Time After Time: Imprints of the Space Transportation System Booster
- Thread starter Rocketdyne_J2
- Start date
Oh. Fuck.
An excellent chapter, and I hope we learn the fate of this vehicle soon. You've been good about dropping hints before, but this one is a doozy. Can't wait for the next one.
Was this written before or after Starships initial launch?
Ominous music plays
It seems that the reaction to Chapter 6 was a collective "oh fuck" or any variation thereof, and I'm glad that it achieved the intended effect. 
Trivia about the name: since this is a kitbashed launcher with a powerful first stage for national security payloads, a mythological creature with an eagle's forebody and a lion's aftbody is kind of appropriate.
Funnily enough, this was put in the draft before the IFT; I don't even remember pad damage being in my writing until you pointed it out. Though the damage here is obviously less extensive than Starship's concrete buckshot; maybe a few pounded pieces of sheet metal on the booster, and some broken windows in the area.
Yeah, Polyus' geopolitical effects were fun to speculate about, and I also learned quite a bit about international arms control treaties when crafting the ASAT one ITL. Feel free to speculate on how having demonstrated ASAT, and governing treaties for it will affect the near future ITL.
Might be a blessing considering that it's more limited (70-100t payload to LEO) than the Saturn.
Trivia about the name: since this is a kitbashed launcher with a powerful first stage for national security payloads, a mythological creature with an eagle's forebody and a lion's aftbody is kind of appropriate.
It'll depend on the post-accident fallout and Bush's space policy for the 1990s, which will be revealed in the next Act.
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Post-accident fallout? I don't like the way that sounds, considering that, yknow, it looks like they know. Question is if they do anything. Cant wait for act 3!
Interlude: The STS-61-L Accident
Interlude: “Everyman”
I would like to mention that achieving this outcome has not been without sacrifice. For the families of the men we lost, we cannot bear, as you do, the full impact of their loss. But we feel the loss, and we're thinking about you so very much. They served our pioneers. They served all of us.– Excerpt of a speech by President Reagan after the Independence Accident
¶
STS-61-L was possibly the least interesting Shuttle mission scheduled for 1986. Dedicated to the ATmospheric Laboratory for Applications and Science (ATLAS) experiment suite, the mission had no media-grabbing crewmember, did not pioneer any new technologies for the Shuttle program, and carried no payloads related to national interests. With its eight-man crew, Independence would stay in orbit for nine days, carrying out measurements of Earth’s atmosphere using interplanetary science sensing techniques, as part of NASA’s Mission to Planet Earth project.
Approximately a minute into Independence’s ascent in the early morning hours of November 6 1986, cameras recorded an unprecedented amount of debris detaching from the right ET’s ventral side. However, with the film undeveloped, everyone was at first blissfully unaware of the incident. There was also little cause for concern, when the payload bay was opened and crew members reported streaks on various parts of the right wing. Brand remarked that it was “more serious than on any other flight I’ve seen,” and requested Mission Control to look into reentry survivability; the CAPCOM offhandedly responded that they’ll “run the numbers, and get back to you in a few days,” before the day continued as usual.
The situation immediately changed three hours later. When the crew was preparing to activate the ATLAS instruments, Lichtenberg noticed that a hole appeared on the wing's leading edge, which was made of Reinforced Carbon-Carbon (RCC) composite. After initially dismissing it as an illusion created by light and shadow, Mission Control requested photographs of the damage, which the crew downlinked; the images made it clear that a hole was present. There were also dark lines that the crew described as “possible cracks”.
Tracking camera film of the launch was immediately examined; the pieces were shown to be carried outboard by airflow created between the ET and wing, before peppering the right aerodynamic surfaces as they disintegrated and fell behind. With more photos of the cracked RCC and grated tiles sent back, the realisation that Independence was no longer safe to reenter slowly set in. While it would take a long time for the entire agency to process the disbelief, the existence of damage overrode denial with troubleshooting. As a first step, the Ames Research Center was called up five hours after launch, to determine the survivability of Independence’s wing damage.
Simultaneously, ideas were floated to carry out makeshift repairs. While 61-L’s mission plan never included spacewalks, it did carry two EMU spacesuits for contingencies. The crew would collect thermally resistant parts throughout the orbiter, and do a spacewalk to stuff them into the hole; the mass of parts would hopefully provide enough heat capacity to prevent the wing structure from melting. With neither MMUs or the Canadarm, and minimal spacewalking hardware, the spacewalkers would have to contend with clambering and tethers.
