Sorry for the delay in this week's post, I had some travel issues yesterday that meant I got home much later than planned. Here is this week's update to...
Part III Post #8: Launching for the Future
The death of Edward Karski and the resultant grounding of the Dynasoar fleet came at a time when the Air Force was already deep into studies of what should come after Dynasoar. Although many of the missions originally intended for the spaceplane - in particular space-based reconnaissance - had been shown to be more effectively met by unmanned assets, the programme had demonstrated its value in other areas. These included the on-orbit servicing of spacecraft, as demonstrated in 1971 when the Mk.II glider
Athena rendezvoused with USA-110, a prototype NRO spy satellite designed to demonstrate this new option.
Athena’s crew replaced film cartridges and topped up the satellite’s propellant tanks before returning to Earth, and this success led to similar EVE-compatible features to be included into designs for the next generation of spysats. Similarly, Dynasoar had showed great advantages in the orbital flight testing of other experimental systems, with the Mk.I gliders in particular regularly carrying new components and materials in their small payload bays for exposure to the space environment. Components could even be re-flown on multiple missions, increasing confidence in their ability to perform in the harsh environment of near-Earth space, although the limited duration of these flights (generally no more than two weeks for Mk.I missions) was a frustrating block to some investigations. This issue would be partly resolved by Starlab, but plans were also afoot to adapt a Mission Module so that part of it would remain on-orbit after the glider had returned to Earth. A second Dynasoar could then rendezvous with the module and retrieve the experimental samples after months or even years in space.
One thing all of these missions had in common was their expense. The Dynasoar gliders had proved to be far more maintenance-heavy to turnaround than had been anticipated, a problem exacerbated by their nature as experimental aircraft leading to frequent modifications between flights. Worse still, their complex and costly Minerva launchers were thrown away after each mission. In 1970 the Air Force had authorised the Minerva Upgrade Project, which would involve fitting uprated, more efficient versions of the E-1 and J-2 engines to the vehicle to improve the performance of the rocket whilst simplifying its systems and streamlining production in an effort to reduce costs, but there were many voices calling for the entire expendable launch vehicle paradigm to be thrown out and replaced with something new: a fully reusable launch system.
Cheaper access to orbit was becoming a concern not only for the Air Force and its customers, but increasingly to the civilian sector. The US Air Force held a monopoly on space launches across the Free World, including not only those for NEESA’s science and weather missions, but also for the small but increasing number of civil communications satellites being designed and built in the United States and across the world. With the launch of the British-owned (though American-built) Skycom-1 in 1968, the list of Minerva’s customers grew to include allied governments, increasing the backlog of missions that had already been building. Following the cancellation of the Navy’s Triton rocket, the only effort that looked likely to break the Air Force’s monopoly came not from the US, but from Europe.
Europe’s challenge centered on the European Launcher Development Organisation (ELDO), which had been established in 1962 at the initiative of the French and British governments. The stated objective of ELDO was to provide its members with a space launch capability independent of the two superpowers, as well as to maintain and develop industrial competencies in rocket technology. This latter point was of particular importance to Britain, which had sunk huge sums into the development of its Blue Streak ballistic missile, only to see the system declared too vulnerable to host the national deterrent, and so superseded by the American-built Skybolt missile. ELDO would see that development effort put to good use as Blue Streak would form the first stage of the ELDO-A (later re-named Europa) vehicle, with the French Coralie and German Astris rockets acting as the second and third stages.
Problems with the new organisation emerged almost immediately, and were mostly of a political nature. The decentralised nature of ELDO meant that each nation worked on its stage more-or-less independently, with only very weak central project management. The approach of adapting existing stages also meant the adoption of a different propellant mix for each stage, increasing the complexity (and expense) of the necessary ground infrastructure. Without a strong central authority, the schedules for each of the three stages soon fell out of synch, with Britain starting testing of the Blue Streak first stage in Woomera in early 1965, whilst the Coralie and Astris stages were still under development.
These schedules began to converge somewhat when the Wilson government reduced funding to ELDO in late 1965 in an effort to offset the escalating costs involved with Britain’s deployment of forces to Vietnam. The incoming Brandt government in West Germany also expressed concerns over the direction of the project, partly related to the diplomatic sensitivities expressed by the DDR and USSR over a renewed West German rocket industry. Coming at a time when Bradt was pushing controversial policies to improve relations between the two Germanies, Europa ran the risk of adding fuel to an already combustible issue. Even the French government, the only one of the major contributors still fully backing ELDO, was starting to raise concerns at the Europa’s inability to place a payload into Geostationary Transfer Orbit (GTO), a capability that would be vital to serve the new generation of communications satellites then under development.
Despite these concerns, development of Europa carried on, with each issue being dealt with on a case-by-case “firefighting” basis. British budgetary concerns were partly met through an agreement to slow the delivery of first stages and stretching out the test programme, whilst at the same time accelerating the commissioning of a new spaceport in French Guiana, allowing the expensive facilities at Woomera to be retired. French payload worries led to an agreement to add a small 4th stage to the stack, permitting a payload of around 200 kg to GTO. West Germany’s diplomatic troubles were neutralised (though hardly eased) by Shelepin’s and Ulbrict’s firm rebuffing of almost all of Brandt’s “Ostpolitik” initiatives and the general heightening of tensions along the Inner-German Border. Arguments over the Astris stage were small beer in comparison, and so the Federal Republic continued its contributions as planned.
