Category Salyut – The First Space Station

EARLY DAYS

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

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

MEDICINE ON SALYUT Day 3: Tuesday, 8 June

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

Daily life on board Salyut involved six major activities:

• the flight programme;

• morning hygiene and toilet;

• physical exercise;

• four meals;

• individual rest time; and

• an 8-hour sleep.

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

Day 4: Wednesday, 9 June

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

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

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

8.29 a. m.

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

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

10 a. m.

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

Zarya: “We understand.’’

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

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

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

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

11.44 a. m.

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

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

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

From Patsayev notebook:

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

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

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

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

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

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

Day 5: Thursday, 10 June

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

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

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

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

0.51 a. m.

“Good morning,’’ called Zarya.

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

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

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

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

03.54 a. m.

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

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

From Volkov’s diary:

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

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

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

From Patsayev’s notebook:

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

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

From Patsayev’s notebook:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Almaz orbital complex had four major segments:

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

• the working compartment;

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

• the propulsion module.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Even the veteran Shatalov was astonished:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Show me that designer” 111

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A commission led by Boris Chertok decided that the first space station had almost been lost as a result of the error of leaving the Soyuz control system active during the automated docking process. By the end of April, the commission – which included the docking system designers Lev Vilnitsky, Viktor Kuzmin, Vladimir Siromyatni – kov and Vsevolod Zhivoglotov – made the following recommendations:

• The speed of contact should be no greater than 0.2 metres per second.

• After capture, the docking probe should not start to retract until the Soyuz was stable.

• The crew must have the ability to control the docking probe.

• Add a panel to the spacecraft to enable the docking process to be controlled manually by the crew.

• Install special levers around the pin of the probe to evenly distribute the potential loads caused by oscillations of the Soyuz.

• Reinforce the levers on the probe to accommodate dynamic forces of 160 kg – twice the previous maximum.

The technical documentation was prepared within 24 hours. The modifications to the docking mechanism would take seven days, and testing was scheduled for early May.

However, Ustinov, Secretary of the Central Committee of the Soviet Communist Party responsible for defence and space, decided that he wished to see the docking system that had almost derailed the ambitious space plan. He and Ivan Serbin of the Industries Department paid a visit to Department No. 439 of the TsKBEM, which had devised the system. The designers laid out their system diagrams, and Mishin gave a simplified account of how the mechanism was intended to operate. When Mishin explained what had prevented Soyuz 10 from docking, Serbin demanded: “And who made it? Show me that designer!”

Vilnitsky, a former military officer and the head of the group which developed the system, stepped forward and said that the docking mechanism was a new system, much more complex than that used for Soyuz 4/5, because it had active and passive elements, was mobile, and in addition to forming electrical and hydraulic links was required to form a hermetic seal to enable the cosmonauts to pass through. He then explained that the design parameters were based on conditions experienced during the previously successful dockings between pairs of Soyuz ships – on two occasions unmanned, and once manned. The case of Soyuz 10 had been different, because the station had three times the mass of the ferry, and the dynamics were more extreme. But he was confident that with the new data from Soyuz 10 it would be possible to rectify the deficiency.

Serbin sarcastically interrupted: “Shall we tell TASS to prepare an announcement that comrade Vilnitsky made a mistake? In a week’s time he will correct everything and the next crew will transfer into Salyut through the hatchway?’’

“It would be an honour for me to make a TASS announcement,” replied Vilnitsky calmly. “The next docking will be normal, I give you my word.’’

“You give us your word, but if you exceed the deadline you’ll still be hoping for complete impunity!’’

At this, Ustinov intervened: “The minister will decide whom to punish, and how. Now, show us through which hatchway will the cosmonauts have to climb from the ship into the station?’’

With the tension eliminated, Ustinov examined with great interest the elements of the docking system and the internal tunnel. He made an observation about its small diameter – just 0.8 metres – and then asked about the new docking system that was under development for the joint Soviet-American space mission which was planned for 1975.

The testing of the modified docking system in May took a week, and successfully simulated a range of contact speeds and docking angles. Everything was now ready for the next mission to Salyut.

Specific references

1. Chertok, B. Y., Rockets and People – The Moon Race, Book 4. Mashinostrenie, Moscow, 2002, pp. 275-288 (in Russian).

2. Shatalov, V., The Hard Roads to Space. Molodaya Gvardiya, Moscow, 1978, pp. 217-224 (in Russian).

3. Yeliseyev, A. S., Life – A Drop in the Sea. ID Aviatsiya and kosmonavtika, Moscow, 1998, pp. 73-74 (in Russian).

4. Afanasyev, I. B., Baturin, Y. M. and Belozerskiy, A. G., The World Manned Cosmonautics. RTSoft, Moscow, 2005, pp. 227-228 (in Russian).