However, the idea was soon dropped due to the cracks on the RCC; it was unclear if repair would further damage weakened RCC in places pointed towards the plasma stream. The way the foam dispersed and peppered the wing also made matters worse; while the observed hole was on the upper surface, and therefore not exposed to the full heat of reentry, it was very likely that the lower surface also sustained similar damage. Some inventorying determined that there would be insufficient material to plug another hole, if it was anywhere as large as the one discovered.
Due to the uncertainty of damage, an EVA inspection to take stock of the damage was also considered. This would entail an unprecedented procedure: one crewmember would have to exit the payload bay volume, and make his way outboard without applying too much pressure on the RCC, without relying on a MMU. JSC weighed in with their thoughts on the investigation and repair EVAs; the former was possible but not advisable, while the latter would be extremely challenging. To make matters worse, the crew had limited EVA training; Stewart and Garriot were the only crew members who received any, and theirs was simplified to allocate more training time slots for the preceding Hubble deployment mission. Thus, planning for any EVAs was put on hold.
Despite some voices calling for the mission to continue as planned, it was decided to not turn on the ATLAS instruments, to keep power requirements low. This reduced the load on the fuel cells, which only had a limited reactant supply to draw from. A ‘light’ power-down was also authorised, to further increase the maximum mission duration, and thus time available for a solution.
Ames' thermal analysis, delivered in the twilight hours of the following day, determined that the damage as-is would be unsurvivable. The results were extrapolated, and it was also determined that the planned repair method would not protect the wing structure against RCC breaching on the bottom, if there was any. These shattered any hopes for Independence to return safely, much less nominally.
With repair deemed ineffective, the only way to return Independence's crew safely would be a rescue mission. This involved launching Pathfinder, which was currently undergoing preparations for STS-61-M on LC-39B, before Independence's life support ran out. If 61-M flew as planned, it would have launched on November 30 (24 days later), too late regardless of what resource conservation plan the Independence crew used. However, there was widespread resistance against sending a rescue mission, due to a combination of knowledge gaps and perceived risk. While such a scenario had been envisaged and studied even before STS-1, said studies were missing many operational considerations that only surfaced when the Shuttle entered regular service. It also would mean cutting corners to launch a mission early, without determining what caused the problems in the last.
But while Ames was finalising its impromptu assignment, overnight meetings and consulting with engineers slowly changed NASA leadership’s acceptance of the rescue mission. It was deemed possible to outfit the 61-M stack for an early launch "without significant compromises in crew safety and mission success", and shorten the preparation time from 24 days to less than 14. In view of the new assessments, it appeared to be the best option once all possibilities were weighed. The decision was time-critical, for the chances of Independence lasting to a rescue would be increased if they commit to resource conservation early, and work sped up on Pathfinder as soon as possible.
30 hours after Independence's launch, NASA would formally dedicate all of its activities to bringing the eight men home, until they were back on Earth or confirmed to be lost. Preparing and launching Pathfinder for the rescue mission, now given the designation STS-61-Q, would be the main rescue plan. Studies into makeshift repairs would continue, but to be implemented only as a last resort if Independence had to choose between a risky reentry or run out of life support.
For Independence to last until Pathfinder's arrival, Mission Control would break many mission rules trying to conserve resources aboard. Oxygen used to generate electricity via fuel cells and for breathing was the second most limiting factor for life support. Independence's crew thus powered off almost all power-consuming systems, leaving the bare minimum for the Shuttle to function and support life. The rest of Flight Day 2 was spent scraping out additional power savings, by turning off systems and redundancies usually mandated by mission rules. In the end, only the life support system, two of the five computers, one gyroscope, and select heaters remained on, drawing a total of 9.3kW from two out of three fuel cells. With these savings, the oxygen was projected to last for 28 days.
Six members of the crew then began their first sleep period lasting upwards of 15 hours, while the other two stayed awake and kept movement to a minimum. They would then be relieved by two of those who slept, ensuring that all eight crewmembers would have their turn at staying awake. This draconian measure was necessary to reduce the amount of CO2 exhaled, which needed to be removed using expendable LiOH scrubbers. These scrubbers were the greatest limiting factor for life support; 61-L carried 29 LiOH scrubbing canisters, which could last approximately 16 days.