Unfortunately, the laws of physics would prove to be even less forgiving than the rules of politics, and the first test launch of the stack from Woomera (using a live 1st stage with dummy 2nd and 3rd stages) failed at the end of 1966. A repeat of the test in May 1967 was successful, but a third test in September from Kourou using a live 2nd stage failed at separation. The next twelve months would see a further three test flights, only one of which was fully successful, and none of which used a full-up stack with all stages live.
A telescopic camera captures the failure of the Europa second stage separation during a test launch from Kourou, September 1967.
It was with this less than stellar record behind them that the ELDO members convened in Paris in September 1968 to reconsider the direction of the project. There was a general feeling that things could not continue the way they were, and in particular the recent return to government of Rab Butler’s Conservatives meant that the new British Minister for Science and Technology came to the meeting determined to see major changes agreed if the UK was not to walk away from the project altogether. However, the specific technical problems encountered along with a general frustration with ELDO’s poor management structure meant that she was pushing at an open door, and all members were ready to agree to radical action.
The result of the Paris conference was the effective scrapping of the Europa project in favour of starting afresh. Learning the lessons of the past few years, an important aspect of this fresh start was an almost total restructuring of ELDO itself, throwing out the old stovepipe approach where nations would work on their own areas independently, in favour of a stronger central technical authority reporting to a political council made up of representatives from each member state. This Council would have considerable discretionary powers to allocate resources from the central budget, to which each member would contribute a fixed amount to be confirmed each year in line with a general budget outlook agreed at five-year intervals, on the understanding that the amount of work allocated to each country’s industry would be broadly in line with the amount contributed (or “getting our money back” as the British Minister bluntly put it). Consideration was given to merging ELDO with the European Space Research Organisation into a common structure, but the greater success of ESRO to date, coupled with the impressive example of NEESA in the US, meant that it was decided to keep these missions separate for now.
With this new structure in place, the re-minted European Space Launch Agency quickly moved to re-vamp the Europa design to create a launch vehicle that would meet the needs of the member states and avoid the pitfalls that had plagued the rocket to date. In line with the reduced financial contribution of the UK to just 15%, production of the first and second stage tanking was transferred to Germany, with Britain supplying those stages’ kerosene-burning engines based upon a new design incorporating the lessons of Blue Streak, designated the RZ3. Italy was to manufacture the solid-propellant fourth stage, with France producing the entire hydrolox third stage and providing the launch facilities at Kourou. Integration of the stages would take place at a new factory in Bremerhaven, from where they would be shipped to Kourou for final integration and launch. Although superficially this work break-down appeared to duplicate the stovepiping that had doomed ELDO, in ESLA’s case the system design was performed by a single international team located in Antwerp, Belgium, which worked to ensure that all of the subcontractors were marching to the same tune, much the same way as the DRA in the United States coordinated their far-flung subcontractors to produce Minerva.
This new design and the resulting contributions and workshare were agreed at an ESLA ministerial meeting in September 1970, with the first launch targeted for 1974. That meeting also gave the new launcher (which had internally been designated Europa-C) its official name, Theseus. This was officially in recognition of the common Classical heritage of the contributing nations, but was also an allusion to the rocket’s design process which, much like the legendary Ship of Theseus, had seen every constituent part of the old Europa vehicle changed until nothing of the original remained.
As Theseus’ development began in earnest and the USAF started work enhancing the Minerva launcher for the new decade, the DRA was circulating proposals for a radical new launch vehicle that would be fully reusable, promising dramatic savings in operating costs. Their 1969 “Report on a Reusable National Space Transportation System”, which pulled together the results of several earlier studies, had proposed the development of a large, piloted first stage carrying an orbiter spaceplane. The stack would launch vertically like a conventional rocket, but following separation the first stage would use large wings and deployable jet engines to fly back to the launch site and land like a conventional airliner. The orbiter stage would continue into space, where it would deploy satellites from its large cargo hold, or perhaps retrieve old spacecraft for return to Earth. After completing its mission, the orbiter would re-enter the atmosphere and fly back to its launch site in the same manner as the first stage, where both stages would be refueled and loaded for their next mission. Meanwhile, a flotilla of on-orbit space tugs would transfer satellites from the low orbits reachable by the shuttlecraft into their final operational orbits, completing a fully reusable infrastructure that could replace the nation’s fleet of expendable rockets.
Despite its impressive scope and ambition, interest in the so-called Shuttlecraft Report was limited at first. Although several study contracts were awarded in the early ‘70s, the Air Force was initially more focussed on squeezing the most out of their Minerva and Dynasoar vehicles, whilst the DRA and NACAA soon had their hands full developing Columbia. It wasn’t until the 1973 Rhene Inquiry threw a light on the shortcomings of the Dynasoar system that serious attention was turned to a potential replacement. The Inquiry’s long list of recommended modifications to the Dynasoar gliders and their operations were the first priority, but even as Air Force Space Command placed an order for a replacement Mk.II glider, some were questioning whether the entire Dynasoar system shouldn’t be scrapped in favour of a more capable, safer second-generation spaceplane. It was at this point that the Shuttlecraft Report was dusted off and circulated amongst the key decision makers.
However, it proved to be external events that would again shape the future direction of the space programme, as the geopolitical tectonic plates shifted once more, resulting in a powerful new earthquake in international relations.
) seem inevitable, and the expiration date is probably coming sooner than OTL too.
