Category Salyut – The First Space Station

Let us return to Mishin and the decision to swap the entire crew. When speaking of this issue at the State Commission he repeatedly used “we” rather than “I’’. Who else was involved in taking this decision? It is clear from Chertok’s memoirs that Mishin did not consult either Chertok or Shabarov, his most senior deputies present, as they heard the news from Severin, who was from a different design bureau! The discussion between Severin, Chertok and Shabarov occurred late in the afternoon of 3 June, several hours after the medical examination. The events during those hours are still unclear, but based on the memories of some of the people present, as well as upon later events, it is possible to construct a reasonable scenario of activities by the Air Force people under Kamanin and by the TsKBEM staff headed by Mishin, and this indicates that the decision was made very quickly. If Mishin did not consult his two principal available deputies, what about Moscow?

At 9.00 a. m. on 4 June, immediately following the State Commission’s meeting, Bushuyev telephoned Chertok from Moscow. As we have seen, Bushuyev had gone to the Politburo with Afanasyev, Keldysh and Smirnov the previous day to report to Brezhnyev on the preparations for Soyuz 11. Bushuyev gave Chertok a summary of the meeting, and told him that Afanasyev would arrive at Baykonur that afternoon for another test of the modified docking system. But Bushuyev, who was Mishin’s second deputy and therefore the third man in the TsKBEM structure, had no idea of the crew change. On hearing of it from Chertok he became agitated: “How dare you decide to do it without consulting us in Moscow! We have reported to the Politburo that Leonov’s crew will fly. We confirmed how well they were prepared. And you – because of Kubasov – have replaced them all! Look at the situation in which you have placed Afanasyev, Smirnov and Ustinov! Now they must urgently report again. Afanasyev will be with you in three hours and he won’t thank you for it either.’’ It is therefore clear that Mishin did not consult Bushuyev, his most senior deputy having a responsibility for manned spacecraft.

In fact, there was only one man in Moscow whom Mishin was obliged to consult: his old patron, Minister Afanasyev, who in turn would have sought the blessing of Ustinov. Although this must have occurred, Bushuyev was clearly unaware of it. It is difficult to prove the case, however, as the leaders of the Soviet space programme made many decisions orally. If there are any documents about this dramatic change, they remain secret in the Kremlin’s archive.

Mishin based his objection to Kamanin’s suggestion on two elements:

• the document signed by the Air Force stating that once the crews were at the cosmodrome they would not be replaced on an individual basis; and

• his suspicion that if Volkov were to be substituted for Kubasov at this late stage then the crew would not be as harmonious as it would have been with Kubasov, making it inferior to a crew comprising Dobrovolskiy, Volkov and Patsayev, who, even though they were less experienced, had been in training as a crew for some time.

On the other side, Kamanin thought that a crew consisting of Leonov, Volkov and Kolodin, with two veteran cosmonauts, would be more capable of completing such a complex mission successfully.

But perhaps Mishin and Kamanin were each driven by a simpler motivation. After much debate, it had been agreed that the first and third crews would have one TsPK cosmonaut (in command) and two TsKBEM cosmonaut-engineers; and the second and fourth crews would have two military cosmonauts and one civilian. But the first crew had not been able to dock with the station, and Mishin and Kamanin may each have sought to interpret this agreement in his own favour: Mishin wishing to fly his two engineers and Kamanin wishing to have two military cosmonauts. Applying the rule of exchanging the entire crew would favour Mishin. Discarding the rule and replacing Kubasov by Volkov would favour Kamanin. Volkov would fly regardless of how the dispute was resolved. The basic issue was which community would have two of its cosmonauts on the crew – the TsPK or the TsKBEM.

At noon on 3 June, immediately after the medical report which grounded Kubasov, Kamanin and his Air Force people decided to reject the rule and instead substitute Volkov for Kubasov in Leonov’s crew. Initially, Mishin accepted the plan, but soon telephoned Kamanin and told him that after a conversation with Moscow (actually Afanasyev and probably Ustinov) they must exchange the crew. Officially, the State Commission was responsible for considering the views of Kamanin and Mishin and formally nominating the crew. But with the exception of Mishin, and at a later stage Kerimov, no members of the Commission had been involved in this decision; Kamanin was excluded of course. Mishin did not mention an official document – he simply said to Kamanin that Moscow supported the crew exchange. In fact, to achieve his goal Mishin had used the document between the Air Force and the TsKBEM which specified that once the crews were at the cosmodrome they would not be replaced on an individual basis. When Soyuz 10 failed to dock, it appeared that Mishin had missed the chance to have two civilian cosmonauts on the first crew to board Salyut; but now, thanks to Kubasov’s ailment, if he could get the crew exchanged, he had a second opportunity to send two of his cosmonauts.

However, someone was missing in this chain of events: Volkov – the man who may well have played the most crucial role. The Air Force people certainly did not consult the civilian, and Mishin initially accepted Kamanin’s plan without seeking the opinion of Volkov. But as Mishin thought about it more deeply, it is reasonable that he would have talked the matter over with Volkov, and possibly also Patsayev, prior to making his call to Moscow.

After Mishin called Kamanin to say that Moscow had consented to the crew being swapped, Kamanin informed the Air Force staff. Leonov exploded. He could not accept this. As a member of the original cosmonaut group, and the first man ever to spacewalk, he urged the Air Force to demand that he fly with Kolodin and Volkov. He had trained for the mission for almost a year. He knew Salyut thoroughly. As a passionate artist, he had even arranged for the station’s cargo to include his painting apparatus. While in space he wanted to paint the Earth, the stars, the Moon, distant nebulas, and his colleagues at work in the station. It was his mission. Naturally, he had the full support of Kolodin, who was eager to make his first flight.

The famous journalist Yaroslav Golovanov, who knew many of the cosmonauts well, recalled the atmosphere at Baykonur as follows: “It is hard to describe what was happening in the Cosmonaut Hotel. Leonov was so furious that he was simply growling. If he could, he would have strangled Kubasov. Poor Valeriy could not understand what was going on. He was feeling perfectly well and, after all, it wasn’t his fault. In the evening Kolodin visited me, completely crushed. With a glass in his hand he said: ‘Yaroslav, you know, I will never fly in space.’ And he was right. …

Leonov urged the replacement of Kubasov with Volkov. It looks as if he succeeded in convincing the generals, but then Volkov became obstinate, saying: ‘If a change is necessary, then change the entire crew.’ ”

This definitely shows that Volkov was behind the decision; Mishin was merely its executor.

However, in one of his interviews Kubasov said something else: ‘‘They intended to move Volkov from the backup crew to take my place, but Leonov categorically opposed this idea.’’

Are we to believe Leonov did not wish Volkov to be on his crew? It was true that of the cosmonaut-engineers Volkov was the most critical of his military colleagues owing to their lesser technical qualifications. In training at the TsPK for his first flight, he sometimes behaved as if he were the leader of the crew with two military cosmonauts. In fact, Kamanin once told Filipchenko, the real Soyuz 7 commander, to restrain Volkov in the Soyuz simulator. Of course, Leonov would have known of this. In normal circumstances, Leonov would not have been keen to have Volkov on his crew. But Leonov knew that the only way that he would fly on Soyuz 11 was if he accepted Volkov as his flight engineer. Volkov, however, had a choice. He had a guaranteed ticket to fly. If he flew under Leonov’s command he would be the only civilian on board. If the backup crew flew, then not only would he fly with the men with whom he had trained, but because Dobrovolskiy and Patsayev were rookies he would enjoy the status of a veteran. So for Volkov the choice was simple. And there is another unusual aspect to Kubasov’s claim. He was close to Volkov: both were from Moscow; they were the same age; they graduated from the Moscow Aviation Institute; they worked together for years at OKB-1; they successfully passed all the cosmonaut examinations and medical tests and were chosen for the TsKBEM’s first group of cosmonaut-engineers. As much as he may have sought to protect Volkov, by making his claim Kubasov actually raised an old and never documented story of a complex relationship between Leonov and Volkov: allegedly, when the crews for the DOS missions were first nominated Leonov belittled Volkov, pointing out that although a veteran he was only on the third crew, and hence had no chance of flying to the first space station.

On 4 June the State Commission confirmed what Volkov and Mishin desired: the replacement of the entire crew. When they heard of this from Kamanin, Leonov and Kolodin continued to complain. Having two cosmonauts, both military officers, one a space veteran and the other a rookie, dispute the decision of a State Commission was a remarkable moment for the centralised and totalitarian Soviet system – both unprecedented and incomprehensible. Kamanin, who was always on the side of his cosmonauts, acceded to the pressure imposed by Mishin, who was able to rely upon the rule signed by the Air Force stating that once the crews were at Baykonur there would be no individual cosmonaut substitutions. Having lost the support of the Air Force and his closest colleagues at the TsPK, Kamanin did not wish to pursue the matter further. But Leonov and Kamanin did. Lacking the support of their generals, they went directly to the only man who could have the decision changed: Mishin. In the 2004 book Two Sides of the Moon, which Leonov co-authored, he summarised the conversation with Mishin ahead of the final

meeting of the State Commission on the evening of 4 June. Leonov says that Mishin warned him: “Don’t forget that you shared a room with Kubasov. Perhaps you drank from the same glass. We can’t take the risk of you becoming ill while in space.’’ In hindsight, Leonov acknowledged Mishin was correct. But at the time he could not accept the decision. He and Mishin exchanged some rather unpleasant words. Just before the State Commission convened, Mishin advised Chertok of his difficult conversation with Leonov and Kolodin – during which Kolodin said that he had known all along that he would not fly: “To them, I am the ‘white crow’ – they’re all pilots and I’m a missile man.’’

That was true: among the 15 members of the 1963 group of Air Force cosmonauts, Kolodin was one of four who were not pilots. He had served at both the Baykonur and Plesetsk cosmodromes in the Strategic Rocket Forces. As a ‘missile man’ at the TsPK, he did not think he had much chance of ever being assigned to a prime crew in competition with the Air Force officers, some of whom had test pilot experience. Fellow ‘missile man’ Eduard Buynovskiy has said that when the cosmonauts of the second group arrived in Zvyozdniy they were immediately separated into pilots and non-pilots. In addition, Kolodin was notable for the curiosity of having lost half of his left thumb in an accident! According to Leonov, Kolodin had a particularly hard time. In 1964-65 Kolodin was Leonov’s second backup in preparations for the first spacewalk. He was appointed as a general backup for the ‘group flight’ of October 1969 along with Shatalov and Yeliseyev, but when the two-man crew of Soyuz 8 was replaced Kolodin was not needed. Now, when he was on the threshold of space, it was decided that he should be stood down! Kolodin reportedly tried to convince Mishin to substitute him for Patsayev on Dobrovolskiy’s crew. Of course, Mishin refused, and Kolodin, almost with tears in his eyes, warned ominously, ‘‘History will not forgive you for what you have done.’’

It is interesting that in his published diary Kamanin did not write in detail of his conversations with Leonov and Kolodin. He said simply that Leonov’s entire crew reacted incorrectly and in an inappropriate manner. According to Kamanin, their behaviour was totally unacceptable and did them no honour. However, they were not the alone in this. As Kamanin put it: ‘‘They are guilty for that, as are many Big Chiefs who added fuel to the flame.’’

On 6 May 1970 revised crews were nominated. They were:

• Crew 1: Georgiy Shonin, Aleksey Yeliseyev and Nikolay Rukavishnikov

• Crew 2: Aleksey Leonov, Valeriy Kubasov and Pyotr Kolodin

• Crew 3: Vladimir Shatalov, Vladislav Volkov and Viktor Patsayev

• Crew 4: Georgiy Dobrovolskiy, Vitaliy Sevastyanov and Anatoliy Voronov

By this point, relations between Mishin and Kamanin were improving. Mishin had accepted most of Kamanin’s criticisms. Splitting Shatalov from Yeliseyev led to Shatalov having an unpleasant conversation with Kamanin at being demoted from commanding the first crew to visit the space station. Mishin and Kamanin agreed a more equitable share of the nominations: with the first and third crews having one TsPK cosmonaut (who was commander) and two TsKBEM cosmonaut-engineers; and with the second and fourth crews having two military cosmonauts and one civilian. In return, Kamanin allowed his cosmonauts to visit Kaliningrad to perform part of their training with their civilian counterparts – thereby relieving the demand on the TsPK’s simulators. Since the L1 and L3 lunar programmes were both stalled, Kamanin reassigned all the military cosmonauts nominally in training for such missions to other projects, including DOS.