Fortunately, food and water are in no short supply; with appropriate rationing and continuous fuel cell operation, the crew would have enough for 30 or more days. Fuel was even less of a problem, with the RCS deactivated and the orbiter relying on gravity gradient stabilisation.
Ground crew would continue to look for ways to further extend life support, including permitting a slightly higher CO2 concentration before changing LiOH canisters. They would also try to make the crew more comfortable, such as prescribing use of medication to improve sleep quality, which also reduced CO2 output. These measures scraped together an additional nine hours of life support.
¶
The US government soon got wind of NASA's troubles; it began soliciting its agencies and other spacefaring nations for assistance. While no other space program had the ability to bring that many astronauts home all at once, those in favour of getting international help hoped to garner unexpected opportunities.
The Soviet Union offered to launch supplies to Independence, which orbited at an inclination of 57° and was thus reachable from Baikonur. This would be accomplished using Progress 26, which was being prepared to resupply Mir. Its 3t cargo capacity could be filled with resources, equipment to make Pathfinder's rescue easier, and better repair materials if Independence had to return by itself. Having Independence dock to Mir was out of the question, as they did not share the same argument of ascending node, despite having similar inclinations.
Despite the wound to national pride, and suspicions that it was an attempt to smooth over the Polyus Incident, the offer was accepted; a few days later, a NASA cargo plane would land in the Soviet Union, carrying the cargo to be loaded on Progress 26. It was the first non-diplomatic US government aircraft to land in Soviet territory in over 30 years. Meanwhile, engineers in both countries tried addressing the technical problems of getting a Progress close to a Shuttle. First was the Progress’ autonomous rendezvous system, which needed a complementary passive antenna set on the target to operate; this was circumvented by using Independence as the active vehicle. Second was the matter of berthing the Progress and transferring the cargo, as Independence carried no docking system that permitted internal transfer. It was decided to add metal rings to the Progress’ docking apparatus, so that astronauts could pass tethers through and secure it to the orbiter. The cargo compartment would also remain unpressurized, so that cargo could be extracted without an airlock or direct connection. However, Progress 26 would not be mandatory for the main rescue plans, since it was much further from launch than Pathfinder was, despite needing to be launched earlier to be useful.
¶
Pathfinder’s original mission, STS-61-M, consisted of the Journalist in Space assignment and deploying two HS-376 satellites. These were deleted from its new assignment, STS-61-Q; the satellites, Cronkite and two other Mission Specialists would all be left behind. In their stead, hardware and software to rendezvous with another orbiter and transfer eight crewmembers was added.
Work at the KSC was at full intensity 24/7, to rapidly prepare the Pathfinder-Booster 607 stack for its new assignment. Besides shaving 14 days off the turnaround schedule to match Independence's life support limitations, they would also have to squeeze out an additional day or two of margin, which resulted in a projected launch date of November 19. Thus, procedures deemed unnecessary, such as the 'dry' launch dress rehearsal and some planned countdown holds, were deleted. Some tasks that were spaced apart for non-technical reasons were also allowed to proceed in parallel. All mission-specific modifications to Pathfinder would also be done on the pad, parallel to the checkout procedures. The middeck was cleared out to the maximum extent possible, and three additional seats were added, bringing total seating capacity to 11 people. The MSS was used to remove any payloads installed in the OPF, while a Canadarm and two MMUs were added. With a nearly empty payload bay, 61-Q would hold the record for the lightest Shuttle stack.
Initial investigations into Independence's foam strike provided some pointers to make 61-Q's launch safer, or at least to reassure decision makers; the foam that damaged Independence was shed from the ventral side of its right ET, where a crack had been discovered and fixed before launch. It was hence assumed that the crack or repair was related to the foam shedding. Thus, pad technicians were advised to conduct frequent visual checks of the ETs until closeout. Besides that, little could be done within the limited time frame to ensure that Pathfinder's ETs did not possess the same flaws.
Everything proceeded on schedule until November 17, ten days into the accelerated launch preparations. That evening, two technicians were found unconscious in Pathfinder’s aft fuselage; they were pronounced dead of asphyxiation shortly thereafter. With multiple procedures ‘mashed’ together, the technicians entered Pathfinder’s aft fuselage to inspect the APUs, unaware that the volume was being purged with nitrogen gas by another team simultaneously working on the vehicle.
