TLiaW: Dawn of the Dragon

[e of pi]

“To those who have spent decades watching the rise of China’s modern economy into a near-match for economic power of the United States or the European Union, the fact that it should possess one of the world’s most impressive space programs is of little surprise. If the Japanese, possessing an economy a mere third the size of any of the others, should be capable of launching spacecraft to Space Station Freedom, then it is little surprise that China might do far more. However, it was not always so obvious that the Chinese space program would experience the successes it has--certainly it was not seen as a rival when the Americans first landed on the moon, nor was its program always as well-funded as it is today. The politics behind the Chinese government’s development of its space program as a showpiece for the nation’s general investment in industrial development are well-established in other sources, but less attention has been paid to the unsung heroes who turned Standing Committee commandments and proclamations into reality over the decades. The development of the Chinese space program, though its expansion to match those of the West seems almost preordained in retrospect, must be remembered to have sprung from roots that were anything but solid: often underfunded, technologically inferior, and thoroughly ramshackle. This work will seek to explore the program’s humble beginnings and expose the true feats inherent in the modern program’s rise into one of the world leaders in spaceflight.”--Dragonrise: The Chinese Space Program from Birth to the Moon

Oh no. It’s happening?

Oh yeah, it’s happening.

You actually think you can pull off a Timeline in a While?

Well, that’s a long story. This was originally going to be a TLiaM, then I decided to pre-write the first couple posts. Now it’s mostly written, and I’ve been sitting on it long enough. So I’m posting it, but I’m not sure exactly how long I’ll take to do so.

Cute. You know one of the major things you succeeded on with Eyes was trying to make the political development of spaceflight plausible?

Yeah, so what’s your point?

You know darn little about any of those highly significant details in Chinese politics, and that the period where this all starts is rather...turbulent.

Yeah, I know, which is why this is going to be heavily focused on the rockets and spacecraft. I did a lot of politics in Eyes, and I just want to write about the fun stuff.

Hooo boy. Well, these should be interesting times…

That’s the hope!

 

[e of pi]

Part 1: Humble Beginnings

The earliest roots of the modern Chinese space program could hardly be further from their present state. In 1966, the Chinese were already in the process of developing a native ballistic missile and carrier-rocket program as part of Mao’s “two walking legs” towards an independent ICBM deterrent: one leg would depend on Soviet imported technology, while the other leg would build up to a native Chinese capacity. In 1966, this program was joined by a call to develop a recoverable satellite system. This system, in turn, could be used for both manned and unmanned applications, such as satellite reconnaissance. Once the spacecraft was flying, the same bus or other busses using similar technology could be used for other satellite applications like weather forecasting and communications. While in the United States engineers working on Apollo benefitted from incredible resources and public interest (even if support was far more ambiguous than later popular histories might suggest), Chinese engineers working under Chief Designer Wang Xiji were far less lucky. Indeed, they could only count their blessings that the spacecraft program--like that of ballistic missile development--was largely exempted from worst excesses of the Cultural Revolution, spared direct oversight by the Red Guard. However, while the engineers labored on laying out the specifications for the first Chinese recoverable spacecraft, their colleagues in other fields faced trials and persecution which echoed the worst of the French Revolution, aimed directly at the nation’s class of engineers, scientists, and academics. [1]

From the safe distance of history, the trials endured during the development of Chinese recoverable spacecraft during the height of the Cultural Revolution have acquired an aura of legend. Some facts, like the incredibly low-tech nature of the project, have become so oft-repeated that their real hardships are forgotten. However, looking back, it’s almost astounding that the development of recoverable spacecraft succeeded. In spite of the suspicion directed towards academics, researchers, engineers, and scientists, the project moved forward in the face of adversity. The work was intensely manual, with engineers working with slide rules in an office equipped with (initially) only a single telephone. The designers followed twin tracks based on the same capsule-shaped bus. One, Fanhui Shi Weixing (“Recoverable Satellite”), was equipped with cameras and film storage to act as a basic spy satellite. The other, Shuguang (“Dawn”), was to fill the space with controls, seats, improved parachutes, and a crew. Both were aimed for introduction in the early 70s, using nearly identical carrier rocket derivatives of the Dongfeng-5 ICBM. The mass limits were tight--unlike the behemoth of the American Saturn V, Chinese engineers’ calculations indicated that Dongfeng-5’s carrier rocket variants could be expected to launch only a few tons. With these tight mass limits in mind, engineers sketched out the specifications for Shuguang and FSW to mass under two and a half metric tons, weighing crew capacity, capsule layout, launch vehicle integration, and more in an atmosphere of paranoia where a single accidental failure could be taken as grounds for a purge of the entire team.

By 1970, certainly more in spite of the ambient political conditions than because of them, Shuguang and FSW had proceeded into detailed design. With computational power available to the project in short supply, the geometry was naturally simple: a familiar 10 degree cone. Because of the mass limits, the capsule was on a scale more along the lines of Voskhod and Gemini than the 30-ton Apollo or the 7-ton Soyuz, and with its side-by-side seating of two crew, the design bore a striking resemblance to Gemini in particular. The only major difference in external appearance to the untrained eye was Shuguang’s “tractor-type” escape tower, with many other dimensions and design features being similar. For decades, rumors that this resemblance was owed to more than simple convergent evolution circulated in the space community, in spite of official quashing of such assertions by the Chinese government. It would eventually emerge that the design of Shuguang (and FSW) did draw to a certain extent on the basic geometry of Gemini’s 10-degree blunt conic capsule, though for reasons more complex than simple espionage. Design details were not directly stolen, but were instead used to define the overall trade space, since the American system was proof that some realizable possibilities existed. This “inspiration” saved research and development, modeling, and trade studies which the Chinese engineers lacked time, facilities, and resources to carry out.

However the project made it to the point of a “frozen” design, 1970 would prove a banner year for Chinese spaceflight. In April, the Chinese launched their first artificial satellite, Dong Fang Hong-1, becoming only the fifth nation to do so. In the celebrations of this feat, Chairman Mao for the first time announced China’s intent to launch a manned space mission within four years. Compared to the superpowers’ achievements, such as the landings of Apollo on the lunar surface, it was a modest goal. On the other hand, at the same time the greatest industrial nations of Western Europe were struggling to organize a fledgling joint space program to simply achieve orbit. The European Launcher Development Organization was experiencing a rash of failures of their Europa 1 and 2 launch vehicles, and the British had actually abandoned active support of the project. Meanwhile, China’s population retained a majority of rural peasants, and yet it asserted it would launch its own astronauts within four years [2]. It is little wonder that the nations of the world paid the boast scant attention.

[1] Such as this work has a specific point of departure, this is going to be it. IOTL, the spacecraft program came to essentially a two-year halt, largely as a result of “Project 571,” an alleged attempted coup by Lin Biao with a clever codename that’s a homophone for “armed uprising” in Chinese. IOTL, in a twist that’s an excellent example of “too ASB to be fake,” Shuguang was Project 714, which is a homophone for “armed revolt.” This coincidence combined with close association with Biao resulted in a heavy focus on the project and purges of many engineers and staff for almost two years. The lost time and lack of progress, combined with insufficient funding, eventually lead to the project’s cancellation. The PoD here is essentially that with a different project number and assorted handwaves of internal Chinese politics, that doesn’t happen.

[2] The use of "astronaut" throughout this work is not an error. Because of butterflies, the word is never coined--Chinese releases for English ITTL simply use “astronaut” as they did initially IOTL.

 

[e of pi]

Well, that was some fun downtime. Everyone enjoy it? Me too. Here's the post that was going to go up today, and now is almost going up tomorrow. I hope you enjoy this, too!

Part 2: Taking Flight

The first launches of the modern Chinese space program came in 1972, with the first tests of the Feng Bao 1 rocket and the the first launch of an FSW capsule, used to begin testing of recovery systems and many of the shared avionics. As testing proceeded, followed closely by intelligence services around the world, China quietly worked on the selection and training of their first crews--a process notable for a heavy focus on political reliability and military service, compared to the preparations of the Americans to land a geologist on the moon on Apollo 18. The Dongfeng-derived carrier rockets and FSW encountered their share of teething issues: two back-to-back failures, one of the launcher and one of the unmanned spacecraft’s communications systems, caused intense worry among Chinese engineer before the first successful flight of FSW in August. However, one success wasn’t enough to erase the problem: engineers in China were under their own equivalent of Apollo’s famous “before this decade is out” deadline in the form of Mao’s four year goal for an orbital manned spaceflight. Mixed in with other launches for testing FSW were what Western intelligence agents failed to identify as Shuguang orbital tests. The Shuguang tractor abort tower was to prove its worth over Gemini’s ejection seats: in the second flight of the capsule, the abort tower successfully carried the unmanned capsule away from the disintegrating stack and fireball when the rocket engine’s turbopump disintegrated due to foreign object debris. In a way, this “successful failure” only augmented the political pressure on their engineers--hadn’t the flight proved that the capsule could save the crew from a failing rocket?

With just three additional capsule tests under their belt, autumn 1973 saw a command come down from the highest levels, one that smacked of valuing propaganda over human lives: engineers were pressured into approving Shuguang for flight to meet Mao’s deadline, which over the years had gone from somewhat arbitrary and aspirational to critical thanks to repetition and paranoia. Worse for the threadbare program, word had come down from no less than Chairman Mao himself that the program could expect no further funding increases without proven success, declaring that while demonstrating Chinese industrial might was important, the nation still must take care of its terrestrial problems first. Even with eight years of solid preparations, Chinese engineers internally estimated chances of a successful first manned flight in late 1973 at as little as three in four, but with internal pressure rising, there was no other option but to make the attempt.

After a frantic round of last-minute preparations, Shuguang 1 lifted off into the history books on October 14, 1973. Only one of the two seats was filled, and as the Long March 2’s engines ignited, pilot Fang Guojun was pressed back into his acceleration couch by the rocket’s power. Though roughly comparable in payload to the American Titan II, the Long March experienced far higher acceleration before burnout, subjecting Fang to as many as 5 Gs before stage separation, then almost 8 Gs during the second stage. FOr the final portion of the burn, the flight plan required the main engine to shut down entirely, with the burn completed on the comparatively weak vernier engines--to do otherwise would have required a paralyzing 13 Gs. [1] Even this level of force was impressive. As the stage vibrated below him and the second stage pushed towards main engine cutout, China’s first astronaut struggled as his vision narrowed, then suddenly the weight dropped to almost nothing for nearly another four minutes. Fang would later comment to ground engineers that, "It went from seeming like I might not survive to seeming as though I might not make orbit before I fell back." The shutdown of the second stage's engine was tense--a failure of this protocol could be deadly. As the moments passed on the expected vernier burn without a word from Fang, many engineers on the ground feared that they had witnessed the deaths of the pilot, the Chinese space program, and quite possibly themselves. However, a few interminable moments later, Fang adjusted to the dramatically lower acceleration and his voice came over the communications links. His first words, blinking to clear his vision, were bleary remarks on the beauty of the Earth seen through the window below: “I feel as though I am awakening to a dream of the world spread beneath.” However, over the long minutes of the terminal vernier burn, he had time to settle himself and begin verifying the capsule’s performance: systems were under control, the stack was stable, and the trajectory was within the acceptable error. When the vernier engines completed their long, slow burn and the second stage shut off entirely, China was, officially, the third nation to send a man to space. One orbit later, Shuguang 1’s retrorockets fired to return it under parachutes to a landing-bag-assisted recovery, and Fang Guojon was greeted with tremendous honors, including medals and a personal meeting with the Chairman.

It is largely true that the success of Shuguang 1 and the prestige it gained China on the world stage as an equal of other industrial powers was significant, and a factor in the ongoing support of the Chinese space program by high level officials on the Standing Committee. However, what is often lost in most popular histories and in Chinese official narratives is that the level of this support was much more tentative in the years initially following Shuguang 1 than it would later grow to reach. While Fang Guojon became a national hero, and the success of the pilot and the engineers who had achieved the flight was much lauded in propaganda, the actual increases in Shuguang’s budgets were small, enough to enable ongoing Shuguang flights in the coming years and the beginnings of the long term planning which would later result in so much more, but not to actually begin such large projects. While the Chinese had achieved one goal which had eluded every nation save the superpowers, actually matching the United States or the Soviet Union would take far longer…

[1] Didn't this used to say something different? Yeah, it did, nice catch. Also nice catch to Shevek23, who found a critical fact in Long March's second stage function I'd overlooked: this whole business of cutting off the main engine and using the weaker verniers to complete the burn without hitting 13G. Before he linked me to this data, I thought they were actually proposing to hit those G levels. Call it a Critical Research Failure.
So, did you do any research for this TL beyond reading Astronautix?
Hey! I did...some. I also read wired, and I did a couple excel spreadsheets. That's at least two more excel spreadsheets than I bet more electoral TLiaW authors do!
Wonderful. It's no wonder you've never won a Turtledove...
I never claimed this would be scholarly! Anyway, the original text of this post and footnote are below:

Though roughly comparable in payload to the American Titan II, the Long March experienced far higher acceleration before burnout, subjecting Fang to as many as 13 Gs. [1] China’s first astronaut struggled as his vision narrowed. His heart pounded, his vision whited out, and he nearly lost consciousness. As the capsule entered orbit under programmed control and separated from the second stage without a word from Fang, many engineers on the ground feared that they had witnessed the deaths of the pilot, the Chinese space program, and quite possibly themselves. However, a few interminable moments later, Fang roused himself and his voice came over the communications links. His first words, blinking to clear his vision, were bleary remarks on the beauty of the Earth seen through the window below: “I feel as though I am awakening to a dream of the world spread beneath.” However, within minutes, he had regained himself enough to begin verifying the capsule’s performance: systems were under control, the capsule was stable, and the orbit was within the acceptable error. China was, officially, the third nation to send a man to space.

