessness. The ‘waist’ was fastened to the wall by several supporting struts, and the leggings were rubberised. Once a cosmonaut had hermetically sealed his lower body into the apparatus, a pump extracted some of the air from the leggings. The function of this lower-body negative-pressure apparatus (ODNT) was to draw blood into the lower part of the body, just as if the cosmonaut were stood upright on Earth. In weightlessness the feet do not require so much blood, and therefore the cardiovascular system rapidly adapts by transferring 1.5 litres of blood to the upper body – in particular to the chest and head, which is why on their first days in space the cosmonauts felt ‘swollen headed’. Over time, most of this excess is removed by

increased urination. The cardiovascular system is greatly stressed on returning to Earth. The reduced amount of blood that is circulating in the upper part of the body drains to the feet, imposing a considerable pressure on the vessels. While in space, the cardiovascular system loses the compensatory function. The doctors call this an ‘imbalance’. When a cosmonaut stands up after returning to Earth, his weakened cardiovascular system is unable to supply blood to his head, the brain is temporarily starved and there is a risk of fainting. This is called ‘orthostatic intolerance’. The air pressure in the ODNT was reduced gradually to ‘train’ the cardiovascular system to adapt to a state approximating that of gravity on Earth. The ‘vacuum’ test had two stages: in the first stage the pressure was reduced to -27 mm of mercury for two minutes and then to -36 mm for three minutes; for a total of five minutes. At the cosmonauts’ initiative, the second stage could be extended to -70 mm. Using the ODNT involved two men, one as the subject and the other to operate the apparatus. The ‘vacuum’ condition was reported to be a pleasant sensation.[71] After each session, the test subject was required to have the parameters of his cardiovascular system measured.

03.54 a. m.

Zarya: ‘‘Yantars, today is a medical day, so do not take off your belts.’’

Dobrovolskiy: ‘‘Periodically, I will switch it on.’’

From Volkov’s diary:

10 June. Exercise on a treadmill and with a chest expander. Toilet. I brushed my teeth with real toothpaste. Again, something dropped into the ventilator. This time it was a food bag. When I removed the medical belt there were no red spots on my skin.

Viktor is sleeping in the transfer compartment. His arms are outside the sleeping bag, and float strangely in the air. Zhora is at his position – the left seat of the main control post. He has used the new cream under his medical belt.

I shaved, but not too much – I’ve decided to grow my beard.

From Patsayev’s notebook:

I continued with daily shaving. The razor is specially designed with a setting to collect the hair, but it is not close enough and the hairs fly away.

On 10 June, the cosmonauts began daily participation in TV shows. Wearing their ‘penguin’ suits, they talked about themselves, reported their activities and showed some details of their home in space. During one Cosmovision telecast,[72] Volkov said of Salyut’s dimensions: ‘‘It’s so big that it takes some time to swim from one end to the other.’’

From Patsayev’s notebook:

We had the first television broadcast. They asked the commander about our work on board the station, and all of us about our first impressions of being in space. It is nice to study geography, astronomy and physics in space with my colleagues. Virtually entire continents, seas, and islands are visible. For example, it is easy to recognise Australia, Crimea and the Mediterranean. In 90 minutes you get a trip around the world!

At 2.40 p. m. the station left the communication zone, and drew to a close the fifth day.

Mishin’s TsKBEM was not the only design bureau in the USSR involved in the development of manned spacecraft. In Moscow’s eastern suburb of Reutov, 30 km south of Kaliningrad, was the headquarters of OKB-52, which in 1966 changed its name to the Central Design Bureau of Machine Building (TsKBM). It was led by Vladimir Nikolayevich Chelomey. Although there was only one letter different in the titles of the two bureaus, namely the ‘E’, Chelomey, having a staff of only 8,000

employees, had much more modest capabilities. However, because Chelomey had good relations with the military, having developed a number of cruise missiles, and because one of his engineers was the son of Nikitha Khrushchov, in the early 1960s his bureau was the main competitor to OKB-1.

In 1963 Chelomey conceived the idea to develop a military Orbital Piloted Station (OPS) equipped with cameras to monitor the US and NATO military facilities. The project was named Almaz (‘Diamond’), this name being in keeping with the practice of naming his products after precious stones. When designers from the Central Scientific-Research Institute for Machine Building (TsNIIMash) visited OKB-52 in the spring of 1964 they were shown the mockup of the station and its return capsule. It was to be launched by the powerful UR-500 Proton rocket that Chelomey was developing.[4] However, the Ministry of Defence was unwilling to finance the project. Undeterred, Chelomey sought the behind-the-scenes support of his military contacts.

In the meantime, after the assassination of John F. Kennedy, Lyndon B. Johnson became the American president. On 10 December 1963 he cancelled the US Air Force project to build a small winged ‘space plane’ named Dyna-Soar, and it was announced that plans would be drawn up for a new military space programme: the Manned Orbital Laboratory (MOL). This was to monitor the activities of Soviet military forces and observe rocket launching sites, airfields and naval bases. Since methods for rendezvousing and docking in space had yet to be developed, the plan was to launch the MOL with the crew of two military astronauts riding on top in a modified form of the Gemini spacecraft which NASA was at that time developing. The mission would last a month, and the MOL would be abandoned when the crew departed.