The accident brought work to a hard stop for hours. It raised concerns that other altered procedures also contained combinations that could harm more workers or damage the vehicle, with a chance that the subsequent repairs would take too long.
Since there was no time for a full investigation and restructuring, it was decided to assign a 'System Leader' for each hazardous region, or system that would have far-reaching impacts throughout the vehicle. The System Leaders would coordinate all activities related to their assigned region or system, to ensure that people and components do not interfere with one another when simultaneously active. In hopes that these measures would be sufficient, work resumed a mere 29 hours after the accident. The launch slipped to November 21, and would stay there barring any more mishaps or issues. This delay was mentioned to Independence's crew, but its causes were not, to avoid demoralising them.
Eleven days into the wait, the atmosphere aboard Independence remained as it was, an uneasy and uncomfortable boredom occasionally interrupted by communications and music. Meals were cold to conserve power, and each crewmember had one at the start and end of his shift. All eight men had found ways to pass the time in silence, while remaining alert enough to watch over the vehicle. While most spoken words were technical, conversations during each shift did sometimes drift towards the casual to lighten up the mood, as onboard tape recordings would later show.
In a slight change of routine, the waking astronauts took turns copying power-up procedures the JSC had devised for "Salvation Day", as the astronauts and the ground were now calling the flight day either STS-61-Q or Progress 26 launched. These procedures would bring Independence to a manoeuvrable state, in case it needs to play any active roles to rendezvous with a target. The crew also checked the two EMUs aboard, which would be needed for crew transfer between the Shuttles and/or receiving the Progress.
Meanwhile, reactions on Earth were anything but silent. The Shuttle program attracted the most media attention it had since the FMOF days, with news networks eagerly following NASA’s moves practically by the hour. Walter Cronkite, whose astronaut training was abruptly halted, re-embraced his role as a journalist to provide insider information and insightful explanations of what was going on. Crowds slowly gathered on the Cape beaches, camping out to wait for the highest profile Shuttle launch. For better or worse, Independence’s plight provided a reason for the country and world to be interested in spaceflight.
As November 21 approached, it did seem that Pathfinder would be able to launch in time. The Progress efforts temporarily stood down as planned, although their vehicle would still remain on standby. Once the rendezvous with Pathfinder was plotted out, Independence was briefly powered up for a short RCS burn on the 19th, to adjust its trajectory and widen Pathfinder’s launch windows.
Final launch preparations for STS-61-Q proceeded well past midnight of November 21, to aim for a launch window shortly before dawn. If it was missed, the next launch window would open 24 hours later; had the launch occurred on November 22, Independence’s life support would be dangerously limited by the time the rendezvous was completed. Up till the last minute, teams worked to rectify a sudden issue with an underperforming Water Spray Boiler, a heat exchanger used to cool hydraulic and lubricant fluids.
61-Q’s crew would completely consist of astronauts from 61-M, as they were all partially trained at the time of the decision: Francis Scobee, Ronald Grabe, Judith Resnik and Brian O'Connor would form the first four-person crew to launch in a long time. The crew choice was extremely fortunate, as Scobee and Resnik both had experience with rendezvous and proximity operations through retrieving SPARTAN-203 on STS-51-J. Between the rescue decision and launch, the four also provided input for the design of rescue procedures, while undergoing mission-specific training.
With countdown holds reduced, they were strapped into the “riskiest Shuttle stack ever prepared” 1½ hours before launch. Autonomous launch sequencers then kicked in, forcing everyone involved to pray that they had done everything right.
Twelve minutes past the centre of the launch window, Booster 607’s flames broke through near-black indigo sky. STS-61-Q arced into the faint morning glow, carrying more hopes and stakes than any Shuttle mission before or since. A successful launch, which felt much more subject to chance on this mission, would only be the beginning.
¶
From half a kilometre away, Scobee thought that Independence looked immaculate and nominal, drifting with its payload bay to Earth as all Shuttles do. Due to orbital mechanics, his orbiter was arcing in towards Independence from above. The arc would end just below Independence, so that the orbiters’ payload bays faced one another.