5. Kamanin, N. P., Hidden Space, Book 4. Novosti kosmonavtiki, 2001, pp. 295­301 (in Russian).

In contrast to the low priority assigned to the military space station projects at the overcommitted TsKBEM, the Ministry of Defence encouraged the development of Chelomey’s Almaz. Although this project suffered protracted delays, by 1969 it was the only real Soviet space station project. It is true that there were ideas for joint endeavours in space station development between Mishin’s team in Kaliningrad and Chelomey’s in Reutov, but owing to the poor relationship between the two Chief Designers no one at the TsKBEM wished to approach Mishin officially to propose a formal collaboration. Even the Kremlin recognised that rivalry between the bureaus had seriously damaged the Soviet space programme. Once, even the mighty Ustinov said that Mishin and Chelomey behaved just as if the bureaus were their personal ‘‘principalities’’. Although the Kremlin could have ordered strategic integration, in practice it did little to force the bureaus to collaborate.

In the meantime, the Americans had been very busy. In August 1965 NASA had assigned a group of experts the task of defining a programme of long-term scientific research in Earth orbit using Apollo hardware. This drew up a phased programme that would lead to a scientific space station. Over the years most of these projects were dismissed, but in the spring of 1969 it was announced that a ‘Sky Laboratory’ (Skylab) would be launched in 1972. It would be a 90-tonne giant, and with a length of 36 metres and a diameter of 6 metres it would have a volume of 400 cubic metres – four times that of Almaz. The pace of the American space programme renewed the Kremlin’s concern. It was clear that the USSR had lost the race to land a man on the Moon, work on the Almaz space station was seriously behind schedule, and all that the TsKBEM had to offer was the Soyuz spacecraft. The Soviet response to the American plan would therefore have to be quick and efficient.

In August 1969 a group of designers led by Boris Raushenbakh, the TsKBEM Department Chief responsible for the development of spacecraft guidance systems, put it to Boris Chertok, their boss, that a propellant tank of the Soyuz rocket should be converted into a space station. It was estimated that this could be done within a year, and could be launched before Almaz – and before Skylab, of course. As the Chief Designer, Mishin was the top man. His First Deputy was Sergey Okhapkin,

who was in charge of the development of rocket systems, including the N1 launcher. Next was Konstantin Bushuyev, the Deputy Chief Designer for the development of unmanned and manned spacecraft, including the Soyuz spacecraft and its L1 and L3 variants. Deputy Chief Designer Chertok was the fourth man, and his responsibility was the development of guidance, control and electrical systems for launchers and spacecraft. Chertok was one of the pioneers of Soviet rocketry, having worked with Korolev and the other leading Soviet rocket designers in analysing the design of the V-2 rockets that were confiscated from the Nazis. Raushenbakh had left Keldysh’s tutelage to join Chertok’s group in the early days of OKB-1, and was one of the few top Soviet spacecraft designers whose name was known in the West. His proposal was to modify a tank to accommodate various systems from a Soyuz spacecraft, and to install solar panels, a docking mechanism and a hermetic tunnel to provide access from a docked Soyuz. The fact that this structure was to be launched by the Proton rocket meant that its mass could be no greater than that of Almaz, but it would be much simpler.[22]

Initially, Chertok hesitated. His main concern was the limitations implicit in the systems developed for the Soyuz spacecraft. An additional issue was that a vehicle having three times the mass of the Soyuz would require more powerful engines to maintain its orbit and to control its orientation. Furthermore, this propulsion system would require to be able to support a mission of many months, rather than a brief Soyuz flight. Chertok consulted his old friend Aleksey Isayev. In 1944 Isayev had been appointed the Chief Designer of OKB-2 (in 1966 renamed Himmash), and had worked with Chertok and Korolev in Germany. He was now the leading designer of rocket engines for both unmanned and manned spacecraft. When Chertok explained the TsKBEM’s idea, Isayev said that he had already developed such a propulsion system for Chelomey’s Almaz. The logical way to proceed would be to combine the proven systems of the Soyuz spacecraft with those already developed for the Almaz station. Thus was born an idea with dramatic implications for the future of world cosmonautics.

