Small Steps, Giant Leaps - Part 14: These are the Voyages
September 17th, 1976
Rockwell International Facility, United States Air Force Plant 42
Palmdale, California
For a day in mid-September, only a week from the official “start” of autumn, things sure looked and felt a hell of a lot like summer. The temperature hovered somewhere in the low 90s, the sky a bright cloudless blue.
The assembled crowd, namely members of the media, with a handful of politicians and NASA officials on-stage flanked by a brass band, stood baking in the dry desert heat outside the massive tan hangar of Rockwell’s facility.
The speakers at the podium kept their remarks short - California Governor Flournoy expounded upon the Space Shuttle’s importance to industry in California and across the nation, while NASA Deputy Administrator Low closed it out by emphasizing
“the importance of the Space Transportation System to America’s future in space”, before, finally, calling out to the Rockwell employees to roll the vehicle,
“Space Shuttle Orbiter 101, which we have christened Constitution
.”
The roll of a snare drum from the band broke the air as all eyes and cameras turned to the corner of the building, where a white-jacketed engineer walked slowly backwards, carefully beckoning the unseen Shuttle onwards.
What first came into view was a low-slung tow vehicle, decked out in patriotic red, white, and blue and attended by a few more engineers, and a long, thin, needle-like pitot tube, seeming almost to hover above the ground.
Then, the nose of the plane - and it was a proper
plane, there was no other way to describe how it looked - loomed into view. Black on the bottom, white on the top, gray at the very tip, sloping gently downwards with visible windows for a crew cabin at the top; this was like no spacecraft ever before seen.
The band kicked into Sousa’s
“The Stars and Stripes Forever” as the Space Shuttle rolled into view - a long, rectangular body with a curved top, wide sloping wings, a black-tipped white tailfin protruding over the top of the building as it rounded the corner.
The scale of it was massive, dwarfing the men walking before it, seeming almost absurd as it rolled closer, the size of a medium jet airliner at least. The end of it flared out on top, three mighty-looking rocket engines protruding from the back flanked by two smaller thruster blocks. Every inch of this massive machine, every line and curve and edge, spoke of a creature evolved for flight. This wasn’t some cramped metal space capsule at the tip of a rocket, no; this was a
spaceship, truly and genuinely; a piece of impossible, imagined,
Buck Rogers science fiction, right here in the California desert, ready to fly.
[Space Shuttle Constitution is rolled out for the first time, September 17th 1976. Image credit: NASA History Office]
Following the completion and rollout of OV-101, NASA spent the rest of 1976 rigorously testing the spacecraft on the ground in preparation for a series of test flights throughout 1977. As for the vehicle to carry the spacecraft, it, too, would be completed in 1976 - and for this, we must look backwards, through a whole other development cycle parallel to the Shuttle’s own.
When the Space Shuttle’s configuration solidified in the early 1970s, there were three major contenders to supply a notional Shuttle Carrier Aircraft: Conroy, Lockheed, and Boeing.
Conroy, more properly referred to as the Turbo-Three Corporation, had spaceflight heritage with NASA already; company founder and head John Conroy had masterminded the “Guppy” aircraft conversions used to transport spaceflight hardware while working with his previous company, Aero Spacelines before leaving in 1968 to found competitor Conroy Aircraft following a buyout. Conroy’s proposal for the Shuttle Carrier Aircraft, referred to as the “Conroy Virtus”, would be another conversion project, this one much more ambitious than the Guppies - The Virtus would be a massive twin-fuselage aircraft, built from two Boeing B-52 Stratofortress bombers, carrying the Space Shuttle slung between the middle. Had it been chosen, the Virtus would have been the largest heavier-than-air aircraft ever constructed. Prohibitive costs and a long development cycle, however, doomed the idea early on.
[The Conroy Virtus, Conroy Aircraft’s proposed Shuttle Carrier Aircraft. Image credit: Netpedia, The Web’s Encyclopedia]
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Lockheed Corporation, themselves already subcontracted to construct parts of the Space Shuttle Orbiter, initially proposed a similarly massive and unwieldy twin-fuselage aircraft, modified from their C-5 Galaxy military transport. When this idea was shot down for similar reasons to Conroy’s bid, Lockheed instead pivoted to a simpler conversion of an existing U.S. Air Force C-5. This concept lost out in the end due to a combination of inter-agency politics, with the USAF retaining ownership of any prospective C-5 conversion; and simple aerodynamics, with the C-5 tending to pitch up during Shuttle separation as would occur on later test flights due to the design of the tail, which would have to be entirely re-engineered to prevent this.