The distance closed to 250m, after a day of relatively rapid rendezvous (past Shuttle rendezvouses usually took two days), which involved timing Pathfinder's velocity and position to coincide with Independence's. It was then the damage became somewhat visible, as imprints unique to the right wing. Soon, Independence shadowed Pathfinder, as the vehicles fell in line.
Pathfinder paused at that distance, and performed a slow, coordinated pitch rotation. This presented its underside to Independence’s crew, who were able to visually inspect it for major damage; thankfully, the rescue mission appeared to not have suffered any.
With one rotation completed, Pathfinder resumed the approach, and yawed 90° to provide clearance for the fins. Looking up through the aft flight deck windows, Grabe spotted the people keeping Independence stable waving from similar windows. Beneath him in the middeck, Resnik and O’Connor had donned their EMUs, and were preparing for egress to support the crew transfer. No pre-breathing was required, as Pathfinder’s atmosphere had been set at a lower pressure than usual since launch, so that enough nitrogen diffused out of everyone’s tissues to minimise the risk of nitrogen embolism (“the bends”) when they transitioned to the pure oxygen atmosphere of the EMUs. The same atmosphere had also been configured on Independence starting a day ago. Thus, pre-breathing time for the transfer EVAs could be reduced to 2.4h.
By the end of the final approach manoeuvres, the orbiters’ payload bays paused mere inches apart, while the internal airlock exits were coaxial. This was the relative orientation Brand and Griggs would have to manually maintain for the next eight or nine hours, for their crewmates to transfer to Pathfinder through a vacuum.
The first two to leave the stricken Independence were Garriot and Lampton; it was decided that the Payload Specialists, who were completely untrained for EVAs, would be accompanied by the EVA-trained Mission Specialists. With the airlock still unpressurized and open, Resnik dropped off two additional EMUs, and additional LiOH canisters in Independence’s airlock to supplement the two remaining unused canisters aboard.
“Package delivery!”
Independence’s crew repressurised the airlock to access the cargo. The oxygen and nitrogen, which had been used sparingly thus far, were now being flushed down the drain. Thus, the rescue had been planned in advance to minimise the number of airlock actuations, after a risk of running out of the gases was identified.
Stewart and Stevenson began donning the Pathfinder EMUs, to prepare for their turn to go across. With a new surplus of canisters, the Independence crew immediately replaced the nearly saturated ones forced into continued use, which brought the CO2 concentration back down to design levels; the stuffiness that built up in the cabin over the past few hours disappeared, and they felt more awake.
Outside, Resnik and O’Connor freed up their spots on the end effector of the Canadarm for Garriot and Lampton; the Canadarm then carried the Independence astronauts across. Grabe found it nerve-wracking to control the arm when it descended below eye level, and he could only rely on low resolution CCTV feeds to manipulate his colleagues inches away from obstacles. However, lots of careful coordination paid off, and the first two Independence astronauts entered the airlock once they got within arm’s reach. With the resulting break from operating the Canadarm, Grabe gave Garriot and Lampton hugs and pats on their shoulders when they emerged from their EMUs.
“Your ship smells nice,” were Lampton’s first words carried through air aboard.
The Independence EMUs that Garriot and Lampton wore were left in the airlock. With the Pathfinder airlock depressurised again, Resnik and O’Connor hung the empty Independence EMUs on the end of the Canadarm to send them back to Independence, where the next pair of crewmembers would place them in its airlock. The arm then came back to Pathfinder carrying Stewart and Stevenson.
<Image: both orbiters, crew rappelling across cargo bays>
This process would be repeated two more times, with two hours passing between each pair of crewmembers emerging from Independence. The third transfer occurred with Litchenberg and Griggs; pilot Griggs was brought over early to help with flight deck operations aboard Pathfinder, which would henceforth take over the task of station keeping. Only after remaining empty-handed for prolonged periods of time would Griggs feel his hands return to himself; he had been gripping Independence’s control sticks for four hours straight.Finally, it was time for Brand and Nicollier to leave Independence. Before leaving, they filled a pouch with objects that NASA wanted to examine on the ground, as well as some crew preferences. They also configured Independence to hand over control to the ground. Looking at the ATLAS instruments in the payload bay, Nicollier lamented the fact that they went unused, while understanding that they were lucky to be alive. Brand took a photograph of the flight deck, strewn with filled notebooks and some empty food pouches, the result of 15 days of improvisation and barely getting by. However, he did not intend for it to be the last image to be taken inside OV-099.
