Category Salyut – The First Space Station

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.

The research engineer of the Soyuz 11 crew, Viktor Ivanovich Patsayev,[53] was tall and skinny, had green eyes, was going bald, and was so quiet that his presence was often overlooked. Cosmonaut Shatalov observed: “Viktor was the total opposite of Vadim. He was also an engineer, also a top expert. But in contrast to Vadim he was reserved, quiet, self-controlled and humble – he didn’t talk much. He liked his job. He was an expert in scientific instruments and related apparatus. He passionately wished to fly in space to test and work with different devices, the majority of which had been designed with his participation. He avoided conflicts, and was never in a hurry to tell anyone what he was thinking about. He knew how to listen to all sides. He would prove his views not by mere words, but by logic and indisputable facts.’’ The docking system designer Syromyatnikov said of him: “Viktor was a designer in a neighbouring department, working on the development of the elements for radio­antennae devices. Self-controlled, sometimes a little bit slow, he didn’t play games with us – he wasn’t interested in sports. I remember wondering how was it possible to select as cosmonauts people who didn’t participate in sports. In my naivety, I had thought that it was a job only for real sportsmen.’’

Viktor was born on 19 June 1933 in Aktyubinsk, a city in northern Kazakhstan not far from the border with Russia. His father, Ivan Panteleyevich, was a director of the local bakery, but at the time of Viktor’s birth was doing regular national military service in the army. After that, he was appointed to head one of the departments of the State Security Service. Viktor’s mother, Mariya Sergeyevna, described her first child as follows: “Viktor is the replica of his father in appearance and in character – especially when he grew up to match his father’s stature. Above all, Viktor liked sincerity and honesty.’’ When Viktor was four years of age the family moved to the small town of Alga, and there, just before the Second World War, they had their second child: daughter Galina. Although Viktor was different from the other kids of his age, he spent his childhood in the same way as everyone in his neighbourhood. Every day during the hot summers he would go with his friends to the Ilek River to swim, fish and collect crabs, and would return home in the late afternoon with a full basket of crabs which, with his grandfather, he would prepare for dinner. In those hard times, fresh crabs were a special pleasure. After the long and severe winter, the steppe would turn green in the spring. Viktor liked to explore with his friends, and one day found a ‘kurgan’ (‘barrow’) of a Tatar warrior.[54] Standing on the tomb, he informed his friends of the history the these powerful conquerors from the Far East. Once, he returned from the steppe carrying a young eagle that had broken its wing. He looked after the injured bird for months, and when its wing had healed the eagle flew back to the steppe.

As a self-educated person, Viktor learned to read when he was five. In those times, children began school at the age of eight, but he wanted to go earlier. As his mother recalled: ‘‘He went to school when he was only five. In fact, we couldn’t separate him

from my nephew, who was several years older. Viktor even sat with him on the same bench. The teacher decided not to send him home. In the class photograph, he is present as an equal member of the class. Then when he turned six, Viktor said firmly: “Now I am starting the school seriously!” His father said he should remain at home at least another year, as he was too young. We forgot this conversation, and the next September when the time for school arrived of course we didn’t buy books, pencils or copybooks because Viktor was still one year too young for the first class. On that day he disappeared, returning with tears in his eyes. ‘What happened to you Vitya?’ I asked. ‘They didn’t allow me to enter school,’ he replied. Then I thought we had not understood our son sufficiently. I called my husband. He talked with the school director, who agreed to allow Vitya to start school a year early. We thought Vitya would stay there only a few days and return home, but we were wrong again. Actually, after setting an examination the director wished to enroll Vitya straight in the second class. However, his father was against this. By the end of spring 1940, Vitya finished the first class with excellent scores.’’

As the stories of the early childhoods of Dobrovolskiy and Volkov describe their characters, this one of Viktor’s eagerness to attend school shows his main attribute: his determination to accomplish his goals. His sister grew up under his influence. In 1976 she wrote the book Courage of Aspiration about her brother, in which she immortalised him. At the beginning of the book, she wrote: ‘‘I remember my brother as a tall boy with large green eyes, often with a book in his hands. . . . Once he had started, he would read for hours and nothing could separate him from his book.’’ Of 14 his school subjects, he preferred mathematics and the natural sciences, like physics, biology and chemistry. He also liked literature and painting. He was very neat and tidy. His schoolbooks were immaculate. During the school holidays he used to help his grandfather to mow. One time, he brought home a little fox. But after it got into the chicken house he had to release it.

When the war started, his father was called to the front and in October 1941 was killed near Maloyaroslavtsa, about 130 km from Moscow. He was buried in a mass grave. Many years later, Viktor took his children to the place where his father died defending Moscow. The loss of his father deeply affected Viktor, who was less than eight years old. He became reserved and more serious, as though he had matured before his time. In the spring of 1943 he made his first Chkalovets airplane using a design from a pre-war technical magazine. He carved the wooden body of the plane using his grandfather’s knife, and made the propeller from a tin can. The first flight was not very successful, but he learned the concept of centre of mass. His second plane left the backyard and continued across the street.

“It flies, it flies!’’ Viktor cheerfully shouted.

“Who flies? What flies?’’ demanded his grandfather urgently, hurrying from the house. “You little devil! You terrified me to the death!’’

One year after the war, Mariya Patsayeva and her children moved to the village Kos-Istek with Ivan Volkov, her second husband, who had four children. From the start, Viktor got on well with his two stepbrothers, who were of his age. Together, they enrolled in the No. 45 railway high school in Aktyubinsk, and it was there that Viktor finished his seventh and eighth grades. In 1948 they all moved to Nyestorov, on the Baltic in the Kaliningrad region. Many of the buildings were still in ruins and there remained many unexploded weapons lying around. They lived in a damaged building. His stepfather worked in the bank and his mother in the bakery. In 1950 Viktor completed high school as (in his own words) “an average pupil’’. But he still very much liked physics, astronomy and mathematics. With some school friends he made a small telescope. It may have been his first views of the Moon, the stars and the planets that triggered his desire to fly in space. As he said to one of his friends after using the telescope: “I would like so much to explore. I’ll travel around the world, then continue into space. How much must you need to know to do something like that, I wonder!’’

On completing high school, Viktor had to decide what to do next. One idea was to enroll in geology. He sent in an application to the Institute of Sverdlovsk, but as he travelled to take the entrance exam he found that he could not buy the ticket for the train and had to spend a night in the Moscow railway station, which caused him to miss the exam. Instead, he decided to try to enroll at the Moscow Geology Institute Ordzhonikidze. He sent several optimistic letters home, but while his score in the exam was good, he did not gain sufficient points to be accepted. Nevertheless, the Institute suggested to the candidates who just fell short that they should attend the Penza Industrial Institute. Viktor was disappointed at his failure, but did not wish to be a further burden on his mother and, although not yet 18 years of age, he decided to live independently and enroll at the Penza Industrial Institute. He had in mind to make a second attempt to sit the exam for the acclaimed Moscow Geology Institute.

During his first year of study, a course was introduced on calculators and analytical machines. It represented a major challenge, but Viktor applied for and was accepted to study this new technology of computers. This was a key point in his career, as he decided to remain in Penza rather than reapply to the Moscow Geology Institute.

Although Viktor had a small scholarship, it was inadequate; even living alone. He studied during the day and unloaded trains at the railway station at night. However, he was one of the best students in his class. His friends said that he did not need to spend much time preparing for an exam; he would simply attend it and gain a pass! He became a member of the Institute’s Scientific Society, and each year he would attend the science and technique conference. He presented at least one paper on the design of radio-technical apparatus.

