On Brazen Wings - From the Pseudo Space Race to Independence and Beyond.

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Oh yes there was. I was young back then myself but I was still cognizant enough to pick up on a lot of the zeitgeist around the issue. It literally wasnt until the last couple of years that its really taken hold as something most normal people recognize and care about seeing addressed, but even then theres still a lot of doubt and a lot of rationalization of half and quarter efforts that still assume we haven't passed a point of no return.

But yeah, moderate improvement on these aspects, but still a huge clusterfuck of a problem.
Well, it's good to hear that I was correct in that assumption. I found it fascinating how, during 2021, there was a rush of deadlines introduced, not just from governments (unfortunately mine has remained pathetically mute on the subject), but from oil companies themselves. Even when considering the number of half-measures, it's still a plus, especially when considering that renewable technologies are receiving increasingly larger investments.

But yeah, you are changing the basis upon which your civilisation is built, so it's going to be hard for any TL past the 1800s.
 
1989 Part 3
1989
Scramble

In the wake of the 1986 disasters, while NASA would find itself only just weathering the resulting controversies and investigations, and indeed coming out with an all but codified green light to start again, the military and national security apparatus would find itself in quite a scramble. With original agreements tying almost all-American space launches to the Space Shuttle, its abrupt cancellation and expected decade long gap before a return to flight made apparent a rather large hole in the burgeoning spaceflight industry, built on contractors for the various government programs, who simply did not have the rockets necessary to fill the gap left by the disasters.

However, the American economy still deep in a recession that had begun in 1987, and reeling from an escalating savings and loan crisis, left little options for these companies to develop anything on their own, and even before 1986 was over, the perpetually well-funded military pushed new development programs into effect to shore up these gaps, which would lead to direct improvements on the mainstays, with the Delta, Atlas, and Titan series of rockets seeing small incremental developments, but in the three years since, the progress had been slow-going and still there was no direct replacement for the Shuttle.

These circumstances, while somewhat dire, would actually end up being the biggest boons to the new Glenn Administration, who in the midst of bipartisan negotiations over the 1990 budget, which was hoped to not only officially approve the Block II Shuttle but also determine if it would have the funding to proceed, was able to help forge a deal that would resolve these problems in a way that, even if he were up against a completely hostile Congress, would be hard to pass up.

For NASA, the most critical part of their proposed Block II design was going to be the liquid fueled boosters. Not only would be they be using new engines derived from the Space Shuttle Main Engines, which would have to be producible in much greater quantities than the SSME's were, while maintaining the same reliability and reusability standards, but the boosters would also be pushing for an ambitious recovery method involving the boosters boosting themselves back to the launch site for a landing. While certain elements of the new External Tank and Orbiter were also nearly as critical, and as potentially expensive for that matter, the new boosters took precedence for the simple reason that, if nothing else, NASA at the end of the day needed a new vehicle, and even if the new Shuttle could not be realized, the ever looming threat of budget cuts and cancellations still very much a factor after all, then at least the boosters could be leveraged to make...something else.

Meanwhile for the military, most of their camp favored moving away from reusable vehicles. 1986 had left a bad taste in the mouth amongst military planners made all the worse by the expectedly long timeframe before a return to flight could be accomplished. Indeed, with the military's development programs focusing on the nation's most prominent expendable launch families, there was little in the way of uncertainty as to how the military felt about pursuing the ambitious, high technology approach of their counterparts in NASA. Expendable rockets, while seemingly expensive and inefficient, often times are just the opposite, with factors such as mass production and standardization driving down costs in ways that a comparable reusable system would find hard to compete with if a reusable system, whose development costs often dwarf that of its expendable equivalent, cannot outright beat the operational costs of its competitor.

This would be very apparent, as while the military and NASA were focused on their own needs, one contractor who found itself effectively blacklisted from both, would by 1989 still be scrambling to navigate a path forward. Morton Thiokol, long-time contractor that had provided the solid rocket boosters for the original Shuttle design, was not quite ready to enter the commercial launch market as an independent provider, but the Glenn-Paine Commission had all but buried the casket on the idea of Morton being able to swing back as a government contractor, and with most of NASA's supply of their SRB's either being transferred back to Morton or resold to them, they had the components of a fleet of rockets that they needed to find a use for, or see the final writing on the wall and submit them to the scrap heap.

While they sat in limbo for much of '87 and '88, in 1989 they would finally manage to make a breakthrough, nearly simultaneously securing approval to act as an independent launch provider still operating out of Cape Kennedy, while also securing contracts to launch satellites with several nations that had also found themselves in limbo with the Shuttle stand-down, notably Saudi Arabia and Brazil. While Morton would quickly realize that they'd never be able to launch humans if they wanted to make use of their large inventory of solid rockets, they would manage to find that such obvious denials didn't exist for unmanned flights, and the SRB's if configured to simply be expended offered pricings that could easily compete with the government launchers of the day, and Morton would sell this idea to investors and the nations it was courting, presenting a new rocket that they argued would be the first of its kind: a cheap, commercially available launch vehicle that could fly payloads in the same 20-30 ton range of the Space Shuttle.

The rocket itself, which Morton would rather cheekily name Phoenix, was envisioned as using a five-segment variant of the original SRB as a first stage, which would also feature a redesigned nozzle and additional safety features that were intended for use with the Shuttle, which could then be mated with a number of suggested upper stages, which ranged from stages provided by customers, to outsourced upper stages from elsewhere in the industry, and Morton would even suggest that given adequate investment, they would be willing pursue a dedicated clean-sheet upper stage for the vehicle, which they in turn likened to that of the Inertial Upper Stage of the Shuttle program, but heavily upscaled and derived from the same SRB technology as the first stage.