With everyone aboard Pathfinder, Resnik and O’Connor strapped themselves into the MMU units, and went to Independence’s right wing to assess the damage. In an attempt to salvage Independence or patch itself up, Pathfinder carried some repair material. If a repair was deemed possible, and made to be safe enough, two astronauts would then fly Independence home. However, the Pathfinder Mission Specialists’ observations precluded that possibility; a large panel of RCC on the bottom side was barely hanging on by one edge, along with a multitude of cracks resembling those on the upper side.
With FD 2 coming to a close, Pathfinder pulled away from Independence but remained close by, to await further instructions once ground engineers assessed the possibility of repairs. The consensus a few hours later was that the damaged RCC could not be replaced or supplemented with the ablative resin strips and blocks Pathfinder brought. Thus, they performed another separation manoeuvre, and watched as Independence disappeared from view for good.
On FD 3, Resnik and O’Connor performed another untethered EVA; the two slowly cruised along Pathfinder’s belly, scanning every tile and seam for abnormalities. They concluded an hour later that there were none. As a precaution, they checked the sides and top of the vehicle as well; a peeled corner of a FRSI blanket was found and taped down.
In the final hours of FD 3, Pathfinder performed its retrofire over Australia. Communication was lost during the reentry, when no TDRS satellites were overhead for a period of time, and plasma precluded transmissions to and fro the ground.
Contact was regained after the plasma subsided, when Pathfinder was flying its predetermined approach pattern to the KSC, showing that it successfully protected its 12-person complement from the searing heat. In the dark of night, its double sonic booms over the KSC were greeted by crowds larger than those that gathered for the launch, and the sight was recorded to Cronkite’s narration.
“It’s been eighteen…nineteen long days, and they’re almost back home. Commander Scobee’s hand flying Pathfinder the few last miles to Earth.”
Finally, Pathfinder’s brakes bled off the last of its velocity relative to Earth’s surface, concluding the ad-hoc mission of STS-61-Q. The usual safing crew and ground support equipment raced up against the orbiter. An hour later, the crew was cleared to disembark; the Independence crewmembers, weakened by microgravity and weary from cramped sleeping provisions on Pathfinder, stumbled several times as they exited the airstair. They were unceremoniously taken back for rest and medical checkups, in case any medical issues have developed.
A post-flight debriefing and media session for the rescue crew occurred first, neither of which were able to convey the full scope of events. The following day, most of the 61-L crew were discharged, except for one who developed kidney stones. The full crew attended separate debriefings and media sessions several days later.
Along with other interviews produced in the wake of the Independence Accident, the astronauts’ answers and reactions would greatly define the direction public inquiry would take. Despite the cursory similarities to Apollo 13, this accident would evoke different reactions due to the human cost incurred in the rescue. NASA’s internal mood was also much less celebratory, and far more reflective.
The Shuttle fleet was grounded, after effectively losing two lives and an orbiter as a result of some ET debris. While some hoped for the resulting external investigation to be a quick affair, limited to the technicalities of the failure, the investigation would dig far deeper into the program as a whole. NASA and the Space Shuttle Program would be utterly but silently transformed by its findings, which were more extensive than the parts of the Independence Accident that entered public discourse.
The Independence Accident had twofold effects on the popular perception of spaceflight in the US. On one hand it, and especially the two deaths involved, somewhat diminished NASA's aura of infallibility. However, it was argued that this altered public attitude permitted more honest internal assessments of the space agency's flaws, which the external investigation was the first example of. The STS-61-Q launch preparations accident is usually discussed in tandem with other workplace accidents, to demonstrate the role of non-technical procedures in ensuring worker safety.
The Independence Accident was also cited as the most likely cause of the subsequent uptick of public interest in space exploration. The surge in space-related media immediately afterwards, which lasted beyond the turn of the decade, was often cited as a justification. Since the dramatic events of the rescue made for prime plot material, films, such as the universally panned Sixteen Days in Space (1988) TV film, and the much more faithful and acclaimed STS-61-L (1992), rode on the wave of interest in the incident. Fiction set in space also gained a new boost of inspiration: collaboration with the Soviets in space became a less taboo theme, although this was a cultural blip compared to the scepticism from the Polyus Incident. Interestingly, many plot lines in this era celebrated the raw courage and bravado of space explorers and engineers in defying orders of a bureaucracy that was at best incompetent, and at worst oblivious to the individual.