The capabilities of the MOL prompted the Kremlin to back Chelomey’s proposal, and the project was given to OKB-52’s Branch No. 1 at Fili, in the heart of Moscow, which had developed the Proton launch vehicle. The manager was Branch No. 1’s Chief Designer, Viktor Bugayskiy. On 12 October 1964, the day that Chelomey announced the start of work, the first Voskhod spacecraft was launched for a 1-day flight with a crew of three cosmonauts. While they were in space, Khrushchov was overthrown – and Chelomey lost his main supporter. The situation was particularly dire because, as Khrushchov’s favourite, Chelomey had gained many enemies. Not only was the new Kremlin leader, Leonid Brezhnyev, not an ally, the new Prime Minister, Aleksey Kosygin, was very rude to Chelomey during their first telephone conversation regarding the future of the UR-200 rocket programme. In fact, neither Brezhnyev nor Kosygin shared Khrushchov’s enthusiasm for manned space flights.

Another man of special importance was Dmitriy Ustinov. Since 1946 he had been responsible for the development of the Strategic Rocket Forces. He was known as ‘Uncle Mitya’ to the leaders of the design bureaus. His influence declined in the Khrushchov years, but his position was reinforced by the arrival of Brezhnyev, and in March 1965, in a major restructuring of the Soviet rocket and space programmes, he became the Secretary of the Central Committee of the Soviet Communist Party responsible for defence and space.

Despite the scepticism of Brezhnyev, Kosygin and Ustinov, Chelomey still had the strong support of the generals in the Soviet Air Force and the Strategic Rocket Forces. He also had the support of Mstislav Keldysh. As a long-time companion of Korolev and proponent of using rockets and satellites to facilitate scientific studies, Keldysh was one of the most eminent figures in the rocket and space programme. In fact, he had played a key role in the establishment of OKB-52 in 1955. To mark his contribution to the management of the pioneering manned space flight by cosmonaut Yuriy Gagarin in April 1961, Keldysh had been appointed President of the Soviet Academy of Sciences. In Brezhnyev’s government, the Ministry of General Machine Building was the public name for the secret rocket and space industry – the bland name was to mask the significance of its work. In March 1965, Kosygin nominated Sergey Afanasyev as the first ‘Space Minister’. On 25 August 1965 President Johnson gave the formal go-ahead for the MOL project, which was to make its first flight by the end of 1968. Two months later, on 27 October, Afanasyev signed the order for Almaz. The preliminary paperwork was drawn up in 1966 and, based on regulations signed by the Council of Ministers and the Central Committee of the Soviet Communist Party, on 14 August 1967 the technical requirements and timescale were specified.

To dock with the Salyut station was a four-stage automated process over which the cosmonauts had no control. The first stage was the initial mechanical contact, when the head of the active spacecraft’s probe touched the interior of the conical drogue. This activated a sensor in the shock absorber on the probe. Then stabilisation thrusters were to slowly force the ship forward to drive the head of the probe into the hole at the apex of the cone, which the engineers referred to as the ‘nest’. When the head of the probe penetrated the nest, this initiated the capture stage, and latches in the nest engaged the probe in order to prevent it slipping out. The Apollo spacecraft had a similar system, and American astronauts refer to this as a ‘soft docking’. The third stage involved retracting the probe to draw the two annular collars together, to engage latches which would form a rigid bond and establish electrical and hydraulic connections located around the external rim – a status that astronauts refer to as a ‘hard docking’. Then the probe would release its head, which would remain in the nest while the ‘beheaded’ probe withdrew into the housing on the nose of the orbital module. Once air had been introduced to the hermetic tunnel and the seals verified, the cosmonauts could swing back the hatch, complete with the docking assembly, to enter the tunnel and then swing the drogue into the station.

In the case of Soyuz 10, the problem struck between the second and third stages – during the retraction, 9 minutes after the first contact. The only physical connection was the head of the probe in the nest. However, owing to an oversight in planning, the control system of the Soyuz spacecraft was still operating and when this noticed an early deviation in attitude it fired the thrusters in an effort to eliminate the ‘error’. If the spacecraft had been free, these impulses would have conformed to the logic of the control system; but it was not free – its probe was confined by the drogue. Upon finding that the spacecraft did not conform to its logic, the control system started to fire the thrusters on a continuous basis in an effort to assert its authority, and this subjected the probe to dynamic forces sufficiently strong to break one of the four

levers surrounding its base. The probe was designed for a maximum force of 80 kg, but survived a load of 160-200 kg before failing.

The first error in the design of the docking process was to leave the spacecraft’s control system active after the initial capture, because the conditions required by its logic no longer applied. The second error was to make the docking sequence fully automated once it had been initiated by the mechanical contact. Yeliseyev, who had participated in the development of the control system, had realised that the control system was jeopardising the docking process, but had no way to intervene – he was a frustrated spectator.

As Soyuz 10 was a 7K-T spacecraft designed to operate as a space station ferry, it carried air, water and food for just 3 days of autonomous operations. There was no option but to return to Earth as soon as possible.

The task was to separate from the station in a manner that would not damage the drogue. In designing the undocking process it had been assumed that the docking would have been finished and that commands could be directed through the circuits in the collars – which was impossible in this case. What would normally occur was that after the crew had left the station they would seal the Soyuz hatch and then command the latches to release the head of the probe from the nest so that the spacecraft could fire its thrusters to withdraw. However, in this unpredicted situation it was possible that the mechanism would fail to release. Indeed, the first attempt failed, and when Shatalov fired the thrusters his spacecraft simply swung around on its damaged probe.