From his earliest childhood, Viktor had developed a love for writing, reading and literature. In particular, he liked the science fiction novels of Tsiolkovskiy and the classics of Lyermontov, London and others. He would visit the library often. When a student, he wrote articles about movies for publication in the local newspaper, and reviewed the literature of ancient China. He had an impressive literature style. It is not too far from the truth to say that Viktor was one of the best journalists, writers and reviewer among the young physicists in the Soviet Union in the early 1950s. In addition, he liked music, history and art. Many years later, when a cosmonaut, he travelled with his colleagues to one of the eastern cities. In touring its galleries and museums, he served as a guide for the cosmonaut group. He was a great planner and organiser. As a student, his only group sport was handball. He preferred individual sports, particularly skiing, chess and biking. He was a sharpshooter, and competed as an archer in the national championships and in the Spartak games. His vacations were taken with his mother and sister. Galina wrote: “He was frequently thoughtful and reserved. I remember, on vacations he would lay on the grass in the backyard for hours with his hands under his head. He used to think intensely about things. He liked to be on his own.’’

Viktor graduated with distinction on 12 June 1955. The title of his final exam was ‘The Design of A Harmonic Functional Analysis Device’ and it was 117 pages! He wanted his graduation exam to be something special which would far surpass the required standard, so he prepared it not only as a student but also as a scientist. One week before his 22nd birthday he graduated as a mechanical engineer.[55] He went to work as a design engineer at the Central Aerological Observatory of the national Hydro-Meteorological Service, located in the town of Dolgoprudniy. He designed instruments to be carried on the balloon-borne packages and ‘sounding’ rockets that were used to gain data to identify the physical characteristics, chemical composition, temperature, humidity, pressure, radiation and magnetism of the upper regions of the atmosphere. The Observatory was the leading institution in the Soviet Union for atmospheric exploration. Initially, Viktor had difficulty adjusting to the job. Being a loner, he avoided speaking with his colleagues about his problems. And because he did not keep a diary the only evidence we have of his thoughts during this time are his letters to his mother and sister and, after his marriage in late 1956, to his wife Vera Kryazheva.

Interestingly, in her book Galina Patsayeva described in detail Viktor’s friends and colleagues and every important event in his life, but said nothing about how he met Vera, about their marriage, or even about their children. Vera was a researcher in the Central Scientific Research Institute for Machine Building (TsNIIMash) in the Kaliningrad district of Moscow. It hosted one of the ballistics groups which supported the mission control centre at Yevpatoriya. Their son Dmitriy was born in the autumn of 1957, and daughter Svetlana in February 1962.

In his letters, Viktor described his dissatisfaction with the working environment of the Observatory, and in particular his disappointment at the role of young graduates in the organisation. However, he did not let his dissatisfaction disturb his work. In contrast to other young engineers hired straight from university who needed at least a year to familiarise themselves with the new environment, in less than two months he had been accepted as an equal employee. His first assignment was to develop an apparatus to measure sky brightness, and this was later installed in a meteorological rocket. His managers recognised his skill, working habits and commitment, and in

January 1956 promoted him to senior engineer in the group investigating the upper atmosphere. He found this much more to his liking. In a letter to his sister he wrote: “The new job has its own characteristics. It also involves annual expeditions. Now, I am much happier. … I like the fact that I will be able to see the world. Our design group isn’t large, there are just six of us. … I cannot say that we have many great successes, although there have been some.’’ He participated in expeditions that fired rockets from different sites, including deserts. He continued with his scientific work, too, publishing papers on the design and testing of scientific instruments that were highly regarded by experts. Even so, his colleagues observed that although his work was brilliant he was always dissatisfied, always thinking that he should have been able to achieve better. He was working on the design of instruments to analyse the chemistry, temperature and the magnetic field of the upper atmosphere. As he put it: “Actually our small group of young engineers and technicians are initiators of the new ideas.’’

However, by now something else was interesting Viktor. He met Korolev for the first time in September 1957, when Korolev gave a presentation to the conference dedicated to the 100th anniversary of Tsiolkovskiy’s birth. That same day, Viktor read an article in Pravda about rocketry signed by ‘Prof. K. Sergeyev’, which was the pseudonym used by Korolev to hide his true identity from Western spies. A few months later, when Sputnik was already orbiting the Earth, Viktor met Korolev at a seminar. The 24-year old engineer went to Korolev and, after introducing himself, asked if he could transfer to his design bureau. Korolev, who liked young engineers who spoke their mind, asked about his current work. After Viktor had outlined his experience in the design of meteorological rockets, Korolev said that he would find him a position, and in November 1958 Viktor moved to OKB-1 to work as a design engineer. ‘‘I was lucky to work with extraordinary people – with the real engineers. They were totally devoted, not wasting even a second of time. They also knew how to inspire others. We all strongly wished to do something new, something unusual.’’ He worked as a designer engineer for elements of the spacecraft, including its life support system, until November 1961, and then in January 1962 became an acting manager of one of the sections of OKB-1. Later (together with Vadim Volkov and other young engineers) he became a member of the recovery team responsible for the evacuation of cosmonauts after landing. At that point, Viktor started to think of becoming a cosmonaut. After discussing it with his wife, he once again went to see Korolev. In contrast to previously, Korolev was reserved. Too many of his young engineers were expressing their interest in leaving their design work in order to join the cosmonaut team. He asked Viktor why he wanted to became a cosmonaut. As usual, Viktor carefully explained his thoughts, saying that he believed that he would be more useful if he personally tested his equipment in the spacecraft. Korolev said ‘Good. We’ll solve that’, and the meeting was over. However, it took a long time to gain permission to form a group of civilian cosmonaut-engineers, and when the first group was announced in May 1966 it contained Vadim Volkov, who was Viktor’s friend from the Kolomenskiy flying club, but not Viktor.

Svetlana Patsayeva remembers this time with nostalgia: ‘‘We lived until 1967 in a communal flat – three families in a 3-roomed apartment with a shared kitchen and

conveniences. … I recall my childhood as a happy time. There were four children in one apartment. We played together all the time. We celebrated our holidays with the neighbours in the flat, and lived very happily and harmoniously. Our parents were young and happy. Previously, they had lived only in the student hostel. Now it was one room in a wooden house, where in winter the strong frost froze the water in the teapot. Nevertheless, we were all happy, merry and friendly! It is not surprising that so many folk were dreamers, inventors. Papa was merry, good and a great inventor. He loved to play with us children, although he had very little time left for the family. He would come home late and continue his work at home. All the tasks in the new apartment he did with mom. He liked sports and trained us. During holidays, we all rode bikes together, and skied in the forest in winter. We had football with friends on the meadow. We would light a fire for a barbecue. In the evening, he would read a book to us and then tell a story. We discussed much with him about mathematics and astronomy. We loved to fantasise together.’’

In early August 1967 Mishin signed the document to recruit research engineers to participate in the N1-L3 lunar landing programme. On 18 August, after passing the medical examinations at the IBMP, Viktor was accepted into the TsKBEM’s second group of civilian cosmonauts with Vladimir Nikitskiy and Valeriy Preobrazhenskiy.

16 The members chosen from the first group were Anyokhin, Bugrov and Dolgopolov – but Dolgopolov left before the lunar training commenced.