Estimating a development time of two years from the start of investment, with test launches coming in year two and operational launches potentially beginning the year after, Morton would pitch their new rocket to investors and, in a rather desperate hail mary, would even go as far as to seek out approvals from NASA, the FAA, and other related agencies; more or less anything they could get their hands on to emphasize that they could make Phoenix happen for their potential investors.

And it worked. With Saudi Arabia contributing a nearly 50% stake in the project in exchange for a slate of launches it wanted to see happen throughout the upcoming decade, Morton would effectively find itself saved just as it was reaching a breaking point. However, the estimated performance of Morton's pitched clean sheet upper stage was rejected by most of the investors, who found that the additional development time and funding required not worth the relatively marginal improvements the design might have over outsourcing upper stages elsewhere. This would, as contracts were signed, leave Morton realizing that its long string of courting was not over, and it would need to find a partner that could provide a ready to go upper stage for the project.

Meanwhile, despite the military brass' hesitation, there was a small minority amongst them that saw the value in reusability, however. With the Cold War drawing down, some felt that they saw writing on the wall, and that should the Cold War sublimate enough, that even the military would not be able to escape a so-called "peace dividend" that would make even the most hawkish in Congress a little too eager to get a cut for some other project. And these same individuals would argue as much, but also emphasize that there was a fairly fundamental difference between having to design for reusability in an unmanned system vs a manned one, and as military was unlikely to ever need its own manned launcher, just that simple fact alone might be enough to make up the difference. This camp unfortunately found its arguments falling on deaf ears throughout the years, as with no studies into the concept, and as some felt little desire to ever approve any such studies, they had nothing to back up their arguments with, well-reasoned or otherwise.

Naturally, though, John Glenn had different ideas. Faced with the prospect of being responsible for NASA's future extending into the next century, one of Glenn's largest and earliest priorities was ensuring that the Shuttle was able to continue, and while the relatively united Congress had little in the way of opposition to the idea of the Block II Shuttle and what the new orbiters and tanks would take to build, conflict would inevitably fall on the boosters. While there was more or less unanimous support for the pursuit of the required engines, many in Congress questioned the need to push for such an ambitious recovery concept given the example the original Shuttle had given on pushing projects on this scale, and some particularly ornery Senators went as far as to be emphatically against the idea, insisting instead that, if recovery and reuse was to be pushed over simply expending them, ocean recovery was the way to go. These Senators, finding the idea of putting landing legs and complicated avionics onto the boosters a waste of time, even if they worked perfectly, would ultimately end up being the biggest hurdle to Glenn's attempts to get his 1990 budget passed.

NASA's late 1988 report on the boosters, which was an exhaustively detailed derivative of the original Boeing design documents, anticipated these arguments. Its first contention was simply that land recovery of the boosters was necessitated by the Glenn-Paine Commission's requirements for the new design. While the boosters could be constructed to properly withstand salt water exposure and the impact with the ocean itself, the "baked in" costs these considerations would induce on the boosters manufacturing and refurbishment would be too prohibitive to the stated goal of the program to reduce the operational costs from the original Shuttle.

Further, a return to landing site profile also had advantages in that it helped to justify on-site refurbishment of the boosters after flights, as rather than being shipped elsewhere in the Southwest for refurbishment by contractors, similarly to how the original Solids were, NASA would be able to house those facilities at Kennedy, allowing for turnaround times to be greatly more efficient without being forced to spend additional funds on a larger supply of boosters, which in turn would greatly reduce the stress that the necessary flight rates for the program induced. This also had benefits in that a smaller fleet would be much easier to maintain, as inspections could occur more frequently and with more in-depth testing than the original program had allowed for, which in turn would likely result in far greater safety results for the overall vehicle.

Meanwhile, the report would also contend that the necessary avionics development would be relatively trivial, and that the larger complication in enabling the booster to fly back would actually be with the engines themselves, which would need to have greater gimbal and throttle capabilities than the engines they were being derived from, while still maintaining the necessary performance boost in the lower atmosphere. Stating quite plainly that if the engines with these requirements are to be pursued, then there fundamentally is no reason not to pursue the already argued to be cheaper RTLS profile.

But, as it seemed all too common for the time, well-reasoned arguments fell on deaf ears, and it would be on the President to push things forward.

A veteran of the Marine Corps as well as NASA (even if far removed from both by his political career), John Glenn had a unique position of not only being the proverbial boss of both the military and NASA, but also someone who could both empathize and understand the needs of both, and Glenn would use this fact to his advantage in early 1989, pitching another sequel of sorts for the Shuttle program: that the military and NASA should work together to develop the booster.

Similarly, to how the Air Force had joined NASA in the original Shuttle's development, in exchange for use of the Shuttle for its planned polar missions and other uses, Glenn would suggest, with apparent assistance from both his science advisor and expected Secretary of Science and Technology Carl Sagan, that the same sort of agreement be reached between the two, sharing development costs and eventual operational costs on a versatile, potentially heavy lift "common core", allowing for both groups to not only get what they want out of the booster, but also for both to be funded to begin with.

This idea, floated days after Glenn was sworn into office, eventually blossomed into the Evolved Reusable Lift Vehicle program, ERLV or "Earl", a pronunciation popularized by a Kentucky-born Air Force colonel that had presented the program to Congress in tandem with NASA, his pronounced drawl and quick speech naturally giving way to the shorthand. The ERLV program, which synthesized the requirements from both the Air Force and NASA, requested $2.4 billion over the next 5 years, a nearly $1 billion dollar savings from NASA's original $3.5 billion request, a savings brought on after the Air Force was able to contribute its own estimations to the project.