[1] What!? 13 Gs? Are they insane!? Yeah, I know, right? But that's what the numbers work out for a capsule on a 2-stage Long March 2/Feng Bao 1. I looked around a lot, though admittedly not any kind of scholarly search, just looking at other pages on Shuguang and Long March variants. I couldn't find any indication of the ~70% throttle-down capacity it'd take to reduce that to a reasonable level, nor of a third stage which would serve to ballast the ride (and maybe add a smidgen more LEO payload). But it's not completely impossible they hoped to just get by with it--13 Gs is high enough even many G-trained pilots will struggle to retain consciousness, but below the really serious health limits as far as I could find. With no better data, I went with the vision of Shuguang on Long March everyone seems to be aware of.

 

[e of pi]

Well, Historyman asked, and fortunately I can oblige. To celebrate the weekend, here's the next part of Dawn of the Dragon, this time about how China's space successes are recieved around the world...

Part 3: Echoes of the Dragon

Around the world, initial reactions to Shuguang’s first manned flight varied. In the West, the attitude was astonishment and surprise--though manned spaceflight had been a declared goal of the Chinese for almost two years, their success was not truly expected, particularly to those who were not closely following developments in aerospace or international relations. In the Soviet sphere, the launch was if anything more shocking. Though both nations were communist, the Sino-Soviet split was reaching its maximum levels, with the Cultural Revolution and border conflicts raging between the two leading communist nations. In light of this, Soviet intelligence on the Chinese space program had been extremely limited, but their insight into the state of Chinese development and economy had lead them to badly misread the odds of a Chinese manned program successfully placing a capsule into orbit and returning it--or, at least, misread Chinese willingness to make the attempt with lower odds than even the Soviets might accept.

However, for both the Soviets and the Americans, the reaction was tempered by the fact that the Chinese accomplishments were equal to what they had done almost a decade before, and both nations assessed that it would be some time before the Chinese could launch significantly more complex missions. With the Soviets launching the world’s first space stations, the Americans had men actively on the moon throughout Shuguang’s 90 minute flight: Apollo 18, their final Apollo lunar mission. Compared to the mighty Saturn V or even the comparatively small Proton which launched the Soviet stations, Shuguang’s three ton mass was incredibly slight. The result was that after an initial reaction, the two superpowers settled back to their ongoing projects--the Soviets’ ongoing Salyut and Almaz series of space stations, and the Americans’ development of their Space Shuttle.

Unlike the rather brief initial surges of interest from the superpowers, two other groups of nations would have reactions of more lasting significance. The first group was the wealthier nations of the developing world, for whom China had begun to emerge as a more relatable alternative face of communism than the centralized, dominating force of Mother Russia. China was a relative upstart, sticking it to both the traditional colonial powers of the West and directly proving their ability to shrug off the domineering force of the Soviet Union. Just as Chinese industrial development began to flourish in later years, China’s space program was also a model--and the various small space programs of many developing nations are owed to the influence of China’s early “third way” entry into the space age. For Japan, whose industrial economy had largely recovered from the devastation of the second world war and was rapidly climbing towards a level of manufacturing efficiency not achieved even by the economies of the Americans and the rest of the West, the achievements of their fellow Asian nation and past adversary were a distinct challenge. However, their space program was still in its early years: development of the N-I launch vehicle (a license-built copy of the American Delta/Thor with a Japanese-developed upper stage engine) was underway, but would not be ready for launch for at least another three years. Moreover, N-I would be capable of little more than a ton of payload, insufficient for much more than a single-man capsule. The proposed N-II would add six more Castor solid rocket boosters to the N-I's three, but was not planned to launch for almost another decade. For the immediate future, Japan focused on its slow-but-steady buildup of native space technology and continuing its partnerships with the American program, but matching Chinese manned launch capacity had become a long-term objective.

In Western Europe, the Shuguang program's success was received as far more of an embarrassment. Despite having a more primitive industrial base and little more than half the GDP of any single one of the three leading nations of the European Launcher Development Organization (France, Great Britain, and West Germany), China's program had proven capable of not only launching a larger payload than the failed Europa 1 and 2 project, but also developing and launching a manned capsule. Great Britain, struggling with its economy and its place in the world, largely reacted to Shuguang with an acceleration of its ongoing withdrawal from ELDO and attempts to develop their own native launch capacity. From Black Prince to Blue Streak to Europa to Black Arrow, Britain's attempts over the last twenty years to reach for the stars had been met only with failure, frustration, and national embarrassment. The reaction to Shuguang's flight, accomplished with such apparent ease by a former inferior, was something near disgust. The decision was made that at least for the moment British efforts would be better focused on the development of payloads to be launched by proven American systems, rather than risk being burnt again.

France, Britain's ELDO partner, was less resigned to a fate as a third-tier space power. French pride had better survived the post-war diminishing of European importance, and if anything they had cultivated a stubborn refusal to step out of the spotlight. This was reflected in their more cautious involvement with NATO, their ongoing commissioning of aircraft carriers, and--key in this case--their continued pursuit of prestige projects like rocketry in spite of financial and technical complications. France, after all, had become the third nation to launch their own satellite to orbit in 1965, and they were hardly willing to stand by now and accept that the Chinese of all nations might be superior to them. France was already heavily involved in planning a new path forward from the failures of Europa 1 and 2, using a new French-designed launcher. This vehicle, dubbed "Ariane," would have almost twice the capability of Europa. Designed primarily for geostationary orbits, the early design concepts called for a payload of 1.8 metric tons to GTO. This meant that the same design, in theory, could throw nearly five metric tons to a low Earth orbit, more than enough for a very capable two man capsule or a cramped three-man vehicle. The only required change to the launcher was the addition of a second HM-7 engine to the third-stage, both for redundancy and increased thrust-to-weight ratio. With the West Germans hesitantly roped into the project, 1974 saw the official announcement of a new European space organization, the European Space Agency. This would combined ELDO and ESRO’s roles into one agency tasked, among other roles, with the development of the Ariane 1 launch vehicle and beginning development on a largely Franco-German capsule program, with both planned to fly around the turn of the decade. The dawn of the Chinese manned space program had made waves around the world. In the superpowers, these waves had, for the moment, been little more than ripples, while other effects would take time to manifest. However, in France and Germany at least, the shockwaves from the roar of the dragon's ascent were clearly reverberating.

 

[e of pi]

Well, ExoMars is away, and in that spirit, who's ready for some success-building-on-success?

Part 4: May You Fly in Interesting Times

With the excitement of Shuguang 1's launch behind them, the Chinese space program began to discover that the reward for success was demands for further success. Worse, though they had seen some increases in prestige and support (both political and monetary) within the Chinese establishment, those new advocates expected to see tangible results from their continued support. The result was that they were faced by the challenge of achieving further successes with (at least initially) the same launch vehicles and spacecraft. Fortunately, the Shuguang already had more capability in reserve. For instance, Fang's flight had been only a single orbit, and with only one pilot. The capsule was designed for two pilots, and in January 1974 Shuguang 2 made the first two-man Chinese space launch, this time making three orbits before returning to Earth. Shuguang, as with the Gemini capsule which had partially inspired it, was also fitted with an exterior hatch and fittings to de-pressurize and re-pressurize the cabin, enabling its pilots to leave the capsule and undertake spacewalks. This capability was tested on the Shuguang 3 mission in late summer of the same year, which saw Wang Zhiyue make China's first EVA, as well as setting a new Chinese duration record of three days.

While these accomplishments--achieving in less than a year goals which had taken two generations of spacecraft and almost four years to accomplish for the Soviets and American--were appreciated for their propaganda value by the Standing and Central Committees, they were essentially the limits of the Shuguang capsule. Limited by the Feng Bao 1 and Long March 2 launchers, the capsule could not be fitted with enough consumables to spend as long in space as the Apollo missions had managed actually on the lunar surface. Additionally, in order to simplify the initial system and reduce launch weight, Shuguang lacked a variety of fine control systems and structural modifications for docking. For example, instead of the full translational thrusters of Gemini, Soyuz, and Apollo, Shuguang was fitted only with rotational attitude control jets. Similarly, its nose lacked structural provisions for docking, instead being used exclusively as a hardpoint for the escape tower and the capsule's parachutes. The capsule's primitive onboard computers were also insufficient for the task of calculating a rendezvous, and the spacecraft lacked most of the radars and communications systems which would be necessary to make proximity operations and docking feasible.

However, the Chinese Central Committee had staked significant national pride on the success of the Chinese program. Thus, Chinese engineers were pressed to develop further spaceflight capabilities to feed the Chinese propaganda machine--particularly as some of these developments could also benefit the Chinese military and civilian space applications program of reconnaissance, communications, weather, and survey satellites. The most critical development for the program was to have more mass to play with--the two tons of the initial Dong Feng-derived rockets were barely adequate for FSW and Shuguang, and placed strict limits on what could be sent to GTO. Fortunately, this was one area where relief was on the way, with the new Long March 2C, a stretched and otherwise improved variant of the Long March 2A with a 70% increase in payload capacity due for introduction in 1975 [1]. The development of a boosted variant of the Long March 2 was also authorized in 1973, with a first flight planned for around the turn of the decade. This would offer a payload of just shy of ten metric tons to low Earth orbit, or for a payload of 3.5 tons to be sent to geosynchronous transfer orbit--as much as the LEO payload of even the uprated Long March 2C [2].

Building on and justifying these development efforts was a major expansion of Chinese spaceflight capabilities and goals: a new generation of space technologies which would bring them closer to parity in capabilities (if not throw weight) to the Soviets and Americans. The first element of this new generation was the Shuguang-B capsule, a derivative of the Shuguang-A which had flown the first orbital missions. Planned to launch on Long March 2C, Shuguang-B was redesigned extensively, using the mass margin to include a full suite of attitude and translational controls, increased propellant and crew consumables to enable flights of as long as two weeks, and improved flight controls, computers, and a new radar system. The were aimed at supporting the major change between Shuguang-A and Shuguang-B, which was far more apparent than the "under the hood" improvements: the addition of an aft docking collar and access tunnel. Just as with the original Shuguang design, this modification drew on inspiration from work elsewhere. Shuguang-B, planned for introduction in 1977, would feature a new hatch through the heat shield between the two pilot's seats, much as planned for the Gemini-B and TKS capsules. This would lead to a small tunnel through the equipment/service section of the capsule to the aft bulkhead, which would house a large shock-absorbing docking ring around a circular hatch. Through a combination of radar, mirrors, and terminal guidance from the copilot looking aft from the docking position, the crew would be able to make rendezvous with another Chinese spacecraft and guide forks on their docking station to enable a hard seal prior to opening the hatch.

This capability to join two spacecraft was the keystone of the new Chinese plans for the remainder of the 1970s. At the same time Shugang-B was under development, they planned the development of Tianjia, a small cylindrical module fitted with a "passive" ring-and-fork port, solar arrays, batteries, an attitude control system, and extended consumables. Joined by a Shuguang capsule, Tianjia modules could form a Tiangong space station for extended duration missions, though admittedly a small one: Tianjia had to fit within the same 3.5 ton limits as Shuguang-B, and thus the initial merged "Tiangong" stations would actually be smaller than a single Soviet TKS FGB spacecraft. However, they would enable a crew of two to spend as long as two months in space in some semblance of comfort aboard something that was technically a space station, and further modifications of Tianjia modules could allow them to be chained together and fitted with radial docking stations for the expansion of a station through modular assembly--something not even the Americans or Soviets had yet attempted! The plan was for the first Tianjia test module to fly in 1977, while development of larger Tianjia-B modules would proceed to fill the larger Long March 2D upon its introduction in the next decade [3]. In the meantime, Chinese engineers settled into operating Shuguang and FSW while they awaited the next generation of spacecraft.