[A rendition of the proposed Lockheed C-5 Galaxy Shuttle Carrier Aircraft. Image credit: NASA History Office]
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Last, and most attractive to NASA due to cost and ease of operation, was the Boeing Company and their mighty 747 commercial airliner. A surplus 747 originally owned by American Airlines was sold to NASA in 1974 to fill the role, and (following a short run of test flights as part of a study into large aircraft turbulence) spent the next two years being modified by Boeing to fit its new role. What emerged by early 1977 was a wholly unique craft, sporting mounting brackets on the top for the Shuttle, large vertical stabilizers on the tailfins, and equipped with all the necessary instrumentation to support the Space Shuttle during testing and into service. Rather notably, for the first few years of its service, the aircraft now designated “NASA 905” would retain its American Airlines livery along the fuselage, silver with the distinctive blue-white-red cheatline down the middle, but with a white rudder fin now bearing the NASA “worm” logo.[1]
[NASA’s Shuttle Carrier Aircraft 905, as seen in its original ex-American Airlines livery, carrying OV-101 Constitution. Image credit: NASA History Office]
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With the Shuttle Carrier Aircraft secured and completed, NASA could now move into the next, perhaps most critical phase of Space Shuttle testing: flight testing. Across a total of 13 flights throughout 1977 at the Dryden Flight Research Center, the Shuttle Carrier Aircraft would carry
Constitution aloft to verify aerodynamics, electrical systems, crew control, and rather crucially, free-flight and landing. The first six of these flights were “captive” flights, three with the Orbiter unpowered and uncrewed to verify aerodynamics and three with the Orbiter powered and crewed, to verify crew procedures and spacecraft systems in preparation for perhaps the most exciting phase yet to come: Five free-flight tests, from separation through approach and landing, which would lend this phase of the program its name: The Approach and Landing Tests (ALTs).
To crew the three full-up captive flights and five free-flights, NASA formed a pair of two-astronaut crews who would rotate between flights:
Crew 1:
- Commander Fred Haise, former Apollo 13 Lunar Module Pilot & Apollo-Soyuz Command Module Pilot
- Pilot Richard Truly, former U.S. Air Force astronaut
Crew 2:
- Commander Joe H. Engle, former X-15 pilot & Apollo-Soyuz Docking Module Pilot
- Pilot Robert H. Lawrence, former U.S. Air Force astronaut and first African-American astronaut
Both Commanders had flown on Apollo, and both Pilots were rookie astronauts with as yet no spaceflight experience, part of Astronaut Group 7 transferred to NASA in 1969 when the U.S. Air Force’s “Manned Orbiting Laboratory” space station program was cancelled.[2] This pattern of an Apollo-veteran Commander and a rookie Pilot established by the Approach and Landing Tests would hold into the early missions of the Space Shuttle’s operational life. With many Apollo astronauts coming to the end of their careers and a number having already retired, NASA was eager to give what rookie astronauts they had as much experience as possible while the agency looked into, for the first time since 1969, increasing the size of its astronaut corps - but this would not yet come to pass until after 1977.
While the three American “Mariner Grand Tour ‘77” spacecraft steamed ever closer to flight-readiness through the last years before launch, their Soviet counterparts found themselves the victim of one of spaceflight’s worst enemies: mass constraints. The electronics and redundancies required for a multi-decade mission like the one planned for the Grand Tour caused significant overruns. Despite being stripped down as much as reasonably possible, the 4VP
Приключение probe bus still ended up far heavier than the planned Proton-K/Blok D launch vehicles could handle.
Despite these numerous difficulties and cost overruns, the Lavochkin design bureau soldiered on. One part of what saved Adventure, where such projects as Marsokhod and the 5NM mission had been canceled, was likely its publicized and international nature. Being part of an international collaboration between the Soviet Union and the United States, cancellation of the mission would be a propaganda disaster, reflecting terribly on the Soviet space industry and the Soviet Academy of Sciences in this era of détente.
The other saving grace for the Soviet Union’s first venture to the Outer Planets was, in an unexpected turn, the dead lunar program. While the Rodina program had ended officially in 1974 and production of the N1 Rodina booster had stalled out before official cancellation in 1975, the mighty rocket birthed from its short life a smaller, perhaps more robust offspring: the N11 launch vehicle.