In the reshuffle Shatalov was moved from the first crew to replace Volynov on the third, with Shonin taking Shatalov’s place. Kamanin nominated Colonel Leonov, another veteran from the first group of cosmonauts who had trained to command the first L1 circumlunar mission, to fill Shonin’s place. Khrunov was replaced as commander of the fourth crew by Lieutenant-Colonel Dobrovolskiy who, although he had been recruited in 1963 as a member of the second Air Force group, had not yet flown in space. Mishin replaced Feoktistov by advancing Volkov from the fourth crew, then reassigned Sevastyanov’s role from research engineer to flight engineer. Kamanin completed this crew with Lieutenant-Colonel Voronov, who was another member of the Air Force’s second group who had yet to fly. All the research engineers were rookies, and the first three crews each had two experienced cosmonauts – one from each community. The inexperience of Dobrovolskiy’s crew was not considered to be a problem, because they would have the longest time to

Kubasov (left), Volkov and Yeliseyev, flight engineers assigned to the first DOS station, in conversation with an Air Force representative (back to camera).

A rare photo showing some of the original DOS crewmembers at an early stage of training listening to a presentation at the TsKBEM: Shonin (left), Shatalov, Kubasov, an unidentified person and Volkov.

train and would be able to benefit from the lessons learned by their predecessors in operating a space station. On 13 May 1970 Mishin and Kamanin signed a decree which confirmed the crew assignments.

The names of all the cosmonauts have been mentioned intentionally, even those who were not actually able to train for a mission to the DOS-1 station, as this shows how the destinies of these men were influenced by incidents such as Khrunov’s car crash, Volynov’s Jewish blood, Kamanin’s dislike for Feoktistov, and the need to agree a fair balance of assignments between the two communities of cosmonauts.

In late July the Military-Industrial Commission (VPK) met specifically to discuss the progress with the DOS programme. Okhapkin, Mishin’s First Deputy, gave the TsKBEM report. In accordance with the original plan, two identical stations were to be built. DOS-1 was to be launched in early 1971 and be visited by two crews who would undertake a variety of scientific experiments and make terrestrial, solar and astronomical observations. Two further crews would visit DOS-2 in 1972. However, Okhapkin reported that as a result of a number of problems the project was about 2 months late. After Soyuz 8 experienced difficulties with its fgla rendezvous system on the ‘group flight’ in 1969, the design had been revised and the system transferred from the descent module to the orbital module in order to improve its ‘field of view’. In addition, since the flight to the station would take only one day and the capsule would return to Earth within hours of departing from the station, the designers had simplified its life support system; but there were delays in testing the revisions. The major change to the Soyuz was the inclusion of a docking system incorporating a 0.8-metre-diameter hatch to enable the cosmonauts to access the station. There had been delays in constructing this new system. Nevertheless, as soon as the schedule allowed, DOS-1 would be launched by one of Chelomey’s Proton rockets. After 8 to 10 days, the Soyuz 10 mission would be launched using the first 7K-T crew ferry. If everything went to plan, Shonin, Yeliseyev and Rukavishnikov would spend 30 days

on the station. Twenty-five days after Soyuz 10’s return, Soyuz 11 would be launched with Leonov, Kubasov and Kolodin, who would spend up to 45 days in space, with the actual duration being determined by how well the flight progressed. ft was therefore hoped that the DOS-1 station would be able to be occupied for 75 days of its expected service life of 80-90 days. However, it was accepted that this would be a pioneering venture. The longest time that American astronauts had spent in space was 14 days, on a Gemini flight in December 1965. Several weeks prior to the VPK meeting, the 18-day flight of Soyuz 9 by cosmonauts Andriyan Nikolayev and Vitaliy Sevastyanov had broken this endurance record. As the days passed, the cosmonauts had become so tired that mission control had used a siren to wake them up. On their return to Earth their heart rates were twice the norm, and for three days neither man had been able to walk. ft took them a month to recover fully. fn fact, Nikolayev had to retire several months later owing to ongoing heart issues. fn view of the experiences of this crew, Kamanin said that missions of 30 or 45 days were unrealistic until more information was gained on how the human body was affected by prolonged exposure to weightlessness, and he argued that the early DOS flights should not exceed 20 days.

The VPK meeting ended without specifying the length of the missions for the DOS-1 station. Leonid Smirnov, the chairman of the commission, ordered that all testing must be done by the end of the year, and that the station must be launched in time to be celebrated by the 24th Congress of the Soviet Communist Party in March 1971.

fn June 1970 the engineers of the first and third crews (Yeliseyev, Rukavishnikov, Volkov and Patsayev) started to train at the TsPK, and began to pay regular visits to the Khrunichev factory in Fili to monitor the building the first station.

Yeliseyev recalls: “The construction of the station was rapid. ft took only a few days to build a wooden mockup – all its sections and elements were in accordance with the design, but instead of real devices and apparatus it had wooden models. With Rukavishnikov, f went to see the mockup of the first station. Compared to the Soyuz, it looked like a giant – it was more than 10 metres from one end to the other. There was room for several people to work, without hindrances. … Engineers were working continuously, checking every detail of the documentation. Every revision was tested on the mockup, with a detailed inspection. ff the change was acceptable, then it was made to the station. We were involved in testing the positioning of the controls, instrument panels and the apparatus for visual monitoring. We were also consulted on how the crew should work and rest. . . . This work was very interesting. However, f must admit that the most impressive thing was to watch the real station be born. … f had a feeling of being present at the nativity of a secret miracle that the public knew nothing about. However, the whole world would hear about it very soon.’’

The commanders of the first and the third crews (Shonin and Shatalov) joined in the training on 17 August. The second crew (Leonov, Kubasov and Kolodin) began to train on 18 September. The members of the fourth crew were each busy with his individual tasks. Dobrovolskiy’s assignment was to the Contact project, testing the rendezvous and docking techniques for the N1-L3 lunar programme, and he did not

Cosmonauts Sevastyanov (left) and Nikolayev shown on TV from Soyuz 9 during a communication session of their record-breaking mission in 1970.

Photos of cosmonauts training in the DOS-1 simulator are extremely rare. Here, an unidentified cosmonaut is in the commander’s seat, facing the main control panel.

begin DOS training until January 1971, after the cancellation of the N1-L3. After his Soyuz 9 mission Sevastyanov spent several months recuperating, and so did not start DOS training until October 1970. However, as was usual for cosmonauts who had just made their first flight, he was frequently sent on goodwill visits, both to the member republics of the USSR and to foreign countries. The third crewmember, Voronov, was also initially involved in another project. As a result, the fourth crew did not begin serious training for DOS until January 1971, and expected to have at least 18 months before making their flight.

The final meeting of the State Commission started at 6.00 p. m. on 4 June. In the past these sessions had been fairly ceremonial in nature because all the details had already been resolved and the purpose was to confirm readiness for the launch. The most interesting part of the session was always the presentation of the cosmonauts. However, this occasion set a precedent. Dobrovolskiy, Volkov, Patsayev, Leonov, Kubasov and Kolodin were seated in a line behind a long table. The men who had been assigned to fly looked serious, almost anxious. According to Leonov they even appeared to have been frightened by the sudden change in their schedule. Established in mid-February, Dobrovolskiy’s crew knew that they should have had more time to train – another month at least, to prepare themselves for the next visit to Salyut. Leonov’s crew held their heads low, clenched their fingers, and appeared nervous. Behind them sat the Soyuz 10 crew. The tension in the air was oppressive.

Kamanin introduced the prime crew. As he announced the names, the cosmonauts stood up. Dobrovolskiy briefly said that his crew was ready to conduct the assigned tasks.

At the session, Leonov was very disappointed: “At the previous session I thanked the Commission for their trust. Now I can only express my regret about what has happened.’’

How about Kubasov? He felt especially guilty because his ailment meant neither of his crewmembers would be allowed to fly.

After just 20 minutes the meeting was concluded.

The famous journalist Mihail Rebrov was present: “I recall the intense silence in the room of the State Commission during the announcement of the decision. Then an explosion of protest! Leonov and Kolodin defended their right to fly the mission, saying that they knew the station better, that they had trained for longer, and that the promotion of Volkov from the backup crew would not have complicated their task. However, the State Commission had made its decision: the backup crew would fly. On the faces of the two crews you could feel the tension, envy… Everything had happened unexpectedly and painfully. Kolodin suffered more than the others. The anger was apparent on his face.’’

Reportedly, Kubasov approached Chertok and apologised. “I believed I had only caught a cold – that it would pass in a week and nothing would be visible on the X – ray scan.’’ No one could console him. The great irony is that the diagnosis of the physicians proved to be spurious. A more detailed medical examination in Moscow showed him to be healthy! It was decided that he must have an allergy to the spray applied to the trees at Baykonur. Many years later, however, Kubasov revealed that the pollen from the trees flowering in the late-season spring had initiated his allergy. What was certain was that the dark spot on his lung wasn’t the onset of tuberculosis.

Another irony is that the comprehensive medical screening failed to establish that Patsayev had a chronic kidney inflammation.

Thus, the incorrect diagnosis of tuberculosis symptoms on Kubasov’s lung led to a healthy cosmonaut being grounded and one with a chronic medical problem being launched into space!

At 7.00 p. m., shortly after the conclusion of the State Commission, Dobrovolskiy, Volkov and Patsayev gave their press conference. Sitting between Kamanin and the Soyuz 10 crew, they were now relaxed and replied to the questions enthusiastically. The journalists knew Volkov as a veteran, but Dobrovolskiy and Patsayev were new. There were so many journalists, with so many questions, that as the room became uncomfortably hot Volkov suggested that they go outside, which they did, and the session was concluded with the crew sitting on a bench with their jackets off and their sleeves rolled up.

The Soviet space journalists knew that they were expected to ask only about the cosmonauts’ lives, their backgrounds, their families, and stories about their training;

“You could feel the tension between the crews,” observed a reporter at the dramatic meeting of the State Commission when the ‘second crew’ was named to fly instead of the ‘first crew’. Leonov, Kubasov and Kolodin sat dejectedly with Dobrovolskiy, Volkov and Patsayev.

The mood was more relaxed at the press conference following the State Commission meeting: Yeliseyev (left), Volkov, Dobrovolskiy, Patsayev, Kamanin and Shatalov.

“Soyuz 11 was a difficult assignment”. Volkov (left), Dobrovolskiy and Patsayev after the press conference. (From the private collection of Rex Hall)

not about the upcoming mission, the major tasks and the planned experiments. Once the mission was underway TASS would publish all that was necessary. The excited cosmonauts spoke willingly, often simultaneously. They jumped from topic to topic. They began by speaking about themselves, in particular about their early years, switched to their training, and then returned to their childhood years. At one point, Patsayev spoke of Korolev. Despite tradition, Dobrovolskiy felt obliged to offer an insight into their mission. As he put it: “Soyuz 10 inaugurated work with the orbital station. Our mission is to complete the next stage of the work begun by Soyuz 10.” The official story was that the Soyuz 10 crew had not been meant to enter Salyut. Volkov said the Soyuz 10 mission was “rather successful”, and that “Soyuz 11 has a difficult assignment”. Of course, the journalists knew that with these words Volkov was saying that complex manoeuvres and a docking operation were to be attempted, and that the crew would board the station. After half an hour, the cosmonauts drew the unusual conference to an end because they had to prepare flight documentation.