[1] But...Long March 2C didn't fly until 1982...?That's true, but there's exactly one wikipedia page that claims a November, 1975 maiden launch. That page is wrong...?Also correct! What's more, I'm using specifications more like the OTL Long March 2D, introduced in 2006. However, this appears to be mostly the result of a stretch of the vehicle, rather than any significant avionics or engine improvements, so I'm going ahead and having it happen early. This timeline after all aims for the technically plausible, not necessarily the politically plausible. I'm waving a hand and making that incorrect wikipedia date the first flight of TTL's Long March 2C, with its development being approved in the 1971 timeframe on the basis of its obvious value to FSW, Shuguang, and GTO payloads.

[2] So they get the Long March 2D about thirty years early, and now they also get the Long March 2E? Hey, this one's only fifteen years early, that's almost half as much anachronism! Political plausibility might raise some questions, but the concept of a boosted version of Long March isn't much to question from the technical side--just ask any Kerbal player or the Titan 3 family. There's certainly ways to explain this politically with justifications that I won't be digging into here--the success of Shuguang and the increase in national pride, success breeding success, and so forth but mostly it's just more fun like this.

[3] So finally you get to why you were inspired to write this in the first place? Yeah, basically! This concept is heavily derived (*coughs* stolen) shut up from a proposal from McDonnell for a modular space station evolving from Gemini, part of the "Gemini for everything!" series of proposals McDonnell churned out to try and justify continued Gemini development in the shadow of Apollo. Obviously it failed IOTL, but the thought of why a program would pursue such limited "technically space stations" stuck with me after writing this mini-TL, and inspired this entire project.

 

[e of pi]

Hat tip to Shevek for the catch, and thanks for doing so inside the 30-day edit window. Part 2 has been revised, and I'm looking at the other posts I have in the can. At the very least, the next post is unaffected, by virtue of not pertaining to China at all. Thus, here it is:

Part 5: As the World Turns...

By the middle of the 1970s, the paths of the majority of the world's space programs was largely set, and it would take until the end of the decade for most of the results to come to play. The "second phase" of China's space program was proceeding in secrecy, with development underway on the Tianjia-A "ministation" module and the Shuguang-B advanced capsule. The Chinese weren't the only nation with a major change in their space program percolating--the late 70s saw most of the world's major space programs in the process of revitalizing their programs. The leading example of this, of course, was the American's development of their Space Shuttle. Intended as a major revolution to bring down the cost of access to space, the program was already falling behind schedule, with the vehicle having been cut from a fully-reusable system to a less revolutionary orbiter, which would fly to space on propellant contained in a large external tank, and be lifted off the pad by twin large, semi-reusable solid rocket boosters. The early projection had been for flights of Shuttle to occur starting in 1979, but by the mid-70s it was becoming apparent that a more realistic schedule would be the early 80s.

However, undaunted, plans for Shuttle applications were underway. Chief among these was the development of “Spacelab,” a new module being co-developed with ESA which would place a habitable laboratory--essentially a miniature space station--inside the Shuttle’s payload bay. One flights lasting as long as two weeks, the Shuttle’s crew of seven or more would be able to work in the lab, before returning to Earth with their results and equipment for evaluation or future flights. Spacelab was only the beginning: though some systems surrounding Shuttle (such as the proposed Orbital Transfer Vehicle) had been cut due to budget limits, other systems like the “Centaur-G” were proceeding. A new generation of satellites, probes, telescopes, and other payloads were evolving which depended on the new STS and its ability to carry payload to orbit and then, if necessary, return it.

While the American had forward with the development of the Space Shuttle, their Soviet adversaries were moving forward with their own new development programs. Initially their Chief Designer, Valentin Glushko, had been advocating for the design of the massive "RLA" family, which would use multiple identical rocket modules to launch payloads anywhere from 40 to 250 tons. In Glushko's sketches, RLA would then be used for a variety of grandiose plans for massive stations, lunar flights, and more. Given the much less aggressive payload demands of the Salyut program and the TKS crew and cargo capsule, it was perhaps inevitable that RLA would not fly as Glushko had envisioned. However, the American commitment to the Shuttle was a major factor: Soviets feared that, given the USAF influence on the design, the Shuttle could be intended as an “orbital bomber,” or be used for other insidious military purposes. A “shuttle gap” was potentially a risk to the motherland, and Glushko was directed to present a design for a Soviet vehicle to match the American Space Transportation System. The result was Energia/Buran. Visually similar to the American Shuttle, Energia consisted of a large, high-performance hydrogen core carried aloft by boosters, with a delta-winged orbiter strapped to the side. However, unlike the American Shuttle, Energia would use liquid boosters with Glushko’s high performance kerolox engines, and the hydrogen/LOX sustainer engines would be mounted on the core, not the Buran orbiter, enabling Energia to fly alone with heavy payloads. Development was begun in 1975, with first flight hoped to happen within ten years. With Buran consuming a majority of Soviet spaceflight investment, the remainder of the program for the period would be a steady expansion of their space station program. Additional Salyut flights were planned, building to a permanently manned 3-man space station, Mir, and a new program incorporating Buran.

In Europe, the French and the West Germans continued work on the new Ariane launch vehicle, which was well on track for a 1979 introduction. In addition to its commercial GTO payloads, Ariane had acquired a new cargo, aimed to preserve the honor of Europe's industrialized nations in the face of Chinese accomplishments--or at least the honor of those European nations which could be harassed by the French into assisting with financial contributions to the project. The result was Hermes, a largely Franco-German project to develop a crew capsule of Europe's own. With the Ariane's 5-ton initial LEO payload and development potential, the French looked to the Soviets for a model, just as the Chinese had sought inspiration from American-trodden ground. Hermes was designed along the lines of the Soyuz, with a headlight-shaped descent module and a service module. Though initial provisions were for only two crew, Hermes was designed for future addition of an orbital module like Soyuz on the capsule's forward end to let it carry up to three crew members, potentially to a space station derived from the Spacelab module they were co-developing with the United States for the Space Shuttle. [2] As Ariane worked towards its debut in 1979, Hermes was officially announced in 1975 for a maiden manned mission in 1981.

[1] So….there’s an alternate Chinese capsule program, but the Shuttle and Soviet programs are essentially unchanged so far? How’s that plausible? It’s so early that butterflies really haven’t had a chance to flap, and frankly Shuguang isn't that impressive if you've flown space stations and (particularly) men to the moon. I had a bigger change planned, one which was poorly related to the PoD. Its effects were starting to drown things out, so I wrote it out. I might post that as its own thing later.

[2] You know Shevek's going to ask: dimensions and mass data? Hermes is basically the same outward dimensions as Soyuz, minus the OM. That's about 300 kg heavier than Ariane 1 can manage even with my twin-engine upper stage, so there's some weight stripped off by virtue of being designed from a clean sheet with late-70s European engineering instead of mid-60s Soviet technology. For one, it's only two-man on Ariane 1, which saves ~200 kg in seat, astronaut, and suit alone, plus consumables. For the other 100kg saved, it can be attributed to being lot more digital: Soyuz only went all-digital in its flight computers in (I'm not joking) 2010. OTOH, Airbus was at this time already working on what would become that A320--the first all-fly-by-wire airliner.

 

[e of pi]

Boy, the Chinese program seems to be going great, doesn't it? No way that could ever change...

Part 6: Two Steps Forward, One Step Back

By 1975, the Chinese program had established itself as a solid second-tier player in the world of spaceflight--third to orbit crew, third to execute an EVA, and moving from success to success as they prepared to become the third nation to orbit and occupy a space station with the simultaneous development of the Shuguang-B/Tianjia pairing. Even internally, with better information about the available budgets and technologies the Chinese program was often overestimated, given the program director’s success in papering over cracks and exploiting easy “wins” to build a record of success. An example of this came in February, when Shuguang 4 flew largely a duplicate of the Shuguang 3 mission, with its two-man crew spending three days in orbit and executing two EVAs. However, thanks to careful planning of the launch window and a fortunately accurate ascent trajectory, Shuguang 4 was also able to make approach within two kilometers of an earlier-launched FSW capsule. This was noted by many Western and Soviet monitors, and presumed a prelude to actual attempts at orbital maneuvering and docking. In a sense, this was correct, but real progress towards docking would await the debut of Shuguang-B and its enhanced capabilities.

The launch of Shuguang 4 was followed only a month later by a more tangible step towards the introduction of Shuguang-B and the Tianjia: the maiden suborbital launch of the Long March 2C first stage [1]. The stretched version of the first stage performed as well as could have been expected, placing its payload--a Shuguang-A boilerplate capsule modified with the addition of a Shuguang-B heat shield hatch--into a ballistic suborbital trajectory to allow the capsule designers to test the integrity of the modified heat shield design. To the relief of all concerned, the modifications worked: the heat of reentry served to effectively “weld shut” the gap in the heat shield around the hatch. Further tests of the booster and the modified capsule would be necessary to ensure the capsule, but even Shuguang’s engineers were beginning to buy into the notion that Chinese engineering could do no wrong as they prepared detailed designs and engineering mockups and test hardware for Tianjia modules. Surely the work would be rewarded with yet more success. The internal transition from calculated confidence to hubris would result in China setting its first “second” in spaceflight.

The fifth Shuguang mission was planned as a rough duplicate of the Shuguang 4 mission, making another five-day flight with a practice flyby of a previously-launched FSW. Its role was not to break new ground but rather to continue the development of China's space experience and fill the gap between Shuguang-A's early test flights and the introduction of Shuguang-B. Unfortunately, some new ground would be broken. The “two-burn” profile used by Long March’s second stage had always offered a dangerous failure mode: while shutting off the main engine limited acceleration to a wild, shaking 8 Gs instead of the breathtaking 13 Gs which would be experienced if the remaining propellant was burned by both the main and vernier engines instead of just the verniers, it relied on a single point of failure: the shutdown of the main engine. On Shuguang 5, the specter of this failure became reality.

As Shuguang 5’s launch approached main engine cutoff on its second stage burn on September 2, 1975, a fastener sheared within the stack’s avionics, dropped the shelf of electronics it supported onto the shelf below, and destroyed both. The damage was severe, destroying the command pathways to the engine controllers and the rocket’s communications with ground control. The cascading failure in the stage’s avionics lead to an abort signal being sent to the capsule but due to the loss of the command pathways for the engines (both main and vernier), the command for engine termination wasn’t received by the actual engine controllers. The result was a confused, incomplete abort attempt: the capsule fired its separation pyros, and attempted to fire its small thruster package to reach a safe distance from the second stage. However, with the second stage’s engine still firing and indeed pushing on above 10Gs, the capsule was still pinned to the second stage by the stage’s thrust. Instead of escaping, it only managed to lurch off-center. With the rocket beyond ground control and the crew pinned to their acceleration couches, there was little anyone could do as the off-balance rocket tore itself and the capsule to pieces. The debris, left just barely suborbital, plunged into the atmosphere and was destroyed almost an hour later. By then, though, the astronauts aboard the breached capsule were already long dead. The Chinese had finally set a space "second" instead of a "third". After the Soviet Union's Soyuz 11, China's Shuguang 5 was only the second group of humans to die outside Earth's atmosphere.

The investigation and recrimination began immediately back on the ground. Shuguang flights were, obviously, discontinued until the cause of the failure could be found. However, achieving an unbiased, systematic, engineering-based failure investigation took substantial effort on the part of the program leadership. Sabotage, after all, was much more acceptable to the Standing Committee than that same committee pushing their engineers too far, too fast, and with insufficient resources, and the days of purges and executions in the Cultural Revolution were barely past. It might be much more convenient to just find a scapegoat and engineer appropriate confessions. Only the political value of the manned space efforts and the potentially catastrophic effects of gutting the program’s team while also failing to find the underlying cause (whether design flaw or sabotage) saved the Shuguang program from such a fate. Within months, analysis of telemetry and testing of other boosters from the same production lots identified the issue not as sabotage, but a batch of improperly prepared bolts and a quality control oversight. With the issue found, work turned towards preventing a recurrence--work combining both serious attempts at procedural reform and the more inquisitorial practices of the security apparatus.

No more Shuguang-A manned flights would occur: remaining flights planned for 1975 and 1976 were delayed by the investigation, then cancelled. The rest of 1976 would see Long March 2C reach flight qualification, including several more tests of the Shuguang-B heat shield using modified Shuguang-A capsules and engineering boilerplates. Finally, in December 1976, Shuguang-B made its first unmanned orbital launch. The successful mission cleared the way for a belated return to flight, just as simultaneous work on Tianjia cleared the way for the beginning of the era of Chinese space stations and the ongoing work on the heavy lift Long March 2D opened the way for China’s future in space.