Interestingly, only a small group were involved in originating this project. Taking the lead was Konstantin Feoktistov. As a Department Chief in Bushuyev’s group, he was of similar rank to Raushenbakh. He had been involved from the earliest days in the design of the Vostok spacecraft, and in return for leading the modification of that capsule to accommodate three cosmonauts he had been assigned to the crew of the first Voskhod flight in October 1964. The Soyuz spacecraft was very much one of his ‘offspring’. On hearing of the proposal to convert a propellant tank into a station, Feoktistov asked: why start with an empty tank? There were several Almaz prototypes standing idle in Chelomey’s factory in Fili. It would be better to modify one of these.

However, Chelomey was sure to oppose any attempt to requisition his spacecraft, the Ministry of Defence and Minister Afanasyev would reject any further delays in Almaz development and, of course, Mishin would not appreciate a proposal to use a

competitor’s hardware in a TsKBEM project. But Feoktistov and Chertok thought differently. Their strategy was to avoid anyone who might raise an objection, and to go straight to Dmitriy Ustinov, who was on the Central Committee of the Kremlin and was in overall control of the Soviet space programme. They were sure he would understand the strategic implications of the idea. However, it was no simple matter to contact Ustinov. Normally such an approach would be made by Mishin, as head of the bureau. But Mishin was in Kyslovodsk, taking his annual leave; and anyway he would object. In Mishin’s absence, Bushuyev was one of the few people with the authority to seek a meeting with Ustinov.

Feoktistov recalls: “Several times Bushuyev, Chertok and I reviewed this matter. Chertok, and his engineers who’d worked on the development of guidance systems, supported the idea of moving immediately. But Bushuyev hesitated because Mishin would be against the idea, and we would not have the support of our own bureau.’’

Someone suggested that Bushuyev should call Ustinov and ask for a meeting, but Bushuyev did not wish to take such an important step without the knowledge of his bureau chief. However, Feoktistov had a reputation for being disobedient, and he proposed that he call Ustinov. Intriguingly, although Feoktistov was not a member of Communist Party, he readily arranged a meeting with one of the most influential men in the Central Committee.

Ustinov was aware that even under the most optimistic scenario, Almaz would not be ready until early 1972. If everything went to plan Almaz would beat Skylab, but if the launch were to fail, or if the station were to experience a problem that would prevent a crew from boarding it, then the Soviet Union would again trail behind the Americans. Another issue was that as a military project, the design and operation of the Almaz station should remain a secret. Skylab was a scientific project funded by NASA. If the first Soviet space station could be portrayed as a civilian space project, and it was given lavish coverage in the newspapers, then it would serve to mask the true role of the subsequent Almaz stations – about which much less information would be released. That is, to launch a scientific station first would serve as a maskirovka, or deception, designed to hide the real project. Ustinov fully appreciated this point. He invited Chertok, Bushuyev, Feoktistov, Raushenbakh and Okhapkin to his office on 5 December 1969. Also present were Leonid Smirnov, who was Aleksey Kosygin’s deputy for space matters and chairman of the VPK since 1963, Afanasyev, Keldysh and some of Ustinov’s officials. As Mishin was on vacation it was reasonable that he should not be invited, and Chelomey, being in hospital, was conveniently unavailable.

In advance of the meeting, the TsKBEM people agreed to let Feoktistov talk first. His presentation was very convincing. It would be possible to equip the core of one of Chelomey’s stations with the solar panels of the Soyuz spacecraft, together with its guidance and command systems. In approximately a year’s time, Feoktistov said, the Soviet Union would have the world’s first space station. Chertok then noted that the systems of the Soyuz spacecraft were considered to be reliable because they had been tested during 14 unmanned and manned orbital flights. The development of a docking system incorporating an internal tunnel was underway. Keldysh asked how the construction of such a space station would interfere with the development of the N1-L3 lunar programme. Okhapkin said that the two projects were separate, and the designers involved in the lunar programme would not be needed for the station. Of course, Ustinov knew that both Soviet lunar programmes were under review. After the success of Apollo 8 in December 1968 the L1 circumlunar project launched by a Proton rocket had lost its purpose, and the N1-L3 lunar landing was contingent on successfully introducing the N1 launch vehicle – and after two spectacular failures in January and July 1969 some people were beginning to doubt that this would ever fly. And then, of course, the Americans had already won the race to the Moon.

Ustinov was enthusiastic about the space station conversion, not only because if it worked it would demonstrate that the Soviet Union was ahead of the Americans in this aspect of manned spaceflight, and not only to provide a maskirovka for Almaz, but also because Ustinov had never liked how Chelomey had exploited the personal support of Khrushchov and his links with the Kremlin and the Ministry of Defence

to expand his activities into manned spacecraft. Ustinov wanted all such work to be undertaken by a single design bureau. Converting the core of a military Almaz into a civilian space station would not only enable the Soviet Union to once again claim leadership in space, it would also put Chelomey in his place!