While NASA's overall budget would still end up being a record $7 billion, the cost sharing with the military in addition to the economic boons the program would be providing proved to be just enough to get things through the Senate chamber, and in late May the 1990 budget would finally be formalized into law, securing not only the Block II Orbiter, but the ERLV program as well.

====
Totes name dropped Sagan like he's a nobody, more on him next year, and certain conversations may well have been canonized...
 
1989 Part 4
A Brief History of Chinese Spaceflight
An Unexpected Courting

PART 1

The history of China's spaceflight endeavors, inextricably tied to that of the great superpowers of the United States and the Soviet Union, extends all the way back to the very beginning of the Space Race, with the Soviet Union's launch of Sputnik in October of 1957. In less than six months, Chinese leader Mao Zedong called on China to not be left out of the race, beginning China's first space program, which called for the nation's first satellite to be launched within a year, in celebration of the 10-year anniversary of the government's founding.

This proclamation would become the principle charge of the Shanghai Institute for Mechanical and Electrical Engineering (often referred to simply as the Shanghai Institute), with Wang Xiji, a professor and engineer at Jiao Tong University, appointed as its chief engineer alongside Yang Nansheng as deputy director. Unlike their well funded, well tenured, and well learned programs of their greater counterparts, the newly born Chinese space program had very few experienced scientists among them, four in fact including Wang and Yang, with the bulk of the staff comprising of university students with an average amongst the group being in the early 20's. Further, due to greater ongoing issues in China at the time, the group often found themselves having to work hungry, as despite their purpose even they could not escape The Great Famine that had been plaguing China, and even worse still would they have to work with little adequate funding or equipment. Indeed, for the sounding rocket program started by this group, their launch site outside Shanghai would be comprised of a single bunker and power generator, and they would even have to use a bicycle pump to pressurize the fuel tanks of the rockets.

Perhaps most critical though was that none among them, even Wang, had actual experience with rocketry, and so they very literally had to learn on the fly, a somewhat more plucky beginning for a national space program compared to that of the Americans or the Soviets, who both leaned fairly heavily on already very accomplished German engineers to kickstart their respective programs.

Despite this, the group would soldier on throughout the 1960s, clearly not having near the necessary commitment to meet the original 1959 deadline. With their series of T-7 sounding rockets, the group would make a number flights between 1960 and 1969. The first launches of a subscale variant of the rocket in 1960 would actually fail in flight, but the second would be a success, reaching the designed maximum altitude of 8 miles, something that Mao Zedong personally found impressive, given that the young group of students had managed to accomplish it without the help of Soviet engineers.

This directly lead to the development and eventual launch of the full scale T-7 in September of 1960, with several more launches, some of which failed, continuing on into the next year, before finally in November of 1961, the design would reach its final maximum altitude of 36 miles, carrying a 55lb payload. Twenty five more of these rockets would be launched up until 1965, with a final launch of the rocket taking place in 1969 before being retired, to allow focus on China's first full scale rocket, Long March, a proposal of Wang's that would receive approval thanks to the successes of the T-7 tests.

Transferred out of Shanghai to Beijing in 1965, Wang and his group would receive considerably greater support. Developing the Long March rocket throughout the remainder of the decade, rapidly advancing at a pace competitive with the efforts of their American and Soviet counterparts at the same level. This would directly lead to the launch of Long March 1 on April 24th, 1970. Lifting the Dong Fang Hong 1, China's first satellite, the booster was a three stage rocket powered primarily by UDHM/RFNA fueled liquid engines, before giving way to a smaller solid rocket as the final injection stage for the satellite. With a practically perfect launch, China had finally joined the spacefaring nations of the world, coming fifth after the Soviet Union, the United States, France and Japan, and had done so not only with a rocket developed primarily by the same group that only 10 years prior had only just flew their first sounding rocket, but did so while also outclassing the combined payload weight of the first four nations first satellites combined.

The Dong Fang Hong, named for the de facto national anthem of China "The East is Red", was similar in a lot of ways to the earlier Sputnik, though considerably larger at 3 meters in diameter and clocking in at 173kg in weight. Carrying a radio transmitter and other instruments, it had a design life of 20 days, and as it orbited the Earth, it broadcast the national anthem it was named for to the world, while also taking measurements and readings from the upper atmosphere and ionosphere.

This resounding success for the burgeoning space program was undeniably impressive, and with the success of the American Apollo program on their minds and those superpowers looking to the future, China would in the wake of this launch move forward with their own manned space program, Shuguang or "Dawn", which had already began in 1969 with the first screenings and recruitment of Chinese pilots and engineers to serve as the nation's first astronauts. Notable among them would be Tao Shi, a university graduate who, while a few years older than many of the prospective applicants at 27, was considered very valuable due to his military experience, and Shao Chao, an engineer at the top of his 1968 graduating class, both of whom would be among the first 20 candidates selected as China's first would be space travelers.

However, one cannot truly speak of this period without the larger context of why this seemingly Hollywood-esque, rag tag group of plucky students managed to have the support they did from their government. In truth, while matching the peaceful spaceflight accomplishments of their greater peers was important for China, the actual goal was only the third priority of a larger mission known as the Two Bombs, One Satellite program. Focused primarily on matching the nuclear capabilities of other nations, the program saw the study, research, and eventually development of China's first atomic and hydrogen bombs, and Wang's group's work on Long March would inform on the nation's intercontinental ballistic missile program.

These factors, and many more, would directly contribute to an unexpected courting merely two years after the 1970 launch, leading China down a path to the stars quite unlike anything anyone in China, or the Soviet Union, could have predicted.

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Wang Xiji, amazingly, is still alive as of last year. He's essentially the Korolev or Von Braun of China and the fella is still with us. That is hella cool.