Some snaps taken during Patsayev’s training. Lower left: In the vestibular testing chair. Lower right: working with a telescope at the Byurakan Observatory. (From the book Boldness of Aspiration, courtesy www. astronaut. ru) Top: A picture taken at Yevpatoriya in the summer of 1969 in training for the Contact programme. Patsayev and Dobrovolskiy (second and third from the right), are accompanied by cosmonauts Makarov, Belyayev, Vorobyev (first, second and third from the left in the first row), Rukavishnikov (first on the right) and Klimuk (second row, first from the left). (From the book Triumph and Tragedies of Soviet Cosmonautics, courtesy www. astronaut. ru)

At that time, he had been the director of Section No. 324 at the TsKBEM for almost two years. Mishin chose three engineers from the first civilian group and three from the second – including Viktor – for lunar training.16

Ten days after joining the cosmonaut group, Viktor completed his examinations at the flying club and became a sporting pilot of the Yak-18 aircraft. In February 1968 he began to fly with an instructor pilot seated behind him, and on some flights he conducted complex manoeuvres that subjected his body to a force of 5 g. Later, he made parachute jumps. With the other research cosmonauts, he trained to simulate weightlessness using a Tu-104 aircraft. In addition, there was a special platform for investigating the dynamics of landing on the Moon. They visited the Zvezda design bureau, and Viktor participated in tests in which he donned the bulky Krechet-94 lunar space suit and rehearsed walking in conditions approximating lunar gravity on a surface expected to be similar to that of the Moon. He was also involved in testing the LK lunar module of the N1-L3 programme. This was to take a single cosmonaut down to the Moon while his colleague remained in the main ship in orbit. Although not members of the lunar cosmonaut group, Viktor and his colleagues contributed to testing the equipment required for the lunar landing mission. In addition, research cosmonauts assisted with the Mi-4 helicopter that was modified to simulate the final phase of a lunar landing.

Viktor’s best friends among the civilian cosmonauts were Nikolay Rukavishnikov and Oleg Makarov. According to his son, Dmitriy, Viktor was also a close friend of Vladimir Nikitsky, who was assigned to the lunar training group but had to leave the civilian cosmonauts in May 1968 after being injured in an automobile accident. They all lived in the same neighbourhood, and their families were also friends. His sister Galina recalls: “When he moved to work at the Korolev design bureau, Viktor began to tell me of Tsiolkovskiy, Kibalchich and Tsander. In December 1968, while walking on the frozen Volga River, he said: ‘Such people, you can meet only once in a hundred years.’ He respected them all so much. Also, he spoke of the flights of Gagarin, Teryeshkova and Beregovoy. My mother told me that Viktor was working with the cosmonauts. But we didn’t know he was already a cosmonaut himself!’’ However, Svetlana Patsayeva thinks that her mother did know: ‘‘In our family, we didn’t talk about it. Papa was often away on business trips, but I didn’t know where he went. Mom certainly knew of his appointment to the group of cosmonauts and of his training trips, but they didn’t discuss that with us.’’

Cosmonaut Yevgeniy Khrunov recalled of Viktor’s first days at the TsPK: ‘‘When Viktor began training, we saw immediately how well this quiet and unpretentious man could work. His modesty was incredible. I remember, during the first months, I sat next to him in the cafeteria. And apart from ‘‘hello’’ and ‘‘see you later’’, he did not say anything during a period of two weeks. Later, I understood that he remained silent simply because he did not wish to make much noise.’’

In May 1969 Viktor joined the Contact group, which was training to test in Earth orbit the rendezvous and docking system to be used in lunar orbit by the spacecraft of the N1-L3 programme. It was during this time that Viktor met Dobrovolskiy for the first time. Viktor was assigned as flight engineer for the active spacecraft on the first test. His commander was to be Lev Vorobyev, until Vorobyev was replaced by

Patsayev in training for the ‘third crew’ of DOS-1. The photo at top-right shows him with Volkov preparing a centrifuge. (From the book Boldness of Aspiration, courtesy www. astronaut. ru)

Rare photos showing Dobrovolskiy, Volkov and Patsayev in the final phase of their training at the TsPK in Zvyozdniy. Behind are the operator’s controls for the Soyuz simulator. Bottom: the cosmonauts with General Nikolayev, who was in charge of their training. (Courtesy Peter Pesavento).

“An ordinary journey.” Prior to departing for the cosmodrome as the backup crew for Soyuz 11, Patsayev (left), Dobrovolskiy and Volkov visited Lenin’s office. (From the private collection of Aleksandar Zheleznyakov)

Pyotr Klimuk. Then in early 1970 Mishin assigned Viktor as research engineer on the third crew for the DOS-1 station. Viktor was delighted. His rank in the crew was a minor issue. Although he preferred individual sports, at work he was definitely a ‘team player’. “Your position in the crew – flight engineer, researcher, physician or commander – isn’t important. In order to work well together, we have to believe in and respect one another, and we must celebrate the achievements of our crewmates. That is the foundation of a crew.’’ At first, he trained with Shatalov and Volkov. But in February 1971 Dobrovolskiy was made commander.

Cosmonaut Viktor Gorbatko, who flew with Vadim Volkov on Soyuz 7, wrote of Patsayev: ‘‘When Viktor began to train for a flight he visited us in Zvyozdniy more often, but he was almost invisible. In the medical room, on the sports field, in the cafeteria, he was always so quiet. Some of the staff at the TsPK did not realise who he was until he actually flew in space! He simply had no desire to be the centre of attention. I think he was the opposite of Vadim. I would watch them in Zvyozdniy. Volkov would wave his hands about to demonstrate something. All the time, Viktor would be quiet, looking down, but then he would say something softly and Vadim would fall silent – the conversation was over.’’

Viktor spent the Labour Day holiday of 1-2 May 1971 with his family and friends in the countryside. This would prove to be the last time that Svetlana Patsayeva saw her father. ‘‘According to a family friend, when they played football father was the goalkeeper. However, he did not stand between the posts, he climbed onto the cross bar and hung upside down. Our friend explained that later he understood that father had done this to assist in preparing himself for weightlessness. According to mom, when he left for Baykonur he had little expectation that he would fly.’’ Her brother Dmitriy adds: ‘‘We knew nothing of the flight and the orbital station. All that was secret. Our mother knew only some details. Our father said only that he was leaving for a short trip related to his work. And it was planned as an ordinary journey, just like the previous ones.’’

But when Kubasov was grounded by an ailment, the mission was assigned to the backup crew. On the eve of his launch on Soyuz 11, Viktor told journalists: ‘‘The profession of cosmonaut cannot be anything except attractive. Space exploration is something new and very interesting. I think this flight is a logical continuation of my life.’’

Specific references

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

2. Volkov, Vl., We Pace into the Sky. Molodaya Gvardiya, Moscow, 1971, pp. 121-123 (in Serbian).

3. Patsayeva, G. I., Boldness of Aspiration. Molodaya Gvardiya, Moscow, 1976, pp. 5-64 (in Russian).

4. Lebedyev, L., Lukyanov, B. and Romanov, A., Sons of the Blue Planet 1961­1981. Politizdat, Moscow, 1981, pp. 190-204 (in Russian).

5. Burgess, Colin and Doolan, Kate (with Vis, Bert) Fallen Astronauts, Heroes who Died Reaching for the Moon. University of Nebraska, 2003, pp. 181-186.

Interviews with the author:

Marina Dobrovolskaya, 24 May 2007 Svetlana Patsayeva, 1 August 2007 Dmitry Patsayev, 5 September 2007

Just as Shatalov stood out in the military cosmonauts, so did Yeliseyev among the TsKBEM’s civilians. He was the first member of the group of cosmonaut-engineers selected in May 1966 to be assigned to a prime crew: after 3 months of training he was nominated as flight engineer of the crew which, if Soyuz 1 had not encountered difficulties, would have been launched on board Soyuz 2 to perform a joint mission involving a docking and an external transfer. When this task was finally achieved in January 1969, Yeliseyev became the third Soviet cosmonaut to make a spacewalk.[32] On being assigned to a backup crew for the ‘group flight’ later that year, Yeliseyev had only one month’s notice that he would fly on Soyuz 8. The next year, he started to train for his third mission.