The meeting ended with the decision to immediately prepare a project time-scale, and by the end of January 1970 to issue a decree to endorse the plan. Although the TsKBEM rebels were surprised by the ready acceptance of their proposal, they had (to coin a phrase) been ‘pushing an open door’. Brezhnyev accepted the importance of space stations for national prestige. In fact, he had referred to them several times in speeches which he made that autumn, and on 22 October, in welcoming home the crews of the ‘group flight’ of Soyuz 6, 7 and 8, he had asserted that the USSR had a broad space programme which was planned years in advance and would unfold in a logical manner. The strategy was to downplay American successes and not to admit Soviet failures. This was why the USSR was only one of two European states (the other being Albania) not to run ‘live’ TV coverage of the first manned lunar landing. In order to convey the impression that the Soviet space programme was following a grand plan, Brezhnyev had spoken of ‘‘space cosmodromes” from which men would set off on journeys to the planets. Obviously, however, this plan would unfold by a series of ever more ambitious steps, the first of which would be relatively modest. By the end of November 1969 Academicians Keldysh and Boris Petrov had written in newspaper articles that space stations would permit unprecedented monitoring of meteorology, oceanology, ecology and aspects of the economy; they would serve as laboratories to study physics, geophysics, advanced technology and astronomy; they would serve as factories; and later they would test systems needed by the promised interplanetary spaceships.

DOS IS BORN

Although Mishin and Chelomey were united in their opposition to the plan to create a hybrid Long-Duration Orbital Station (DOS) by using Almaz and Soyuz systems, the Kremlin’s directive was firm. Chelomey was satisfied to ensure that this project would not further delay Almaz, but Mishin was furious at what he referred to as the “conspiracy”. In one meeting Mishin threatened: “If I hear that anybody else apart from these two – Bushuyev and Feoktistov – occupies himself with this DOS, I will send him to hell.’’ He opposed the DOS effort not only because his staff had gone behind his back to initiate it, but also out of concern that, despite assurances to the contrary, it would jeopardise the N1-L3 programme. Even once it was underway he never really endorsed the project, and at times he openly criticised it.

Not only were the TsKBEM designers eager to develop the hybrid space station, so too were the engineers in Fili who had spent five years designing the systems for Almaz and wished to find out how well they performed in space. In fact, Chelomey himself was not very popular in Fili. Initially, Fili had been an independent design bureau (OKB-23) headed by the famous Chief Designer Vladimir Myasishchev, and between 1951 and I960 had created the successful M-4 and 3M strategic bombers. While it was designing the M-50 jet bomber and a manned rocket plane, Chelomey, with the support of Khrushchov, but against the will of the Air Force, had drawn the bureau into his own organisation, naming it Branch No. 1. Myasishchev had gone to the Moscow Aviation Institute. The DOS project provided an opportunity for Fili to regain a degree of autonomy, and Viktor Bugayskiy, who was in charge there, was keen to collaborate with his TsKBEM counterparts.

In fact, the first task was to establish a genuine management structure that would integrate the Kaliningrad and Fili design teams. In December 1969, shortly after the meeting with Ustinov, Okhapkin, Bushuyev and Chertok asked Mishin to nominate Yuriy Semyonov as the Leading Designer for the DOS programme. Semyonov had participated in the design of the Soyuz spacecraft and managed the L1 circumlunar programme, whose cancellation was imminent. Semyonov was also a son-in-law of Andrey Kirilenko, the fourth man in the Kremlin’s hierarchy. Although it is only a supposition, it is possible that Ustinov played a role in the nomination; the rationale being that someone with Semyonov’s connections ought to be able to counter any attempts by either Mishin or Chelomey to undermine the rapid pace set for the DOS development. On 31 December the basic organisational documents were drawn up. In January 1970 Mishin officially appointed Semyonov and three deputies: Dmitriy Slesarev was responsible for modifying the Soyuz for use as a space station ferry;[23] Valeriy Ryumin was responsible for the station’s systems; and Viktor Inelaur was responsible for the guidance apparatus. Later, Arvid Pallo was appointed as a fourth deputy. Also, Mishin nominated his own deputies as general managers of the entire programme. Bushuyev, assisted by Feoktistov, was responsible for the development of all aspects of the programme. Under their direct control were Pavel Tsybin, who