Also, pretty much everything up to 1972, aside from the two fictional astronauts, is as it was IOTL. Part 2 will be covering the long alluded to cooperation between the Soviets and China leading up to Salyut and the unfortunate simultaneous demise of both Soyuz and Shao Chao, and then Part 3 will be when we get to the really juicy stuff that'll be setting up China into the millennium.
 
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1989 Part 5
A Brief History of Chinese Spaceflight
Nine Years of Cooperation
Part 2

In 1972, with the massive shift in the Soviet Union's space priorities away from their ailing Lunar program and their, not yet launched, series of space stations, the Soviets would find themselves faced with a peculiar conundrum. While they would still be flying their Soyuz spacecraft in space, maintaining manned access, they would have comparatively little to actually do in flight, as no resources were being spared on the program while the new Energia and MKS programs took shape. The Soyuz spacecraft was relatively small, and left little room for the kind of expansive experiments the Soviets still wanted to support, and even for the military, who were far much more utilitarian in their needs than their scientifically focused counterparts, the Soyuz left them wanting for more.

Fortunately, a solution was rather apparent. Beginning in 1967, the Soviet Interkosmos program was a diplomatic counter to the American's own international agreements on spaceflight, and the Soviets knowing that they could not do much to increase the workload and capabilities of the Soyuz, found it prudent to begin floating the idea of greater cooperation amongst participants, with contributions in hardware (assisted by Soviet engineers, of course) and personnel being emphasized and offered up to coax participants in. However, most nations would not bite, and some like North Korea, who were enthusiastic at the prospect, simply didn't have much in the way they could offer up to the program.

This, however, didn't really demoralize the Soviets. In truth, their aims were squarely focused on one nation, one that had not joined in the program at all: China.

In the wake of Joseph Stalin's death and the rise to power of Nikita Khrushchev, China would find the reforms being pushed in the Soviet Union by his regime to be distinctly against the idea of communism that both nations had built themselves up on, and these ideological disputes quickly morphed into diplomatic disputes, creating what became known as the Sino-Soviet Split, which was so impactful that it actually turned the Cold War, often thought as merely the two way, ideological pissing match between the United States and the Soviet Union, into a three way match, with China conflicting with both as it made its attempts at solidifying its own status as a power in its own right. Ironically, while the United States may have found the idea of communism of any kind abhorrent regardless, for China, the Soviet Union their principle contention was that the Soviets weren't communist enough, and over time the perspective had even grown to be that they weren't communist at all anymore, instead infected by what they called "social imperialism", likening the Soviet Union's economic reforms and diplomatic relations to that of their American capitalist enemy.

However, despite the tensions the Sino-Soviet split had imposed on relations between the two nations, cooperation was not impossible. Cooperation was often very easy between the two nations when it came to the various wars that had been waged on the Asian continent throughout the Cold War, such as Korea or Vietnam, and in fact, the pride of China's technological advancement, the Two Bombs and One Satellite program, had had its nuclear components helped by Soviet experts, a relationship that was actually amongst the most positive the two shared during the period.

And this reality is what gave what the Soviet diplomats and SSSR representatives perceived as their so called "in" with China. Courting the Zedong government, the Soviet Union would emphasize the technological alliance the two nations could foster, building on the already established relationships they had built through the nuclear programs. These talks would take two years to be realized as an agreement, with Mao Zedong himself only conceding due to a handful of embarrassing launch failures of China's own Long March rockets, and their Shuguang program getting absolutely nowhere. Meeting in secret in early 1974, Zedong and the Soviet ambassador would meet in Beijing, and China would formally enter the Interkosmos program. Committing to assist the Soviet Union with an unspecified module for their upcoming Salyut space station, as well as providing Chinese launched experiment platforms for Soyuz to rendezvous and eventually dock with, China in turn would receive a handful of dedicated flights aboard Soyuz and, once flying, the MKS orbiters. An impasse would be reached however on technology sharing, as both the Chinese and the Soviets were hesitant in doing so, not only because of the natural implications the process would have to the United States, but also simply because neither side really wanted to share technology at all. It was decided then that this aspect of the two nations cooperation would instead be limited merely to what was necessary to allow their respective spacecraft to interact with one another.

By 1976, China had already launched 5 of these experiment platforms for the Soviet Union. Little more than large chunks of steel to which was attached various experiments from the Soviets or China proper, the platforms were an important boon for the Soyuz program, allowing cosmonauts to conduct EVA's where necessary, developing the much-needed experience needed for the upcoming Salyut, but also allowing for experiments far larger than what the Soyuz could support. Such experiments ranged from simple hardware tests of Salyut components such as solar panels, heat pumps, electronics, propulsion, and other systems, as well as to early experiments with orbital materials manufacturing.

As one can imagine however, China was eager to see its first cosmonaut take flight, having formally adopted the Soviet Union's nomenclature for their space travellers. The original group of selected candidates from Shuguang had been in training already since 1970, and since the formal agreement in 1974 had been working incredibly hard to train for the Soyuz spacecraft, and by all metrics, cosmonaut Tao Shi was pegged as the first Chinese man to fly in space. An experienced military pilot, Tao was officially attached to the Soviet MKS program, but his credentials had Chinese leadership wanting him to be first, as Tao exemplified much of the same qualities that the other great powers had found in their "First Men", and so Tao found himself training for both programs, with his first flight slated for December of 1976.

However, in September, Mao Zedong would pass away from health complications. This would directly lead to a great deal of political upheaval within the following month, with a group of CPC officials known as the "Gang of Four" being ousted from power. The Gang, who were directly responsible for Zedong's Cultural Revolution, which saw terrible purges of those deemed a threat to the nation or the party's power over it, would find their downfall celebrated in the streets of Beijing, as it was seen as an era of political turmoil coming to a long-awaited end. This in turn would directly lead to a new leader for China, Deng Xiaoping. While only a "de facto" leader of China, as he did not actually hold the explicit positions required, Deng's political machinations would work to consolidate power around himself, and throughout his rule he would make a point of reversing many of the policies of the Cultural Revolution, leading to an era of "practical" communism, as opposed to the more idealistic visions of the Mao era.