[1] As a reminder, the Long March 2C in this timeline is the 3.5 metric ton version, using stretched stages and slightly improved engines. The Long March 2D of TTL is similar to the Long March 2E or 2F of OTL with four liquid boosters and a payload of roughly nine metric tons, and is planned for flight after 1980.

 

[e of pi]

Part 7: Beginning Again

The tragedy of Shuguang 5 and the year-long stand-down in manned Chinese space flights that followed had several major legacies. One key one was that it reminded at least those within the program, if not their political leadership, that spaceflight was a challenging task, one demanding caution and careful work, not one which could be left to luck and narrow escapes. There might always be another time that wasn’t lucky enough. The stand-down also saw the chance to focus on the transition to Shuguang-B and the final development of Tianjia, a focus that saw several issues with the Long March 2C and its new payloads --some caused by design flaws, others by simple lack of proper resources during development and production--found and corrected. However, the willingness of the Chinese government to avoid a more inquisitorial approach to the Shuguang 5 disaster was conditional on the Chinese space program soon returning to producing grist for the propaganda mill as they paced the superpowers--a continuing demonstration of the nation’s rising power. Such patience could only last so long, and by 1977 the pressure to return to flight was rising. Finally, after almost a year and a half, all was ready for the start of a new era in Chinese spaceflight.

The first manned flight of Shuguang-B came on February 20, 1977. Shuguang 6’s two man crew lifted off into orbit on the first manned Long March 2C, and the entire launch control breathed a sigh of relief as the second stage burnt out and the capsule’s crew confirmed they were in a stable orbit. Proceeding about their business, the crew opened the hatch and explored the small additional volume available thanks to the pressurized tunnel past the heatshield to the docking port. With the capsule verified to be in working order, the crew set about a three-day flight plan to test Shuguang-B’s new systems. The flight plan was packed with small burns to test the translational thrusters’ ability to alter Shuguang’s orbit, and monitoring these maneuvers with the capsule’s onboard computers, comparing the specialized system’s ability to track their movements and compute orbital adjustments. Considering the risk inherent in the return to flight, flight planners were in no hurry to take excessive risk, so Shuguang 6 was left as a simple orbital test, without even pushing the limits of the capsule’s endurance--now increased to up to seven days on just internal supplies.

A more serious test of Shuguang-B’s capabilities had to wait an additional three months. In May 1977, Shuguang 7’s crew spent a week on orbit, testing the capsule’s endurance and using their capsule’s thrusters to repeatedly maneuver away from and then chase down their spent second stage, then conducted rendezvous and proximity operations with it. Key among these proximity maneuvers was the “turnover”. The rendezvous radar on Shuguang was located forward, to enable to pilot to fly the main approach looking visually at the approaching target out his viewport. However, during final docking approach to a station, the capsule would have to flip over to present its rear-facing docking port, with the pilot then flying off a secondary, short-range radar and visual instructions relayed from his co-pilot, who would have his faceplate pressed to the window in the docking hatch and his feet sticking back through the tunnel into the main cockpit. With this maneuver so vital, demonstrating it was a critical part of Shuguang 7’s flight plan. Unfortunately, the reality turned out to be more difficult than in simulators: the crew made four attempted approaches to within meters of their depleted (and safed) second stage, but only one could truly be considered “successful,” with the others failing in one way or another, due to balky computers, issues with the short-term final approach radar, and communication between the pilot and the directing co-pilot. Still, one success was better than none, and Shuguang 7’s experience was valuable insight to prepare for the real thing.

As the capsule half of the Tiangong station program proceeded through its debut and testing, the actual station portion of the project had also been working through its own development. Finally, in July 1977, the maiden Tianjia module was ready to fly to orbit. To manage expectations, the leadership of the Chinese space program referred to the launch as an engineering qualification flight, just as Shuguang-A and B had debuted with unmanned tests. The module was hardly impressive as it made its way to be mounted to the booster: a stubby cylinder three meters in diameter and only five meters long, with its forward end bearing the large two meter diameter docking system and the docking hatch and its aft end housing a ring of attitude control thrusters, batteries, and communications systems. On each side, folded solar arrays were mounted to stretch the life which could be packed into the batteries and still stay within the 3.5 ton limit of the Long March 2C. Even this size of module (or perhaps particularly this size of module) had proven a challenge to the Chinese engineers, given the complexity of the long-duration life support systems, automated computers, and other systems which had to be packed within the tight mass and volume limits. After all, with a volume less than 35 cubic meters, Tianjia was barely more than a third the size of the Soviet Salyuts and a ninth the size of the American Skylab [1].

Unfortunately, comparisons to Skylab would prove somewhat prophetic, and the decision to characterize the flight as an engineering development mission would prove wise. When Tianjia-1 reached orbit, a failure occurred in the deployment of its solar panels. This left the tiny station with only its onboard batteries for power, which were designed to last little more than two days to supplement the solar arrays in a nominal mission. Through feats of operational brilliance worthy of the Hanukkah story, the Chinese managed to conserve enough power to stretch the station’s life to more than a week. This was only enough to enable the station’s basic functionality and space-worthiness to be confirmed, but little more. As Tianjia-1 finally ran out of power and shut down in orbit, it seemed as though the return of the Chinese space program and their space station dreams might end as they had barely begun...

[1] So you couldn't even outright steal, you had to fiddle with it? Yeah, I decided to have the Chinese focus on something between the “one-room” and “two-room” module size from the original American concepts I’m basing this on. I figured that the increased hull for volume costs little more mass (compare hypergolic prop tankage, and the fact that both the "one room" and "two room" versions were supposed to fit in a 3.5 ton Titan II launch. Moreover, I figure any station-dweller would much rather have the extra few cubic meters it than lack them. It might be funnier to cram two astronauts into a space about the size of a shower stall for weeks, but I think I can have the Chinese go for the deluxe option of stuffing two astronauts into a space the size of the entire bathroom.

 

[e of pi]

Two major failures in four missions...the Chinese are in a tight spot. They'll just have to hope they can can be fortunate enough to pull this out...

Part 8: Lucky Number Eight

The failure of Tianjia-1’s solar arrays to deploy had spelled a decisive early end to the mission, making it only partially successful in its role of proving the module’s functionality. With the memories of Shuguang 5 all-too-fresh, engineers set to work investigating. Even more relevant than the technical lessons learned on Shuguang 5 were fresh threats from party leadership. If results from their “light hand” on Shuguang 5’s investigation could not be demonstrated, it might be necessary to conduct a more thorough search for bastions of saboteurs or counter-revolutionary thought within the program. The failure of Tianjia-1 seemed to pose just such a precedent and many in the program feared the consequences. Salvaging the program would take bold action--though action which was careful not to exceed the limits of caution taught at such cost by the post-flight investigation of the actual causes of Shuguang 5’s loss. What was necessary was a way to investigate the station’s condition and reasons for its failure in order to ensure that Tianjia-2 (officially planned as the first manned station mission) could proceed on the schedule demanded by their political masters.

Fortunately, the Chinese space program already possessed a perfect tool for this key task: the Shuguang 8 mission. Planned for September, the mission was officially manifested as a repeat of the Shuguang 7 flight plan, incorporating improved procedures and equipment. The crew were training to spend a week in space practicing improved rendezvous, turnover, and docking techniques with their second stage. However, this was also a cover story for a contingency plan, just as Tianjia-1 was officially an engineering demonstration. If Tianjia-1’s qualification had been particularly successful, Shuguang 8 had been planned to be able to convert to an actual rendezvous and docking with the station module as a target. Obviously the failure of the station’s power systems left this impossible--with the station’s loss of power came a loss of attitude control, and actually docking to the station’s port would be more challenging than Chinese program directors were willing to risk. However, they were able to present an alternative use of Shuguang 8 which would answer the problems raised by Tianjia-1: using Shuguang 8 to approach and conduct a close survey of the disabled modules. Depending on the condition of the station, this could include a variety of inspections, including close range photography and perhaps even an EVA to determine the precise cause of the failure of the station’s solar arrays. The alternate mission plan was approved, spun politically as a creative use of China’s space capabilities--much as the space program represented the nation’s burgeoning industrial power.

Due to the last-minute replanning of the mission, Shuguang 8’s flight was delayed by several weeks to allow some necessary re-training and to enable the mission designers to develop and fit a variety of small cameras and other inspection gear into the capsule’s payload. Finally, on September 26, 1977, the Shuguang 8 crew lifted off for orbit on their Long March 2C rocket. The ascent was nominal, the Shuguang-B capsule performed to spec, and the crew set to the business of chasing down the derelict Tianjia-1 module. The approach was the first Chinese attempt at rendezvous between two spacecraft launched separately, and the resulting maneuvers took the better part of three days out of a nominal mission duration of a week. However, at long last, the Shuguang radar was able to detect Tianjia-1’s signature as they made rendezvous, and as the crew worked to close the intercept, they were shortly able to visually confirm the module ahead--one barely larger than their own spacecraft but so key to China’s station ambitions. The crew made their approach according to a careful plan, largely copied from the cautious approach planned to be used on a mostly-safed second stage in their original mission plan. The capsule would creep closer to the derelict station then hold its distance at regular intervals, flying formation as the crew recorded their observations through a telescope, took images, and conferred with ground control.

Even from several kilometers out, the issues could be clearly seen: contrary to the worry of many of the engineers on the ground, the solar array could be seen, presenting a somewhat birdlike silhouette to the approaching crew of Shuguang 8. However, it was a skeletal, injured bird as the arrays were ragged and torn--clearly the reason neither had been capable of generating its designed power load. As the crew closed over a period of hours to with a few hundred meters, the situation became more clear. The arrays had clearly fouled somehow on deployment--their covers were still partially in place, and had torn at the array’s surface and bent the ribs, resulting in a failed deployment. Finally, the crew of Shuguang 8 moved in close, making a face-forwards approach to allow both crew to stay in their seats and look out their viewports. They recorded roll after roll of photographs, short video, and their own observations over the radio as they floated just off the small station’s side. Tianjia had picked up a slow end-over-end roll, so tentative (and somewhat dangerous) plans for EVA to the station to extend the wings or to attempt to dock were scrapped. However, over the remaining days of the mission, the two Chinese spacecraft flew in formation, with the Shuguang 8 crew conducting three more approaches, this time including practicing with the revised “turnover” docking approach. The upgraded radar functioned correctly, and with better experience the crew were able to successfully carry each attempt to within a few dozen meters of the derelict station.

Shuguang 8 is quite correctly considered one of the most important missions in the history of the Chinese program. Thanks to the lessons learned on Shuguang 7, the crew were able to fully demonstrate an entire rendezvous and approach, even though Tianjia-1 was unable to hold its attitude. The observations and striking photographs taken by the crew, combined with the analysis during the week-long struggle to keep the station alive on its batteries alone, were able to be combined with a ground investigation to determine the cause of the failure: while the motors used for the fairing separation and array deployment had been tested under extreme thermal limits, they had not been vacuum tested under those same limits, and the result of the cold soak of orbital night had been to cause them to freeze in place half-deployed. The system was re-engineered and re-tested, and preparations began for the launch of an improved, operational station module early the next year. The mission also drew international attention, with many in the American and Soviet programs following the drama of the struggle to keep the station alive, then the inspection flight by Shuguang 8. Though the station was small, NASA and Russian engineers admired the skill of their fellow astronautical engineers and flight directors. For the USAF, though, there was also another note: the flight demonstrated a Chinese ability to approach and work around “uncooperative” satellites. While Tianjia-1 was Chinese-built, the flight of Shuguang 8 put many in mind of flights discussed as possible applications of Blue Gemini or the military potential of the Space Shuttle Orbiter. The potential required careful thought.

 

[e of pi]

So, Shuguang 8's inspection flight of the damaged Tianjia demonstrator behind them, surely the worst issues with China's mini-stations are behind them. Will Tianjia, in fact, work? Find out...now!