Aleksey was born on 13 July 1934 in the small town of Zhizdra – near Kaluga, which is famous for Konstantin Tsiolkovskiy. His father, Stanislav Kuraytis was of Estonian origin, and worked in the laboratory of a shoe factory. Before Aleksey was one year old, his father was accused of being an enemy of the Soviet Union and was sentenced to five years in prison; but stayed incarcerated for almost a quarter of his life.[33] After her husband’s imprisonment Aleksey’s mother, Valentina Ivanovna, remarried. She worked as a chemist for the Soviet Academy of Sciences, and later gained a PhD degree. When the Second World War began they were in Moscow, and young Aleksey joined his childhood friends in collecting scattered bomb parts from German aircraft. When his mother was transferred to a factory to Siberia, Aleksey was sent to stay with his grandparents in Kazakhstan, where he gained his first schooling. He moved back to Moscow in 1943 when his mother returned to give birth to her second son. In 1950 Aleksey adopted the surname of his mother – Yeliseyev. One year later he finished high school in Moscow. The next step was the Bauman Higher Technical School (MVTU), which was one of the two leading universities in the city for aeronautical engineering and also, as events would show, for educating the future designers of space vehicles. He particularly favoured physics, mathematics, engineering and, of course, chemistry, but was also keen on sports, twice winning the national fencing championship, and he enjoyed the poetry of Vladimir Mayakovskiy.

Following his graduation in 1957, Yeliseyev was assigned to one of the top-secret scientific research institutes to work on theoretical aspects of the aerodynamics of cruise missiles and rockets. The launch of Sputnik shocked him, because he had no idea that there was an institution in the country devoted to the development of a real rocket capable of placing a satellite into orbit. He wanted to join that effort. In the early days, Boris Raushenbakh’s team was the leader in rocket dynamics. Some of its engineers were developing the guidance system for an automatic probe intended to travel on a trajectory behind the Moon in order to photograph the region that was never directly visible from Earth. When Yeliseyev heard of such work, he felt he had to join Raushenbakh immediately. However, as he was only in a training post, this was not possible. To acquire the necessary status, he applied to the Moscow Institute for Physics and Technology (MFTI), and in late 1959 was allowed to join Raushenbakh’s team – which had been incorporated into OKB-1 and was working for Korolev. In the meantime, Yeliseyev had married Valentina Pavlovna Shpalikova, who worked as a mechanical and hydraulic engineer, and in March 1960 their single child was born: daughter Yelena.

At OKB-1, Yeliseyev was made aware for the first time of a super-secret project to develop a vehicle to enable a man to fly in space: project 3KA, which was later to become famous by the name of Vostok. He worked on the design of the systems to enable the pilot to control the spacecraft. When in April 1961 Yuriy Gagarin became the first man to orbit the Earth, Yeliseyev asked Konstantin Bushuyev, one of the most influential managers at OKB-1, to assist him in becoming a cosmonaut. Although surprised by the young engineer’s request, Bushuyev agreed, and in late 1962, soon after his graduation from the MFTI, Yeliseyev went to the Central Air Force Scientific Research Hospital (TsVNIAG) – which the cosmonauts had named the ‘Palace of the Fords’. Another OKB-1 engineer, Vitaliy Sevastyanov, was also present. In fact, both men had applied without the knowledge of their boss, Korolev. Yeliseyev suffered a minor difficulty when the pressure in the altitude chamber was reduced to that at an altitude of 5 km, but when the test was repeated he performed satisfactorily. Actually, this first and most complex phase of the medical testing was so rigorous that only 1 in 20 of the candidates passed. Those who did so had a good chance of being selected to become cosmonauts. Yeliseyev advanced to the second phase of medical testing. However, one day Korolev visited the hospital to discuss changes in the medical criteria for civilian cosmonaut candidates. He had believed from the beginning that the best people to fly in space were the engineers who had designed the spacecraft. He had a very difficult meeting with the Air Force military doctors. He explained that the civilian engineers were very busy, and therefore did not have as much time to spend on sporting activities as did the military pilots. He requested that the criteria for the civilians be relaxed. On the other hand, the Air Force doctors, well aware that General Kamanin had never liked the idea of sending civilians into space, insisted that only people in perfect physical conditions should fly. Finally, one of doctors mentioned a civilian engineer by the name of Yeliseyev whom they were in the process of testing and was just as fit as the best military men. Korolev ordered the doctors to remove Yeliseyev from further consideration, and on returning to Kaliningrad demanded an explanation of how one of his engineers could have applied to become a cosmonaut without official approval. Raushenbakh advised Yeliseyev that he should avoid contact with Korolev until the metaphorical dust had settled.

After his unsuccessful attempt to become a cosmonaut, Yeliseyev continued with his task of developing systems for controlling spacecraft. In addition, he took part in calculations of the fuel consumption for two Vostok spacecraft that were launched on a ‘double flight’ in June 1963, one of which carried Valentina Teryeshkova, who became the first woman to fly in space. During the entire mission, Yeliseyev was on duty at OKB-1, prepared to answer any technical questions from the control team at Baykonur. Undeterred by his dismissal from the medical screening for a cosmonaut, in 1963 he passed a special training course at the TsPK for the Air Force’s second cosmonaut group. His first visit to Baykonur was in October 1964, to participate in the preparations to launch the three-man Voskhod. At the same time, his colleagues were planning the first spacewalk. As an expert in spacecraft dynamics, Yeliseyev was included in a group of engineers who studied how a cosmonaut could move in open space, and how the vehicle could be controlled while a cosmonaut was outside. Tests were performed by simulating weightlessness in a Tu-104 aircraft. Following Leonov’s pioneering spacewalk in March 1965, Yeliseyev was assigned to work on the development of the control systems of the Soyuz spacecraft, which was not only to operate in Earth orbit but also, in a modified form, undertake the L1 circumlunar mission. On returning at high speed from a lunar trajectory, the L1 was to perform a manoeuvre involving penetrating the atmosphere twice, the first time at about 11.2 km/s, corresponding to its original ‘escape’ speed, and then, after some braking, it was to re-emerge from the atmosphere on a ballistic arc that would lead to a second entry at a speed more comparable with that of returning from a low orbit. Yeliseyev investigated the deceleration loading imposed by such a manoeuvre. This led to one of the most unusual experiments of his career: testing the ability of a cosmonaut to manually control a vehicle under high deceleration loads. Some of the subjects of these tests were able to survive 26 g for 70 seconds!

As Yeliseyev recalls of his own participation in these trials: ‘‘You experience the increase in load as an increase in weight. You feel as if your body was poured with steel. A force is pressing you into your seat stronger and stronger. At 4 g, you can’t move your legs, just your arms. At 8 g, your vision goes and you can’t see beyond your nose. Then as the loads increase, you can see only a strange granular pattern. At 12 to 14 g, you can’t see anything. Breathing is almost impossible. The forces that strain your muscles to avoid blood spouting out reach their maximum levels. You can’t do anything; you just hope that you have enough strength left to endure it. The maximum load that I was exposed to was 18 g. Each time that I passed 14 g, I thought it was the end. It is interesting that my sense of hearing remained unaltered. I could hear even during the highest gravity forces. From this I concluded that we should use sound signals to control our lunar spacecraft during re-entry!’’