But what would end up being decidedly not practical for the new regime was the still on-going Sino-Soviet Split, which despite Deng's reforms still left the two nations at odds diplomatically, and already in that early winter of 1976, the strain was starting to be felt on the Interkosmos partnership. Despite this, in December Tao Shi would finally make his space shot, flying alongside Soviet Cosmonaut Ivan Bachurin, who was also primarily intended as an MKS assigned cosmonaut. The experiment platform they would be rendezvousing with was called Zhongli 7, and it was launched by a Long March 2A rocket in November. Onboard, the platform carried a docking mechanism, a miniature greenhouse experiment from the Soviets, a Chinese made computing device, and another Soviet experiment involving crystal growth.

As part of the mission, Tao Shi would not only be the first Chinese man in space, but also the first to walk in it as well, as the mission called for an EVA to retrieve the results of the experiments for return to Earth, This would result in one of the most celebrated photographs in Chinese history, as Bachurin, watching from the open hatch of the Soyuz, would snap a photograph of Tao Shi as he unfurled and release a small Chinese flag he had brought with him. The image of the flag, which had folded on itself to look like it was fluttering in the wind, floating alongside a beaming Tao, with Earth beside him, most certainly deserved its celebration, and it rightfully took its place amongst other famous photographs like Neil Armstrong on the Moon or Bruce McCandless II floating so far away from the Space Shuttle.

However, the relatively innocent flight was not a universal call for celebration. In the United States, it signaled something to the American public that they had not quite felt in a few years, since those tumultuous days of the Cuban Missile Crisis. If China and the Soviet Union were working together, how could the United States allow it to happen?

Naturally, the US was not exactly unaware of the arrangement. While many who were in the intelligence community at the time described the revelations of the agreement, which they became privy too in 1975, as causing almost everyone to soil their pants, cooler heads prevailed as it became known they were not sharing missile technology with each other. And with the incoming Carter administration in 1976 only a month away, many simply felt no need to push it despite public outcry, and indeed, Carter himself would reflect this same assessment. Reasoning that even if they were clandestinely sharing rocket technology, to try and intervene on that issue directly would only worsen the Cold War, if not turn it blazing hot if they were too aggressive in the attempt.

This policy on China would be among many of the factors that plagued Carter's reputation as President, but quite unlike the image that many of his opponents and critics attempted to paint of him, as too soft on communism and unwilling to act, Carter would actually prove be to be quite proactive on the subject, opting instead to use more subtle methods to disrupt the Sino-Soviet relationship. Leveraging Deng Xiaoping's desires for economic reforms in China, the United States would throughout the Carter presidency encourage the opening up of Western interests in China, leading directly to investments and sales from Boeing, Coca-Cola, and others, and in 1979 Carter would formally reocgnize the People's Republic of China, to the sleight of the nationalist government in Taiwan. Deng, visiting the United States a little bit later in the year, would however emphasize that China was still interested in technological development, and would privately note that, Soviets or not, China was not going to reign in its efforts in missile development nor spaceflight. Unable to dissuade him, Carter would simply have to accept the reality, but he would still win out, as the increasingly friendly relationship between China and the United States exacerbated relations with the Soviet Union, and Deng, unbeknownst to anyone at the time, had already begun looking for a way out of their relationship with the Soviet Union.

In the meantime, however, spaceflights with the Soviets would continue relatively unabated into the Salyut era, with Chinese cosmonauts having a secured and permanent two seats on the station's standard 8-man crew, which was guaranteed by the Tongzhi Airlock. The airlock was the direct result of Mao's original agreements to enter the Interkosmos program, and it had been in development from practically the moment Mao could order it so in 1974. While the airlock was relatively simple in comparison to a full-blown spacecraft, the effort put into the airlock was considerable given China's inexperience with manned spaceflight technology and their insistence on the design being purely their own, aside from what was necessary to make it compatible with the Soviet station and the MKS orbiters. Originally, the airlock was to be launched by China themselves and maneuvered and berthed with the station by a native "tug" design, but the intended spacecraft had repeated delays as the Chinese engineers struggled with the design, eventually having to scrap it entirely in favor of having the airlock be carried to the station on the Laika 2 mission, the first manned MKS flight, which it see it christened as the Tongzhi, or "Comrade", airlock after its successful attachment to the station in 1982.

The next year would see continued flights to the station by Chinese cosmonauts aboard Soyuz, while China itself continued focus on its own native programs, with continuing development of its Long March rockets, and indeed, in a seeming premonition, in 1973 China would even begin work on a new attempt at their own manned spacecraft, just as tragedy would strike China.

The loss of cosmonaut Shao Chao in the launch failure of the Soyuz T-48 mission was a massive blow to Sino-Soviet relations, as while the public understandably mourned the tragic loss of Shao, Deng's government had finally received the out it had been looking for, which as morbid as it was, also gave them a way to break off relations in a way that only made them look good. Citing longstanding disputes and the ongoing war in Afghanistan, China would formally withdraw from the Interkosmos program, and in the ensuing investigations, China would demand the return of their airlock, which the Soviets found themselves obligated to oblige, not wanting to worsen relations any more than they had been by the accident. Ending a 9-year period of cooperation, China would quickly collect the Tongzhi module from Baikonur the moment it was landed, and for years to come, not much was heard out of China regarding their space ambitions, as aside from a handful of rocket launches that China felt cause to inform the world of, it kept its intentions close to the chest.