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Originally conceptualized by Korolev alongside N1 in the 1960s and officially approved in late 1974 as a way to make use of leftover hardware and production lines for the now-canceled lunar push, N11 built upon the flight heritage of its larger lunar predecessor to have one of the quickest development and testing cycles of any Soviet rocket since the early days of the Space Race. Test-firings of the retooled Blok-B first stage took place in late 1975, and the first N11 was constructed and fit-tested in 1976, alongside a refit of Site 81/24 at Baikonur Cosmodrome to support N11 launches and the construction of a new launch complex, Site 200, whose first launchpad (Site 200/40) would be ready to support N11 launches by mid-1977.[3]
The first launch of N11 would occur on January 25th, 1977, lifting off from Site 81/24 and carrying a small upper stage with a concrete payload mass simulator into orbit. This launch was not without its troubles (loss of thrust in a single engine approximately 30 seconds before Blok B cutoff), but ultimately proved successful. The hypergolic upper stage it carried, Blok-E-1, was derived from the earlier Blok-E engine section of the LK lander used on the Rodina lunar missions (but with the backup engine removed) and would be instrumental in future Soviet launches requiring heavy payloads to high orbits.
Rather ironically, despite its recent introduction, N11’s early launches proved to be far more routine than the now 12-year-experienced Proton. Without the dangers of toxic hypergolic propellants, pad operations and turnaround could be conducted more safely and quickly than had been possible with the earlier booster. A whopping 5 N11 launches would occur over the course of early-mid 1977 - the test launch, then 4 launches of the experimental Gorizont communications satellite system, designed to improve Soviet television transmission capabilities and replace the aging
Orbita system dating to the late 1960s.[3] It was from these first payloads, like the R-7 Soyuz, UR-500 Proton, and N1 Rodina before it, that N11 would draw its more commonly-recognized name -
Горизонт, Gorizont (“
Horizon”). The successful development of a new, safer launch system would pave the way for the retirement of the Proton before 1980, and, crucially for the Soviet Academy of Sciences, finally provide a launch vehicle capable of hefting the Adventure probes.
“Space. The final frontier.”
[The ‘Star Trek’ theme plays.]
“These are the voyages of the Starship Enterprise.”
“Join Captain Kirk and the new crew of the Starship Enterprise, as Star Trek returns to television screens across America next year! Watch Star Trek, Saturdays at 8 P.M. Eastern Time, only on the new Paramount Television Service!”
[Logo of the Paramount Television Service, circa 1977-1978. Image credit: Paramount Archives]
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1977 would prove to be a pivotal year for space exploration - both real, and fictional.
In the real world, of course, five space probes from two countries would launch towards the Outer Planets on a multi-year mission of exploration and discovery. 1977 would also see the groundwork laid for the return of some of television’s most popular space explorers, on their own multi-year mission of exploration and discovery: the crew of the USS
Enterprise. Gene Roddenberry’s
Star Trek had run on NBC for only three years from 1966-1969 originally, but gained true popularity following its cancellations, as reruns into the early 1970s built the show a dedicated fanbase. This fanbase would go on to organize writing groups for “fan-fiction”, hold the first science fiction conventions (including paid appearances by Star Trek actors), and even promote a letter-writing campaign to President Kennedy (which ultimately did not succeed) to rename one of the upcoming Space Shuttles “Enterprise” after the vessel depicted in the show.[4]
While
Star Trek very nearly went to the silver screen several times over the course of the mid-late 1970s, the cult classic would eventually end up returning as the headliner show for Paramount’s new Paramount Television Service, with the service and
Star Trek’s return being announced in the summer of 1977.[5] Initially billed as
Star Trek: Phase II, the show would eventually be titled
Star Trek: The Final Frontier (the subtitle often being left off in later years), premiering in April of 1978 with a cast consisting both of returning faces like William Shatner and DeForest Kelley, as well as new faces like actor David Gautreaux, taking the role of "Science Officer Xon" after Leonard Nimoy refused to return as the iconic Mr. Spock following contract disputes.
As part of its return to television, the team behind
Star Trek: The Final Frontier crossed paths with people in the actual space industry in a number of capacities - scientists associated with JPL moonlighted as science and technical advisors for the show, NASA concept artist Robert McCall was commissioned to produce promo material for the new network (including a bulk of work depicting the newly-redesigned Starship
Enterprise), and
Star Trek actor Nichelle Nichols appeared in a promotional film for NASA to recruit women and people of color as astronauts.[6]
Perhaps most remembered by
Star Trek fans from this period is the connection between the show and NASA’s Grand Tour mission. Cast members from the show were invited by NASA to observe the launch of Grand Tour 3 (the probes having been renamed simply “Grand Tour” rather than “Mariner Grand Tour ‘77” a few months before launch for brevity). The April 1978 pilot episode of
Star Trek: The Final Frontier, entitled
'In Thy Image', would feature a nod to the probes, featuring a powerful entity called “Gra’tor” threatening Earth being revealed at the episode’s end to be one of NASA’s Grand Tour probes, returning home after centuries in space as a super-intelligent being augmented by aliens.[7]
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Star Trek connections aside, the respective launch campaigns of NASA’s Grand Tour and the USSR’s Adventure probes proceeded in rapid succession over the course of August and September 1977. In roughly two weeks, three Titan IIIE-Centaur and two N11 Gorizont rockets would loft this “international fleet” skyward.