In July 1965 a group of OKB-1’s young engineers passed the preliminary medical screening for consideration as potential cosmonauts. Having concluded that the Air Force was inappropriately assessing civilian engineers, Korolev had decided not to send OKB-1’s candidates to the ‘Palace of the Lords’ for the medical examinations, and instead employed the Ministry of Health’s Institute of Biomedical Problems. In general the screening was similar to that of the Air Force, but it was shorter and included a psychiatric interview. Yeliseyev was very intrigued by this interview: ‘‘I remember that the majority of my colleagues were irritated by the psychiatrist. The interview lasted 3 to 4 hours. He asked us about our grandparents: did we remember our grandmothers and grandfathers and the most common topic of their arguments? He wrote in his notes much more than we actually spoke! Now a question about our other relatives. And again he scribbled. He did not permit smoking although he was himself smoking. We were all very careful during this interview. If we didn’t fully concentrate he might infer from our replies that we had a psychological anomaly – and then it would be impossible to disprove his conclusion.” But Yeliseyev satisfied the psychiatrist, and on 23 May 1966 was accepted as one of the eight members of the TsKBEM’s first group of cosmonaut-engineers.[34]

From May to August 1966 the group undertook basic training at the TsKBEM, as well as parachute jumps, tests in an isolation chamber and simulated weightlessness in a Tu-104 aircraft. In late August, they trained for the possibility of landing on water. This latter training was performed on the Black Sea, and also involved a group of military cosmonauts from the TsPK.

When the cosmonaut-engineers were sent to the TsPK to start training for Soyuz missions, Kamanin intervened, saying that he would not permit them to train there unless they satisfied the standard medical screening! One week later, the ‘Palace of the Lords’ accepted only Kubasov, Volkov, Yeliseyev and Grechko. On 6 September they started to train as candidates to serve as flight engineer on a mission involving an external transfer between two docked spacecraft. In October, Grechko broke his leg in parachute training and was replaced by Oleg Makarov.

In selecting the crews for the spectacular joint mission that was to introduce the

Soyuz spacecraft, it was natural, given his experience in planning Leonov’s historic spacewalk, that Yeliseyev should be assigned as one of two cosmonauts who were to undertake the external transfer from Soyuz 2 to Soyuz 1. After his appointment, Yeliseyev received an unusual request: the psychiatrist wished to speak to his wife and mother! The reason, he was told, was that the psychiatrist wished to know how Yeliseyev would react if a serious problem were to occur during the spacewalk. For example, would he become hysterical and respond only to the voice of a woman he regarded as being special to him. Yeliseyev was against the idea. His mother had no idea that he was a cosmonaut. And he did not wish to involve Valentina Pavlovna because their marriage was coming to an end.[35]

Colonel Komarov was to command Soyuz 1. Having flown on the 1964 Voskhod mission, this would make him the first cosmonaut to have a second flight in space. Soyuz 2 would set off 24 hours later with Valeriy Bykovskiy, Yevgeniy Khrunov and Yeliseyev. Komarov would rendezvous and dock. Khrunov and Yeliseyev were to don spacesuits and transfer to Soyuz 1. After undocking, Soyuz 1 would return to Earth at the end of its third day in orbit, with Bykovskiy doing so 24 hours later. It was very ambitious inaugural mission for the new spacecraft. The Soviet Union had not sent anyone into space since March 1965. Meanwhile, the ten American Gemini missions had made the first orbital rendezvous (involving two manned vehicles) and also the first docking (using an unmanned target), had conducted several one-man spacewalks, and had set the endurance record at 14 days, all of which put them in a good position to prepare for a lunar landing mission. However, if all went well the Soyuz 1/2 mission would enable the Soviet Union to catch up in a highly dramatic manner.

Unfortunately, Soyuz 1 ran into difficulties immediately upon attaining orbit. The State Commission ordered the launch of Soyuz 2 cancelled, and everyone focused their efforts on enabling Komarov to return to Earth at the first available opportunity. Although the spacecraft circled the Earth every 90 minutes or so, the rotation of the planet meant that the best opportunities to make a landing in the recovery zone were either after one revolution or after 24 hours. The state of the spacecraft precluded an immediate return. Komarov gained sufficient control of the vehicle to attempt to return the next day. However, just as everyone thought that the worst was over, the parachute system failed, the descent module smashed into the ground at great speed, and he became the first man to lose his life on a space flight. In fact, the outcome could have been worse – when the parachute system of Soyuz 2 was tested, it was found to have the same flaw. If Soyuz 1 had operated correctly in orbit and Soyuz 2 had been launched, then all four cosmonauts would have been lost!

While the design of the Soyuz spacecraft was being modified to rectify the faults, training continued. In December 1967 Yeliseyev was granted an M. Sc. (Technical). In February 1968 Bykovskiy left the docking group to train for the L1 circumlunar mission, and was succeeded by Volynov. Although Yeliseyev was not a member of

In April 1967 the first manned Soyuz mission ended in the death of Vladimir Komarov.

any lunar crew, he participated in training involving aircraft flying over Somalia at night, the objective being to enable the cosmonauts to familiarise themselves with the constellations of the southern sky that were to be used in navigating the first of the two atmospheric entries of a returning circumlunar mission. In late May 1968 it was decided to revise the ambitious ‘inaugural mission’ plan by launching the first of the two Soyuz spacecraft unmanned. Only if this functioned satisfactorily would the second spacecraft be launched with a single cosmonaut to make the rendezvous and docking. Unfortunately, although Beregovoy in Soyuz 3 rendezvoused with the unmanned Soyuz 2, he was unable to dock. However, because both spacecraft had performed satisfactorily, it was decided to proceed with the ‘full’ mission involving an external transfer.

When Yeliseyev was launched into space in January 1969 on Soyuz 5, more than 27 months had elapsed since he received the flight engineer assignment. He recalls of his 37-minute spacewalk: ‘‘Travel along the external surface of the ships proved to be the easiest and most pleasant part of the transfer. It barely required any effort. The ‘landscape’ gave the sensation of limitless space and freedom. It was similar to the experience prior to a jump from an aircraft, but in this case there was no wind – and there was no concern about the operation of the parachute! I paused in order to memorise what I could see. Below was the ship that we had left. To the left, shaped like the top of a bell, was our descent module. Volynov was inside, alone. Beyond was a module housing the instruments, the engines and the solar panels. To the right was the second ship, of the same type as ours. I could see Khrunov, his torso safely inside the orbital module of Soyuz 4, holding onto my cable. Far, far away, was the Earth’s horizon, whitish-blue, passing very slowly. Above the horizon everything was black. Probably the light reflecting from the ships and the filter of my space helmet prevented me seeing the stars and planets. I slowly unclenched my fingers to try to float without holding onto the handrail. By having a safety line, releasing the handrail posed no danger. I walked further -1 say ‘walked’, although I do not know how to name this method of movement. Do I crawl? Swim? Fly? My feet played no part. It was simply hand over hand on the rail – as if passing this to someone. But ‘spacewalking’ has become the accepted term. When I approached the hatch of the orbital module, Khrunov had entered fully and was against the far wall so as not to interfere with my entry. I freely swam through the hatch, we gathered the cable and informed Shatalov that we were going to close the hatch. The transfer was finished. It remained only to fill the orbital module with air, to verify its hermetic seal, and to remove our spacesuits.’’ Shatalov, Yeliseyev and Khrunov landed the next day, and Volynov the morning after.