This would all change, however, in 1989, when China would announce that that its Xin Shuguang program, literally New Dawn, had successfully completed its flight tests, and that on the 1st of June, 1989, their famed and celebrated cosmonaut Tao Shi would be flying to space once again. Having missed out on his chance to fly aboard an MKS Orbiter, which was planned to happen in 1984, Tao would instead enjoy the honor of inaugurating a new era of Chinese spaceflight...but also the great sorrow that came with it.

===
This post definitely confirms that, if I were to redo the timeline, I would definitely want to cover China from the start so I could be a bit more elaborate on their Interkosmos participation, but unfortunately it was kind of narratively too late as their history became solidified for me, as there just wasn't any really good place to interject them...until now.
 
the price of eleven American lives.
Wasn't it 8, 4 each?
safety would be so brazenly compromised.
Hence the title, eh? On Brazen(ly compromised) Wings? ;):):p
The CERV also lacked the ability to return from space on its own, meaning an abort from space was not possible if the main body became compromised
Nasty typo. It IS possible, not IS NOT possible.
Actually, I'm guessing you meant 'now possible'....
 
Wasn't it 8, 4 each?
Proofreading amirite?

Hence the title, eh? On Brazen(ly compromised) Wings? ;):):p

Indeed. Canonically its Reagan that coins the phrase, but if it fits I like to bring it back around.

Nasty typo. It IS possible, not IS NOT possible.
Actually, I'm guessing you meant 'now possible'....
Hmm no? If the CERV wasn't designed to return from space, the an abort from space wasn't possible. It reads correct to me.
 
How many nation already develop or started developing there own manned spaceship similar to the American or Soviets as compared to OTL . And what difference would their own space programs be compared to OTL.
 
How many nation already develop or started developing there own manned spaceship similar to the American or Soviets as compared to OTL . And what difference would their own space programs be compared to OTL.

As of 1989, the ESA has Hermes in early development, and thats...it...

As for the differences, there's a lot. ESA and Japan are in disarray, the Soviets are in the throes of their last hurrah, the Americans are just hoping they dont get the cancel hammer while they try to rebuild their entire program, and we even have a couple other nations who are coming up that got drawn into this quagmire.

And we're only just getting started lol. The period we're in now is still set up for the latter 90s, which spills over into some nutso naughties and 10s.
 
Also going to note before I pass out we may be on a weeks hiatus. I typically write these during downtime at work and Im training this week, so we'll have to see. Should be back to the typical weekday daily schedule by next week though.

And sometime this month I also start searching for a place to live that isnt the woods next to my job so thatll be nice, even though its a terrible time to be doing it. But im hella tired of how I live atm and frankly with the way things are going for everyone I'd rather just be somewhere right now than still stuck where I am.

So, presuming that works out in my favor, we might start getting some visuals from yours truly, and that will be a whole thing.
 
Tankova Yarina Ivanovna
Your name generator has let you down

Tankova, by its form has to be a surname.
Ivanovna is a patronymic - her father is Ivan (=John)
Yarina is problematic. A modern baby name book claims it's a variant of Irene (Greek Ειρήνη). But the standard Russian form is Irina

Irina Ivanovna Tankova would work fine.
What you have doesn't.
 
Your name generator has let you down

Tankova, by its form has to be a surname.
Ivanovna is a patronymic - her father is Ivan (=John)
Yarina is problematic. A modern baby name book claims it's a variant of Irene (Greek Ειρήνη). But the standard Russian form is Irina

Irina Ivanovna Tankova would work fine.
What you have doesn't.

Ack! I was afraid of that but laziness prevailed. Ultimately, the nickname Tank was what was important in picking it so I think adding that little retcon will do very well :D (with proper credit of course)
 
1989 Part 6
A Brief History of Chinese Spaceflight
The Tears of a Cosmonaut

Part 3

When a father leaves the Earth, make certain that his children do not leave it too.
Chinese proverb circa 1989, author unknown

As the summer of 1989 began in earnest, China was finally seeing the culmination of its Shuguang program, which would see the first natively launched cosmonaut leave Chinese soil for Earth's orbit. Directly descended from the original program set forth by Chairman Mao 19 years prior, the new program throughout the late 80's had proven to be considerably better supported and better funded, driven by the countries general dissatisfaction with their partnership with the Soviet Union. While largely political in nature, this dissatisfaction was not without merit, as very similarly to the sentiments expressed by that of the European Space Agency or the newly created Japanese Aerospace Exploration Agency, China had always felt that its goals in space always played second if not third fiddle to that of the Soviets, despite having a permanent seat at Salyut while it was still active, and this lack of control over their own manned space activities only served to exacerbate an already tense political situation.

But with the death of Shao Chao, the premise of cooperation simply wasn't feasible anymore, and Deng Xiaoping's regime would only find themselves overjoyed as officials with the Ministry of Aerospace Industry, the de facto "space agency" of the nation, demanded that ties be severed with the Soviet Union before the disaster could even be investigated. Having no apparent opposition to contend with, Xiaoping would find it considerably easy to wield the soft power of China against the Soviet Union, leading directly to the ceasing of China's participation in Salyut, and the requisite disassembly and return of the Tongzhi Airlock that China had provided for the station.

However, this would not be the only thing that China would bring back home from the Soviet Union. The Soyuz program, already on its last legs just as the disaster hit, was a longstanding mainstay in the Soviet space industry, and the engineers, manufacturers, and other parties that directly depended on the program to keep them working were already being displaced very heavily by the considerably less labor intensive MKS and Energia programs, whose respective design bureaus and manufacturing agencies either didn't have any work to do at all or had had long since had heavily automated production. The disaster would only serve to firmly put to the wall the writing that many of these principally Ukrainian and Russian men had suspected would happen, with the Soviets quickly ending the Soyuz program in the fallout.