But before they departed Volkov and Patsayev shared a cigarette offered by one of the journalists.

Interestingly, after the press conference Patsayev went to Leonov’s room in the Cosmonaut Hotel to apologise. He especially respected Leonov, and was not happy at being nominated for his first mission into space in such circumstances.

On 5 June the final crew for Soyuz 11 were introduced to the launch team at the traditional preflight meeting. Almost 3,000 people gathered at the base of the rocket. There were generals, officers, soldiers, technicians, engineers, politicians, designers, and even some people from the other launch pads. For the first time there were a lot of women present – Korolev’s colleagues say that he had not wanted woman on the pad, believing that they would be unlucky for the forthcoming mission. But on this occasion it appeared that everyone at Baykonur wanted to see the cosmonauts who were to lift off the next day for one of the most important missions in the history of cosmonautics. They formed a ring in front of the rocket, with the cosmonauts in the centre, holding flowers.

Visibly excited, Dobrovolskiy said: “While on my way here, I prepared a speech. Now, seeing your smiles, I’ll simply say, dear comrades and friends, thank you very much for your effort. We will do everything that is necessary to complete our task.’’ It was traditional for the prime and backup crews to take a brief walk in homage to their predecessors, but Leonov did not wish to participate, and therefore his crew remained in place. In fact, Leonov and Kubasov had not even wished to attend the ceremony. When Kamanin had told them that they must do so, Kubasov replied: “If I am healthy then I must fly. If I am sick, I should not be there.’’

When the ceremony was over, the journalists went to see the cosmonauts’ room in the Cosmonaut Hotel. It was not very large, but contained three beds, chairs and a table in the middle draped with a white tablecloth. There were also three displays of flowers which the cosmonauts had picked nearby to freshen up the room. There was a fridge with mineral water, but despite the weather the physicians had ordered the cosmonauts not to add ice to the water. In the meantime, the prime crew had a final session with Mishin and his engineers. At this meeting an unusual photograph was taken showing the three men in an embrace with Mishin and ex-cosmonaut General Nikolayev, who was now one of the training leaders at the TsPK.

Mission commander Lieutenant-Colonel Georgiy Dobrovolskiy, flight engineer Vladislav Volkov and research engineer Viktor Patsayev found themselves on the threshold of space earlier than they or anyone else had expected.

Specific references

1. Kamanin, N. P., Hidden Space, Book 4. Novosti kosmonavtiki, 2001, pp. 313— 316 (in Russian).

2. Chertok, B. Y., Rockets and People – The Moon Race, Book 4. Mashinostrenie, Moscow, 2002, pp. 305—315 (in Russian).

3. Scott, David and Leonov, Alexei. Two Sides of the Moon – Our Story of the Cold War Space Race. Simon & Schuster, 2004, pp. 259—262.

4. Novosti kosmonavtiki, No. 3, 2005 (Interview with Valeriy Kubasov).

When the DOS programme started in early 1970, it was only one of several manned space projects. In addition to the 12 cosmonauts assigned to the DOS crews there was a group of ten cosmonauts in training at the TsPK for projects involving other versions of the Soyuz. Pavel Popovich led the 20 military cosmonauts in the Almaz group. Valeriy Bykovskiy led the now much reduced lunar group. There was also a team in training for the Spirala ‘rocket plane’ project. Because the facilities were in constant use, some of the simulators were in need of significant maintenance. The mockup of the DOS-1 station was not able to be installed at the TSPK until October 1970, barely four months before (on the target schedule) the first crew were due to be launched.

Having worked 24 hours a day, the Khrunichev factory managed to deliver three stations to the TsKBEM in December 1970 for testing.

The Ministry of General Machine Building formed the DOS-1 State Commission, drawing its members from the leading people responsible for the design and testing of the spacecraft, training the cosmonauts, launch preparations, mission control and recovery activities. By tradition, at the final meeting of a State Commission prior to a launch, representatives from the TsKBEM, the Baykonur cosmodrome and all the other institutions which participated in the preparation of the mission would assess their readiness. After the decision of the date and time of launch, Kamanin would present the prime and backup crews. Since 1966 the State Commissions for Soyuz flights had been chaired by Major-General Kerim Kerimov, one of the Ministry of General Machine Building’s directorate chiefs. He had previously been responsible for developing and operating the facilities of the Strategic Rocket Forces. At the inaugural meeting of the new State Commission in late December 1970, the Chief Designers reported on the status of the programme, and the progress in constructing the two stations and the 7K-T ferries for the Soyuz 10 and Soyuz 11 missions. As a result of problems testing its subsystems, it would not be possible to launch DOS-1 in February as hoped, and its launch was rescheduled for 15 March 1971. There was an argument about the duration of the first missions. Mishin and the medical experts of the Institute for Biomedical Problems (IBMP) in Tushino, which was the most prestigious of the civilian space medicine institutions, wanted the first crew to make a 30-day flight, but Kamanin and the physicians of the Central Air Force Scientific Research Hospital (TsVNIAG) argued for a maximum target of 25 days; the issue was left unresolved.

Shortly after the meeting, General Kutakhov, the Commander in Chief of the Air Force, visited the TsKBEM to inspect progress with the first station. Mishin tried to convince him to overrule Kamanin and support a 30-day flight for the first mission, but Kutakhov diplomatically replied that the matter should be decided by aerospace physicians and those who were responsible for training the cosmonauts. Although Mishin inferred from this that Kutakhov supported Kamanin, this was not the case. Aware that his days were numbered, Kamanin wrote to Kutakhov proposing to retire in favour of his aide, Major-General Leonid Goreglyad. But Kutakhov had his own candidate, a man who had worked under his command many years ago – cosmonaut Vladimir Shatalov. Kamanin thought that the more experienced Goreglyad would be a better choice, at least until Shatalov had matured as a manager.

In general the crew training was efficient, and the cosmonauts divided their time between the facilities in Zvyozdniy and Kaliningrad as necessary. One of the most important military experiments, which was to be done by both of the DOS-1 crews, was to monitor the launch of intercontinental ballistic missiles. In the early days of February 1971, Shonin’s and Leonov’s crews went to Baykonur for special training. Flying in a Tu-104 aircraft, they observed night launches of ballistic missiles using the Svinetz (‘Lead’) apparatus which was to be installed on the station. However, on 5 February, soon after their return, Shonin missed a session of important quality control and testing (KIS) training in Kaliningrad, apparently because he was drunk. A furious Mishin called Kamanin and loudly announced his firm decision: ‘‘He’ll never fly again in my spaceships!’’ Kamanin called Shonin, and promptly realised how stupid Shonin had been. Kamanin had received reports of Shonin’s drinking habits in March 1970 but, having been impressed by Shonin on the Soyuz 6 mission,

had taken no action. Now Kamanin realised that for months the TsPK managers had been covering for a drunken cosmonaut. This left Kamanin with no option. Shonin pleaded his case: “Take my Hero’s star, strip me of my colonel’s rank, but please don’t take my spaceflight from me!’’ Shonin had received the Gold Star of Hero of the Soviet Union for his space flight, and it was the highest honour the nation could award a military officer. Leonov, who served as one of the deputies to Kuznyetsov, the head of the TsPK, approached Kamanin in an attempt to defend Shonin, but it was too late.[28]

Kamanin now suggested the strongest military cosmonaut, Shatalov, to command the first crew. Although this reinstated the crew nominated by the TsKBEM in May 1970, Mishin was against the idea. He sought to exploit Shonin’s dismissal to call for assigning an all-civilian crew to the first DOS-1 mission: Yeliseyev would be in command, with Kubasov as flight engineer and Rukavishnikov as research engineer. Of course, Kamanin rejected this. After much argument, Mishin was obliged to accept Shatalov as the commander of the first crew. Dobrovolskiy took Shatalov’s place on the third crew, and Lieutenant-Colonel Aleksey Gubaryev, a rookie from the second group of military cosmonauts, was given command of the fourth crew. In this reshuffle, only Leonov’s crew remained untouched.

Shatalov (foreground) and Volkov training with photo-equipment.

After Shonin’s dismissal, Shatalov (second from the left) joined the ‘first crew’ with 2 months remaining to the launch of the DOS-1 station. Here he, Yeliseyev (left) and Rukavishnikov listen to Deputy Chief Designer Yakov Tregub, the head of manned flight control. (From the book Life – A Drop in the Sea, courtesy astronaut. ru)

On 12 February 1971, with the launch of the first space station imminent, the crews were changed for the third time:

• Crew 1: Vladimir Shatalov, Aleksey Yeliseyev and Nikolay Rukavishnikov

• Crew 2: Aleksey Leonov, Valeriy Kubasov and Pyotr Kolodin

• Crew 3: Georgiy Dobrovolskiy, Vladislav Volkov and Viktor Patsayev

• Crew 4: Aleksey Gubaryev, Vitaliy Sevastyanov and Anatoliy Voronov

However, as events transpired, this plan did not last.

Specific references

1. Kamanin, N. P., Hidden Space, Book 4. Novosti kosmonavtiki, 2001, pp. 153— 160 and 260—262 (in Russian).

2. Yeliseyev, A. S., Life – A Drop in the Sea. ID Aviatsiya and kosmonavtika, Moscow, 1998, pp. 70—72 (in Russian).

DOS cosmonauts. Sitting: Leonov (left), Yeliseyev, Shatalov, Rukavishnikov and Kubasov. Standing: Kolodin (left), Dobrovolskiy, Volkov and Patsayev. (From the private collection of Rex Hall)

BETWEEN THE SEA AND SKY

“About space?” began cosmonaut Dobrovolskiy when asked the inevitable question by the famous space journalist Alexandar Romanov, “I must admit, I never dreamt about it.” The interview occurred in July 1969 during the tour by Frank Borman, the first American astronaut to visit the Soviet Union. All the TsPK’s cosmonauts – veterans and rookies – gathered in Zvyozdniy to meet the man who commanded the Apollo 8 mission which orbited the Moon in December 1968. Dobrovolskiy had been seated on one of the rear benches, and Romanov took the opportunity to talk to him in advance of Borman’s arrival. “I’m from Odessa,” Dobrovolskiy continued, “where people dream only of the sea and travelling across the ocean. The majority of my friends joined the navy.’’

“But you became a cosmonaut?’’ Romanov prompted.

Dobrovolskiy smiled and looked at the sky: “First, there was aviation. I devoted ten years of my life to aviation; my happiest years. I cannot imagine myself without flying. It is an awesome feeling to sit in the cockpit of a plane which is totally in your control. And in front of you – blue heavens! I am still in love with the sky. I’m not saying I ‘love’ it, rather I’m ‘in love’ with the sky. But, now I don’t fly so much, and without flying, I’m like. . .’’

‘‘But in space nothing is really blue,’’ Romanov interjected, ‘‘it’s black.’’

‘‘In space something else attracts you. I wish so much to look at the Earth from the altitude of space! Gagarin was the first to see her blue aureole. Now we call her the Blue Planet. Listen to how that sounds: the Blue Planet! I don’t think the beauty of space could ever extinguish our love for Earth. Do you remember the song with the lyric: ‘Anywhere carried away by our rockets, we always return to you, the blue Earth’?’’

Although it was brief, this interview painted an accurate picture of Dobrovolskiy. His colleagues, to whom he was Zhora, said he was born to fly. His flying biography includes the phrase: ‘‘He flies calmly.’’ This is a very rare description to hear, even when talking of the best pilots. Yes, peace and wellbeing are probably the real words

to describe the character and life of Dobrovolskiy, a surname which, fittingly, means “a man of goodwill”. Blond, tall, broad-shouldered and tough, he was kind-hearted and had a contagious belly laugh. His accent remained ‘broad Odessa’, and he had a sense of humour typical of someone from that region. At the Air Force school, his friends nicknamed him ‘Odessa’, and he was proud of it.