After a well-earned vacation in Central Asia, Yeliseyev returned to the TsKBEM, where the final preparations for the next big event were well in hand. The plan was to launch three manned vehicles at daily intervals in October 1969. Georgiy Shonin and Valeriy Kubasov would go up first in Soyuz 6. Anatoliy Filipchenko, Vladislav Volkov and Viktor Gorbatko would follow in Soyuz 7. Then Andriyan Nikolayev and Vitaliy Sevastyanov were to dock Soyuz 8 with Soyuz 7. Yeliseyev was put on a common backup crew. One morning Mishin called Yeliseyev into his office and asked him to fly on Soyuz 8. This took Yeliseyev by surprise: ‘‘I knew that the crew

In late 1966 Yeliseyev began to train for the mission in which two Soyuz spacecraft were to dock and cosmonauts were to make an external transfer from one vehicle to the other. He trained with numerous cosmonauts, including Gagarin (left), Komarov (middle) and Shatalov (right).

An artist’s depiction of the historic external transfer from Soyuz 5 to Soyuz 4, showing Khrunov (right, in the hatch of Soyuz 4) watching Yeliseyev begin his spacewalk. Note that artist Andrey Sokolov showed the cosmonauts wearing their life support systems as backpacks, whereas in fact they attached the packs to their legs.

so

of that ship was ill prepared, but I did not expect such a turn of events. The missions were less than two months off. The three crews had already had their examinations. I looked at Mishin interrogatively, and waited for an explanation.”

“I do not want to let that crew fly!” said Mishin. “They work thoroughly badly.” “But, I have not prepared,” Yeliseyev pointed out.

“The programme is almost the same as yours from the previous flight, without the transfer. You will succeed.”

When Yeliseyev agreed, Mishin telephoned Kamanin: “Nikolay Petrovich, I can’t permit the Soyuz 8 crew to fly; they work badly. For my part, I nominate Yeliseyev. Select someone from your stronger cosmonauts.’’

Kamanin was surprised at Mishin’s late intervention, but after a brief objection he agreed that Nikolayev should not fly. The next day Mishin and Kamanin met at the TsPK and, after an unpleasant conversation, agreed to send Shatalov and Yeliseyev. One by one, the three spacecraft were placed into the required orbits, but the Igla rendezvous system on Soyuz 8 malfunctioned and there was no equipment available to control the operation manually. At mission control, ballistic experts improvised a plan to enable Soyuz 8 to perform manoeuvres which would bring it within several hundred

metres of its target and then, when the crews could see each other, perhaps they would be able to dock manually. But everyone was aware that the likelihood of success was almost zero. The controllers supplied Soyuz 8 with the manoeuvre data, and where they should look for Soyuz 7. Yeliseyev was to observe through the portholes set at 90-degree intervals around the orbital module, to locate their target visually. Shatalov was to remain at the controls of the descent module and turn his

spacecraft as instructed by Yeliseyev until Soyuz 7 entered the field of view of his forward-looking optical periscope. Yeliseyev saw a bright dot travelling against the clouds beneath, but the range was impossible to judge. He recalls: “We wanted so much to dock, and we tried everything that we could. We had to hold visual contact with Soyuz 7 for the entire period of the approach, while attempting to match our speeds. Shatalov attempted to use the orientation engines on a continuous basis, but these small engines were incapable of cancelling the speed difference, and Soyuz 7 flew by and disappeared.” There was insufficient fuel to set up another rendezvous attempt. Soyuz 8 landed after 5 days in space, and although the primary objective of docking had not been achieved, the ‘group flight’ was officially another success in Soviet cosmonautics.

Although everyone was disappointed, there was no time to dwell on this failure, and within 7 months Yeliseyev was back in training in the expectation that his third flight would be a truly historic one.

LIFT-OFF

When Georgiy Dobrovolskiy, Vladislav Volkov and Viktor Patsayev were woken up at 3 a. m. on Sunday, 6 June 1971, it was still dark at the Baykonur cosmodrome. They briefly exercised, shaved, had a light breakfast – their last meal on Earth – and then the final medical checks. An hour later, after brief reports of the status of the rocket and Soyuz 11 spacecraft, the State Commission gave the ‘green light’ for the launch, and the rocket was fuelled. In contrast to previous missions, this time there were no backups to ride with the crew to the pad. However, they were accompanied on the bus by the Soyuz 10 cosmonauts and some of the officials from the TsKBEM and the TsPK. Just before 5 a. m., with dawn breaking, the bus drew up to the pad, where members of the State Commission, designers, engineers, technicians, military officers, pad workers, TV crews and reporters were waiting.

The cosmonauts wore grey cotton flight suits. Traditionally, military cosmonauts wore officers’ caps, but this time all three men wore pilot caps with a badge on the front depicting the Soviet coat of arms. In addition, each man had on his left arm a tall triangular patch with a dark-blue background, a yellow rocket rising from the Earth towards yellow stars, and the letters ‘CCCP’ below. In contrast to American astronauts, the majority of Soviet cosmonauts did not wear ‘mission patches’. The first Soviet patch was designed for Valentina Teryeshkova in 1963, and it was sewn on the blue garment that she wore inside her bright orange pressure suit; it depicted a dove and a small laurel branch. The second patch was created by Aleksey Leonov, a passionate space artist, and was worn on the right arm of his space suit during his historic spacewalk in 1965. Khrunov and Yeliseyev both wore Leonov’s patch for their external transfer from Soyuz 5 to Soyuz 4, because they wished to retain it as a symbol of spacewalking. The early cosmonauts had ‘CCCP’ in large red letters on their white helmets, but their successors in cotton suits did not have a patch, a coat of arms or even a flag. But in mid-1970, training for the DOS missions, Leonov put his old patch on his flight suit. Kolodin did likewise, but Kubasov seems not to have

joined in.1 As their backups, Dobrovolskiy, Volkov and Patsayev also accepted it. In addition, Volkov had a small rectangular white badge on the left side of his chest.

After Dobrovolskiy had made a brief report to General Kerimov, the chairman of the State Commission, the cosmonauts, surrounded by journalists and pad workers, walked to the rocket, which was lit by floodlights. This was another contrast to the NASA way, whose astronauts don their suits in a building 8 km from the pad and, upon emerging, simply wave to friends and reporters on their way to the van which drives them to the pad, which is clear apart from the team whose task is to assist the crew into the spacecraft. At Baykonur, the departing crew walks through the crowd, speaking to individuals, even joking. Dobrovolskiy, Volkov and Patsayev halted in front of the stairs to the elevator, turned and waved. Reading from a piece of paper, Dobrovolskiy began a speech: “I bow my head to all of you for your attentiveness, for your effort.” Then as they smiled to the numerous TV and photographic cameras, Volkov whispered to Dobrovolskiy: “It’s time to go.”

Volkov led the way up the steps, with Patsayev and Dobrovolskiy following. The liquid oxygen boiling off from the rocket blew in small clouds past the cosmonauts. At the top of the steps, Dobrovolskiy turned and called to the crowd: “Don’t worry. Everything will be normal; everything will be normal!’’ The three men paused at the door of the elevator to wave. Even Patsayev smiled. Then they disappeared into the elevator. When they emerged on the platform leading to the hatch in the side of the orbital module of their spacecraft, they posed for one of the photographers, which is another notable detail of this mission because cosmonauts did not generally pose on this platform. The result was one of the most extraordinary photographs taken of this crew. As a final farewell, the three men stood at the railing of the platform and waved their caps at the crowd.