Part 9: Dragon’s Lair

Even with the information brought by Shuguang 8’s close inspection and the results of ground investigations, the recovery from Tianjia-1’s failure took another six months. Corrections were made to the function of the solar array deployment mechanisms, and the modifications were then subjected to extensive testing on the ground. Although the Central Committee were eager for the first official Chinese space station, they were willing to tolerate a certain delay to ensure a success on the first attempt, given the political value based on the space program as a symbol of rising Chinese power. Finally, in March 1978, the Tianjia-2 module was launched to orbit on top of a Long March 2C booster. To the relief of flight directors, the station’s modified solar arrays deployed without problems. The station was checked out from the ground over the subsequent week and verified to be in full working order. Tianjia-2 was officially renamed Tiangong-1 (“heavenly palace”), and preparations proceeded for the launch of its two-man crew aboard the Shuguang 9 capsule. That launch followed to the station in April, and the flight of the two astronauts to their home-away-from-home in space benefited from the practice on Shuguang 7 and 8. Shuguang 9’s crew were able to make their rendezvous without incident, and then proceeded to conduct the first Chinese docking. After securing with a hard dock, the astronauts opened the hatch and began the Tiangong-1 mission. Over the next fifteen days, the crew twice undocked and redocked to the station, conducted biological experiments monitoring their own health, and more than doubled the longest previous Chinese spaceflight, although the combined station was of smaller dimensions than the Apollo capsules which had carried Americans to the moon. [1]

After more than two weeks in space, Shuguang 9’s crew were pleased to finally leave the cramped station behind and return to Earth. Once the capsule had departed, the station was remotely commanded to use its small attitude jets to drop its orbit into the atmosphere--the tiny early Tianjia modules weren’t designed to be resupplied, largely because Shuguang-B had no margin for carrying logistics mass up. Thus, after each Tiangong crew completed their mission to a Tianjia, the module was retired in fiery plumes over the Indian Ocean. China’s next space station mission, Tiangong 2, would see the launch of Tianjia-3 and Shuguang 10 in November 1978 specifically for the mission. The mission began much like Tiangong 1: Tianjia-3 launched first and was checked out remotely before Shuguang 10 followed the next day. The crew spent their first day on orbit catching up to the station. Once they had chased down Tianjia-3, Shuguang 10 docked to the station, complicated only slightly by a temporary issue with their approach radar following turnover. Once Tiangong 2 was assembled, the crew settled down to their primary mission: spending 30 days aboard the tiny station. To aid in this, the station was loaded with more consumables than aboard Tiangong 1, as well as a larger loadout of scientific equipments. Admittedly, carrying less scientific equipment than the loadout on the 15-day Tiangong 1 would have been challenging, but the net result was that even more of the module’s precious volume was consumed by gear and equipment. Fortunately, the crew had some respite: the cramped confines of their own capsule, which offered a small “second room”. However, it was still a relief to leave the station behind and return back to Earth after a month in space.

The next Chinese station mission stretched the limits of the Tiangong system still further: Tianjia-4 and Shuguang 11 launched to orbit in April of 1979. The Tiangong 3 mission was aimed to double Tiangong 2, just as Tiangong 2 had doubled the two week duration of Tiangong 1, with a planned length of two months. It was also to add new Earth-observing equipment to the station’s confines, enhancing the scientific capacity of the crew. Unfortunately, the Chinese would be forced to report in late May that the mission had encountered a failure in its power and thermal control systems and that the crew had been forced to abort the mission early on Day 44. In fact, this was technically correct, though the whole truth was much juicier and would eventually work its way out as rumor and myth through the space community, first in person and then on the internet. With the added provisions and scientific equipment for their extended mission combined with the existing life support and computer systems of the Tianjia module, less than half the original volume of the module had been left as clear space for the crew. The two astronauts had spent the mission almost literally living in each other’s laps, and while switching off spending time in the capsule’s cockpit could help, frustrations had built up. Worse, the station’s radiator loops had encountered repeated issues, believed to be due to faulty valves, and the crew had been required to spend substantial portions of their planned rest periods diagnosing and attempting to fix transient issues with the station’s thermal control that had sent internal temperatures skyrocketing to nearly 40 C, then plummeting to nearly freezing. However, it wasn’t exactly an equipment failure that ended the mission.

After more than a week of sleeplessness and discomfort, tensions in the tin can of a space station had risen to dangerous levels. Attempts by ground control to resolve the situation had been stymied by the ongoing issues with the thermal control system and political pressure to complete the goal mission--or at least a minimum of 45 days. After almost a month and a half aboard a potentially failing station, alternately sweating and shivering, the co-pilot (serving as flight engineer) had begun to argue heavily for aborting the mission at the 45 day mark, while the commander had pushed to follow the flight directions and stick out another week or so--after all, they had already endured a month under the circumstances, and it wasn’t getting any worse. Fraying tempers had finally stretched, and disagreements between the two astronauts had turned into arguments, which had then escalated to shouting matches. Finally, in the climax of an argument aboard the once-again-sweltering station, the commander struck the flight engineer. The blow unintentionally drove the co-pilot against a pipe fitting on the wall of the station, and tore a gash in his cheek. Contrary to rumors in subsequent decades, the “fight” didn’t further escalate--it ended with the first punch. In fact, the injuries to the co-pilot essentially settled the issue: the commander conducted first aid on the injury and the crew made an emergency return to China for medical treatment. The actual cause of the failure was largely successfully covered up, but there were a few major results: neither astronauts would fly to space again, mission rules would be re-examined, and extended duration Tianjia flights would be curtailed until the debut of Long March 2D with its expanded payload and the associated stretched Tianjia-B space station module. Nevertheless, the incident would persists as one of spaceflight’s infamous legends.

[1] For clarity, that means just the exterior dimensions. The Apollo capsule, of course, had a bunch of propellant and systems in the SM where Tianjia has the actual station. Of course, on the same note, Shuttle's crew cabin alone is about 74 cubic meters--about double Tianjia-A.

 

[e of pi]

So, speaking of the Long March 2D and what the Chinese are planning with it...how about that Long March 2D and what the Chinese plan to do with it? Also, what's up anyplace other than China as we enter the 80s? Find out in...

Part 10: The Next Generation

The issues encountered by Tiangong 3's crew, both technical and interpersonal, were a dramatic illustration of the limits encountered by China's program at the end of the 1970s. The issues with the station's thermal control systems was eventually attributed in the official post-flight report to likely foreign object debris in the coolant lines causing intermittent blockages and system failures--illustrative of the quality control issues that China's industrial base and the space program in particular continued to struggle with. The fistfight with injury that finally ended the mission was perhaps most attributable to the strain placed on China's astronaut corps by the tiny spacecraft and station modules that could be launched within the Long March 2C's 3.5 ton limits and the continuing demand by Chinese political leadership for new space successes. With Tiangong 3, those limits had simply been pushed too far. Though the results were less deadly--the injured co-pilot of Shuguang 11 would recover once treated on the ground--the incident was as much of a wake-up call as Shuguang 5's loss.

However, while Tiangong 3 was a clear lesson about the limits of China's capabilities using the Long March 2C, the state of international spaceflight had changed dramatically since China had surprised the world with their first manned Shuguang flight in 1973. The European Space Agency had flown their maiden Ariane 1 rocket in 1979, with a payload capacity almost 50% larger than the Long March 2C. Worse, thanks to the stubborn refusal of the French to be shown up in space the fledgling agency was also in the process of final suborbital tests on their Hermes capsule, with manned flight planned in 1981 or 1982. With a larger, more capable capsule in operation, their burgeoning and successful probe program inherited from ESRO, and their work with the United States on potential manned stations, the ESA threatened to challenge China for the position of "third manned space program" which their engineers had worked so hard in the last decade to achieve.

The European program and their Ariane 1 was hardly the only new booster of note. The Japanese had introduced their N-I rocket (a license-built derivative of the American Thor/Delta family) in 1975, and an enhanced version, the N-II, was planned for a maiden launch in 1981. With a capacity of only 2 tons, the N-II was still relatively small and the Japanese had no immediate plans for a manned program, but the Chinese couldn't write them off as potential competition--they recalled all too well how their own program had been underestimated by both East and West.

While other nations were rapidly developing their own native launch capacity to the point that they might be capable of matching or exceeding the Chinese program, the two superpowers were changing the rules of the game at the highest levels. The Soviets had been pushing the boundaries of long-duration space stations with their ongoing Salyut series. Launched on the Proton rocket, each station was more than three times the size of the Chinese Tianjia-A modules, and the Soviets were using their Soyuz and Progress spacecraft to fly longer missions with more scientific capability than China could match. Their introduction of automated logistics resupply on Salyut 6 was also a major step forward, expanding the service life of a station from that enabled by supplies launched aboard to however long it was useful to keep supplied. The Soviets were also moving forward on trying to design their own reusable winged booster to match the American’s development of their Space Shuttle and STS.

The Americans, of course, were consumed with the work of their new Shuttle. A full-scale mockup of the orbiter, Enterprise, had debuted in the 1977 Approach and Landing tests. The first true orbiter, Columbia, was under construction at Rockwell’s facility in Palmdale, California. The advanced technologies involved in the design of the orbiter had encountered issues, primarily with the staged-combustion Space Shuttle Main Engine and with the orbiter’s thermal protection system. As a result, the debut flight was rapidly slipping from the end of the 1970s and into the early 80s. In spite of these issues with the Shuttle itself, however, work on missions to use Shuttle were underway, including the Hubble Space Telescope, the Galileo probe to Jupiter, and the joint ESA/NASA “Spacelab” system. These were all designed to make good use of the Shuttle’s long flight duration, large cargo bay, and relatively large payload capacity. Studies for using the Shuttle in the launch and assembly of space stations or maintenance of satellites were also in progress. The first nation to land on the moon wasn’t currently flying their own crews, but they were making rapid progress on what they saw as the future of spaceflight.

Fortunately, the Chinese had several new tools of their own coming in the new decade to keep up with the superpowers and outpace competitors like Europe and Japan. First was their new Long March 2D, consisting of a modified Long March 2C core with four liquid-fueled boosters. With its payload of nine metric tons almost tripling Chinese launch capacity, the booster's purpose was twofold. In addition to increasing capacity for geostationary satellites, it would also enable a new generation of Chinese manned space vehicles. First was Tianjia-B, a stretched Tianjia-A with more than double the volume. In addition to this enhanced capability to mount scientific instruments and crew fittings, Tianjia-B was also designed with resupply capability and two additional radial docking ports to enable visiting vehicles and multi-module stations. To complement this capacity, they were also working on a new variant on the venerable Shuguang capsule. The Shuguang-C was a major increase in the capsule's capabilities, taking up a full Long March 2D. Shuguang-C required less development than this mass increase suggested, as it was to consist of a standard Shuguang-B capsule mounted in front of a Tianjia-based cargo/logistics module, allowing it to serve either as a resupply vehicle with a logistics payload of two tons, or as a tug to deliver a Tianjia-based module to expand an existing station. The maiden launch of the Long March 2D in 1980 was thus the starting gun for a new era of Chinese development of spaceflight, just as the global pace of space development ticked upward.

 

[e of pi]

Well, I hate to double-post, but I hope you'll forgive the break in netiquette as I post a more detailed discussion of how Long March 2D's introduction goes and how it (and the next generation of Chinese spacecraft) get put to use!

Part 11: Putting the Pieces Together

The introduction of the Long March 2D heavy lift vehicle opened up a new era for the Chinese space program. Although justified partially by enabling larger and more capable military and communications satellites, it would take some time before new satellite buses would emerge to fill the vehicle's 3.5-ton payload to geostationary transfer orbit. The primary purpose of the boosted rocket was and would remain supporting the politically-valuable manned space program. The new booster made its debut in the spring of 1980 carrying a 3.5 ton mass simulator to GTO, followed in late fall of the same year by a similar flight with an unmanned Shuguang-C to LEO. Satisfied with the rocket's performance, Chinese program directors set April 1981 as the date for the first Chinese manned launch in two years, ending the gap that began with Tiangong 3 in 1979.

Shuguang 12 would see the debut of the new Shuguang-C cargo vehicle. Though both the Shuguang-A and Shuguang-B had seen multiple unmanned orbital and suborbital flights before their introduction, the decision was made to qualify the Shuguang-C based on its single unmanned flight. Part of this was related to the design. Unlike the change from Shuguang-A to Shuguang-B, Shuguang-C involved almost no modifications to the all-important command module, and the cargo pod aft was modified Tianjia-A station module. Though many systems changed, the core vehicle was much less seriously altered, particularly those systems which were critical to a successful manned mission. With ground testing prior to Long March 2D's qualification to prove the modifications, Chinese program directors decided to take the risk and proceed to fly the mission manned. However, the debut flight of the new capsule wouldn't be smooth sailing. During the first launch attempt in April, the number 3 booster's engine failed to ignite correctly, and the flight had to be aborted. Worse, the failure in the engine caused enough issues to require the engine itself to be replaced, requiring the booster to be removed from the stack and service. The flight had to be delayed into June. [1]

The second Shuguang 12 launch campaign went much more smoothly. The rocket lifted off the pad on June 11, 1981 and muscled its way towards space on the power of its outboard boosters. Just over two minutes into the flight, the boosters depleted themselves, shutting down and separating cleanly as the Shuguang 12 crew verified all was well in the cabin. With the heavier payload and stretched upper stage of the new rocket, the legendarily-high thrust-to-weight ratio of the Long March 2A and 2C was finally reduced. The rocket barely broke four gees before the core burnt out, and the second stage flight was limited to four gees prior to switching to its terminal vernier burn. Though nearly the maximum accepted by NASA or ESA, this was still less than the acceleration experienced by astronauts riding Shuguang-B on Long March 2C. Indeed, once reaching orbit, Shuguang-C's crew joked about riding "an old man's rocket" as they went about checking the ship's functionality [2].