In the control room General Andrey Karas, the Commander of Space Assets in the Strategic Rocket Forces, said bitterly: “Well, congratulations. You’ve developed a docking system in which ‘mom’ doesn’t release ‘dad’!’’

There were two emergency options: one to cut loose the docking mechanism from the nose of the orbital module, and the other to release the orbital module itself. In both cases the only access point to Salyut would be left fouled.

Afanasyev of the Ministry of General Machine Building issued a directive: ‘‘This ‘amputation’ is not suitable. What do you want? To lose the first orbital station? Search for a method by which to deceive your super-clever scheme.’’

Salyut was saved by Zhivoglotov, the engineer who had appalled the control room by outlining eight possible reasons for the docking failure. After Zhivoglotov had outlined his plan, instructions were read up to Rukavishnikov who, during the 84th revolution, once again entered the orbital module and reconnected a number of the cables to deceive the mechanism into thinking that the release command came from Salyut. The command was issued on the next revolution by the cosmonauts using their command panel – and the latches released the head of the probe! At 10.17 a. m., after 5 hours and 30 minutes of drama, and during the 5th revolution spent in a soft – docked configuration, Soyuz 10 withdrew from the station. The news prompted loud applause in the TsUP. Although Soyuz 10 had not achieved its main objective of boarding Salyut, everyone hoped that the station was undamaged and therefore would be available to a future mission.

For almost half an hour Soyuz 10 flew in formation with Salyut, with Shatalov manoeuvring while his colleagues inspected and photographed the docking system.

Few of these black-and-white pictures were published, and those that were released were of a poor quality. Nor was the television from the spacecraft during this period released. On Saturday, 24 April, Moscow TV declared that the docking had taken place and showed a 30-second clip which was said to be from an automatic camera on Salyut as Soyuz 10 withdrew. The Earth was in the background. The only part of the station that was visible was just in front of the camera, and was brilliantly white. The docking was portrayed as having been successful, with the link-up being only a test in an ongoing programme – there was no suggestion that the cosmonauts were to have entered the station.

The Almaz orbital complex had four major segments:

• the manned spacecraft which formed the re-entry vehicle (VA);

• the working compartment;

• the compartment with the apparatus for taking long-focus photographs; and

• the propulsion module.

As with the American MOL, in its original design the Almaz was to be launched with its crew riding in a spacecraft on top. This eliminated the task of developing a rendezvous and docking system. However, further analysis led to a revision of this concept. In particular, because the presence of the heavy manned spacecraft would

reduce the mass of the space station, and hence the amount of scientific and military equipment that it could carry, in 1967 the State Commission endorsed a two-launch option in which the space station and the manned spacecraft would be autonomous vehicles. This would not only enable the station to grow in mass to exploit the 20- tonne payload capacity of the Proton, it would also allow the station to be operated by a series of crews. Furthermore, because the crew was to be launched by a Proton, it was decided to mate the re-entry vehicle to a Functional-Cargo Block (FGB)[5] to produce the 20-tonne Transport and Supply Ship (TKS)[6] which would dock with the station to deliver a crew together with the cargo required for their tour of duty. The crews would be exchanged at intervals of two or three months, and the station would have an operational life of up to two years, being unoccupied only during the short intervals between one crew departing and the next one arriving. This revision would make more efficient use of the hardware than the original plan.

On board Almaz, the crew would use equipment that could be precisely aimed to study military targets on Earth, including camouflaged and mobile ones. In addition, it would be possible to undertake scientific and ecological monitoring, including the early detection of bushfires and the spread of pollution by rivers to the oceans. The equipment was state of the art for that time. The primary optical instrument was a photographic camera that used a mirror with a diameter of almost 2 metres and a focal length of 10 metres.[7] In fact, the design was so complex that it took 3 months to negotiate with Zenith, the Krasnodar firm assigned the task of manufacturing it, precisely how the system was to operate. When the design was judged too complex to be built within the specified 18-month period, it was decided to produce a simpler apparatus, which was named Agat (‘Agate’).

The crew would work around the clock. During one shift, two cosmonauts would work while the third rested. One of the two active cosmonauts would work full-time, with the other providing assistance during breaks from the physical exercise regime. They would rotate shifts every 8 hours. One of the serious issues was logistics, not only to sustain the crew but also to operate the camera, which would require a lot of film. In effect, the long-term use of the Almaz was dependent on the cargo capacity of the TKS. In order to maximise the operational life of the station, the docked TKS was to be responsible for controlling the attitude of the orbital complex.

The station and the re-entry vehicle of the TKS were developed at TsKBM under Chelomey’s leadership, and the FGB was designed by Branch No. 1 in Fili, which was often referred to as TsKBM(F).