managed the development of the Soyuz, and Leonid Gorshkov, the designer of the Orbital Block (i. e. the station itself). In addition, Chertok led the guidance group, with Raushenbakh and Igor Yurasov as deputies; Lev Vilnitskiy was responsible for the docking systems; Vladimir Pravetskiy was responsible for life support systems; Oleg Surgachov was responsible for thermal regulation systems; Yakov Tregub and his deputy, Boris Zelenshchikov, were responsible for the testing of all the systems, cosmonaut training and mission control; Gherman Semyonov was to supervise the preparation of the station for shipment to the cosmodrome; and Aleksey Abramov and Vladimir Karashtin were to manage the launch preparations. In Fili, Bugayskiy nominated Vladimir Pallo as his deputy for the DOS project. This was a wise choice, because when Semyonov added Arvid Pallo to his team the two brothers were well placed to coordinate joint activities. All the leading people of the DOS project have been named here because, by managing the activities of thousands of engineers, technicians and others, they defined the basis for not only the Soviet manned space programme but also, in the long term, the world’s manned space programme.

On 9 February 1970 the Central Committee and the Council of Ministers issued decree No. 105-41. It was one of the most important decrees in the history of space station development. One of its directives was that all pertinent documentation and all existing hardware, including Almaz cores, be transferred to the DOS programme.

After studying the design documents, Feoktistov drew up the specifications of the station to maximally exploit the capabilities of the Proton launcher: it was to have a maximum diameter of 4.15 metres, a length of 14 metres and an initial mass of 19 tonnes. With a volume of almost 100 cubic metres, which was almost ten times that of the Soyuz, it would be able to accommodate comfortable facilities for the crew,

consumables for a long mission and a wide variety of apparatus. One of the design requirements was that most of the built-in apparatus must be accessible to the crew for maintenance, repairs or replacement. In fact, this requirement became one of the greatest design challenges. The complexity of the DOS station is evident from the fact that it had 980 instruments (according to another source 1,300) connected by in excess of 1,000 cables that had a total length of 350 km and a mass of 1.3 tonnes!

The next big decision was the maximum possible operating life of the first station, designated DOS-1. This would depend on the altitude of the orbit, the available fuel and the power supply. Although the upper atmosphere is exceedingly rarefied, if the station were to start off in the range 200-250 km the drag would cause the orbit to decay at an increasing rate, until the station re-entered and was destroyed. It would be necessary to fire the rocket engine periodically to maintain the desired altitude. It was calculated that it would be necessary to use about 3 tonnes of fuel annually to maintain DOS-1 at an altitude of 300 km, 1 tonne at 350 km, and a mere 200 kg at 400 km. A higher orbit was therefore desirable to maximise the operating life of the station. However, the higher the station’s altitude, the more fuel the Soyuz would use to make a rendezvous. Furthermore, a higher altitude would expose the crew to more intense space radiation. The next big issue was the total period of occupancy. This would be dependent on the reserves of air, water and food. Since one man would consume about 10 kg of materials per day, it was decided to load the station with sufficient stores to support three men for three months – a period that would be accumulated by a succession of crews. It was on the basis of such analyses that the documentation for the DOS-1 station was drawn up in February 1970.

The first meeting between the TsKBEM and TsKBM experts was in March 1970. Feoktistov presented the technical specifications to the Fili team. Then Semyonov outlined the structure of the programme, its management, and the responsibilities of not only the TsKBEM and the TsKBM but also their subsidiary factories. The M. V. Khrunichev Machine Building Plant (ZIKh), which the TsKBM managed, was to be responsible for building the DOS stations and the Proton rockets that would launch them. The Plant for Experimental Machine Building (ZEM) had been part of the TsKBEM since 1966, and its role would be to test the station’s apparatus. Because each institution had its own structure, work philosophy, methodology and standards, the task of coordination was formidable. If prior experience was anything to go by, designing, developing, testing and launching a space station would take at least five years, but the DOS managers set out to do so in a period of approximately one year!

The first challenge was to arrange the transfer of the Almaz cores to the TsKBEM. Several days after the first meeting between the two engineering teams, Semyonov went to see Chelomey in Reutov. It was a difficult and strained meeting. Although Semyonov was armed with the Kremlin’s decree, Chelomey accused the TsKBEM of “stealing’’ his work. Only after a telephone call to Afanasyev was Semyonov able to persuade Chelomey to transfer four Almaz cores.[24]

The first DOS space station and a docked Soyuz ferry: (1) rendezvous antennas; (2) solar panels; (3) radio-telemetry antennas; (4) portholes; (5) the Orion astrophysical telescope; (6) the atmospheric regeneration system; (7) a movie camera; (8) a photo camera; (9) biological research equipment; (10) a food refrigeration unit; (11) crew sleeping bags; (12) water tanks; (13) waste collectors; (14) attitude control engines; (15) propellant tanks for the KTDU-66 main engine; (16) the sanitary and hygienic systems; (17) micrometeoroid panel; (18) exercise treadmill (not shown, but it was aft of the large conical housing for scientific equipment viewing through the floor); (19) the crew’s work table; (20) the main control panel; (21) oxygen tanks; (22) the periscope visor of the Soyuz descent module; (23) the KTDU-35 main engine of the Soyuz spacecraft. The conical housing for the main scientific equipment is not shown.