And though China was not inclined on having Soviet help, this disregard of the talent and labor simply couldn't be ignored, particularly given how much it played into China's narrative on the Soviet Union's shortcomings as a communist nation. And so, covertly, China would attract many of these men away from the Soviets, leading to a hash of notable defections on part of certain members, some of whom had also worked on the Energia program, but considerably more unnoticed immigrations being swiftly accepted by China from their Soviet border. This core group of former Soviets would end up bolstering much of China's burgeoning aerospace industries, providing considerable amounts of labor, talent, and experience that, in time, proved invaluable to China's goals in spaceflight and missile technology. Xiaoping meanwhile found himself navigating perhaps one of the thinnest opportunities of his entire regime, as while the defects of Soviet engineers caused considerably outcry around the world, the Soviet Union, too diplomatically weak in the midst of their disaster to argue, and the United States, too invested in the moneyed interests being fostered in China , simply did nothing.

One of the clearest knock-on effects from these defects could be easily found in the Shuguang program itself, which, following the integration of key Soviet designers, saw the Long March series of rockets take a decidedly different turn than they perhaps would have had otherwise. Operating several variants of the rocket at the time, the influence of Soviet designers would directly lead to a somewhat clean sheet design for a full up replacement of the entire fleet, the Long March 5. While still using much of the originally designed avionics and tankage, the engines and selected fuels would see significant changes, moving to a conventional RP1/LOX mix powering engines that, apparently, took a great deal of design cues from that of the Soviet RD-170, which powered the Zenit boosters for the Energia rockets, resembling a two-chambered variant of the 170.

This new engine, called the YT-88, enabled a new design paradigm for the Long March, which had since the beginning relied on booster rockets in various configurations to enable larger payloads, and in the early Shuguang program, these considerations always played a significant role in certifying the rockets to fly humans safely, as each configuration affected the stack in different ways that were not easily accounted for in a single design. But, with the much more powerful core engine, boosters could be eschewed for the most basic launch stack, which saw the YT-88 powered booster stage, followed by a second stage sustainer and finally the Shuguang spacecraft itself, the hull of which resembled an enlarged Soyuz capsule, without the additional habitat module that was characteristic of the Soyuz, supported by a service module resembling in some ways a shrunken version of the old Apollo Service Module from the Americans, which saw a small orbital engine attached to a squat cylindrical hull, which housed the vehicle's fuel tanks, power cells, and 4 thruster reaction control system. Similarly to the Soyuz, however, the crew capsule was built to reenter and land over land, ejecting its heat shield and using retrorockets to slow the final descent.

Though designed to carry three cosmonauts, for the first manned flight, only one man, Tao Shi, would be flying, and the additional space in the capsule was outfitted with a special ejection seat meant to separate Tao from the capsule in the even of an early abort or a failure during landing. As the CPC would not tolerate losing a cosmonaut on the first flight, and especially so when it was Tao Shi that would be flying, the additional safety measures were necessitated simply because the program could not afford not to, not at least until the system had been proven.

And as the launch date approached, these considerations weighed heavily on the launch team, and towards the intended June 1st launch date in 1989, workers would be moving around the clock, checking and rechecking the rocket and the spacecraft to ensure they were ready. This would turn out to be a rather great boon for the mission, as in the early morning on June 1st, a problem was detected in the YT-88's gimbal mechanisms, which had the launch moved forward likely would have resulted in a total abort. However, despite calling for the checks for this specific reason, the news that a problem was found that would have to delay the launch was not met with gracious ears. But even so, over the next two days the mechanism was partially disassembled on the pad and had the problem corrected (which was caused by a cracked fuel line), and by June 3rd, the go ahead to bring Tao Shi to the pad was given, and within hours in the late summer night, Tao would be flying to space once again.

But as he waited there in the capsule, the slightest feeling of anxiety as he awaited that critical moment of lift off, miles away in Beijing, almost to the hour of his lift off, his two young children, 19 year old twin brother and sister, found themselves out of their school and in the streets at Tiananmen Square. They would be among the first to perish in a massacre, as the military tried desperately to clear the square of protestors that had been occupying it for several days.

The protests, largely focused on the incredible corruption and nepotism that had been fostered in the wake of the governments economic and social reforms, and bolstered ironically enough by certain groups that, like China saw the Soviet Union in the past, saw the new government as being distinctly "less" communist than they should be. Occupying the square were thousands of mostly student-age men and women from all over Beijing, and despite the peaceful nature of the protest, the government responded brutally, culminating in PLA soldiers firing into the crowds to force the protestors out of the square. Tao Shi's children, while not leaders of the protests by any means, were vocal supporters and they can be seen quite handily in many pictures and videos of the protests that have survived, and are notable for being the second dancing "couple" of the protests. It would be because of this proximity and participation that the two would find themselves facing the soldiers, only to be shot and skilled unceremoniously by the underfed and overworked soldiers that had been deployed against the protest.

But, Tao Shi himself would be none the wiser. On a media blackout leading up to the launch, he only had the one opportunity to speak with his children before the protests began, and as his wife had already passed some years earlier, he had no means of knowing what had happened. His schedule and access tightly restricted by the government, Tao upon landing back in China after his solo mission would find these restrictions still in place as he was quickly ushered around to do meet and greets and other propagandized activities for the government, eventually leading to an international tour a month later, and still he was unaware of what had happened. His children being adults in their own right and no longer living with him, he was already used to not speaking with them for months at a time.