In fact, this was not Chelomey’s first attempt to develop a spacecraft for manned use. In the mid-1960s he conceived the LK-1 for a circumlunar mission. This was to be a Gemini-shaped spacecraft that would be launched by Proton and carry two cosmonauts on a trajectory around the back of the Moon and straight back to Earth. But Chelomey had seen this merely as a precursor to a programme to beat the

Americans to a lunar landing. Although during Khrushchov’s time the official effort for this goal was Korolev’s development of the N1 rocket for the programme that became known as N1-L3, Chelomey sought funds for a massive new rocket for his LK-700 programme in which a spacecraft of his own design would make the lunar landing. When the LK-1 was cancelled in a favour of using the Proton to launch the L1 spacecraft designed by Korolev-Mishin, and work on the LK-700 ceased, Almaz became Chelomey’s main project and he incorporated in it all the lessons which he had learned from developing military and scientific satellites, the Proton rocket, and the preliminary design work on the LK-1 and LK-700 projects.

At launch, the mass of the Almaz station was 18.9 tonnes. It was 11.61 metres in length, had a maximum diameter of 4.15 metres, and a usable volume of the order of 90 cubic metres. The hermetic section was in the form of a stepped cylinder, with the crew compartment in ‘front’ of, and adjoining, the wider working compartment. At the rear of the working compartment was an unpressurised section housing the propulsion system, through which ran a small transfer tunnel leading to the passive portion of the docking system.

The crew compartment was 3.8 metres in length and 2.9 metres in diameter. A variety of apparatus was mounted on its exterior, including the antennas for the Igla rendezvous system, solar orientation sensors, a television camera, a laser device and an infrared sensor. At lift-off, this section was protected by an aerodynamic shroud that was jettisoned once the vehicle was above the atmosphere. This compartment had the OD-4 optical port and the POU-II apparatus to take panoramic images with a resolution of 8 metres, the Kolos-5D water tanks and a mechanism to measure the body mass of the weightless cosmonauts. In order to minimise the use of propellant, and thereby maximise the operational life of the station, this compartment housed a system that used electrically driven gyroscopes to control the orientation of the craft. In effect, this compartment was a ‘room’ in which the cosmonauts could take meals,

do physical exercise using a treadmill, perform medical examinations and rest while off duty. There was a small table with a food warmer. Around the table were small chairs and food stores. Above the table were the controls for the station’s guidance system. Beneath the table there were removable panels providing access to medical equipment, medicines, clothes, the cosmonauts’ personal items, a tape player with audiocassettes and a radio receiver.

The narrow cylinder of the crew compartment was attached by a 1.2-metre-long conical frustum to the working compartment. This was 4.15 metres in diameter and 4.1 metres in length, and it contained the station’s primary apparatus. The protective covers for the windows and external equipment were to be discarded in orbit. There were 14 cameras and optical devices. The rear part of the compartment was almost fully occupied by the Agat-1 apparatus and the OPS guidance system. The core of the Agat-1 was an optical telescope for monitoring objects on land, at sea and in the air. It used a telescope in a hermetic conical section that viewed through an aperture in the ‘floor’, with the imagers installed on top, almost at ceiling level. There was equipment to process images, and to enable the crew to study them. Important data could be coded and sent to the Flight Control Centre (TsUP) by the Biryuza radio transmitter, which used antennas located at the rear of the station. If a more detailed analysis was required, the imagery could be returned to Earth by a special capsule that was accessible from the transfer compartment.[8] A cosmonaut could place film and video into it using a mechanical manipulator. Once released, the capsule would automatically perform re-entry and land by parachute. With mass of 360 kg, it could accommodate 120 kg of film or 2 km of recording tape. The transfer compartment also contained two EVA suits, and could be hermetically isolated from the working compartment to serve as an airlock to enable cosmonauts to work outside the station.

The propulsion system had two rocket engines, each of which had a thrust of 400 kilogram-second, four correction engines with a thrust of 40 kilogram-second, and 28 smaller engines with thrusts of 20 kilogram-second and 1.2 kilogram-second to provide respectively ‘rough’ and ‘fine’ control over the station’s stabilisation. Most of the engines were positioned around the axial transfer compartment. An unfolding solar panel was mounted on each side of the transfer compartment. With a total area of 52 square metres, their solar transducers were capable of providing a maximum electrical output of 3.12 kVA.[9]

The intention was to build the entire Almaz system, comprising the Proton rocket, the OPS station and the TKS spacecraft, in the M. V. Khrunichev Machine Building Plant (ZIKh) in Fili, which was then under Chelomey’s control, and to initiate flight operations in 1969. But because the systems were required to operate reliably for up to two years with minimal maintenance this made Almaz extremely sophisticated for its time, and despite their early work on the LK-1 the TsKBM engineers did not have the experience of systems for manned spacecraft that had been gained by their

TsKBEM rivals. As a result, the programme soon fell behind schedule, making the first operational flight in 1969 impracticable. Although by 1970 the cores of ten stations had been assembled – eight for testing and training, and two for flight – the real challenge for Chelomey’s designers was the TKS spacecraft.

In the meantime, in September 1966 the ‘Almaz Group’ of military cosmonauts started to train at the Cosmonaut Training Centre (TsPK) in Zvyozdniy Gorodok (Star Town) near Moscow to operate the first Soviet space station. By the end of 1971 there were 28 cosmonauts in training for Almaz, making this the largest group ever formed for one space programme.