Technicians assisted first Volkov, then Patsayev and finally Dobrovolskiy to enter the spacecraft. Access was through the side hatch of the orbital module, then down through the interior hatch into the descent module, which contained their couches.[56] [57] When Volkov had taken his place, he switched on the cabin lights and ventilators. Once Patsayev was in place, Dobrovolskiy joined them. The technicians bid them farewell and hermetically closed the hatch between the descent and orbital modules, then the external hatch of the orbital module. With the cabin sealed, the silence was striking. Each cosmonaut donned a cap of white net which included earphones and a small microphone on each side. There was still an hour remaining to the time of launch.

As they settled in, Volkov turned to Dobrovolskiy, they smiled at each other, and Volkov pointed towards Patsayev, who was quietly gazing out of the small porthole by his left shoulder. Finally, Patsayev turned his head inwards to his colleagues, and smiled.

With 30 minutes to go, the twin sections of the service structure split the eight levels of the wrap-around walkway and swung down to leave the rocket exposed on

the pad. Ten minutes later, the topping-off of the liquid oxygen tanks ceased and the kerosene tanks were pressurised.

The control room was in a bunker some 2 km from the pad. A black-and-white TV monitor showed the cabin, but because the camera was located above Volkov’s head only Dobrovolskiy and Patsayev were visible. The communication officer was Leonov. Also present was Afanasyev of the Ministry of General Machine Building, who had just arrived from Moscow. The traditional radio call-sign for the TsUP was Zarya.[58] The call-sign for the mission was Yantar.[59]

At 7.40 a. m., Dobrovolskiy reported: “This is Yantar, and we’re ready to go up.’’

With just 40 seconds remaining, the rocket was switched to internal power and its automatic sequencer was activated. Twenty seconds later, the umbilical arm swung away.

The cosmonauts could hear the final commands. They tightened their seatbelts. The fuel tower withdrew from the vehicle.

Volkov, the only veteran, who knew the launch commands very well, again joked: “Let us wave farewell to them.” They waved to the TV camera. Then: “The key is on the Start button.”

A second later, the launch operator repeated this command. Dobrovolskiy turned to Volkov: “It looks like you want to go early.”

The final commands:

“Ignition!”

“The main!”

“Start!”

The vehicle had a central core stage and four strap-on boosters, each with a main engine. A turbopump in each of the five segments began to feed fuel and oxidiser. At 7.55 a. m., pyrotechnic charges were simultaneously fired to start the five main engines. The rocket was not actually supported at its base; the core was held by four arms located just above the top of the strap-ons. As soon as the thrust overcame its 310-tonne mass, the rocket began to lift. This released the supporting arms, which immediately swung out like the petals of a flower in order to clear the way for the protruding strap-ons. One way or another, Dobrovolskiy, Volkov and Patsayev were now committed.

The launch was perfect.

Dobrovolskiy reported that there was very little vibration.

After initially rising vertically, the rocket pitched over to a northeasterly heading, and as it ascended through the atmosphere it passed almost directly over the town of Baykonur, some 350 km from the launch site.[60] At 115 seconds, at an altitude of about 45 km, the ring of solid-rockets at the top of the 6-metre-tall escape tower were fired to pull it free of the vehicle. A few seconds later, the four 20-metre-long strap – ons shut down and were jettisoned. The core continued and, with half of its propellant used, it accelerated rapidly. At an altitude of 80 km, above most of the atmosphere, the shroud which had protected the spacecraft from aerodynamic loads was jettisoned. At 288 seconds, at an altitude of 175 km, the 30-metre-long core shut down and was jettisoned. The four-chambered engine of the 8-metre-long third stage started immediately, and by the time that it had built up to its full 35-tonne thrust the framework interstage had been jettisoned too. Soon the third stage began to pitch over further in order to increase its horizontal speed.

At 8.02 a. m., the report from the spacecraft was: “Temperature is 22°C, pressure is 840 millibars, all is well.”

At 8.04 a. m., far north of China, the third stage shut down. Dobrovolskiy reported: “Orbital insertion. Commencing separation, stabilisation. Antennae and solar wings deployed. On board everything is in order. Feeling normal.”

The parameters of the initial orbital were: altitude 185 x 217 km at 51.6 degrees to the equator and a period of 88.3 minutes. At the time, Salyut’s orbit was 212 x 250 km in the same plane with a period of 88.8 minutes.

The first Western site to detect signals from the new spacecraft was the Kettering Grammar School in Northamptonshire, England, which picked up a signal within 10 minutes of launch. Geoffrey Perry, the senior science master who led the tracking team, was able to announce the launch of a spacecraft carrying three men more than an hour ahead of the Moscow news report. In fact, because the Kettering team had noticed that after a period of silence lasting almost five weeks Salyut had recently made several manoeuvres and started to transmit signals, they had been awaiting the launch.[61]

In 1936 the book The Star KETs1 was published by the well-known Soviet science – fiction writer Aleksandr Belyayev. The main events in this work took place aboard an enormous “exo-atmospheric laboratory”.

This was an entire city in near-Earth orbit. By the will of the author, the designers of the space station equipped it with a rocket base for receiving vehicles from the Earth, as well as with a gigantic greenhouse to provide the inhabitants of the station with oxygen and fresh food, and also with numerous living, support and scientific compartments offering comfortable conditions for the crew and to enable them to work “for the benefit of humanity”.

Any inhabitant of the Earth could see this “man-made star”. It was sufficient to go outside at night and glance upward. Aleksandr Belyayev believed that it would not take much time – 40 to 50 years – before a real “Star KETs” would grace the sky.

The prophecies of this visionary did indeed come true. Although this will be seen by some as sheer coincidence, the world’s first “exo-atmospheric laboratory” by the name Salyut was launched by the Soviet Union on 19 April 1971, 35 years after the appearance of Belyayev’s book, and within the interval predicted by its author. Only five days later, the first spacecraft with cosmonauts on board docked with the station, and one and a half months later the first crew began to work on board it.

The launch of Salyut was the logical culmination of work that began almost ten years earlier at the design bureaus of Sergey Korolev and Vladimir Chelomey, in which the first sketches of the civilian DOS[1] [2] and military Almaz stations were made. It had been a difficult path, filled with sleepless nights, agonising bitter reflections, disappointments and… unexpected flashes of inspiration. But at the end of this path there was VICTORY!

The book which you are holding in your hands relates the development of the first

Soviet orbital stations. About how they were conceived. About the people who made them. About the difficulties that had to be overcome. About the cosmonauts who worked in near-Earth orbit. In other words, about that which made possible the development of the International Space Station that nowadays warms the hearts of earthlings as it crosses the night sky and resembles, albeit remotely, Belyayev’s “Star KETs”.

Aleksandr Zheleznyakov

Member-Correspondent of the Russian Academy of Cosmonautics Named After K. E. Tsiolkovskiy

Adviser of the President of RKK Energiya

“ЗВЕЗДЫ КЭЦ”

В 1936 году увидела свет книга известного советского писателя-фантаста Александра Беляева “Звезда КЭЦ”. Основные события в этом произведении разворачивались на борту огромной “заатмосферной лаборатории”.

Это был целый город на околоземной орбите. Волей автора создатели орбитальной станции оснастили ее и ракетодромом для приема ракет с Земли, и гигантской оранжереей, обеспечивающей обитателей станции кислородом и свежими продуктами питания, и множеством жилых, служебных и научных отсеков, позволяющим космонавтам вести комфортную жизнь и создающим необходимые условия для работы “на благо человечества”.

Любой житель Земли мог увидеть эту “рукотворную звезду”. Достаточно было выйти ночью на улицу и взглянуть вверх. Александр Беляев считал, что пройдет совсем немного времени, лет 40-50, и не выдуманная, а настоящая “звезда КЭЦ” зажжется на небе.