Rather paradoxically, Grand Tour 3 would be the first to launch, on August 20th, 1977. This was due to the trajectory taken - while it would launch before its siblings, Grand Tour 1 and 2 would overtake it en-route to Jupiter and arrive first. While its launch proceeded without issue, upon reaching space the probe suffered a software issue that could well have ended the mission, were it not for the quick work of ground controllers at JPL. Several tense days of work during which Grand Tour 3 refused to accept new inputs ended when full control was re-established, after which a patch was uploaded to the probe as well as its two twins still on the ground awaiting launch.[8]
[Grand Tour 3 launches aboard Titan IIIE/Centaur, August 20th, 1977. Image credit: NASA History Office]
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Grand Tour 1 and Grand Tour 2 would follow with their own launches on September 5th and 9th respectively. Luckily, the software adjustment to prevent post-launch computer errors similar to that encountered by Grand Tour 3 worked flawlessly, and both probes were placed onto their interplanetary trajectories without any other trouble.
Slotted rather neatly in between the three American launches were the two Soviet ones - Adventure 1 on August 23rd, and Adventure 2 on September 6th. These launches both proceeded without issue, further proving the reliability of a launch vehicle which, to this point, had only flown 5 times before.
[The launch of Приключение 1 (“Adventure 1”), August 23rd, 1977. Image credit: Talv/RKK Energia]
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Unlike their American counterparts with their high-energy cryogenic upper stages, the Adventure probes had to rely on heritage hardware and a rather unique two-phase departure. Each probe sat atop its N11 Gorizont launch vehicle with both a conventional Blok-D upper stage and a Blok E-1 hypergolic ‘kick’ stage. Following injection of the fourth and fifth stages and payload into a two-day Highly-Elliptical Earth Orbit (HEEO) with an apogee a significant fraction of the distance to the Moon, the stack would swing around the Earth once more and fire its final stages two days later at the orbit’s low point, taking advantage of the Earth’s gravity well to slingshot the spacecraft onto an interplanetary trajectory towards Jupiter.
Between the five spacecraft now en-route to the Outer Planets, there were three trajectories being taken.
Grand Tour 1 would have perhaps the humblest mission of the lot, swinging past Jupiter and Saturn before performing a close flyby of Saturn’s largest moon, Titan, known from astronomical observations to have a substantial atmosphere. Unfortunately, the close flyby of Titan would redirect the probe away from the ecliptic plane and prohibit it from encountering any more planets, but the scientific insight gained at Titan was deemed to be worth the loss.
Adventure 2 and Grand Tour 2 would follow a similar trajectory initially, flying past Jupiter and Saturn before making the long, perilous journey out to distant Pluto, that cold little world on the edge of the known Solar System. Observations made only a year after the probes’ launch would reveal Pluto to have a large moon (dubbed Charon), adding further incentive to this admittedly low-priority mission target.
Adventure 1 and Grand Tour 3 would take the most ambitious trajectory by far; following flybys of Jupiter and Saturn, they would continue on to both Uranus and Neptune, visiting every single one of the giant planets in turn and photographing their systems of moons - Uranus with its 5 known satellites, and Neptune with its 2, dominated by the large retrograde moon Triton.
And so the Grand Tour was away - five highly-advanced spacecraft from both of the two great space powers, voyaging together on a journey of exploration and bearing with them the greetings of all humankind, a monument to the power of collaboration in the name of science and discovery. With the perspective of history, we can pinpoint this moment as one of the high-water marks of international collaboration in the 20th century, following decades plagued by war and mistrust and mutual armament. While the Cold War could not truly be said to be “over”, as the Shuttle and the 1980s beckoned in the distance with nothing but optimism, things certainly seemed a fair bit warmer.
[The first image showing the Earth and the Moon in a single frame, taken by Grand Tour 1. Image credit: NASA History Office]
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[Artist’s rendition of a 4VP ‘Adventure’ probe departing the Earth-Moon system. Image credit: Talverd]