Shatalov and Yeliseyev spent their second night in space snoozing, but their rookie colleague, Rukavishnikov, remained awake, watching the Earth and taking pictures. In fact, he had a criticism of the spacecraft: “At a temperature of 20 degrees it is impossible to sleep in the flight suits. It is very cold. During the first night we slept only two or three hours. Instead of sleeping, we sat and shivered! It is necessary to carry sleeping bags.” He was disappointed by the failure of their mission. Instead of setting a new record of 30 days in space, the flight would last just 48 hours! How long would he have to wait to receive another opportunity to fly?

On the original plan, the landing after a 30-day flight would have been in daylight – it was this timing which had required the launch to occur at night. To return after two days meant landing in darkness, which was something that the authorities had always avoided. After examining the options, it was decided to make the descent at the first opportunity on 25 April, aiming to return to a site 80-100 km northwest of Karaganda, a town on the Kazakh steppe. Normally, a Soyuz would automatically orientate itself to perform the de-orbit manoeuvre, but on this occasion Shatalov was told to do this manually – although since it would be dark outside he would have to fly ‘on instruments’. In case of a problem that prevented the planned manoeuvre, the TsUP investigated the possibility of making it in daylight and landing in Australia, South America or Africa.

Shatalov aligned Soyuz 10 as specified. In normal circumstances, the cosmonauts would be able to make visual checks to verify the orientation, but outside was pitch black – there was not even moonlight to show the position of the Earth. They would be completely at the mercy of the automated systems. At 01.59 a. m. on 25 April the main engine was ignited to start the lengthy de-orbit burn. As the descent sequence was automated, the crew were passengers. After the engine shut down, pyrotechnic charges were fired to jettison both the propulsion module and the orbital module, and Rukavishnikov said that he had seen the flashes. The crew could only hope that the descent module was aligned with its heat shield facing in the direction of travel. As the module penetrated the upper reaches of the atmosphere, it was enveloped in a shockwave of glowing plasma. It was like being inside a neon tube whose colours changed. This awesome sight had been denied to their predecessors who returned in daylight!

Even the veteran Shatalov was astonished:

As the ablative coating of the ship burns off we can see a real fire around us. To an outside viewer our descent module would have looked like a meteor. The g – forces are increasing. Our breathing is difficult. Around us something is crunching, and the module is shaking. Through the windows we can see a dance of orange and red sparks. The impression is much more dramatic than during a daylight descent. Finally the plasma fades, and a few minutes later the three parachutes deploy: first the pilot chute, then the drogue and finally the main. It was again darkness outside the windows. At an altitude of 5,000 metres we saw the first detail of the surface. Aleksey and Nikolay, who had windows on opposite sides of the cabin, both reported seeing a lake below. We would prefer not to land in the water. When Aleksey again looked out, he shouted “Land!” – just like the lookout of Columbus’s sailing ship. Next we heard the soft-landing rockets fire, there was a shock and then – nothing. As there was no motion, we knew that we had landed on soil. Excellent! We shook hands and congratulated ourselves on having made a successful return. Just after we reported by radio that we were down and packed the flight log, we heard knocking on the wall – the recovery team had arrived. Despite the conditions, they had done their job perfectly. They had spotted us during our parachute descent, and as soon as we landed their helicopters had set down alongside.

The landing occurred at 2.40 a. m. on Sunday, 25 April, about 120 km northwest of Karaganda. When it was realised that the descent module might splash into a lake some of the recovery team had donned aqualungs in preparation to jump from the helicopter into the water to attend to the capsule. But then a gust of wind carried it on shore, and it landed 42 metres from the water’s edge. Often a capsule would land on its side, but this time it settled in the preferred upright position – as indeed it had for Shatalov and Yeliseyev’s previous landings. This first descent in darkness concluded the shortest Soviet space flight for six years.

Shatalov knew before this flight that Soyuz 10 would be his last space mission, as he had promised to accept an appointment to replace Kamanin. In addition, when Soyuz 10 landed Yeliseyev decided not to seek another opportunity to fly in space:

We landed on the shore of a small lake. The helicopter was already circling, awaiting us. The recovery group included three very restrained and taciturn fellows wearing scuba-diving suits. We felt that these were courageous and disciplined people on whom we could rely. . . . As I stood beside the descent module I thought: What next? Should I make one more flight to end this run of failures? … No.

Several minutes after the landing, the TsUP received a call from one of the rescue helicopters reporting that the cosmonauts were in good health. Finally, the people at the control centre were able to relax. Despite the failure of the main task, everyone was delighted at the completion of this short but tricky flight. However, the Kremlin

was dissatisfied. On Soyuz 8 the Igla rendezvous system had failed. Although it had worked on this occasion, and Shatalov had steered his ship in to make contact with the station, a fault had interrupted the docking process. This was not good enough! But it was not the fault of the crew, and on their return to Moscow Rukavishnikov received a Gold Star as a Hero of the Soviet Union. His veteran colleagues already had two such awards for their previous missions.