The DOS-1 station will be described in detail later, and here it is necessary only to explain how it differed from Almaz. The transfer compartment housing the docking system was at the front of DOS-1, rather than at the rear. Whereas on Almaz there was a hermetic tunnel through the unpressurised propulsion module, in the case of DOS-1 the docking system provided access to a small compartment that had been added to the front of the Almaz structure. On the exterior of this compartment were two solar panels of the type developed for the Soyuz spacecraft. A hatch led to the compartment which combined the Almaz crew and work compartments.[25] As in the case of Almaz, the rear of the main compartment was dominated by a large conical housing, but now the apparatus was for scientific rather than military observations. Another change was that the propulsion system developed for Almaz was discarded, and a system based on that of the Soyuz spacecraft was affixed in its place. This unit carried a second pair of solar panels.

The following DOS-1 systems were taken from Soyuz spacecraft:

• guidance and orientation

• solar panels

• Zarya radio-equipment

• RTS-9 telemetry system

• Rubin radio-control system

• command radio lines

• central post and main control panel

• Igla rendezvous and docking, and

• regenerators for oxygen.

In addition, the system for controlling the complex was taken from the Soyuz, but it was modified to take account of the station’s greater mass. The thermal regulation system had also to be upgraded. These were in-house systems to the TsKBEM. The

Sirius system for information analysis was supplied by Sergey Darevskiy’s Special Design Bureau. It was based on the Soyuz command display, and on DOS-1 it was on the left-hand side of the main control panel, in front of the commander’s seat. It provided the following indicators:

• the pressure in the fuel tanks

• the distance and speed of the station relative to an approaching spacecraft during rendezvous and docking

• the voltage and current in the electrical power system

• the environmental parameters inside the station

• onboard clocks, and

• a globe to enable the cosmonauts to readily determine the position of the station in relation to terrestrial geography.

The development of the various scientific and medical apparatus also challenged the designers. Never before had so many scientific instruments been installed in one spacecraft: this apparatus weighed 1.5 tonnes in total. Most of it was designed and developed outside the TsKBEM, in coordination with the Academy of Sciences. For example, the Orion ultraviolet telescope was devised by the Byurakan Observatory and the OST-1 solar telescope by the Crimean Observatory. For each instrument on the station, the mission planners had to develop a programme of experiments for the crew to conduct.

Everyone involved in the project worked without holidays in order to build, test and launch the first space station within a period of one year! The project itself, and all the basic systems, were developed by Kaliningrad. Design schemes and system diagrams were prepared by Fili. The manufacturing process was organised by ZEM, where Ryumin and Pallo, Semyonov’s deputies, worked alternate shifts around the clock. The station and its mockups (including wooden ones) were fabricated in the Khrunichev Plant. The final testing of the station was planned and conducted by the TsKBEM.

Even more remarkably, this coordinated effort was conducted without the support – and indeed against the wishes – of the leaders of the two design bureaus: Mishin and Chelomey!

In December 1970, after less than a year, Khrunichev completed the construction of the DOS-1 station. It was transferred to the TsKBEM for further testing, and then delivered to the Baykonur cosmodrome in March 1971.

Specific references

1. Chertok, B. Y., Rockets and People – The Moon Race, Book 4. Mashinostrenie, Moscow, 2002, pp. 239-249 (in Russian).

2. Afanasyev, I. B., Baturin, Y. M. and Belozerskiy, A. G., The World Manned Cosmonautics. RTSoft, Moscow, 2005, pp. 224-226 (in Russian).