The Shuguang command capsule lived up to its pedigree, showing no significant issues. Thus, the main question was the integrity and functionality of the Tianjia-derived cargo pod. The crew verified that the pod's life support systems were functional, then opened the hatch into the volume. There, they inspected several key features: the new aft docking ring on the end of the cargo pod, the mechanical and electrical linkages to the command pod, and the new aft control station. Unlike Shuguang-B, Shuguang-C's cargo pod carried a fully duplicated set of remote controls for the capsule mounted at the aft end of the cargo pod, enabling the spacecraft to be flown through final approach by a pilot with direct view of the docking target. The Shuguang 12 crew tested all of these systems, putting the spacecraft through its paces over two weeks of flying, making several orbital adjustments and practicing rendezvous procedures without a target. The spacecraft performed flawlessly in every respect.

With the Shuguang-C logistics vehicle proven, the next generation of Chinese stations only awaited the first test of Tianjia-B. Due to resolution of the issues which had delayed Shuguang 12, the first flight of the stretched station was pushed back into October. Much as with Tianjia-A, the first launch of Tianjia-B was officially designated an engineering test to protect against the political repercussions of a failed station launch. However, this time the caution proved unnecessary: Tianjia-B1 deployed successfully on orbit, and was duly rechristened Tiangong 4. The Shuguang 13 crew rode to orbit in a Shuguang-B later the same month to commission the station.

Upon their arrival on-station, the two astronauts began a two month mission to check out Tiangong 4, powering on and testing systems throughout the space station. Tiangong 4's size left it much more complex than past Tianjia-A stations. For the first time on a Chinese station, Tiangong 4 included separate operational and habitation facilities. In addition to two small sleep stations, the habitation section included the first Chinese "space toilet," a change which was much appreciated by the crew compared to the far more primitive options available in Tianjia-A modules. The two astronauts also tested the station's "mooring arm," a small mechanical crane mounted at the forward end of the station which could grapple visiting spacecraft or modules at the axial port and move them to one of the two radial ports. The crew tested this functionality by grabbing their own Shuguang capsule and rotating it to mount to the station's zenith port. Although primarily an engineering development mission, the Shuguang 13 mission to Tiangong 4 was also a scientifically productive flight, enabled mostly by the longer duration and the enhanced equipment on board the larger station. Still, after two month in space, the astronauts were glad to return home to Earth in December. However, this time the station was not de-orbited behind them, but rather left behind for the next visitors.

The Shuguang 14 crew made the first operational flight of the Shuguang-C to the station in February 1982, carrying a resupply module to top off the station's consumables. Marking the first time two Chinese crews had visited the same space station, Shuguang 14 also set the stage for more and longer future visits to Tiangong 4, spending four months aboard the station. At the end of their mission, they conducted a direct handoff to the Shuguang 15 crew in June 1982, another step forward for the program. Arriving aboard another Shuguang-C in June, Shuguang 15 brought not supplies but a new addition to the station. The new Tianjia-A module, which was moved to the station's nadir, was fitted as a space laboratory with its own small airlock and several additional portholes. With these facilities and added equipment space, the module greatly expanded the station’s meager scientific capabilities. After the departure of Shuguang 14, the Shuguang 15 crew spent a full half year, departing in December of 1982. With the establishment of a large, semi-permanent modular station, the Chinese were arguably approaching the capabilities of the Soviet Union. However, with an eye in the rear-view mirror and their own limited capabilities, the Chinese were planning a more dramatic move to continue their program's development.

[1] Stealing the Optum-B1 issue? Yeah. What're you going to do about it?

[2] Well, since I’m apparently not allowed to poke holes in the politics, I’ll just critique the jokes: this was funnier when Long March 2 pulled 13 Gs and Long March 2C pulled 11. You’re complaining because it got more accurate? New for you. Anyway, blame Shevek23 for catching that error. Me, I’ll thank him.

 

[e of pi]

Well, there was a lot of discussion on this post, to which I'll try to reply tomorrow. In the meantime, here's the globe-spanning update I promised--one which hits a bit on some of the pressures China is under to which others have alluded here.

Part 12: Moving the Goalposts

The success of Tiangong 4 and the introduction of Shuguang-C posed a strange problem for the Chinese space program. The station with its Tianjia-A lab module and the Tianjia-B core module provided a volume of over a hundred cubic meters, massing 13 tons. During the opening months of 1983 between the launch of the Soviet space station Salyut 7 to replace its sister Salyut 6 and the addition of the TKS-based Kosmos 1452 in June to Salyut 7, Tiangong 4 was actually the largest space station on orbit by volume if by nothing else, the Chinese having briefly matched at least one of the superpowers. Unfortunately, China’s relatively small heavy lifters meant that it was limited in larger stations, and the program had achieved many of its propaganda successes to date by working as a “fast follower” behind the super powers. Shrewdly calculated engineering and program goals had been necessary to enable past successes within limited overall costs and launch vehicle limits. However, the series of escalating space successes demanded by the country’s political leadership to maintain space dominance over other second tier powers like Europe or Japan had finally driven China to momentarily exceed one of the superpowers--a precedent the political leadership were already expecting to be maintained and furthered.

The successes of Tiagong 4 in matching the Soviets were--as noted--highly transient. When the Kosmos 1452 module joined Salyut 7, the Soviet station regained its place as the largest station on orbit, and the chance had only ever been open due to Soviet prioritization of the development of Buran to match the Americans over the construction of their larger, permanent modular station Mir. At almost a hundred tons, Mir would out-mass Tiangong 4 by a factor of ten and carry a crew of three if the Soviet engineers could meet their planned 1986 launch date. With the limited assembly experience and lifting capacity of their vehicles, this was something the Chinese could not directly match. The Americans, for their part, were ramping up their flight rate on Shuttle, with promise of their own large payloads and stations. The result was that though the Chinese had briefly caught up with the superpowers in the field of space stations, their fortunes were likely to rapidly turn in spite of demands otherwise from the party elite. This was certainly the case as long as such demands came paired with only minor increases in budget, as opposed to the doubling or tripling which the engineers felt was necessary. While the program was politically valuable, there were limits on what that value could secure when laid against the nation’s internal development and the armed forces.

Unfortunately, while the Chinese space program was wrestling with how to work back to their old status of “plucky underdog in third place,” other second tier programs were changing the game from below. When Shuguang had made its debut, it had been the only such system not developed by the two superpowers, and thus impressive for its mere existence. However, the European and Japanese programs had developed rapidly over the past decade. Possessing a more prosperous industrial technical base and less politically-driven goals for their programs, both had options of which the Chinese could only dream. The European Ariane 1 was able to carry small payloads to geostationary orbit for less cost than the American Space Shuttle, which was by law the main launch vehicle available for non-military payloads in the United States. With this, it had begun to develop a niche in commercial satellite launches, carrying payloads on the order of a ton or two for Intelsat and other firms in addition to ESA institutional payloads. Of course, with the first orbital flights of their Hermes capsule in 1982, there was no shortage of such payloads.

ESA’s position was such that it was rapidly catching up to where the Chinese had been just a half-decade before, and the Europeans were developing their own future plans. In addition to their ongoing work in preparing the “Spacelab” modules, designed to turn the Space Shuttle into a sort of miniature space station, ESA was in talks with NASA to use the Space Shuttle for other purposes. Chief among these was the launch of some ESA-built modules to the planned American Space Station Freedom, the still-nebulously defined modular station authorized late in President Carter’s term largely in reaction to China’s Tiangong 1 and 2 missions. In exchange for re-engineering Hermes as a lifeboat for this station, these large module launches would enable European long-duration missions to a much more capable facility than the Chinese could currently manage or than Europe could launch themselves (a proposal ESA has themselves examined). Europe’s addition to the American station project was a major benefit of their close relationships with one of the superpower--a relation China lacked. Moreover, European nations were already in the process of upgrading their Ariane family to be capable of launching nearly the same size payloads as China’s new Long March 2D [1] These advances were made possible by Europes larger economy and industrial base and by drawing on the rich aerospace background of ESA’s members. Included once again among these members was Britain, which had made a belated return to the pan-European space program. Prime Minister Thatcher sought to boost the nation’s global standing and internal pride, which Ariane and Hermes’ success and potential future applications promised--a contrast to the legacy of ELDO and Europa.

With their booming economy in full swing, the Japanese program was also rapidly evolving along the trail China had blazed. By 1983, they were in the final stages of developing their new H-I rocket, another variant in their family of vehicles based on license-built versions of the American Thor, this time with entirely Japanese-native upper stages. The new vehicle would boast a payload of more than three tons, and their next development project was already planned to be a native-built set of lower stages, which would together be capable of launching their own Shuguang or Hermes-equivalent--a thought which had not entirely vanished from Japanese space planning in the years Shuguang had been flying. The Chinese program of small rockets, small LEO manned capsules, and small orbital stations was no longer a viable option if they wanted to stay ahead of where Japan and Europe were aiming.

Worse, while Japan and Europe were muscling up from behind in the realm of launch vehicles and manned spacecraft, they were both poised for a major step forward in the field of unmanned vehicles. This was a realm China had largely ignored other than the immediately practical realm of intelligence-gathering satellites, communications relays, and weather monitoring platforms, but both Japan and Europe had developed a variety of purely-scientific Earth orbital space probes and had years of experience in operating them. Now, with the imminent return of Halley’s Comet, both nations were preparing spacecraft to join the “Halley Armada”. This collection of two Russian spacecraft, a NASA probe and observations from their Hubble Space Telescope with the European Giotto probe, and a pair of small spacecraft from Japan were to be operated in coordination with data shared to secure the best possible observations of the comet from all the spacecraft. It was one of the most obvious examples of scientific cooperation in spaceflight even in the height of the Cold War, but the putative “third space power” was left out. Consumed by their manned program, the Chinese had no base of probes to draw on, and it seemed as though either Japan or Europe would secure the honor of the first non-superpower probe beyond LEO as the clock counted down to the optimal 1985 launch windows for flybys of the comet.

[1] Silverbird gives 8.2 metric tons to a Freedom-style LEO from Kourou with the Ariane 44L with the H10-3 and a short fairing. Using the dual-engine version should boost that a bit more, and then of course there’s talks of an Ariane 5 with either more stretch or a whole new LV...

 

[e of pi]

Well, there's been a lot of interesting speculation on what the Chinese might do next, so it's about time they get on with taking...

Part 13: A Great Leap Further

In response to the growing threat of ESA or Japan’s space program replacing them as the natural “plucky underdogs” in the development of spaceflight and their inability to complete with the superpowers in terms of per-launch lift to LEO, the Chinese took a bold step in their space program. Until 1983, the path of their space program had largely been set by plans made in the mid-60s for Shuguang-A, Shuguang-B, and Tianjia-A using the Long March 2A and 2C rockets, and then the refreshed plans in the mid-1970s for the Long March 2D and the Shuguang-C and Tianjia-B that it had enabled. Now, in 1984, it was clear to the leadership of China’s space program that their current status challenging the superpowers was untenable without a new plan for the next decade, one calculated as carefully as ever to achieve low-hanging fruit in spaceflight when real progress was much more challenging, ideally without promoting competition from either the superpowers or the other second tier programs which China couldn’t hope for match.

Complicating these plans was the fact that efforts to secure funding for a larger booster had been met with profound skepticism by party leadership, and thus China’s program would remain limited by the 3.5 ton LEO payload of the Long March 2C and the nine tons of the Long March 2D. However, designers did note several facts about their their vehicles and industrial base, apparent weaknesses which could be turned into strengths. FIrst, the Chinese had (of necessity) become experts at squeezing payloads into tight mass margins, even for Earth-orbital operations. Shuguang-B was a very capable capsule for its 3.5 tons of launch mass, and the original Shuguang-A had, astonishingly, been lighter by more than a ton, enabled by razor thin propellant and consumables margin and a bare minimum of systems. Their unmanned FSW spysat capsules and Tianjia-A and B stations were similar marvels of lightweight, minimalistic engineering. By sheer coincidence, the capability of the Long March 2D to near-Earth-escape was roughly the same as the Long March 2C’s payload to LEO--the same weight FSW and Shuguang-B were designed to fit. Though China was unready to match the long-duration, science-heavy missions others had planned, it was possible to achieve goals a bit closer to home with the tools they had in hand.