Life was tough on Georgiy Timofeyevich Dobrovolskiy.[42] He was born on 1 June 1928 in Odessa on the coast of the Black Sea, in Ukraine. His family was Russian, and lived in the suburb of Blizhniy Melnitza (‘the mills neighbourhood’). His father Timofey Trofimovich left when Zhora was two years old, and he was raised by his mother Mariya Alekseyevna. ‘‘She is a marvellous woman,’’ he said of his mother. ‘‘She represented an ideal. She faced hardship. Without a husband, she had to work to feed us. Firstly she worked in a shop, then in a cannon factory. No matter how tough her life was, I never saw her complain, be sad, in bad mood or in despair.’’

As a little boy Zhora often asked about his father, but his mother did not say and only later did he learn from relatives that his father had been a member of Soviet counterintelligence, and one day had left home and never returned.

Zhora liked his hometown, the sea and the sky. Lying on the shore, he spent hours watching the ships pass by and enjoying the beauty of the cloud formations. He ran and played with his friends on streets which, 20 years previously, a student of the technical high school had walked – Sergey Korolev. Four years prior to Zhora’s birth, Korolev designed a light plane and dreamed of rockets and space. A quarter of a century later, they met.

‘‘I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth, and no good fairies brought me

gifts,” Dobrovolskiy observed. “Of course, I had plenty of catapults and scooters – but I made them myself.”

The Second World War had a deep impact on his life. He was 13 years old when it began for the USSR. He recalled how the ships of the Black Sea Fleet put up a heavy barrage against German bombers, illuminating the dark sky with shell bursts and the tracers of machine-gun bullets. But bombs still fell onto the city, destroying buildings and killing many people. In autumn 1941, after 73 days of defending the city, the soldiers of the Red Army and the sailors of the Black Sea Fleet were forced to abandon their positions and evacuate. In the city, only the partisan cells remained to continue to offer resistance. Zhora, who had just finished his sixth grade at high school No. 99, remembered for the rest of his life the day that the invaders entered the town in which he had been born. From behind the corner of one building he saw one young saboteur make a bomb attack on a column of tanks. He wanted so much to participate in the resistance, and soon he was in action. In his first act of sabotage, he and one of his friends punctured the tires of military trucks. But his life changed dramatically when he encountered a real partisan, and then became an enthusiastic member of the underground. He began by providing information on the movements of the enemy forces, and by carrying ammunition. His next action was much braver: one night he and a friend attacked a German soldier. However, knowing that the SS officers were the cruelest, he yearned to kill at least one of them. In February 1944 his neighbour gave him a Beretta revolver. He was so proud. But on setting out for his next action he was stopped near his home, and the revolver that he carried was found. At the local headquarters of the SS he was beaten by a rubber truncheon and subjected to electric-shock torture. He lost consciousness several times. His fingers were broken. As a result of this ordeal, his hands and fingers remained marked. He refused to name his friends, and did not disclose the location of other weapons. At his tribunal he pleaded guilty only to possessing a revolver, for which he received a 25-year sentence of hard labour. In the 23 February 1944 edition of Molya, a news sheet issued by the Nazis during the occupation of Odessa, it was reported that the Military Field Tribunal had ordered “Dobrovolskiy, Georgiy, of Odessa, 5, Pishenin Lane, 25 years of penal servitude for possession of a Beretta revolver which was in working order.” In fact, by the standards of the time, he had been treated leniently: all adult saboteurs arrested with a weapon were summarily executed.

Dobrovolskiy had resolved to leap from the lorry which was to take him away. He knew the back streets well, and was sure that he would be able to escape. But his mother came to see him off. Running alongside the truck, she cried: “Don’t worry, son. It will be all right.’’ He realised that if he tried to escape, the Nazis would seek out his mother to punish her. In fact, the situation was not without hope, because the Red Army was approaching Odessa. On the other hand, this drove the Nazis to ever greater oppression of the city. More than 20,000 people, including many prisoners, were executed, and Zhora feared that the remaining prisoners would be executed as the Nazis prepared to flee from the city. But at the last moment one of his relatives bribed a guard, and on 19 March, after less than a month in prison, Zhora managed to escape. As he made his way home, he saw a large pit full of executed prisoners just outside the city. Three weeks later, the Red Army liberated Odessa. Zhora went to join the Red Army to fight to liberate the entire country, but was refused owing to his age – he was not yet sixteen.

ft was difficult to resume the school routine after a three-year hiatus, but under pressure from his mother Zhora passed his seventh and the eighth grades. The war in Europe ended in May 1945. With a strong sense of love of the sea, he applied to enter the Odessa Nautical School but his application was submitted too late and he was unsuccessful. A friend suggested the recently opened Odessa Special Air Force School, observing that there he “would have the new uniform and, more important, good food”. Zhora therefore turned to his second love – the sky – and decided to enroll at the Air Force School. This was another of so many strange turns in his life. The Air Force School trained future military pilots. As an 18-year-old student there, Zhora flew solo for the first time. Although still in love with the sea, on discovering the beauty of the blue heavens he knew that the sky would be his life. ft was a tough time. He studied during the day, and unloaded ships in port at night. On graduating with a diploma in 1946, he had no difficulty in enrolling at the famous Chuguyev Military School for Air Force Pilots. He achieved maximum scores for his flying skills, but was not so strong on the theory side. He attempted to prepare himself for the physical loads of flying, especially liking dumbbell gymnastics and rod, jumps from a tower into water, and swimming. Remarkably, on one of the school’s breaks he had an opportunity to meet his father, who had remarried, and discovered that he had a 16-year-old half-brother, Aleksandar.

fn November 1950 Zhora graduated from Chuguyev as a fighter pilot of the Navy and was posted to the Sevastopol aviation regiment in the Donbas region, where he met many experienced pilots, even some who had participated in the Second World War, now working as instructors. Sometimes the ‘old’ and ‘young’ pilots simulated ‘dog fights’ in the air. On one such exercise, Zhora managed to escape one of the attackers commanded by a veteran pilot and then, using a complex manoeuvre, was able to get behind his ‘enemy’, becoming one of the few young pilots to ‘defeat’ a veteran. But he would remember this period of his life not for this ‘victory’, but for an unprecedented event concerning his first love: the sea. One day, while resting on a small hill enjoying the view of the stormy sea, he heard a cry for help and saw the head of girl, completely exhausted, in a foamy spray of pounding waves. Without a second’s thought, he jumped into the sea and managed to catch her before she sank. After struggling with the waves, he brought her to the shore. Meanwhile, seeing the drama, several people rushed to assist him. At first the girl was unconscious, but she soon recovered. ff he had not spotted her from his position up on the hill, she would certainly have drowned. ft was her fate to survive. Many years later, someone with the same determination would pull his body from a landed spacecraft and attempt to save his life – but in vain.

Zhora flew a variety of MiG, Yak and Lavochkin planes in all weather conditions, and often his inner peace and cool thinking enabled him to overcome difficulties. fn contrast to many other pilots, he liked parachute jumps, making 111 jumps in total. fn fact, when he joined the cosmonaut group he was appointed as an instructor for parachuting. fn October 1952, soon after finishing studies at the Evening University of Marxism-Leninism, he was posted to East Germany to defend

the border. On the NATO side, he could see American aircraft patrolling. He became fluent in German. In January 1955 he became a deputy squadron commander, responsible for political work, and soon thereafter, at the age of 27, he was promoted to the rank of captain. A local newspaper wrote about him in its serial, ‘Story of the Air Combat Masters’. In the autumn of 1956 he was posted once again, this time to the town of Valga in Estonia, pleasantly located by the Baltic Sea. He was very pedantic, always striving for perfection. With his height, stature and looks, he stood out amongst the pilots. On a visit to a local dance club he met Lyudmila Steblyova, a mathematician, and in 1957 they were married.

As a pilot and commander-educator, Zhora began to appreciate that he was weak on the theory side. He decided to enroll for a correspondence course at the Military Aeronautical Academy for Command and Navigation Staff of the Red Army Air Forces.[43]

Meanwhile, Lyudmila resumed her studies via the correspondence department of Leningrad University. In 1959 she gave a birth to daughter Marina. But when the physicians refused to permit the delighted husband and first-time father to visit his wife and baby, he found himself outside the hospital with a large bouquet of flowers. He had to resort to communicating with his wife via letters! In one, written when Marina was just a few days old, he wrote cheekily: ‘‘I don’t believe that she yet does not yet say ‘dad’. You are hiding this fact from me; confess!’’ To his father he sent a telegram – in fact, a poem – announcing the birth of his daughter.

In July 1961 he graduated from the Air Force Academy, specialising in command headquarters for the Military Air Force. One interesting detail – he passed the exam for fluency in a foreign language in German!

As an aeronautical engineer he continued to fly, served as deputy to the squadron

commander, headed the political section of the regiment, and was an instructor for parachute jumps. But he also had to become deeply involved with staff management. Although he was extremely happy, he sometimes had difficulty with some of his colleagues and would go home in the evening thoughtful and sad. With his family, however, he was stable, sensitive and attentive. Recalling this period, Lyudmila said that although he could come home exhausted, he was always ready to play with his dear daughter. “He was never violent, never rude, and never insulted me – although, of course, I wasn’t always right! Softly and kindly, he knew how to calm my anger, reducing my issues to nonexistent quarrels or pointless conflicts, and then, once the storm had abated, we laughed at the stupidity and absurdity of the dispute. He was very easy to live with.’’ His daughter Marina has many good memories: “For me, my father was the closest friend in my life. He always supported me. He used to tell everyone that he had the most beautiful daughter; that she was an excellent student; that she swam expertly; and that she was a remarkable dancer. When saying these things, he would look at me with a big smile. And naturally I would set out to learn something else in order to gain additional praise.’’

Three months before Zhora graduated from the Academy, Yuriy Gagarin became the first man to orbit the Earth, and shortly after Zhora’s graduation Gherman Titov spent an entire day in space. Across the Soviet Union, young pilots began to talk of making space flights. But Zhora, who at 33 was seven years older than Titov, was not one of them. He presumed that flying in space was for younger men. In any case, he liked to fly aircraft, liked his squadron, and liked to work with young pilots. But then in early 1962 the managers of the space programme decided to recruit military pilots possessing greater experience, test pilots, aeronautical engineers and officers knowl­edgeable of rocketry to fly the more advanced space missions planned for the future.

FINAL PREPARATIONS

As the cosmonauts were training for flights to the first space station, on 2 March 1971 the Council of Chief Designers met at the TsKBEM for its first session in relation to the DOS-1 work. The Council had been formed in late 1947 by Sergey Korolev to oversee the technical management of rocket and spacecraft develop­ment. It was chaired by Korolev, and originally comprised the six Chief Designers of the primary rocket design bureaus: Valentin Glushko for rocket engines, Nikolay Pilyugin for guidance systems, Viktor Kuznetsov for gyroscopes, Vladimir Barmin for launch equipment and Mikhail Ryazanskiy for radio-control systems. After the death of Korolev in January 1966 Vasiliy Mishin took his place. He now chaired the meeting. The main presentation was by Yevgeniy Shabarov, Bushuyev’s deputy for the testing of manned spacecraft, who said that all testing had been successfully completed and DOS-1 and the two Soyuz 7K-T ferries were ready to be sent to Baykonur. The preparations to launch the station – which was to be named Zarya (‘Dawn’) – were to begin on 9 March with a view to achieving a launch on 15 April. If all went well, the first crew would follow within five days. Mishin criticised the delays in vibration testing the DOS-1 mockup, and asked that this be completed by 29 March. There was also the issue of the warranty on the parachutes of the Soyuz, which would expire on 15 April. The Council also discussed the efficiency of the Igla rendezvous system. But the main concern was that the first phase of testing the station’s life support system, which had only recently been completed, had revealed a number of faults and it would not be possible to start the second phase of testing until these issues had been resolved. Interestingly, although there were less than 45 days remaining to the station’s planned launch, the question of how long the crews should occupy it remained undecided.