TASS announced the landing without saying why Soyuz 10 had returned so soon. Officially, the crew had fulfilled their assignment. The mission was “a stage in the general programme of work” associated with Salyut. As TASS explained afterwards: “The programme of scientific-technical studies has been fulfilled.” That is: “Studies directed at checking the efficiency of perfected systems for the mutual search, long distance approach, berthing, docking and separation of the ship and the station were carried out.” For years, therefore, Soyuz 10 was classified as a successful test flight whose objectives had simply been to test the new docking system and to assess how the two vehicles behaved in a joined configuration. The cosmonauts were forbidden to state otherwise. At a press conference broadcast by Moscow Radio on 26 April, Shatalov said the flight was “not extensive in duration, but tense and magnificent in its tasks”. He repeated what he had said prior to launch, that the flight represented a stage in a programme to develop orbital research stations. He said: “perfecting new systems for sighting, approaching and docking with an unmanned station were the mission’s most important tasks”, and

“all these tasks were carried out completely”. Even when Shatalov wrote his autobiography, The Hard Roads to Space, which was published seven years later in the typical Soviet style, he said nothing to imply that his third and final space mission had been anything less than a complete success.

At the press conference Yeliseyev was asked to describe Salyut: “The station is indescribably beautiful. A most impressive piece of equipment with a huge quantity of instruments, all kinds of antennas, a docking system, and ‘СССР’ written on its side in large letters.[39] The station was gleaming white, and equipped with a flashing beacon to aid us in our approach.’’ Shatalov added: ‘‘Salyut is so heavy that on Earth powerful cranes had difficulty in turning it.’’

Apart from the crew of Soyuz 10, few people were permitted to talk to journalists about the mission. One such person was Konstantin Feoktistov, one of the station’s designers, who stuck to the official line that the objective of the mission had been to test the docking system: ‘‘The docking of a relatively small transport spaceship with a large orbiting laboratory proved to be more difficult than docking vehicles of the same size.’’ He said that a new type of docking unit was tested – which was true. In the course of the manoeuvres, Soyuz 10 changed its orbit on three occasions and the station did so four times. Rukavishnikov had conducted ‘‘a series of important tests and technical experiments’’ during the docking – which was certainly true, although Feoktistov did not explain what these ‘‘tests’’ involved and why they were necessary. And he repeated the line that it was never intended that the cosmonauts should enter the station.

Some Western observers speculated that Soyuz 10 had landed after just two days because Rukavishnikov had developed ‘space sickness’. The story was that a severe case of vertigo had prevented him from going into the voluminous station. Veteran cosmonaut and space physician Dr. Boris Yegorov was quoted as saying that during one communication session Rukavishnikov told ground control he had experienced ‘‘unusual and rather unpleasant feelings’’ as a result of the increased blood flow to his head – which was undoubtedly true, because this is a consequence of entering a weightless state. Yegorov was also quoted as saying that this crew had to cope with ‘‘a considerable emotional load’’ – which was also true, given the problems that they faced, although the fact that there were problems was a secret. When a Guardian correspondent asked Rukavishnikov how he felt in space, he replied: ‘‘A lot better than I’d expected in advance! On the first day I felt good, ate and worked normally. The next day I ceased to notice weightlessness. For me, working in weightlessness was pleasurable and joyful – for example, it was possible to catch an object in the air.’’ Shatalov confirmed that Rukavishnikov’s status had been good throughout the flight: ‘‘I think he felt even better than Yeliseyev and I.’’ And this was confirmed by the in-flight biomedical telemetry: at the vital moments Rukavishnikov’s heart rate was lower than for his more experienced colleagues. So much for the story that he had fallen ill and caused the mission to be cut short!

“Show me that designer” 111

Owing to the protracted delays with the design and development of the TKS, it was decided to start Almaz operations using the Soyuz spacecraft as a crew ferry. The manner in which this decision was made is interesting. When the Almaz programme began in 1964, OKB-1 was involved in so many projects that it was overcommitted. In addition to adapting the Vostok capsule for the Voskhod missions, developing lunar and interplanetary probes, and developing several versions of the new Soyuz spacecraft – including the Soyuz-P and Soyuz-R for military missions – Korolev’s designers were developing the N1 launch vehicle. When the Americans announced their intention to develop the MOL, Korolev transferred the military Soyuz projects to OKB-1’s Branch No. 3 in Kybishev (now Samara), which had developed the R-7 missile that was used to launch the early Sputniks and, with an additional stage, the Vostok spacecraft. Chief Designer Dmitriy Kozlov, who had led Branch No. 3 since 1959, eagerly accepted the transferred projects. The objective of the Soyuz-P was to rendezvous with an American military satellite in order to inspect and, if required, destroy it.[10] However, it was decided that to have a crew fly such a mission would be too risky, and in 1965 the project was cancelled in a favour of an unmanned satellite interceptor (IS) proposed by Chelomey.

This left Branch No. 3 of OKB-1 with only the Soyuz-R.[11] For our story, this is an important project since it was actually the first space station ever to be endorsed by the Soviet government – although admittedly it was of modest scope in comparison to Almaz. The order was signed by Defence Minister Marshal Rodion Malinovskiy on 18 June 1964, six months after the announcement by the Americans of their intention to develop the MOL, and it was included in the 5-year development plan drawn up for the Soviet military space programme covering the period 1964 to 1969. Representatives of the Ministry of Defence, MOM and the Academy of Sciences conducted a major technical and scientific assessment of the project in early 1965, and accepted that it was viable. The mission was to involve two separately launched unmanned spacecraft, both of which were based on the Soyuz design. Once docked,

they would form a small space station with total mass of 13 tonnes, a length of 15 metres and a habitable volume of about 31 cubic metres. In documents drawn up by OKB-1 Branch No. 3, this two-part facility had the technical code 11F71. A third Soyuz (11F72) would be launched with two cosmonauts. After docking, they would move into the station through a hermetic transfer tunnel to pursue a programme of military observations and experiments. In December 1965 Kozlov visited General Nikolay Kamanin who as Deputy Chief of the Soviet Air Force was in charge of the manned space programme to develop a joint plan to make use of the Soyuz-R station, for which military cosmonauts were already in training at the TsPK.