¶
Very few options remained for Independence after its crew went home. Although it had reactants for a few more days of power, it could not land intact without crew, as some functions crucial to the descent, such as APU startup and landing gear deployment, could not be commanded from the ground.
Ironically, studies done in the following years showed that it would take very little to recover an uncrewed orbiter: a prefabricated cable would electrically hook up switches for said functions directly to the avionics, while flight software would be slightly modified to accept related commands. However, cobbling together this system during the rescue would have diverted valuable personnel and time away from saving the crew of 61-L, which had been the sole concern in those 18 days between Independence's launch and Pathfinder's landing.
On FD 18, The two OMS pods aboard Independence made their final burn, breaking the stricken orbiter out of LEO. With the payload bay doors kept open, Independence was then set into a tumble to ensure it broke up as completely as possible. Entry interface occurred over Southeast Asia, and ships observed Independence's reentry trail splintering a minute later. The 100 tons of matter that once made up OV-099, the ATLAS pallets and various consumables were turned into vapour and debris, the latter of which fell into the Pacific. With the orbiter's role in this accident abundantly clear, no attempt would be made to recover any of it. However, two tiles and part of the left outboard elevon would be rediscovered on various shorelines of the Pacific in the following decades, and are currently displayed in separate museums across the continental US.
Status update:
Act 3 is currently still being written, although very slowly, as more things need to be planned and designed than in the past two Acts.
You may have noticed the "Image" bracket in today's post; this timeline is open for anyone to contribute illustrations! All mediums are welcome, including KSP recreations. If you're feeling like contributing in this way, you can add your name here.
Payment is sadly not possible.
Act 3 is currently still being written, although very slowly, as more things need to be planned and designed than in the past two Acts.
You may have noticed the "Image" bracket in today's post; this timeline is open for anyone to contribute illustrations! All mediums are welcome, including KSP recreations. If you're feeling like contributing in this way, you can add your name here.
Payment is sadly not possible.
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Ah,so a takeoff on what happened with STS-1. I was counting astronauts only for some reason.
Rough... I always have a soft spot for historical and alternate 099's. Thanks for the memories, Independence.
The flight manifest's intricacies weren't the clearest, was Independence the fleet/turnaround leader until the end, like OTL? If not, which of them was?
The flight manifest's intricacies weren't the clearest, was Independence the fleet/turnaround leader until the end, like OTL? If not, which of them was?
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If by "fleet leader" you mean most flights, yes, as 102 peaced out for over a year after FMOF. For turnaround times I'm not so sure.
As in OTL, 102 is an absolute hangar queen. 104 had the fastest turnaround of the program's history, 54 days from 51-J to 61-B, and something makes me think that might apply to this timeline, too. The question is now, how long will they stand down, and what will the program look like by the time the three (? iirc 101 is as OTL, prototype-only) remaining vehicles turn skyward again?
Have just caught up with this - think I saw it in your sig, @Rocketdyne_J2 .
A very interesting, and seemingly plausible, take on the early 'Saturn-Shuttle' idea. And partly reusable too!
This does reduce the problems inherent to the OTL shuttle design (no chance of a Challenger-style accident, due to no SRBs); but as your most recent posts illustrated, still the possibility of a Columbia-style disaster. Though luckily, in this case they managed to pull off a rescue.
Those two poor pad technicians...
PS I just know someone is either going to accuse me of necro-ing the thread, or complain that "you made me think it was a story post!" To which I say
a) It's been a month, not a year.
b) Please read who the post is by if that concerns you so much.
A very interesting, and seemingly plausible, take on the early 'Saturn-Shuttle' idea. And partly reusable too!
This does reduce the problems inherent to the OTL shuttle design (no chance of a Challenger-style accident, due to no SRBs); but as your most recent posts illustrated, still the possibility of a Columbia-style disaster. Though luckily, in this case they managed to pull off a rescue.
Those two poor pad technicians...
PS I just know someone is either going to accuse me of necro-ing the thread, or complain that "you made me think it was a story post!" To which I say
a) It's been a month, not a year.
b) Please read who the post is by if that concerns you so much.