3. Afanasyev, I. B., Unknown Spacecrafts. Znaniye, 12/1991 (in Russian).

4. Semyonov, Y. P., ed, Rocket and Space Corporation Energiya named after S. P. Korolev. 1996, pp. 264-269 (in Russian).

OPTIONS

While the engineers at the TsKBEM were modifying the docking mechanism of the Soyuz to eliminate the problem which had prevented Soyuz 10 from linking up with Salyut, on 2 May 1971 Vasiliy Mishin proposed to General Kamanin a revision to the programme. Owing to concern that Salyut’s drogue might have been damaged, he proposed that the next mission should carry in its orbital module two spacesuits, identical to those used for the external transfer during the Soyuz 4/5 mission. Once the rendezvous had been accomplished, the spacecraft would ‘park’ close alongside Salyut and one of the cosmonauts would don his suit and exit the orbital module in order to inspect the station’s docking mechanism. He would then cross the gap and, by gripping onto a series of handles on the surface of the station, make his way along to the area of the science module and open the cover that had failed to release immediately after the station reached orbit. As part of this scheme, Mishin proposed that only two cosmonauts should be assigned to the next mission, rather than three. Although he did not mention names, he probably had in mind Leonov and Kubasov, the commander and flight engineer of the second DOS crew. Both were admirably suited to the assignment since Leonov was the first man ever to make a spacewalk and Kubasov, having been Yeliseyev’s backup for Soyuz 5, had undertaken training for such activity.

But this was simply unrealistic. First, the TsPK could not prepare cosmonauts for so complex a spacewalk in a time as short as one month. Second, Gay Severin from the OKB Zvezda that had designed the EVA suits and airlock facilities did not have two spacesuits available. Indeed, the inclusion of the exterior hatch on the transfer compartment of DOS-1 was not to enable spacewalks to be undertaken, for none were planned, but was forward planning for the stations that would follow. In late 1970 Kamanin had argued with Mishin to carry at least one EVA suit on board the station, but there had been insufficient time to install the ancillary apparatus and, as a result, Mishin had gone so far as to delete the tanks that would have carried the air to replenish the compartment after a spacewalk. On 3 May, at the meeting with the

cosmonauts and trainers at the TsPK, Kamanin directed that Leonov, Kubasov and Kolodin should train according to the initial plan. Although there would be time for Dobrovolskiy, Volkov and Patsayev to train for external work, this was ruled out as the limitations of the 7K-T variant of the Soyuz meant that to accommodate a pair of spacesuits its crew would have to be reduced to two cosmonauts.[40]

On 7 May Mishin suggested to the Council of Chief Designers that regardless of the inability of Soyuz 10 to dock, it should still be possible for two crews to occupy DOS-1. It was decided that testing the modified docking system must be finished by 18 May and that the launch of Soyuz 11 should be scheduled for 4 June. The crew would be Aleksey Leonov (37), commander; Valeriy Kubasov (36), flight engineer; and Pyotr Kolodin (41), research engineer. Their assignment was to spend between 30 and 45 days on board Salyut. Then Soyuz 12 would be launched on 18 July with Georgiy Dobrovolskiy (43), commander; Vladislav Volkov (36), flight engineer; and Viktor Patsayev (38), research engineer. The duration of their mission would be determined by the resources remaining available to the station and the outcome of the first mission.

At the meeting of the Military-Industrial Commission (VPK) on 11 May, Mishin explained what had been learned from the failure of Soyuz 10 to dock with Salyut, and how the docking system had been modified for Soyuz 11. With the support of Kerimov he proposed postponing the launch of Soyuz 11 to 14 June and advancing

Options 115

Kubasov (standing, left), Leonov and Kolodin at the TsPK in Zvyozdniy. General Nikolay Kuznyetsov, the commander of the Cosmonaut Training Centre, stands on the right. (From the private collection of Rex Hall)

Soyuz 12 to 15 July, with each flight lasting 30 days. But Kamanin refused. If, as he had been advised, the station’s resources would last no longer than the end of July or start of August, this would put the final crew at risk. He suggested that the main objectives of the Soyuz 11 mission should be to successfully dock and gain entry to the station; the duration of the mission was a secondary issue that should be decided by how events progressed. The majority of the commission, including Smirnov, its chairman, agreed that the key issue was that the cosmonauts should enter the station. In addition, Smirnov said: “There is no pressure on you regarding the date of launch, and the 30-day duration is not essential. Nevertheless, we must ensure the safety of the cosmonauts. Conduct the necessary calculations, checks and tests. If you have full confidence that the flight will have satisfactory results, report this to the Central Committee. You know that comrades Brezhnyev and Kosygin will consent to this mission only after you have assured its success.’’ The next day the ballistics experts said that 6 June was the best launch date in terms of illumination conditions during the docking – if something were to prevent the docking, the spacecraft would be able to make a daylight landing. The maximum duration that would permit a landing at dawn was 25 days. In view of Kamanin’s reservations, Mishin accepted 6 June as the launch date.