Additional potential came with the introduction of modular assembly on Tiangong 4 and the demonstration of propellant and consumables transfer from Shuguang-C logistics spacecraft to the core station, showing that it was possible to no longer depend on a single launch to place a spacecraft on orbit. Better yet, the large diameter of Shuguang’s aft docking port--initially selected to roughly match the capsule’s aft bulkhead--also gave the docking port more structural rigidity and compressive strength than the American or Soviet probe-and-drogue systems. Another example of a disadvantage turned to an advantage came in the field of vehicle propellants. Unlike the superpowers, who were increasingly looking to the improved performance of cryogenic and semi-cryogenic propellants for their main rockets, the Chinese vehicles all flew on various mixtures of hypergolic propellants. Though this limited their performance and restricted ground handling, it also meant that the propellants were effectively indefinitely storable in space, easy to restart, and easily transferred with the same types of pumps used for the Tiangong 4 stack’s internal propellant transfer lines. Potentially, this meant existing Chinese upper stages could be modified with computer control systems and orbital maneuvering systems to turn them into tugs, tankers, and depots built on essentially unmodified production lines.

These combinations suggested interesting potential to the heads of the Chinese space program, who brought their plans to the country’s leaders. They proposed that with only minimal increases in development spending and an increased flight rate, it might be possible to achieve a variety of bold goals, all in service of a Chinese lunar mission before the new millennium, hopefully staged in such a way as to avoid an immediate ability by the superpowers to respond. The low cost and high reward met a more favorable reaction from the political leadership than far more expensive plans for vast new rockets or high-tech reusable vehicles, and the plans were approved with a great deal of secrecy. Though designed as incremental pieces, development for the Chinese lunar plans was staged under tight scrutiny and tended to be announced with, effectively, “cover stories” to attempt to limit the overall scope of the program from being realized until the time was (hopefully) too late for the superpowers to react.

The first and most slap-dash of the new program’s goals was simple: seize the title of the third nation to send a probe beyond Earth orbit before the 1985 launch of the European and Japanese Halley Probes. In order to do so, a modified FSW bus would be sent on a purely ballistic free-return trajectory around the moon at the earliest opportunity. The scientific results would be slim--the main instruments would be optical telescopes and cameras to record images of the lunar surface as the probe swung around the back of the moon to return to Earth. This brought its own benefits, though: the FSW would only require modifications to its heat shield to enable it to handle the increased load of an additional three kilometers per second of entry velocity and changes to its communications systems to communicate to controllers on the ground. Even as crews continued to fly to Tiangong 4 and new projects were beginning for more ambitious and scientifically meaningful missions, a secret crash program began in 1982 to modify an FSW for a lunar flight within 24 months. The new Chang’e probe bus received its first test in August 1984. To disguise the test’s nature, the Chinese deliberately programmed a course into the upper stage of a Long March 2D differing only enough from their standard GTO to send the Chang’e test vehicle plunging into the atmosphere over China on its first perigee. Thus, the successful test of the probe’s modified heat shield appeared to be a failed attempt to launch a GTO-bound payload.

With Chang’e tested and the Japanese gearing up for the January 1985 launch window for their first Halley probe, the Chinese once again stole the spotlight for themselves in December 1984. Again a Long March 2D launched carrying a Chang’e probe, but this time directly onto a free-return trajectory. After the launch was confirmed to be successful, the Chinese were quick to report their success in looping a probe around the moon. The FSW-derived bus performed nominally, using a modified optics train to record some of the best images ever of the lunar farside as it swept around the back side of the moon. The probe survived its high-speed return to Earth, bringing home its scientific payload. The general analysis from other agencies was that Chang’e 1 was a stunt merely trying to seize a quick record and unlikely to be repeated. The former was correct, the latter was not. Chang’e 1 was only the beginning.

 

[e of pi]

Well, you've all patiently waited *checks* two days, so here's the next part, as the Chinese lay out their plans for how to stay ahead of the rest of the second tier space powers--without spurring a new space race they'd only be overshadowed by. Can they pull off...?

Part 14: The Long Con

Chang'e 1's circumlunar flight was the first of many Chinese steps on the long road to the moon. However, the Chinese remained mum about their greater ambitions for the moment. The result was that although the unexpected launch of a lunar exploration probe drew global attention for the Chinese program, the probe was viewed as a one-time stunt. The images returned by its cameras during the flyby, though the best of the lunar surface in more than a decade, were less valuable compared to the variety of scientific instruments mounted on probes of other nations. The main thrust of the Chinese program was assumed by outside observers to be their space station program. China was in no hurry to disabuse them of this notion, continuing their successful series of Tiangong stations in 1985. The new station, Tiangong 5, was a Tianjia-B main module evolved from Tiangong 4’s core, now modified with two axial and four radial docking ports. This enabled the addition of two Tianjia-A-derived labs, a Tianjia-A-based habitat expansion module, and the presence of four crew at a time for short durations, though the station was still not permanently manned. Long-stay crews launched aboard Shuguang-C, spending as many as nine months in space, while shorter crews visited on Shuguang-B for periods measured in weeks.

While China's main visible efforts were limited to low Earth orbit, other preparations were ongoing. Under conditions of secrecy only possible in a near-dictatorial state, work was proceeding on the development on the technology necessary for lunar missions. Given the lack of plans for larger launch vehicles, the most critical piece was advancing Chinese ability to assemble and fuel space vehicles in space, which would require several new vehicles. The first was a combination tug/tanker, a new vehicle designed to be semi-autonomously flown from the ground, then docked to a station by astronauts aboard the station. Two variants were under design, one to store roughly four tons of propellant and be launched as a tug or service module for Shuguang or a lander already in the planning stages, and the other a tanker capable of carrying seven tons of propellant to a depot station.

The second major new project was the depot station itself. This was to be designed based off the now-proven Tianjia-B core, offering crew habitation facilities and docking ports. The station would serve as a home base for a new space-fueled Earth departure stage. This stage would be built from a Long March 2C upper stage fitted with maneuvering thrusters, improved avionics, and a docking ring forward. With these additional systems, the departure stage could be launched into orbit and flown to the depot as with the smaller tanker/tug. Over a period of months, the departure stage could then be fueled from a series of tankers, with the hypergolic propellants enabling long-term storage. The departure stage could then be assembled with a tug to form a two-stage system for launching payloads to the moon. The departure stage would serve to place the stack through trans-lunar injection, with the tug putting the payload into lunar orbit and on Shuguang missions pushing the capsule through trans-Earth injection to return to Earth.

Finally, a program was underway to develop a two-stage, bare-bones lunar lander. This vehicle would similarly be launched largely empty, be flown to the depot station for fueling, then stacked by the station for a flight to lunar orbit. In an operational mission, one departure stage would be used to place a lander and tug into orbit of the moon, with the crew following on a second departure stage with their Shuguang and tug. Once in lunar orbit, the crew would dock to the lander. One pilot would transfer to the lander and descend to the moon, where he could spend up to two days on the surface. It was a capability more on the lines of the long-cancelled Soviet L3 system than the American lunar Apollo system, so it was judged critical to hide the development of the systems until the system was nearly ready for final testing. The depot station was to be launched in 1987, with tests of the tug/tanker following. Though the departure stage had less new development, its debut would be deferred until the station and tug were available. Development of the lunar Shuguang would happen in parallel with ongoing Tiangong 5 operations. The plan called for lunar-orbital Shuguang missions by 1990, with a landing planned by the middle of the decade.

While work slowly began on an entire stable of new vehicles for the lunar program, in space, international efforts proceeded along their own lines. In 1986, as expected, the Soviets launched their Mir station, definitively retaking the lead in the space station race. However, the Americans were rapidly catching up. Their Space Shuttle had made its debut in 1981, and by 1983 the two operational orbiters had flown a total of nine missions, including the first mission of the joint ESA-NASA Spacelab "mini-station". The third operational orbiter, Discovery, was planned to make its maiden flight the next year. NASA officials were quick to point to the capabilities of Shuttle to serve as a reusable space laboratory, but the regular launches by China and Russia to their stations lead to additional pressure to build the long-desired American permanent space station. In response, newly elected President Reagan had announced in 1981 that the development and launch of a modular station would occur at the earliest opportunity.

Originally studied under President Carter, station planning was initially split on both the role and concept of Space Station Freedom. However, the demonstration of modular assembly by both the Chinese and the Russians had lead to a rapid concentration on the station's intended role and design. Instead of a huge station assembled by dozens of missions over a period of years, the new design would be an extension of the existing Spacelab "mini-stations," depending on Shuttle's ability to carry large payloads to space and serve as an orbital assembly platform. Based on Marshall's "Science and Applications Manned Space Platform" concept, the design would be both modular and expandable. The initial module would be a large Power and Service module, which would host large solar arrays and standard connections similar to those used to connect payloads to the Shuttle. By docking to the station and transferring payloads to the PSM's interface, Shuttle-launched exposed or pressurized modules could be supported for extended periods between Shuttle launches.

Over time, Freedom was to see expansion with NASA, ESA, and NASDA modules similar to Spacelab, enabling man-tended and then permanent manned operations of the growing station. Shuttle could serve as a capable logistics craft, with the European Hermes for backup crew access or housed on station as a contingency lifeboat. After critical payloads like Galileo and Hubble, the Freedom PSM received top priority from NASA. The design of the module was frozen in 1984, with production on track for a 1988 debut of the orbiting platform. Manned operations could begin using modified Spacelab modules as soon as two years following the PSM’s launch. However, before NASA could see these plans reach fruition, several wrenches would be thrown into their plans.

 

[e of pi]

So, this post is being posted late both because I was on the road and because I didn't want to jinx SpaceX today by posting before I left. It appears to have worked--godspeed Dragon, and fair winds and following seas for ASDS as she bears the core back to port. Heck of a show! And speaking of shows, on with this one...

Part 15: The Breaking Point

As the eighties rolled towards the end of the decade, the major space programs all found themselves stretched to their limits to meet ambitious goals promised earlier in the decade. The Americans continued to ramp up their Space Shuttle activities, pressing their flight rate to make the system live up to requirements. 1985 had seen nine Shuttle flights. 1986 was planned to see more than a dozen, including the Galileo and Ulysses probes planned to fly within six days of each other, the first flight from Vandenberg to a polar orbit, and the launch of the Hubble Space Telescope. In addition to Johnson and Kennedy's flight activities, Marshall was pushing forward on the production of space platform Freedom's Power and Service Module (PSM). The PSM was the cornerstone of the planned evolutionary American response to the Soviet Mir and Chinese Tiangong stations, allowing large Shuttle-launched modules, potentially including manned Spacelab modules, to stay on orbit for months at a time between Shuttle flights. Eventually this would grow to a permanently manned station, enhanced by European Hermes lifeboats and further power and habitat modules. For the moment, though, the immediate goal was to launch the PSM on time and on budget--a task which was threatening to balance one against the other as the launch slipped towards 1989. The pressure on the program was reaching a breaking point.

As always, the two superpowers were mirrors of one another. While the Americans pushed ahead on a challenging Shuttle schedule while struggling to roll out their own long-duration large station, the Soviets were doing the reverse. Under intense pressure from the Politburo, the launch of Mir had been put back on track, and the first modules of the new permanent station had flown to orbit in 1986. However, while the Soviets were more advanced than the Americans in the field of stations, they were struggling in turn with the development of their Energia/Buran shuttle. More limited in funding and resources than the Americans, the major technological leaps required for Buran posed a serious challenge. As the priority of the Soviet program had switched to launching Mir on time, Buran had received a correspondingly smaller share of the budget. Flights of the atmospheric mockup began in 1985 and would continue to test the vehicle, but the first orbital mission wasn't anticipated until 1988, with additional orbiters and full operations expected in the early nineties.

The Chinese, the perennial third power in spaceflight, benefited at least from keeping their true development objectives secret. Their lunar program, under development for more than five years by 1986, was still guarded with the intensity only a dictatorial state could muster. The testing of the new tug/tanker service module for Shuguang and the refuelable departure stage were nearing flight status, with debut planned for the last two years of the decade. The lander itself was several years behind this schedule, with its first flights not planned until the following decade ahead of a landing by the twentieth anniversary of Shuguang 1's flight However, for the moment the only visible signs of the program had been annual flights of the Chang'e bus. Chang'e 2 in 1986 had been the first real scientific probe by the Chinese. Unlike Chang'e 1 which had carried little more than a high-resolution spy camera in its 2-ton recoverable capsule, Chang'e 2 actually featured specially-designed instruments to observe the surface of the moon with radar, chemical analysis, and other systems, gathering data in advance of later manned missions.