“One day in January 1962, my squadron commander invited me to his office. He asked me how I was doing, about my health, how I felt. Then, suddenly he stood up and asked me: ‘What do you think about space flight?’ I asked: ‘Me?’ He replied: ‘Yes, you Georgiy Timofeyevich!’ I didn’t know what he had in his mind, so I said nothing. Finally: ‘Don’t you want to fly to space? Think it over.’ That was all. How could I reject such a proposal? To fly far above the Earth in the emptiness of space. I remembered Jules Verne, Konstantin Tsiolkovskiy, and about our rockets that had already reached the Moon. I thought also of the fact that they judged my experience and knowledge to be necessary for the next step.’’

After consulting his wife, Zhora wrote to his commander, concluding the letter as follows:

I am asking for your permission to enroll in the cosmonaut school. To that, I wish to dedicate all my knowledge and, if necessary, my life.

Major Dobrovolskiy 5.3.62.

On 10 January 1963 Zhora was selected as a member of the Air Force’s second group of cosmonauts. This comprised 15 military pilots, navigators and engineers of the Strategic Rocket Forces, and included Shatalov, Filipchenko, Artyukhin, Dyomin, Gubaryev and Zholobov. Zhora moved with his wife and daughter to Zvyozdniy to begin training at the TsPK.

As Marina recalls, “My father liked friendship. In our 11-storey building lived the cosmonauts of the first and second groups: Gagarin, Titov, Teryeshkova, Komarov, Beregovoy. They were like members of the single spaceship crew – our building. My father especially respected the heroic past of cosmonaut Beregovoy.’’

It was a complex programme of theory classes, physical training, centrifuge work, parachuting and flying MiG-15, MiG-21, Tu-104 and IL-14 aircraft.[44] In the altitude chamber he experienced an air pressure reduced to that at a height of 5 km. There was also a chamber that was heated to a temperature exceeding 50°C, and during a single session Zhora shed several kilograms. One of the most difficult parts of the training for the majority of the cosmonauts was an ordeal known as the “chamber of silence’’. Zhora first encountered it in February 1964. He entered the chamber with his body covered with biosensors, and spent the next 10 days alone in total silence reading books on astronomy, mathematics and the German language. Interestingly, he also took with him a piece of wood and carved a doll for his daughter. He kept a diary of his activities. The test should have lasted one day longer, but in that case it would have ended on 8 March, which was International Women’s Day, and because the majority of the staff supervising the chamber were women they did not wish to miss this holiday.

Shatalov recalls those days: “Zhora stood apart from others by his extraordinary intensity. He prepared for every job deliberately, peacefully, methodically, never in a hurry, always with responsibility. As a great pilot, he learned the space techniques perfectly. He was extremely strict with himself: I remember in January 1963 when we, the new cosmonauts, met in Moscow prior to going to Zvyozdniy and someone suggested a glass of wine to toast the start of this new phase of our lives, and Zhora refused. At that time we did not appreciate his reaction, but later we realised that he was not a pretender. He soon became a favourite of the entire cosmonaut group. We trusted him, and loved him because of his modesty as well as his principles. As he never drank at all, at a party our wives forced him to taste alcohol – it was the first, and the last time I saw him with a glass in his hand.’’

Eduard Buynovskiy was another member of that cosmonaut group: “I remember Zhora as extremely sympathetic, always tidy, perfect, correct and well meant, and as a man who liked friendship.”

And as Yevgeniy Khrunov of the first group recalls: “Zhora always looked right in the eyes of everyone he spoke to – no matter whether the conversation was of a pleasant or an unpleasant nature. Working in the simulator, he did not spare efforts. Interestingly, he didn’t like simple tasks. He had to wait many years for his flight. I

Dobrovolskiy spent 8 years training for this historic space mission, including (top left, clockwise) in the altitude chamber, parachute jumping, simulating g-forces on a catapult seat and piloting aircraft.

know just how difficult that was. He was preparing for a long time, and in parallel helping others to train for their own missions. He participated in the organisation of almost every flight by a Soyuz spacecraft, all the time patiently continuing with his own training.”

The five women who entered cosmonaut training at the TsPK in the spring of 1962, about 7 months before the second group arrived, also have fond memories of Zhora. Most of the first group were annoyed to see women in the simulator. At that time, only two Soviet cosmonauts had flown in space and it was felt that there were a great many issues to be resolved before women could be allowed to fly. But at the heart of the matter was the fact that the women represented competition for flights. The women’s situation dramatically changed when the second group of men arrived. Whereas the young squadron pilots had made it very clear that they did not approve of the women, the new men, being generally older, more serious, more experienced, of higher rank, and of superior technical knowledge, both respected the women and treated them as colleagues. In the breaks between training sessions during the long hot summer, Zhora would buy them all ice creams.

From the moment he joined the ranks of the cosmonauts in January 1963 until he became the Soyuz 11 commander in June 1971, his life was a succession of exciting events. The general training took precisely two years. ft was the toughest thing the 37-year-old had ever done: “f doubt if f could stand it again.’’ He was immediately assigned to the second detachment formed to train for military space missions. Then in September 1966 Kamanin moved him to the group of seven military cosmonauts to train for the L1 circumlunar missions. However, even before they could finish the theory of flying to the Moon and the details of the L1 spacecraft they were joined by members of the TsKBEM’s first group of cosmonaut-engineers. This joint group, led by Aleksey Leonov, had seven military and four civilian cosmonauts, but Zhora was no longer a member.[45] But in June 1967, when Boris Volynov was transferred to the group training for the mission on which two Soyuz spacecraft were to dock in space, Zhora took his place in the L1 group.[46]

ft was during this period that the Dobrovolskiy family gained its second child – daughter Nataliya. At that time, Marina was aged seven. “The first summer after the birth of Nataliya, my father and f went on a vacation to Yalta. Mother remained in town with Natashenka. My father stayed in a nearby hostel, and f lived with grandmother. Early in the morning – no later than 7.00 o’clock – daddy came to fetch me and we went to the shore. He loved to walk in shorts and white jacket, with our sports bag. f had short-cut hair, just like a boy. f liked to walk next to my father along the street. One day we decided to visit the ship Ivan Franco. After buying the tickets we had some time before its departure, so we went to the beach, and on our return we saw the ship drawing away from the pier. f was so disappointed, but it was impossible to complain to my father. Once he said to me: ‘Let us imagine a sign which when we show it to one another we must smile.’ This sign was secret, known only to he and I. Whenever I was distressed, he would smile and show me that sign. After my mood was restored, I would also smile and then we would laugh.’’

In November 1967 Zhora and several cosmonauts of the lunar group, including Leonov and Popovich, went to Baykonur to watch the launch of the Proton rocket carrying an unmanned L1 spacecraft. The plan was for the spacecraft to pass around the Moon and return to Earth, but the launch failed as a result of a problem with the engines of the second stage. In early 1968 Kamanin and Mishin chose the first four crews from the 14 cosmonauts in training for the L1 spacecraft.[47] Zhora was given command of the fourth crew, with Georgiy Grechko as his flight engineer. But in September 1968 it was decided that only the first three crews would be needed. For several months, he worked with the group in training for the Almaz military space station, and was then made commander of the third (backup) crew for the double Soyuz mission, and between August and December 1968 he trained to fly the active spacecraft. Then in May 1969, after Soyuz 4 and Soyuz 5 had achieved this goal, he joined the group of six cosmonauts on the project which was to test (in Earth orbit) techniques required to rendezvous and dock in lunar orbit without the assistance of the Earth. This was preparatory work for the N1-L3 lunar landings. Pairs of Soyuz spacecraft were to test the L3 docking system, which was known as ‘Contact’. The TsKBEM built four spacecraft equipped for these tests. Four two-man crews trained at the TsPK, and cosmonauts from recent Soyuz missions joined the group to serve as backups. The initial plan was to fly the first joint mission in August-September 1970, and the second in early 1971. At the end of 1969, after the cancellation of the L1 project, most of the lunar cosmonauts were transferred to the Contact group. The Kremlin issued the surprising order that the 100th anniversary of Lenin’s birth must be celebrated by a record 17-20-day space mission using one of the four Contact spacecraft! Accordingly, the passive ship from the first pair was reassigned to this long- duration mission – which became Soyuz 9. With only three ships remaining, it would not be possible to undertake two Contact tests. However, the future of the N1-L3 was itself in doubt. Nevertheless, the Contact cosmonauts continued to train alongside the three crews assigned to the new long-duration mission. Zhora trained from time to time with Pyotr Kolodin and the civilian engineers Oleg Makarov and Vitaliy Sevastyanov. In mid-March 1970 Kamanin and Mishin formed two prime and two backup crews for the active and passive ships of the sole remaining Contact test. Zhora was commander of the backup crew for the active ship, with Makarov as his flight engineer.

The failures of the N1 rocket severely diminished the prospects for the L3 project and reduced the need for the Contact mission. But the era of the space station was opening, and in May 1970 Kamanin, knowing that Zhora’s training had focused on rendezvous and docking, nominated him to command the fourth DOS crew. From

“He was fanatically strict with himself.” Dobrovolskiy was a serious person during training, but relaxed with friends. With General Beregovoy (right) whom Dobrovolskiy especially respected.

September 1970 to mid-February 1971 he trained with Sevastyanov and Voronov. When cosmonaut Shonin, commander of the first DOS crew, was dismissed after an indiscretion, Kamanin replaced Shonin with Shatalov and gave Zhora command of the third crew. Zhora was expecting to fly the first mission to DOS-2 along with Volkov and Patsayev. But then fate intervened with the failure of Soyuz 10 to dock, and Zhora’s crew found itself backing up the prime crew and in line to fly to DOS-1 in July 1971. When a member of the prime crew was grounded for medical reasons just days before the scheduled launch, Zhora’s crew got the opportunity to become the first crew to board Salyut!

Marina Dobrovolskiy was 11 years old when her father left Zvyozdniy to travel to Baykonur: “He had never discussed his business things in my presence. However, I remember him saying the word “soon’’; he said this to my mother prior to the flight. When he left on these trips he always had a smile, knowing that he would soon be back home. I was never anxious, but I was always eager for him to return.’’ Asked if she had any premonition of the forthcoming tragedy, she replied negatively.

When a journalist asked Zhora about his feelings on the eve of his first flight into space, he said: “I would say that every space flight is a form of combat, because in a very short time you must give it your maximum, your experience, your knowledge – everything you have accumulated over your entire life. For those people who wish to participate in such combat, space is the right place.’’

Q: “And where is the sense of life?’’

“That is a difficult question. Probably it is in the accomplishment of the highest goals. Without motivation, life is mere existence.’’

On the night before launch he was asked: “Are you excited Georgiy?’’

“Yes, I am. All the time I think only of the launch, the flight and the experiments. We have prepared for every anomalous situation, but to be honest I am as excited as if I were about to approach a terrible enemy. Space does not forgive mistakes.’’

Meanwhile, the crews were wrapping up their training programmes in Zvyozdniy and Kaliningrad. On 9 March Shatalov, Yeliseyev and Rukavishnikov spent more than 14 hours in the Soyuz simulator, rehearsing each major phase of the mission – launch, rendezvous and docking, undocking, re-entry and landing – in the process overcoming five simulated anomalies, including the failure of the main engine and an excessive rate of fuel consumption. Leonov’s crew had a similar session the next day, and Dobrovolskiy’s crew three days later. This completed the formal training. On 16 March they had their final exams, and achieved the best possible score. Three days later, the State Commission confirmed that an attempt would be made to launch the station in the period 15-18 April, but left undecided the duration of the first crew’s mission.