When Kamanin was asked by his boss, General Kutakhov, about the risk of the Soyuz 11 crew being lost, he replied: “We wouldn’t lose the crew, but f don’t have a firm conviction of a successful docking, cosmonaut transfer into the station and its activation.” Kamanin outlined the potential sources of difficulty, including the poor visibility from the Soyuz, a failure of the automated systems and the strength of the docking mechanism. But he rejected Kutakhov’s suggestion that a letter be sent to the Central Committee to say that the Air Force had reservations as to the likelihood of the forthcoming flight succeeding. Kamanin said: “f will do everything possible to avoid losing the crew, and to make possible the accomplishment of their task, but the Chief Designer and the Strategic Rocket Forces must be held responsible for the reliability of the technology.’’

On 14 May, at the traditional pre-flight meeting with Ustinov at the Kremlin, the main message to the TsKBEM was similar to that from Smirnov: “Launch Soyuz 11 only if you are certain that the preparations are satisfactory. We are not rushing you. The State Commission will set the final date.’’ With these words, Ustinov carefully washed his hands of any responsibility for the potential failure of the mission.

STAR TOWN

Zvyozdniy Gorodok (Star Town), home of the Cosmonaut Training Centre (TsPK) where Soviet military cosmonauts live and train for space missions, is located in a wood of 100-year-old birch trees in the Shchelkovo area about 40 km northeast of Moscow and 10 km east of Kaliningrad.

In 1958 General Nikolay Kamanin became Deputy Chief of the Soviet Air Force. He was responsible for the selection of all military cosmonauts, their training and nomination for space missions. He was also on the military commission that decided to build Zvyozdniy, and when construction started in the early 1960s all decrees relating to its development required his signature.

Kamanin maintained a good association with his boss, Commander of the Air Force Marshal Konstantin Vershinin, but his relationship with Sergey Korolev was often tense. They got on well during the years of the Vostok flights, but in 1963 OKB-1 set out to modify this capsule to carry up to three cosmonauts and this led to a conflict. Kamanin wished the Voskhod cosmonauts to be drawn exclusively from the Air Force, as in the case of Vostok, but Korolev wished to give his engineers the opportunity to fly in order to personally assess their designs. Korolev got his way for the first Voskhod mission, on which Air Force cosmonaut Vladimir Komarov flew as commander, Konstantin Feoktistov flew as engineer, and Boris Yegorov, a physician whose father was a friend of Korolev’s, flew to investigate the symptoms of ‘space sickness’ that were reported by Vostok cosmonaut Gherman Titov.

When Vasiliy Mishin succeeded Korolev upon the latter’s death in January 1966, the conflict between Zvyozdniy and Kaliningrad became even more intense. And when in August 1966 the Kremlin granted Mishin permission to recruit civilians for the L1 and L3 lunar programmes, Mishin argued that the TsKBEM (as OKB-1 had by then become) should have its own training facility – a proposal that was resisted by Kamanin. However, as the TsPK grew, Kamanin faced management problems. By the mid-1960s the manned space programme was based on the Soyuz spacecraft whose variants were to support a variety of projects, including autonomous flights,

circumlunar and the lunar landing missions, developing techniques for rendezvous and docking, a variety of military tasks, and serving as a ferry for a space station. Appropriate simulators had to be installed at the TsPK, and training procedures and methodologies developed. The installation of the first Soyuz simulator in late 1966 coincided with the arrival of the first cosmonaut-engineers from the TsKBEM. As there were not yet simulators for either the circumlunar L1 or the military Soyuz-VI, the civilians joined the military cosmonauts in training for Soyuz missions. The L3 simulator was an even less likely prospect, in part because Mishin hoped to squeeze the Air Force out of the lunar landing programme and to build the simulator at the TsKBEM. Many of the problems that Kamanin faced were beyond his control. To make matters worse, the death of Yuriy Gagarin while flying a MiG – 15 in training in March 1968 reflected poorly on the TsPK. Both Kamanin and General Nikolay Kuznyetsov, who had been appointed as Commander of the Cosmonaut Training Centre in 1963, felt that they were partly to blame for the accident.

Furthermore, Kamanin suffered from the diminishment of his Khrushchov-era allies in the Ministry of Defence and the Air Force. In 1967 Rodion Malinovskiy was replaced as Minister for Defence by Marshal Andrey Grechko, who had not been a supporter of manned space flights. In 1968 the TsPK gained orbital, military, and lunar training facilities, and was expanded to include engineering and medical departments. It was also renamed the Yu. A. Gagarin Test and Research Centre for Space Flight. For almost 11 years Kamanin had worked closely with Vershinin, but Grechko wanted his own man running the Air Force, and in 1969 he replaced Vershinin with General Pavel Kutakhov, who in turn decided to replace Kamanin as soon as possible.

It was in this intense atmosphere that the crews for the DOS-1 programme were nominated.