However, when the Americans began to fly Gemini missions in 1965 the Kremlin, fearful that this spacecraft would be used to conduct satellite interceptions, realised that even if the work at OKB-1 and OKB-52 progressed as planned, their respective spacecraft would not become available until 1968. In August 1965, therefore, the Kremlin ordered Kozlov to urgently develop a new military spacecraft which would be able to be introduced before the end of 1966.[12] [13] The project was named ‘Zvezda’ (‘Star’), but was also known as the Soyuz-VI.11 So, having lost the Soyuz-P, Kozlov once again had two manned spacecraft for military use.

The Soviet space programme suffered a setback in January 1966 when Korolev died. The Science and Technical Committee of the Ministry of Defence conducted a detailed review of the two long-term military projects, and decided to terminate the Soyuz-R. The 11F71 code was reassigned to Almaz. Then, reluctant to wait for Chelomey’s TKS, the committee recommended using the 11F72 Soyuz that Kozlov was developing to ferry crews to the Soyuz-R station. At this point it is necessary to explain that the general designation for Soyuz spacecraft was 7K, with the Soyuz-P being 7K-P, the Soyuz-R being 7K-R, the Soyuz-VI being 7K-VI, and the 11F72 variant being 7K-TK.[14] Kozlov was told to give the technical documentation for the Soyuz-R station to Chelomey to enable the Almaz to be modified to accommodate its ferry craft. The 7K-TK would deliver crews to the Almaz stations until the more capable TKS became available. This made Almaz the first case of a major Soviet manned space programme to integrate work by highly competitive design bureaus. But establishing the necessary coordination of the two teams in order to revise the Almaz design to use the much smaller Soyuz as a crew ferry took time, and in late 1966 the Military-Industrial Commission (VPK), which was an institution created by the Council of Ministers to implement the decisions of Communist Party, issued decree No. 304 accepting the delay in the development of the Soyuz crew ferry for Almaz and calling for tests of Almaz systems in 1968 and the first operational flight in 1969. Hence, by 1967, after much political manoeuvring by politicians, generals and chief designers, Almaz had become the principal Soviet military manned space programme, and the nation’s only space station project.

Nevertheless, the Zvezda reconnaissance spacecraft was still under development by Kozlov. After a series of technical problems during the unmanned test flights of the Soyuz, Kozlov directed his engineers to change the configuration for Zvezda. In particular, it was to have a crew of two cosmonauts who would wear pressure suits, whereas the Soyuz was to have a crew of three who would not wear pressure suits – the precedent for this decision by Korolev being the three-man Voskhod mission in 1964. At launch the Zvezda spacecraft would weigh 6.6 tonnes, be 8 metres in length, 2.8 metres in diameter and have a volume of 12 cubic metres. The total mass of a man, his pressure suit, couch and life support system was approximately 400 kg. Early in the development of the Zvezda project it was expected that the capacity of the Soyuz rocket would restrict the spacecraft to a single cosmonaut, but continued redesign of the descent module enabled a second couch to be installed. The Zvezda spacecraft was to be capable of a 1-month mission, which was twice the maximum duration of the American Gemini.

An interesting difference in design between the Soyuz and Zvezda spacecraft was the descent module. In the case of the Soyuz, this was located in line between the orbital module (in front) and the propulsion module (behind). The descent module is actually a command module, with the couches on its broad base facing an array of controls and instrument panels. This arrangement severely limited the visibility. The

spherical orbital module blocked the view directly ahead. Sitting in the centre couch, the commander had only a 15-degree-wide periscope for rendezvous and docking operations. The cosmonauts seated left and right had side-facing windows, but were unable to see the target vehicle. As Zvezda was not required to dock with a satellite, Kozlov optimised visibility to enable the crew to conduct a visual inspection of the target. In particular, he moved the descent module to the forward end of the vehicle and inserted the orbital module between it and the propulsion module. Although this arrangement had obvious advantages in comparison to the Soyuz, the design had the important disadvantage that the access hatch to the orbital module was through the heat shield of the descent module, and there was some concern that the hatch would not withstand the thermal stress of re-entry.[15] Although dynamic tests conducted at Branch No. 3 of OKB-1 showed that the hatch was safe, there were lingering doubts. Another issue was Zvezda’s power system. Instead of using either chemical storage batteries or solar panels, it was to have a pair of radioisotope thermal generators that would use thermocouples to transform radiogenic heat into electricity. Although these were to be located at the rear of the propulsion module, the potential exposure of the crew to radiation from this system was a matter of some concern. Finally, in view of the fact that the mission was overtly military, a rapid-firing Nudelyman gun was added for protection from an American satellite – killer.[16]’[17] The entire spacecraft, with its gun, entered ground testing in 1967 and, despite the safety concerns, in late July the Central Committee and Council of Ministers endorsed Zvezda with the first launch being scheduled in 1968 as a prelude to in-orbit military operations in 1969.