This would change however, as a British journalist in London would be granted an interview with the cosmonaut. David Hoarthau, a famed writer for National Geographic, would on live television ask Tao what he thought of the protests, and, in a bombshell moment, ask if he had been told his children had been killed. How Hoarthau had gotten the information out of China is still unknown, as he is naturally still very protective of whatever source or sources he had, but all the same, the question was impactful. Tao, with only less than a minute before his Chinese handlers managed to have the broadcast cut, was seen to be visibly studying Hoarthau before eventually bursting into tears as he realized that it wasn't a lie. He had no words as his handlers ushered him out of the room and straight back to China.

Tao in the aftermath of these events argued that he didn't face any punishment or reprisal by the party, but he did resign from his status as a cosmonaut shortly after the interview and his return to China. Around the world, Tao's emotional response to the actions of his country were a significant blow to China's image as it tried to integrate into the greater, global society, and it only reinforced a policy that persists to this day of suppressing any acknowledgement of the massacre at Tiananmen Square. The massacre itself was something people were not going to forget so easily, but the slaying of a national heroes children, for no reason other than a harmless protest, is a critical anecdote that colors so much of the rhetoric against the party today.

But even so, the mission that Tao completed, for all of the political and social drama that surrounded it, was a resounding success. Giving China the confident to move forward with its own space endeavors, new plans would be drawn up. Space stations, Lunar exploration, the outer planets, all were ripe for China's own attempts, and with a newly revitalized national launch system that could compete with its geopolitical rivals, China was entering the 1990's with a newfound energy.

===
Possibly anti-climactic end to this series of posts, but I just needed it to be finished so I could get back in the swing of things after the hiatus. Took a bit too long of a break lmao.

As for the new Long March, its basically the Soyuz 5 if it used an RD-180 instead of a 171, or put another way, basically the Atlas 5.
 
Exciting potentially not homeless anymore things are happening in real life at the moment, so we may have a bit more of a hiatus here.

But don't worry, I don't intend on abandoning the project even with an obnoxious break away from it.

IF nothing else, the moment my Kerbal addiction kicks back in I'll be right back in it.
 
Update On Me + Near Future Plans for the Timeline
Howdy. Been a hot minute. As noted in my last post I did manage to get a place to live which explains my long absence. I'm feeling fairly secure now, given Ive already gone past the number of days I lasted on my second attempt and if I make it to my birthday in June I will have made more progress in my life in 3 months than I have in over 7 years, so, fingers crossed that we don't decide to have an apocalypse anytime soon.

But anyway, the timeline. I do want to see it finished, but I think whats actually going to happen is a restart and rewrite. This primarily because I think I can just do it a little better on a second go around. The beats will still largely be the same, but I'm hoping for a tighter story as I'll be able to better integrate things that changed as I was originally writing it.

Plus, I've been hard at work at working some stuff up in KSP, which I want to use to illustrate the timeline, and I think it will be easier to generate that content as I do the rewrites.

So we can expect that in the near future, and in the far future, I plan on doing my take on the pre-Shuttle era, and that will also be fun. We've seen timelimes covering if Nixon had picked stations, and real life gave us the Shuttle, but what if he picked Mars?

But The Ares Decision is a long way off, so, accept that tease for now 😇
 
I'm pleased to hear you're doing well, @Gth! Good luck with the re-writes.
Indeed. Definitely been more of a struggle than I thought it would be. Work/life balance is still pretty out of whack for what I was used to and I was actually struggling to get comfortable enough to the point that I only showered at the house for the first time like, three days ago and ive been here for over a month 😬

But I am starting to settle so things are looking up.
 
Second Update
So, another update on me. I have successfully surpassed my 6 year mark as of yesterday without being rendered homeless again, so, thats great even though the state of the world isn't looking too pretty.

BUT, even so, my new timeline is forging ahead. OBW is still going to be on hold pending its rewrite, as I'm basically waiting until I can illustrate it to really get started on it, but my other idea is going extremely well. Its going to be split into three "books" so to speak that will cover 3 different decades, and I'm about partway through the first decade of the timeline, and once I get started on the second that is likely when I'll start editing the first and posting it, so I think we should look forward to that relatively soon; I've already approached roughly 17k words on the timeline across 7 chapters and I already know I've got a lot more to add to each as I go into editing mode.

It took an exhaustive amount of research to do the idea justice, and I think I'm going to nail it on the head with The Ares Decision, so I am quite excited, especially considering its a pretty unhinged timeline if you only look at the bullet points of how it diverges from real life, without the exhaustive context I've written thus far...but now I'm getting a little too close to spoiling it, so I'll shut my mouth on that one, and I'll let the speculation speak for itself when we come to it.
 
Good gosh I am so excited for this timeline I'm getting ready to drop. We're at nearly 40k words, nearly half of what OBW reached before it stopped, and I'm not even done with the first decade just yet, nor have I gone back and elaborated on the things I skimped on just to get words on paper. This is gonna be a beefy timeline, but one that I think will be a bit easier to read than OBW has been, and a bit better organized at that as I'm putting in the time to write it out in full rather than post by post.

I'm not good with release timings these days, but I'm hoping before the end of July we'll start posting, aiming at twice a week on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Today was my birthday (30 🤢🤮 ) and I've spent most of it thus far just writing my little heart out, and intend to spend much of the holiday weekend doing the same as well as working on the first slate of illustrations, which will utilize my modding work in KSP alongside my creative GIMP skills to generate some real neat stuff that combines the game with real life imagery. Not everything will be super accurate, but it will be close enough to get the idea, especially once well-spliced with real photography.

Cannot wait. I am brimming with anticipation. I am antsy in my pantsy. Insert other analogy.
 
It'll be interesting to see! Congratulations on the birthday, and especially pleased to hear you've got a roof over your head. I'm looking forward to reading the new work.
 
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