Did anyone in the West have a suspicion of the imminence of such an important event in cosmonautics? Of course, Brezhnyev’s speech and the newspaper articles by Academicians Keldysh and Petrov had said that the Soviet Union was interested in a space station. Some of this was reported overseas. For example, on 16 March 1971 the Guardian in London published an article entitled ‘Russia Plans the First Station in Space’. And in an interview with the newspaper Socialist Industry, an unidentified Chief Designer (Mishin?) predicted: ‘‘It seems to me expedient to build in the near future a station in space near the Earth that would operate for a long time. The flight of Soyuz 9, which lasted 18 days, was an important step in this direction. A time will come when manned Soviet research laboratories will orbit the Earth.’’ Western newspapers speculated that the next long-duration manned mission might coincide with the 24th Congress of the Soviet Communist Party, which was to open on 30 March.

On 20 March the three crews travelled to Baykonur on separate Tu-104 aircraft, and on arrival went to the so-called ‘Cosmonaut Hotel’. Over the next three days they performed final rehearsals on board the Soyuz 10 spacecraft in the Assembly – Test Building (MIK) near Pad No. 1; the pad from which first Sputnik and later Gagarin had lifted off. The rocket was being checked elsewhere in the building. Chelomey’s preparation facility was near Pad No. 82, from which his Protons were launched. The DOS-1 station and its launcher were being checked out in one building while construction was underway nearby of the building in which the spacecraft for the Almaz programme would be prepared.

The cosmonauts flew back to Moscow in order to attend the meeting of the VPK Military-Industrial Commission on 25 March. Mishin said that it should be possible to launch the station in the period 15-20 April, with Soyuz 10 lifting off 3 days later. He recommended that Shatalov, Yeliseyev and Rukavishnikov’s mission should last a month, and that 25 days later Leonov, Kubasov and Kolodin should set off for a mission of up to 45 days. It was decided to assign the first crew a 30-day mission, but to postpone making a decision on the length of the second mission until the state of health of the first crew had been assessed upon their return. However, looking on the optimistic side, the second crew were to train on the presumption that they were to conduct a 45-day mission.

The Soyuz 10 crew before their final training: Rukavishnikov (left), Yeliseyev and Shatalov. (From the private collection of Rex Hall)

As ‘known’ cosmonauts, Shatalov and Yeliseyev were directed to attend the 24th Congress of the Soviet Communist Party. Less than a month before the launch of the first space station, two members of the prime crew spent 6 days as delegates at a political meeting! In accordance with tradition, the cosmonauts visited Red Square and Gagarin’s office in Zvyozdniy. Then there was a final meeting with Mishin, Bushuyev, Chertok and Semyonov at the TsKBEM, which was attended by Nikolay Lobanov, who was the Chief Designer of the Scientific-Research and Experimental Institute of the Parachute Landing Service, and Gay Severin, the General Designer of OKB Zvezda which supplied the spacecraft crew couches and the suits and other apparatus required to undertake spacewalks.

On 6 April the three crews returned to Baykonur. They conducted a final round of training on board the space station and the Soyuz 10 spacecraft, and then these were mated with their launchers. On 9 April the State Commission decided to install the Proton on the pad at 7.00 a. m. local time on 15 April, with a view to launching it at 6.40 a. m. (4.40 a. m. Moscow Time) on 19 April. General Kerimov, who chaired the meeting, expressed the Kremlin’s dissatisfaction with the name ‘Zarya’. It appeared that China was developing a rocket with this name. The Kremlin wanted the station to be renamed. In fact, there was another reason to change the name, as ‘Zarya’ was the radio call-sign of the mission control centre in communications with a manned spacecraft. Kerimov suggested that the name on the side of the vehicle be repainted. Chertok objected, pointing out that as the Americans would surely not be able to photograph the station in orbit it was unnecessary to repaint the vehicle! After much discussion, someone proposed Salyut (‘Салют’; meaning ‘Salutation’ or ‘Greeting’)

It is traditional for cosmonauts to visit Gagarin’s office at the TsPK in Zvyozdniy prior to departing for Baykonur. Here Volkov (left), Yeliseyev, Dobrovolskiy and Shatalov (foreground) look on as Leonov writes in the visitors’ book. A picture of Konstantin Tsiolkovskiy hangs on the wall.

and this was unanimously accepted. As there was no time to repaint the name, the station was mated with the third stage of the Proton bearing the name ‘Zarya’ on its side.[29]

The final meeting of the State Commission prior to the launch of DOS-1 was held on 18 April. After representatives of the TsKBEM and the TsKBM reported on the status of the Proton and its payload, the preparations for Soyuz 10 were reviewed.

At 4.39 a. m. Moscow Time on Monday, 19 April 1971, Salyut (DOS-7K No. 1) was successfully launched as the world’s first space station – it was only 16 months since the decision was taken to initiate the programme!

The initial parameters of the station’s orbit were 200 x 222 km at an inclination of 51.6 degrees to the equator, with a period of 88.5 minutes. Although the launch had been flawless, the radio-telemetry during the first revolution showed a problem: the cover that had protected the aperture of the main scientific module during the ascent through the atmosphere had failed to jettison. As this module held 90 per cent of the observational apparatus, the station’s scientific results would be severely curtailed if the cover could not be released.

Right: Three weeks prior to their launch, Yeliseyev and Shatalov attend the 24th Congress of the Soviet Communist Party. Left: Afterwards, in Red Square, with Rukavishnikov.

The Soyuz 10 cosmonauts with the mission’s technical managers: Semyonov (left), Bushuyev, Yeliseyev, Chertok, Mishin, Lobanov, Shatalov, Severin and Rukavishni – kov.

Although the Soviet news outlets featured the launch, other than describing Salyut as “an orbital scientific station” their reports revealed little of its nature and mission. However, the fact that it bore a name at all implied that it was a substantially new type of spacecraft, and the report that three ships had been stationed in the Atlantic to communicate with it was a clue that it might be associated with the manned space programme.[30] TASS said the flight was going as planned, and that an adjustment to its orbit had been made. The routine phrase “functioning normally” was applied to the performance of its systems. The bland statement of its purpose as being “to perfect the elements of the design and on board systems, and to conduct scientific research and experiments in space” simply meant wait and see.

Meanwhile, at Baykonur the final preparations were initiated to launch Soyuz 10. To preclude injuries at this late stage, the crew were prohibited from participating in sporting activities such as basketball, handball, volleyball, tennis and soccer – all of which were popular among the cosmonauts. However, they were allowed to run 10 kilometres per day to maintain their fitness. Anyone coming into close contact with them wore a protective face mask to minimise the risk of passing on any respiratory infections that might jeopardise the planned duration of the mission.

Early on the morning of 20 April the rocket bearing Soyuz 10 was installed on Pad No. 1. Several hours later, the State Commission presented the cosmonauts to space journalists. The prime crew was Colonel Vladimir Shatalov (44), commander; Aleksey Yeliseyev (37), flight engineer; and Nikolay Rukavishnikov (39), research engineer. The backup crew was Colonel Aleksey Leonov (37), commander;

The DOS-1 station in the Assembly-Test Building at Baykonur. On the left is the transfer compartment, with the smaller (white cylinder in the middle) and larger working compartments (right). On the transfer compartment can be seen two folded solar panels, a rendezvous antenna, and the docking port (far left).

A view of the DOS-1 station in the Assembly-Test Building in which the vehicle has been partially rotated. The ‘hole’ on the right of the main compartment is the aperture to enable the main scientific equipment to see out. It was sealed by a protective cover for launch.

Final testing of the DOS-1 station prior to mating with the Proton launch vehicle. The rendezvous antennas are deployed upward and to the left of the passive docking system. The central hole of the docking cone is to capture the head of the probe on the Soyuz. The TsKBEM’s logo is visible on the short conical adapted between the small and large working compartments (far left).

A Proton launch vehicle with the DOS-1 station on the pad at Baykonur. The wide part of the working compartment is exposed, but the narrower part and the transfer compartment are inside a shroud for the ascent through the atmosphere. The white support ring below is jettisoned after orbital insertion. The original name ‘Zarya’ is visible on the working compartment. Also visible is the white protective cover for the scientific equipment aperture.

Valeriy Kubasov (36), flight engineer; and Lieutenant-Colonel Pyotr Kolodin (41), research engineer.[31] And, of course, there was the support crew: Lieutenant-Colonel Georgiy Dobrovolskiy (43), commander; Vladislav Volkov (36), flight engineer; and Viktor Patsayev (38), research engineer.

Let us take a closer look at each member of the prime crew.

Engineers test systems in the propulsion module of the Soyuz 10 spacecraft in the Assembly-Test Building at Baykonur.

Yeliseyev, Shatalov and Rukavishnikov (right) in the Assembly-Testing Building at Baykonur. In the background is the engine cluster of the Soyuz launch vehicle.

At the start of his autobiography Stepping into the Sky, Vladislav Nikolayevich Volkov,[48] known as Vadim to his friends, wrote: “To be honest, I was not preparing to be a cosmonaut. In fact, I never dreamt or fantasised about space. As a boy, I had no idea about Tsiolkovskiy.’’ Although the book was not published until 1972, he saw the page proofs several days before he set off on the Soyuz 11 mission.

Standing 179 cm tall, broad shouldered and a real sportsman, Vadim was the most sympathetic of the civilian cosmonaut-engineers recruited by the TsKBEM in 1966. He played soccer in the Moscow championship for many years, firstly as a member of the Moscow Aviation Institute where he was studying, then in Club Burevesnik. He also played ice hockey and handball, and was skilled in athletics. He was even a boxer for a brief period. Among the cosmonauts he was one of the best

tennis and chess players, and an excellent guitarist. In contrast to his colleagues, he also had an intense sense of humour, and readily burst out laughing.

Vadim was born on 23 November 1935 in Moscow. He was short and skinny, but impetuous. When his parents moved, he had to change school and meet new pupils. When on the first day the strongest pupil stole his breakfast, the obviously weaker Vadim immediately fought for it. The other pupils respected him for this. It was one of his main characteristics, coincidently incorporated into his surname – ‘the wolf5. He later fought for his thoughts and beliefs, even against much stronger opponents. His father Nikolay was an aeronautical engineer and this mother Olga worked in an aircraft factory, and he inherited from them his love of aircraft and the sky. Their house was near Tushino airport, so from his backyard he could watch a variety of different types of aircraft take off and land, and during parachutist displays the sky above would fill with the coloured parachute canopies. Many pilots and engineers employed at the airport lived in the neighbourhood. From time to time, his uncle, Pyotr Kotov, a combat pilot from the Second World War, would visit his house and Vadim would stare in amazement at the medals and decorations on his chest. Pyotr was his mentor. In such an environment it was natural that Vadim should select the sky as his destiny. But what would be his profession? To be a pilot like his uncle, an aeronautical engineer like his father, or something else? In fact, Vadim wished to be a test pilot, but on his uncle’s advice he decided to study aeronautical engineering. After finishing at Moscow high school No. 212 in 1953 he enrolled at the famous Moscow Aviation Institute, one of two leading aerospace faculties, which his father

had attended.8 There he fell in love with Lyudmila Birykova, who was training to be a food-processing engineer. They were married in early 1957, and in February 1958 had their only child: son Vladimir.

On graduating in early 1959, Vadim became an electro-mechanical engineer for aircraft missiles. But in April 1959 he transferred to Department No. 4 of OKB-1, where he had worked as an apprentice during his studies. Vladimir Syromyatnikov, one of the docking system designers, knew him very well prior to his becoming a cosmonaut: “Vadim was capable, but not a very friendly person; he was astute and jealous. We liked to play soccer and ice hockey. We often used to play together against teams from other departments of our design bureau. I must admit that he was a good player, but he was too selfish. When he had the ball, we didn’t expect a pass – Vadim would either score a goal or he would miss, but he wouldn’t pass. After his graduation they moved him to the central design bureau, because Korolev wanted to reinforce the basic departments of OKB-1 with new people. But this job did not fit with his temperament and he was moved to the organisation department, where he became a deputy to one of the leading designers. Because he continued to play soccer and ice hockey, I met him often.’’