И пророчества фантаста сбылись. Кому-то это может показаться случайным совпадением, но первая в мире “заатмосферная лаборатория” под именем “Салют” была запущена в Советском Союзе 19 апреля 1971 года, спустя 35 лет после появления книги Александра Беляева. Именно в те сроки, о которых говорил писатель. Уже через пять дней к ней причалил корабль с космонавтами на борту. А через полтора месяца к работе на станции приступил первый экипаж.

Запуск “Салюта” стал логическим завершением работы, которая началась почти десятью годами раньше, когда в конструкторских бюро Сергея Королева и Владимира Челомея были сделаны первые наброски будущих станций – гражданской ДОС и военного “Алмаза”. Это был трудный путь, наполненный бессонными ночами, мучительными размышлениями,

разочарованиями и… неожиданными озарениями. Но в конце этого пути была ПОБЕДА!

Книга, которую вы держите в своих руках, рассказывает о разработке первых советских орбитальных станциях. О том, как зарождалась идея этих уникальных для своего времени комплексов. О людях, которые их делали. О трудностях, которые пришлось при этом преодолеть. О космонавтах, которые работали на околоземной орбите. То есть, о том, что сделало возможным появление Международной космической станции, сегодня “греющей” своим светом землян и, хотя и отдаленно, но напоминающей беляевскую “Звезду КЭЦ”.

Александр Железняков, член-корреспондент

Российской академии космонавтики им. К. Э. Циолковского

‘‘His ambition is to convert a refrigerator into a vacuum cleaner,’’ joked Shatalov of Nikolay Nikolayevich Rukavishnikov, the Soyuz 10 research engineer who was an expert in electronics and the physics of cosmic rays. Short and skinny, and quiet but with a serious face, Rukavishnikov was a natural technician who loved to repair old apparatus and to devise new things, even once attempting to improve the design of a helicopter.

Nikolay was born on 18 September 1932 in the town of Tomsk in western Siberia, to a family which, before the Soviet era, owned a brickyard and a bike company. He was raised without his father Nikolay, of whom nothing is unknown. His mother Galina and stepfather Mikhail Mikheyev were railway designers and travelled widely. His early interests at school were geography, mathematics and physics, and after his stepfather introduced him to radio equipment he became a radio-amateur. Because he was always on the move, he grew used to changing houses, schools and friends. He entered high school in 1947 in the small town of Angrem in Uzbekistan, where he gained first grade. Then in 1950, in one year, he passed three grades in the town of Kehtaice near the Mongolian border, where his parents were working on a new railway. Upon finishing his schooling at high school No. 248 in Moscow in 1951, he immediately went to the Moscow Institute of Engineering and Physics (MIFI). In May 1957 he graduated with a physics diploma from the faculty for electronic calculators, having specialised in dielectrics and semiconductors. In July he went to work at the Central Scientific Research Institute TsNII-58 in Podlipkah, a village near Moscow which hosted several top-secret research institutes and organisations, including OKB-1, and which later became Kaliningrad. His early work was on the development of one of the first Soviet computers, named ‘Ural’, and he participated in the testing of automatic control and protection systems for nuclear reactors.

In September 1959 Rukavishnikov transferred to OKB-1, where he worked as an engineer in the department which made automatic controls for interplanetary probes, and between October I960 and January 1967 he worked on systems for a variety of spacecraft. One task was to develop apparatus to automatically process information which the crew of the L1 circumlunar spacecraft would require if they were to take manual control. In addition, he was involved in testing guidance systems. Later, he led a team which developed experiments in terrestrial studies and solar physics for satellites. Meanwhile, he had married Nina Vasilevna, a mechanic at OKB-1, and in 1965 she gave a birth to their only child: son Vladimir.

Rukavishnikov’s first move towards becoming a cosmonaut was when he passed the medical screening in May-June 1964 as one of 14 candidates that Korolev was considering for a Voskhod flight. Konstantin Feoktistov was also a member of this group, and it was he who was launched 4 months later. In May 1966 the TsKBEM selected its first group of cosmonaut-engineers, but after four failed the Air Force’s medical screening it was decided to add to the diminished group, and in November 1966 Sevastyanov and Rukavishnikov were selected for medical tests. They joined the group in January and February 1967, respectively. As Rukavishnikov recalls of this time: “Of course, I had to catch up on all the training that other cosmonauts had already passed. This included thousands of hours of intensive training, centrifuge, altitude chamber, simulated weightlessness flights and parachute training.’’ His first parachute jump was scary, because his hood covered his eyes and he was unable to see where he was going to land. Later, however, he was able to joke about it with his colleagues.

Yeliseyev later said that he had not expected Rukavishnikov’s selection: “To be honest, when I saw him for the first time I expected that the doctors would dismiss him early on in the medical screening. But I was wrong. It appeared Nikolay was in excellent health.’’ Rukavishnikov was acknowledged to be devoted to his work. As Yeliseyev told a journalist, the new cosmonaut would stay at OKB-1 day and night until his task was done. Rukavishnikov was notable among the civilian cosmonauts for his unusual passions. The first one was bicycling. In the 1950s he had fallen in love with cycles and motorbikes and would ride at any opportunity, day or night. His second passion was travelling. On summer vacations he would leave the group, and disappear into the hills and mountains to explore nature in solitude. And finally, he was an expert in servicing television apparatus, and even made a set for himself!

Rukavishnikov was assigned to the L1 project, in which a two-man variant of the Soyuz would fly on a circumlunar trajectory. The unimaginative name selected for this project was Zond (‘Probe’). The commanders were to be Air Force cosmonauts. When three crews were formed, Bykovskiy and Rukavishnikov were chosen for the second. Unmanned missions were flown to test the spacecraft’s systems and perfect the two-stage penetration of the atmosphere, but the success of America’s Apollo 8 in December 1968, which orbited the Moon ten times, greatly reduced the value of the simpler circumlunar loop and the L1 project was cancelled. The L1 crews also trained for the N1-L3 lunar landing, but with the development of the N1 launcher suffering problems, after the Americans landed on the Moon in July 1969 most of the lunar group were reassigned. In March 1970, Rukavishnikov joined the Contact project as flight engineer for a Soyuz mission commanded by Lev Vorobyev. This

Nikolay Rukavishnikov, the Soyuz 10 research engineer. His official portrait (top left), during theoretical lessons (top right), and celebrating his nomination to the ‘first crew’ for the DOS-1 station – in the company of fellow DOS cosmonauts Volkov (left), Leonov (obscured by Volkov), Kubasov, Shatalov, Kolodin and Dobrovolskiy.

was to test in Earth orbit the rendezvous and docking techniques for the N1-L3, in order that these would be available if it eventually proved possible to mount a lunar mission. However, two months later he was assigned to the first DOS-1 crew as cosmonaut-researcher.

On the eve of the Soyuz 10 launch, Soviet cosmonaut number 23 had an excellent reason to be happy, because if everything went according to plan then he, the rookie on the crew, would be the first man to pass through the hatch and enter the world’s first space station!

Specific references

1. Shatalov, V., The Hard Roads to Space. Molodaya Gvardiya, Moscow, 1978, pp. 139-177 (in Russian).

2. Yeliseyev, A. S., Life – A Drop in the Sea. ID Aviatsiya and kosmonavtika, Moscow, 1998, pp. 8-34 (in Russian).

3. Lebedyev, L., Lukyanov, B., and Romanov, A., Sons of the Blue Planet 1961­1981. Politizdat, Moscow, 1981, pp. 178-188 (in Russian).