In the meantime six military cosmonauts began to train at the TsPK in September 1966 for the Zvezda programme. They were later joined by two new cosmonauts. The group was led by veteran cosmonaut Pavel Popovich. The first two potential crews were soon selected. However, the project was derailed in October 1967 when Vasiliy Mishin, now Chief Designer of the TsKBEM and Kozlov’s boss, intervened. The root of the issue was that Mishin took exception to the degree of independence that Korolev had given Kozlov. By machinations and political intrigues exploiting his MOM and VPK contacts, in January 1968 Mishin, with the support of Minister Afanasyev, directed Kozlov to cancel Zvezda. When General Kamanin heard of this he supported Kozlov, but was unable to have the cancellation order reversed.

As a substitute for Zvezda, Mishin suggested the Orbital Research Station (OIS) Soyuz-VI (11F730), and in May 1968 sent a technical specification to the Ministry of Defence. It was based on the Soyuz-R, would fly at an altitude of 250 km at an inclination of 51.6 degrees to the equator, and have solar panels for power and a passive docking system incorporating a hermetic tunnel. The crew would arrive in a

Soyuz 7K-S (11F732)[18] and spend typically a month on board using about 1,000 kg of equipment supplied by the Academy of Sciences and the Ministry of Defence. In addition, the plan called for an unmanned cargo craft 7K-SG (11F735) to supply the occupied station with food, water, air and additional equipment.[19]’[20] Kozlov was not excluded – Branch No. 3 of the TsKBEM joined this project in June 1968, but in a subsidiary rather than a leading role.

However, at that time the TsKBEM was fully committed both to redesigning the Soyuz following the loss of Vladimir Komarov on its first manned mission, and to the development of the L1 and L3 lunar programmes. The low priority assigned to the OIS is indicated by the fact that the TsPK never even received a simulator for it, and when the Zvezda cosmonauts were transferred to the OIS they were given only theoretical, physical and survival training. By the end of 1969 it had been decided to start a much more ambitious project, and in February 1970 Afanasyev cancelled the OIS and the cosmonauts were reassigned to the Almaz space station.

There were also considerably more ambitious space stations projects initiated by OKB-1/TsKBEM. Notably, in Korolev’s time there was the Multirole Space Base Station (MKBS) that was to be launched by the N1 rocket. Work on this station had to be halted, awaiting the introduction of the giant rocket. When the N1 tests finally began in early 1969, Mishin appointed Vitaliy Bezverby, an expert in the ballistics of space vehicles, to manage the MKBS project. The core of the station was to be a cylinder 20 metres in length and 6 metres in diameter. Some 60 metres away, and connected by three long supports, there was to be a nuclear power unit and a plasma electric engine, increasing the length to 100 metres. The total mass of between 220

and 250 tonnes was to have included 80-88 tonnes of modules and 15-20 tonnes of scientific equipment. It would operate at an altitude in the range 400-450 km and at inclinations of either 51.6 or 91 degrees – the latter being a polar orbit which would enable it to survey the entire globe on a daily basis. It was to have a main crew of six cosmonauts, and an operational life of at least a decade. Two modules providing a volume of 30 cubic metres were to be spun in the manner of a centrifuge to simulate a gravity of 0.8 g. The 200-kW output of the nuclear power unit was to be supplemented by 14 kW from solar panels having a total area of 140 square metres. The station was to have eight docking ports to enable it to serve as a ‘space port’ for a variety of types of spacecraft, some of which would be unmanned – after being serviced by the station’s crew, an unmanned spacecraft would depart to conduct an automated programme of military reconnaissance. The MKBS was to be equipped to protect itself. In fact, its design included numerous concepts similar to those that were envisaged for the ‘Star Wars’ programme which was initiated in the 1980s by President Ronald Reagan. Although the MKBS remained a paper study, many years later some of its elements were included in the design of the Mir space station.

In all the time that the TsKBEM was concentrating on the redesign of the Soyuz, the L1 project and the development of the N1-L3, Chelomey progressively worked to reduce the degree to which Almaz was dependent on Mishin’s bureau. In 1969 he rejected the Soyuz 7K-TK as the crew ferry in favour of the TKS, which was being developed under the leadership of Yakov Nodelyman. By the time the draft design was completed in 1969, the TKS had grown in length to 13 metres, had a volume of 50 cubic metres and a mass of almost 22 tonnes – making it heavier than the Almaz station itself! Although eager to be free of the TsKBEM, Chelomey borrowed some aspects of the Zvezda spacecraft; in particular modifying a quick-firing Nudelyman – Richter NR-23 cannon used by the Tu-22 bomber.[21] This had a maximum range of

3 km, fired 0.2-kg projectiles at a speed of 690 metres per second and had a rate of 950 rounds per minute. Since the gun would be in a fixed position, it would be necessary to align the station to aim the gun at a target, and the correction engines were to maintain the station’s stability while the gun was firing. It was expected that the gun would be able to hit and destroy a target within five seconds.

The great irony was that while the Soviet Union was working on all these military projects, the development of the American MOL had fallen behind schedule, and in 1969 this suffered the same fate as the Dyna-Soar ‘space plane’ by being cancelled shortly before its preliminary test flight. Nevertheless, the Americans had not given up on the idea of a space station.