When Vadim joined OKB-1 the development of the Vostok spacecraft which was to carry the first man into space was well advanced. Later, he was involved in the design of the control system for the modified form of the rocket intended to launch the Voskhod spacecraft. In addition, he worked on the design of the R-9 ballistic missile. In September 1961 he became deputy to the leading Vostok engineer, and in February 1962 deputy to the leading designer for the Voskhod spacecraft, which was a modification of the Vostok intended to perform advanced missions while the new Soyuz spacecraft was under development. Vadim would

Other notable Moscow Aviation Institute students were Mishin, Kubasov and Sevastyanov.

later say: “I am proud to have been involved in the Vostok spacecraft which carried Gagarin on the first manned space flight, and in its modification for Voskhod; there are my tracks.”

During those years Vadim often met Konstantin Feoktistov, who was one of the leading spacecraft designers. The first cosmonauts were young military pilots who lacked strong technical backgrounds. Although Korolev had some of his engineers, including Feoktistov, instruct the pilots who would soon became famous heroes, the engineers argued that it would be better if they themselves could be permitted to fly in space to assess the performance of the systems they had designed.

On Vadim’s first visit to the Baykonur cosmodrome, two Vostoks were launched on consecutive days in August 1962, carrying Nikolayev and Popovich respectively. “It is a marvellous picture. Here, one can see a grand creation of what started on a paper in the design bureau. And, although the involvement is immeasurably small, one feels immense pride in knowing that one belongs to those who conquer space,’’ Vadim observed.

While working at OKB-1 he did not lose his desire to fly aircraft. The famous test pilot Sergey Anyokhin suggested that he enroll in an aero-club. He did, and received a diploma as a sports pilot, which enabled him to fly solo on Yak light planes.

The selection of the Voskhod crews began in early 1964. The first mission, which was scheduled for October, was to have a crew of three: the commander would be a military cosmonaut, the flight engineer would be an OKB-1 engineer and the third place would go to a medical doctor. In May Korolev met the 14 engineers chosen as candidates for this historic mission, and Vadim was among them. He successfully passed all the medical examinations preparatory to the special training for the flight, but when the shortlist was posted on 11 June his name was not on it. Dissatisfied, he went to Korolev to complain. He pointed out to the famous Chief Designer that he was healthy and fit, could pilot an aircraft and had even made parachute jumps. To finish, he suggested Anyokhin as a character reference. Korolev replied calmly: “You are still young. There is time. It is impossible to send everyone on spaceships. Somebody also has to design them.’’ But such words could not satisfy Vadim. He was so disappointed that in the tramcar he told Syromyatnikov that he was going to finish the soccer referee school and became a professional referee! Of course, it did not happen. However, Vadim was included in the team of engineers responsible for recovering cosmonauts from a spacecraft after it had landed. Interestingly, in March 1965 he participated in the recovery of Belyayev and Leonov, who came down in a snow-laden forest far from the planned site. At that time, Volkov and Leonov could have had no idea that their paths would cross six years later in the manner that they did!

In the meantime, based on the list of Voskhod candidates, 12 engineers passed the medical examinations in July 1965 for further consideration as cosmonauts. Finally, in March 1966, shortly after Korolev’s death, Mishin, with the support of Minister Afanasyev, signed the document ordering the recruitment of cosmonaut-engineers. The selection committee was chaired by Mikhail Tikhonravov, and on 23 May 1966 eight men were chosen, and because Anyokhin was the most senior engineer he was nominated as the group leader.[49] They were to train for Soyuz flights in Earth orbit and the L1 and L3 lunar missions. Whereas the military cosmonauts were housed in Zvyozdniy, the civilians were accommodated in one of the TsKBEM motels, not far from the design bureau. They began with parachute jumps, flying with instructors in MiG-15 jets, altitude chamber testing, and simulating weightlessness in the Tu-104 aircraft. In August 1966 they trained for recovery from a Soyuz descent module on the Black Sea. This was the first joint training with their military counterparts. One month later, Kamanin sent the TsKBEM’s group for medical screening by the Air Force, which only Kubasov, Volkov, Grechko and Yeliseyev passed. They joined the military cosmonauts at the TsPK in training for the mission scheduled for early 1967 in which two Soyuz spacecraft would dock and two cosmonauts would make an external transfer from one to the other. But in October 1966 Grechko broke his leg parachuting, and so Makarov – one of the four civilians who had failed the Air Force screening but had continued to train at the TsKBEM – took the Air Force test again, was passed, and in November joined Kubasov, Volkov and Yeliseyev at the TsPK.[50] [51] Having had some of its men rejected by the Air Force, in November the TsKBEM selected two more, who joined in early 1967.11

In November 1966 Kamanin and Mishin agreed eight men to form two prime and two backup crews for the spectacular introduction of the Soyuz ship. Yeliseyev was to be the flight engineer on the prime crew for Soyuz 2, with Kubasov as his backup. However, when Soyuz 1 was launched with Vladimir Komarov on board, it ran into trouble and the launch of Soyuz 2 with a three-man crew, which had been planned for the following day, was cancelled; and when Komarov brought his ship back the parachute failed to open and he was killed.

As regards Vadim, from September 1966 to December 1968 he trained to be the flight engineer of the passive spacecraft. When a third (backup) crew was formed in January 1967 he trained for this role with Shatalov and Kolodin. In August 1968 Kamanin replaced Shatalov with Anatoliy Kuklin, giving Shatalov the active ship.

After the docking and external transfer was accomplished in January 1969, the managers of the TsKBEM and the Air Force developed a programme of missions for the remainder of that year: in April-May Soyuz 6 was to undertake a 7-day solo flight, and in August-September Soyuz 7 and 8 were to dock and remain joined for three days. When the plan was submitted to Ustinov he wrote on it: “This is too thin, it must be thicker.’’ He meant that something spectacular was required to offset the likelihood that the Americans would make the first manned lunar landing in July. But what could be done? After the cancellation of the manned circumlunar flights, the only option was a mission in Earth orbit. And the docking and external transfer had already been achieved. However, someone at the TsKBEM remembered an idea

Several rare photos of Vadim Volkov: wearing a helmet-phone (top left) and a spacesuit (top right); preparing for parachute training (lower left) with Beregovoy; and undergoing a medical examination (lower right).

The crews of the ‘group flight’ of Soyuz 6/7/8 in October 1969: Kubasov (left), Shonin, Volkov, Filipchenko, Gorbatko, Shatalov and Yeliseyev.

Three Soyuz spacecraft undergoing testing at Baykonur. Soyuz 8 with its active docking mechanism is on the left.

once mooted by Korolev. Encouraged by the success of Gherman Titov’s 24-hour flight in August 1961, Korolev had proposed launching three Vostoks on successive days. Although this had been judged too demanding, it had been decided to launch Vostoks in pairs – which had been done successfully on two occasions. So why not now attempt a triple flight? One would adopt a position from which it would be able to film the other two performing the docking! By the end of February the TsKBEM and TsPK managers had drawn up such a programme.

Nominated as the flight engineer of Soyuz 7, the passive spacecraft, Vadim joined two military cosmonauts: Anatoliy Filipchenko, commander; and Viktor Gorbatko, research cosmonaut. The training was intense, and occasionally Filipchenko had to restrain his energetic flight engineer, who, as the designer of some of the spacecraft systems, was eager to play a greater role in the simulator. But in his autobiography Filipchenko chose not to mention the difficulties that he had faced with Volkov in training.

Shatalov, who was in overall command of the three-ship flotilla, wrote of Vadim during this time: “As much as he was serious at work, at other times he was serene and always laughing – he could tell jokes and funny stories constantly for hours. He knew how to deal with people of all ages. At weekends, we would spend time in the forest with our families. There, Vadim was continuously surrounded with our kids. I envied him his easy and simple way of communicating with kids. He sang the songs about pirates and thieves, played soccer and climbed trees. He liked to be the centre of attention. He was always smiling.’’

The three spacecraft were launched one by one, on 11, 12 and 13 October 1969, but owing to a problems with the Igla system on Soyuz 8, an automatic rendezvous with Soyuz 7 was not possible. Although an attempt was made to accomplish this manually, the result was unsuccessful and, with its fuel running low, Soyuz 8 had to give up the chase.

Although Vadim was disappointed not to have docked, he greatly enjoyed his first flight in space, which lasted five days. He had taken with him a lump of Sevastopol soil that his son Vladimir had given him. In addition to the planned experiments, he made TV broadcasts. In fact, he was the first accredited journalist in space, because he had earlier written several articles for the newspaper Krasnaya Zvezda,[52] which he signed ‘Vladimir Volkov’. While in space, he kept a personal diary. Filipchenko was impressed: ‘‘Volkov noted every interesting event during our flight, as well as what happened down on Earth. Even now, knowing how many experiments he had, I observe with pleasure how he succeeded in managing his time and in describing so nicely his impressions and thoughts.’’

On the second day of the flight, as the other crewmembers rested, Vadim watched Earth from an altitude of more than 200 km. When he experienced something very unusual, he immediately recorded it in his diary: ‘‘Orbit 47: There are in the world events that I would describe as ‘momentary sparkles’, meaning that a man does not immediately understand them. Such a ‘sparkle’ for me was the Earth’s voice. Below, it was night-time. I looked at the onboard globe. Our ship was over South America. I

controlled the operation of some instruments and, from time to time, I would look away from the panel towards the Earth in the darkness. In the headset, I could hear a characteristic background noise. I had an impression that behind me, above my ear, there was a giant invisible man breathing. Then it was absolute silence. And suddenly, out of the darkness, I hear the barking of a dog! A dog is barking! Is it an illusion? I strained my hearing and searched my memory of all known sounds of the Earth. There is no doubt – it is a dog barking! The sound was barely audible, but full of life. Then it occurred to me that this is the voice of Layka. And then, clearly, I heard a baby cry! Other voices. And again a baby crying. The universe was alive. The Earth was flying past underneath. Somewhere on the Earth, a baby was crying. Somewhere a mother was gently calming her baby. The dog was barking to protect them. It made little sense, but it was possible to feel it; possible only once in a life time. … Orbit 50: I was watching the sunset. Before the final part of the solar disk disappeared, suddenly several layers of the atmosphere appeared above the horizon. It was red just above the horizon, then orange, then dark blue and finally the black of space. Stars were visible shining through this pattern. Then it all became grey. In the constellation of Scorpio there was a subtle crescent of the ash-coloured Moon. I could clearly see the constellations of the Southern Cross and Centaurus, which are not visible from the northern latitudes of our home. I recall the science fiction books: perhaps one day we will have the chance to fly to the stars?”

In May 1970 Vadim was nominated as the flight engineer of the third DOS crew, with Shatalov and Patsayev. The training for a mission to the space station was very different from his previous experience because, in addition to the Soyuz simulator, the cosmonauts had to familiarise themselves with the much more complex systems of the station.

When in February 1971 the rookie cosmonaut Dobrovolskiy took over command of the third crew, Vadim became its only veteran. The failure of Soyuz 10 to dock with Salyut, and the change of crew on the eve of the Soyuz 11 mission, resulted in Vadim and his crewmates being launched somewhat earlier than they had expected.

In his book, Volkov wrote:

Your hours in space are not eternal, they will end. Some time, unfortunately, they must end; the hours of your life. But only for the time being. There will be others.

The day before they left for Baykonur the cosmonauts held a big party. As usual, Volkov was the centre of attention. He was smiling and singing. Several years later, Viktor Patsayev’s wife, Vera, recalled the days before the flight and that last party, and said that Vadim told her of having had a premonition that he would die in space.

Volkov in training. In an aircraft (left; from the private collection of Rex Hall). On the right Volkov receives flowers as he, Dobrovolskiy and Patsayev conclude their training. (From the book Hidden Space, courtesy www. astronaut. ru)

Vladimir Aleksandrovich Shatalov, nicknamed Volodya, was a familiar face for the journalists. When they saw him at the Congress of Communist Party in Moscow a few weeks earlier they had asked him when he was going into space again, and he had replied that he was ready to fly and would launch the next day if permitted. The journalists had laughed, not suspecting that an important event in cosmonautics was imminent. If they had known that a space station was being prepared, they certainly could not have imagined that the tall colonel with the blue eyes had been appointed to command its first crew just two months previously!

Shatalov was born on 8 December 1927 in Petropavlovsk in northern Kazakhstan. When he was two years of age his family moved to Leningrad (now St Petersburg), and there during the Second World War he served in the same brigade as his father Aleksandar, who held the Gold Star of Hero of the Soviet Union, and participated in the legendary defence of that city. In 1945 Volodya completed a special school in Voronezh for future military pilots, and 4 years later graduated from the famous Kachinsko Higher Air Force School. In September 1949 he was flying as a pilot-instructor. He married Muza Andreyevna Yonova, an agricultural engineer, and in 1952 she gave birth to their first child: son Igor. On attaining the best scores at the prestigious Red Banner Air Force Academy, Shatalov became a pilot-engineer in 1956. After a period serving as a deputy squadron commander he gained his own squadron. In 1958 their second child, daughter Yelena, was born.

In May 1960 Major Shatalov was appointed as a deputy to an air force regimental commander, and in February 1961 he became the senior instructor-inspector in the department of military readiness at the 48th Air Army in the Odessa military district. It was while there that he saw for the first time the new Su-7 aircraft. In those days the Su-7 was restricted to the very best pilots. It was an extraordinary plane, capable of flying faster and higher. In addition, it had much better ‘air combat’ performance. Since becoming a pilot, Shatalov had dreamed of flying in space. When he sat in the cockpit of the Su-7 for the first time, he thought: ‘‘I believe that a spacecraft will be similar to this one. Perhaps in the next ten years someone will make the first flight beyond the atmosphere. … Someone, but not me. I will be too old.’’ On 12 April he took the aircraft up. ‘‘As I flew the Su-7, I thought of myself as the pilot of that spacecraft. Although I did not know what it should look like, while at an altitude of 19 km I felt I was in space.’’ On landing, he heard the news that changed his life for ever: Yuriy Gagarin had just landed after orbiting the Earth in a spacecraft named Vostok. ‘‘What about me? Am I too late? Gagarin is seven years younger than me! My way to space must be closed. … Not to worry; they can conquer space without me.’’

In fact, almost all of the first 20 cosmonauts selected from the ranks of the fighter pilots were aged 25 to 35 and had very little flying experience; typically only about 300 hours in the air. But early in 1962 the Commander of the Air Army, General Kutakhov, asked Shatalov to select his best five pilots for consideration as potential cosmonauts. On reading the selection criteria, Shatalov realised that he was himself eligible to become a candidate. ‘‘The selection criteria apply to me,’’ he pointed out.

“So, what?” Kutakhov replied.

“Comrade General, I could become a cosmonaut too! May I put my name on the list?”

“Don’t be silly, Shatalov!” Kutakhov dismissed. “What do you need that for? The chance of becoming a cosmonaut is one in a thousand. You would just waste your time. After four or five years, you’ll be excluded due to your health. However, here you have a position, rank, authority, a bright future. What more would you want?’’

Nevertheless, Shatalov persisted, and was included on the list for the preliminary medical examination. He and Anatoliy Filipchenko, whom Shatalov had nominated, were selected to fly to Moscow where, with the candidates from other squadrons, they spent two weeks being subjected to various medical checks and examinations, with the number of candidates under consideration being diminished day by day. In April 1962 Shatalov successfully passed the final medical examination, then had an

interview with the State Commission that was responsible for cosmonaut selection, whose members included Kamanin and Gagarin. Shatalov returned to his squadron without knowing the outcome.

While Shatalov waited for news, in August 1962 two new cosmonauts – Andriyan Nikolayev and Pavel Popovich – flew a two-spacecraft mission. General Kutakhov, eager to retain Shatalov in the Air Force’s management loop, nominated him as a regiment commander. Normally this would have been excellent news, but Shatalov believed that this rank would work against his becoming a cosmonaut. What could he do? Accept the nomination? Or ask about his cosmonaut candidacy? He wrote to the Commander in Chief of the Air Force, Marshal Vershinin, and to his deputy for cosmonaut training, General Kamanin. It is not clear whether this played any role in the issue, but soon thereafter Shatalov received an invitation to travel to Moscow.

By the end of 1962 Shatalov passed the mandate commission, and on the evening of 11 January 1963 he arrived at the TsPK with 14 others as the Air Force’s second cosmonaut group. Compared to the 1960 group, the new cosmonauts were generally older, better educated, higher in rank and more experienced. All had an engineering qualification, some were test pilots, and several were non-pilots from the Strategic Rocket Forces who had served at Baykonur – the pilots referred to them as ‘rocket men’. When he became a cosmonaut, Shatalov was a Lieutenant-Colonel with more than 2,500 hours of flying experience, which was ten times greater than most of the first group. He had flown 17 types of aircraft, including the newest models such as the Yak-18, MiG-21, Su-7B, Il-14 and Tu-104, and he was also qualified to fly the Mi-4 helicopter.

In those days all the Air Force cosmonauts lived in a 3-storey building, the tallest at Zvyozdniy. On the lower floors were classrooms, a mess room and a recreation room with billiards. There, and in several small buildings scattered among the pine and beech trees, the new cosmonauts took their first steps on the road to space.

The general training at the TsPK was completed in January 1966. During this time, Shatalov had classes in the theory of space flight, studied the systems of the Vostok and Voskhod capsules, made 10 flights in aircraft that simulated weightlessness and performed over 100 parachute jumps. He also served as a communications operator for the Voskhod flights in October 1964 and March 1965. From May to December 1965 he trained as commander of the third (backup) crew, with Yuriy Artyukhin, for a Voskhod flight which was set for November 1965 but cancelled. From January to May 1966 he trained as the copilot of the second (backup) crew for the Voskhod 3 mission which was to last 16-20 days. His commander was the famous test pilot Georgiy Beregovoy, who was a late addition to the 1963 group. On the prime crew were Boris Volynov and Georgiy Shonin, both of whom were members of the 1960 group. The spacecraft passed the pre-launch tests, but there were repeated delays in mating it with the rocket, and in May the launch was cancelled – together with the remainder of that programme. If it had been launched, Voskhod 3 would have been the first manned space flight since the death of Korolev. The new Chief Designer at the TsKBEM, Mishin, with the support of the Kremlin, had decided that to continue with Voskhod would represent a diversion of resources away from the development of the much more capable Soyuz spacecraft.

Shatalov was immediately transferred to Soyuz, and from January 1967 to January 1968 trained as commander of the third (backup) crew, with Volkov and Kolodin, for the role of a passive spacecraft on a docking mission. In the meantime, he served as a communicator for the Soyuz 1 flight that claimed Vladimir Komarov’s life. Having trained for the passive role in a docking, Shatalov was reassigned to train as commander of the third (backup) crew of the active spacecraft, and he completed this training in July 1968.

As the programme prepared to resume manned flights, from August to October Shatalov prepared for a mission that called for docking with the unmanned Soyuz 2. “Volynov, Beregovoy and I were training for this flight,’’ he recalls. “In the final exam, I had the highest score at ‘5’, Volynov had ‘4’ and Beregovoy’s score was very low. They decided to set a second examination. Volynov and I both scored ‘5’, but Beregovoy’s score was low again. After we flew to Baykonur, Beregovoy went through additional training and sat another examination; he managed to scrape a ‘4’, and was nominated to fly Soyuz 3. Behind this decision was Beregovoy’s authority as a test pilot and his long acquaintance with Kamanin. Despite his poor scores, it was thought that it would be good for morale to nominate a famous test pilot who had flown combat missions against the Nazis. Other candidates – including in the early stage Feoktistov – were excluded. Beregovoy tested the systems of the modified spacecraft, but unfortunately he failed to achieve a docking.”

Shatalov continued to train to fly the active vehicle in the rendezvous and docking of two manned spacecraft, and on 14 January 1969 was launched as commander of Soyuz 4. On 15 January Soyuz 5 lifted off with Volynov, Yeliseyev and Khrunov, and the following day Shatalov made the first docking between two manned space vehicles, and then Yeliseyev and Khrunov made an external transfer and returned to Earth with Shatalov on 17 January.

The testing of rendezvous and docking, spacewalking and the external transfer of cosmonauts from one vehicle to another was an important contribution of the Soviet lunar landing programme, as that plan called for the cosmonaut who would land on the Moon to spacewalk between the command ship and lander in lunar orbit both prior to and following the landing. As an experienced instructor test pilot and one of only a few cosmonauts able to fly a helicopter, Shatalov spent a short time after the Soyuz 4/5 mission on the N1-L3 programme. He went to the test pilot school for the Mi-8 helicopter, to use this to simulate a lunar landing. Due to the limitations of the N1 rocket, the lunar module would have very little fuel for manoeuvring to select a landing point. In fact, the cosmonaut would not see the ground until the final 30-40 seconds of the descent. Immediately after the spent propulsive stage was jettisoned, he would have to rotate the lander for a view of the surface and set down as soon as possible. The helicopter was used to rehearse this final phase of the descent. Special covers were installed on the cockpit window, and after the instructor had climbed to an altitude of 70 metres he would open the covers to give Shatalov a view of the ground, and then Shatalov took over and attempted to land in a relatively small area in the available time. Shatalov was not actually assigned to an L3 crew; his role was to assess this training.

On his next space mission in October 1969, Shatalov was not only commander of Soyuz 8 but also in charge of the three spacecraft participating in the ‘group flight’. This mission came as a surprise, as in August he and Yeliseyev had entered training as the single backup crew for the Soyuz 6 and 8 two-man crews and, with Kolodin, as the backup crew for the Soyuz 7 three-man crew. The prime crew for Soyuz 8 was Nikolayev and Sevastyanov but they failed several simulations, and therefore on 18 September, following the final examinations, the flight was reassigned to the backup crew. The three spacecraft were launched on successive days, Soyuz 8 on 13 October. Its primary objective was to rendezvous and dock with Soyuz 7. During these operations, the cosmonauts on Soyuz 6 were to fly close by and take pictures of the other two vehicles. Unfortunately, the Igla system on Soyuz 8 failed. Shatalov attempted to continue the approach manually, but without success. On landing on 18 October Shatalov admitted that he was happy at his safe return, but wished his flight could have been longer. Although the main task had not been accomplished, the Kremlin celebrated all seven cosmonauts as heroes.

In 1969 Shatalov’s former patron, General Kutakhov, had become Commander in Chief of the Soviet Air Force. He wished to assign Shatalov to succeed Kamanin, and Shatalov duly received the nomination from the Central Committee of the Communist Party to become General Director of Cosmonaut Training in the Soviet

Air Force High Command. However, by late 1969 Zvyozdniy was rife with rumours of the DOS space station programme, and as the only cosmonaut to have achieved a docking in orbit Shatalov’s thoughts turned towards a third flight, this time to a space station. He wrote to Kutakhov: “What are one or two space flights for a cosmonaut? I think a cosmonaut should fly at least ten times in space. This is already a profession. I believe I would be more useful as a cosmonaut. Things are still in the early stages, so let me fly. Above all, now that the space station is developing, permit me to work on it.’’ Kutakhov agreed, but asked Shatalov to promise that after completing his third flight he would replace Kamanin. To Shatalov’s delight, in 1970 he was nominated to command the crew to fly the first space station mission. He went to Baykonur for the launch of Soyuz 9 in June 1970, and when Nikolayev and Sevastyanov were presented to the journalists the fact that Shatalov was seated beside Kamanin was an intimation of Kamanin’s imminent retirement.

When during the first reshuffle Shatalov was reassigned from the first to the third crew, he accepted that he would not have the distinction of visiting the world’s first space station, but the second. But then Shonin was dismissed and at the last minute Shatalov got his wish.