However, before these plans could all come to fruition, they would be disrupted by a rapid series of close calls and disasters. The Americans would come first, with the faint hopes of seeing their Shuttle live up to expectations catastrophically shattered. 1986 had been a banner year for the program--both Galileo and Ulysses had been successfully launched in the first two-thirds of the year, among a total of eight launches. NASA's flagship astronomy program, the Hubble Space Telescope, was on deck for a launch in September, having switched launch slots to enable a last-minute fix to the massive observatory's batteries. The launch of Atlantis went with the same frenzied routine of activity that was becoming usual, and the deployment and activation of the telescope was smooth enough. However, during the return to Earth, communications were lost with Atlantis as she streaked through the upper atmosphere on her way back to Florida. By the time tracking radar analysis definitively showed the orbiter's breakup, concerned citizens were already calling about debris landing across Texas. The loss of the ominously-named orbiter [1] and the five astronauts aboard made headlines around the world. Issues with the new telescope's ground control software and a major defect in the telescope's mirror were cruel twists of the knife. NASA’s program came to a standstill as the official investigation began.

Meanwhile, the Soviet program seemed to be turning a corner in 1987. Mir was under construction and Buran was gearing up for its debut. However, the Energia launcher was having teething issues. The maiden launch of the massive new booster carried the Polyus testbed, a prototype orbital laser system designed to demonstrate the ability to carry out space-to-space kills of Reagan's proposed SDI systems, had initially seemed to be going well, with the Energia core performing nominally. Before Polyus could reach orbit, though, the modified FGB acting as its orbital injection stage failed, and the suborbital payload returned to Earth. It would be almost a year until Energia made its next flight, the debut of Buran.

In the meantime, the Chinese program had gone from success to success. In 1987, they made yet another of their annual Chang’e probe flights. However, the regular circumlunar flyby missions had a second purpose: they served as useful cover. In addition to Chang’e 3, 1987 also saw the Chinese hide the first test flight of their lunar Shuguang in plain sight. Its unmanned loop behind the moon and back to Earth in October was reported as “Chang’e 4,” concealing the mission the same way early Chang’e tests had been hidden as failed GTO launches. Their true nature would be revealed as soon as the readiness of the tanker/tug and departure stage could be confirmed. The key lay with Tiangong 6.

[1] You are such a drama queen. Well, they were asking for it naming it that, and I had to find something else on the scale of Challenger--I didn't want to just repeat the OTL accident as butteflies could change weather delays or other issues. The risks of Centaur in the payload bay are well known, but then I looked further down the year's manifest and...how could I resist?

 

[e of pi]

You know, for a TLiaW you pre-wrote a lot of, this has been stagnant for an awfully long time.
Oh, great, you're back?
Somebody has to keep you straight.
Point. Anyway, I checked and the next post is ready to go now, so finally, let's look at the aftermath of the Atlantis/Hubble Disaster. Did anyone ask for a wakeup call, because it's...

Part 16: Mourning in America

By 1987, the Chinese program was reaching the end of their ability to hide their lunar ambitions from the rest of the world. They had been able to hide flight tests of the lunar variant of Shuguang-B among their series of FSW-based Chang’e probes, but testing the large departure stage and the system for refueling it from the smaller tug/tankers would be impossible to disguise, even if the objective might not be clear. To enable testing, Tiangong 5 saw its last crew in 1987. Its replacement, Tiangong 6, launched in June, with Shuguang 29 following aboard a Shuguang-C in July to attach an expanded habitat module and outfit the station. Tiangong 6 was similar in most respects to Tiangong 5, but featured several key improvements. First, it now featured four radial docking ports instead of two, meaning more vehicles could be docked to the station in addition to the basic habitat and lab expansion modules. Second, the station now sported a longer and more capable cargo crane, which would be capable of rearranging vehicles docked either directly to the station or at the ends of Tianjia-A-length modules--critical to re-arranging and assembling lunar-bound payloads. Third, the docking portion of the station was fitted with a variety of specialized hoses and fittings to allow to transfer of tons of propellant at a time between docked vehicles using the station’s more powerful pumps. Testing of these systems was to begin in 1988, but engineers were confident in their ability to use them to beat the Americans or Soviets to the moon even once they became aware of the race. Better yet, both of the two superpowers were consumed with their own concerns.

In the wake of the Atlantis disaster during entry from the mission to launch the Hubble space telescope a year earlier, American public opinion demanded answers to tough questions. Why had five astronaut's lives been fatally risked to launch a telescope which didn't work? The initial investigation began to point to impacts of foam from the external tank falling during ascent to hit the orbiter's tiles. Though imagery analysis in-flight hadn't shown a risk, in fact Atlantis' tiles had been critically damaged. During entry, the tiles had failed, allowing hot plasma to enter the fuselage with catastrophic results. However, the investigation was not limited to the Atlantis disaster itself. The flagship telescope Atlantis’ crew had died to launch had been revealed to be a lemon: its main mirror was shaped wrong around the periphery, meaning that light was improperly focused on the imagers, a problem exacerbated by issues with the observatory’s control software. Though the telescope was partially functional in spite of the issues and still providing better images than possible from the ground, the distinction was lost on the general public. Moreover, the issues with Hubble combined with Atlantis’ loss pointed to more widespread issues with NASA's project management. In addition to the Atlantis Accident Investigation Board, President Reagan convened a commission to examine all NASA operations. Reports rapidly accumulated from all programs. "Near-misses" had been ignored in Shuttle preparations for launches over the previous years. Risks on engine settings and abort procedures had been downplayed or ignored to certify and fly Centaur to launch Galileo and Ulysses. In the Freedom development office, schedule and budget pressures were at the breaking point as they pressed the PSM towards a 1988 flight date they were constantly threatening to miss, all while headquarters demanded an acceleration of transition from man-tending to permanently occupied operations. Throughout NASA, the symptoms were clear: too much to do, too little time, and insufficient resources to carry out missions safely and successfully. Atlantis and Hubble had just been the straws that broke first.

The commission was much-needed wakeup call to the agency, for all that it was excruciating, and the results were taken to heart. Shuttle stood down for almost two full years while procedures were reviewed. When it flew again, a new emphasis was placed on safety and process control. The inability of Shuttle to safely meet its original flight rate was recognized, and expectations were re-calibrated around more manageable flight rates. New regulations for commercial operations of non-Shuttle LVs were were created to shift capacity to cheaper American launchers when manned deployment or payload return wasn't necessary. The Shuttle's External Tank was reviewed to better prevent foam shedding, and techniques were put into effect to inspect and if necessary repair the Shuttle's tiles on-orbit using a supplemental boom with the Canadarm. Additional worries in potential debris shedding from the SRB nosecones lead to a re-evaluation of the SRB's modular joints, as a near-burn through had occurred on several occasions. Though this safer Shuttle program was flying again in 1988, the PSM wouldn't be deployed until late 1989, enabling the Freedom team to fix a variety of issues and ultimately leaving a more capable platform in orbit, which began to play host to a variety of semi-permanent man-tended instruments and Spacelab modules. Included in the revised schedule was a longer period of man-tended operations intended to to allow further work on the components for growth into a permanently-manned station. A set of “contact lenses” were developed which would correct the issues with Hubble’s mirrors, with a servicing mission planned for 1990. In the meantime, the telescope’s software was updated numerous times from the ground to improve its functionality. The dangerous use of Centaur-G in the Shuttle payload bay was discontinued. With the two Jupiter probes away, other missions could make do with the less-capable Inertial Upper Stage. NASA had come through the Atlantis disaster chastened and penitent, but 1988 found an agency ultimately better for its new sense of responsibility and correction of dangerously lax practices. Their perennial Soviet rivals were not so lucky in conquering their own issues.

The late eighties had started out well for the Soviets. The Buran orbiter had made a number of atmospheric flights with onboard engines to demonstrate its aerodynamic maneuvering and though Energia’s debut launch had been a failure, the fault lay with the payload, not the booster. Mir was reaching operational status, and all seemed on track for a bright future. Certainly the Soviets were doing better than their NASA rivals, who were still recovering from the Atlantis disaster when Buran made its first flight in September 1988. Demonstrating one of the features of Buran which were not shared by its inspiration, the orbiter flew entirely unmanned. It made a fully autonomous ascent to orbit, then returned and glided to a safe return entirely under its own command. It was a striking achievement. Another pair of orbiters were already under construction, and it seemed like in mere years the Soviet Buran would be achieving many of the goals the American Shuttle had never been able to accomplish.

It was never to be. As the space program had been rising to new heights, the Soviet Union had begun its final collapse. With the nation already in dire financial straits, Gorbachev's reforms had spelled doom both for the USSR’s economy and for its ability to enforce its rule through military power. Slowly at first, and then all too rapidly, first the Warsaw Pact and then the Soviet Union itself fractured. The rump Russian state left behind fell into a state of chaos, with finances worse than ever. In such an environment, concern tended to focus on paying workers’ salaries, keeping up runs to Mir, and a solution to the fate of a launch site which was after all in Kazakhstan, not Russia. In the wake of such problems, Buran’s manned debut fell well down the list of priorities. Additional flights and the completion of the remaining orbiters was deferred, as were more grandiose plans for using the shuttle. With their two superpower rivals thus distracted and the tests of orbital refueling ready to occur, the Chinese made their first declaration of lunar intent in their usual understated way...

 

[e of pi]

Part 17: Out and About

By 1988, the Chinese had tested as much of their manned lunar system as was possible without disclosing their ultimate objective. Orbital transfer of hypergolic propellants had been carried out since Tiangong 4. Tiangong 6, the actual planned "fuel depot," had been launched the previous year. The tug/tanker and departure stage had been ground-tested, and their semi-autonomous rendezvous and docking systems had been checked out during Shuguang missions to the new station. The Shuguang-D lunar variant’s command module had been tested in LEO as part of Tiangong 5's stand-down, filling the role of Shuguang-B in short-duration crew ferry prior to that station's end-of-mission. The capsule had even already been tested in a circumlunar unmanned flight in 1987, reported as the "Chang'e 4 probe". Though the lander itself was running slightly behind schedule, with its flight debut judged no earlier than 1993, all components were ready for a manned orbital lunar mission, awaiting only final testing. It was time to announce that for almost six years, China had been aiming for the moon. While NASA might have issued a press release, China's space program felt that actions spoke louder than words. In advance of its public debut, the manned lunar program acquired a new name. Its missions would not carry the name Shuguang, but rather Shenzhou, meaning "heavenly vessel." That debut, when it came, rocked the world.

Shenzhou 1 lifted off the pad on February 20, 1988 aboard a Long March 2D rocket. The extra capacity was critical: unlike past launches of the Shuguang-D capsule, this was not headed to LEO. Instead, an hour after reaching orbit, the second stage re-ignited, pushing Shenzhou 1 and its crew of two onto a duplicate of the Chang'e 4 trajectory. China became only the second nation to send astronauts beyond Low Earth orbit, and the first to do so in almost a decade and a half. Following separation from the capsule, the stage--in fact the flight debut of the modified departure stage--was maneuvered independently, demonstrating its ability to be commanded remotely in space. It was a freedom the two astronauts would have envied.

Although Shuguang-D had been modified for Shenzhou missions with expanded consumables for their week-long flight around the moon, the capsule's cockpit was no more spacious. The extra volume allowed by a Shuguang-C's Tianjia logistics module was too heavy to include. In fact, many systems had been reduced or eliminated to shed weight to meet Long March 2D's trans-lunar payload, unlike future Shenzhou missions which would benefit from LEO refueling. Given that minimal maneuvering was to be required, the capsule's propellant tanks were nearly dry, leaving only a bare margin for trajectory corrections. With no need for it in the mission plan, the the vessel's docking radar had been omitted, as well as the entire docking apparatus. Instead, the crew used the small passage aft from the cockpit as a rubbish compartment. There was little for the crew to do but watch as the Earth shrank behind them and the moon rose to dominate the view in ahead.

Once the spacecraft was safely on its way, China was quick to announce the mission's true purpose, which they had initially allowed Western observers to be believe was another Chang'e mission. Live video was relayed from the astronauts, who were pleased to show the view of the Earth out their rear-facing viewport. The announcement included not only information about Shenzhou 1, but about previous testing and indicated that near-term plans would include lunar orbital follow-ups. For the moment, Chinese sources were mum about the existence of an actual lander under development, but its existence was widely speculated. The international reaction was best described as "flabbergasted". Indeed, it took almost a day for the truth to sink in for international press, governments, and space programs. China had so effectively hidden their plans to date that the sudden revelation of a manned lunar mission in progress while NASA was still struggling to return the Space Shuttle to flight and the Soviets prepared their own shuttle came as a bolt from the blue. The flight of Shenzhou 1, and the safe return of its crew a week later, did as much as any previous mission to affirm China's place as one of the top-tier space programs.

With the cat out of the bag, China had substantially more freedom to conduct Shenzhou testing in Earth orbit. In the summer, a departure stage was flown all the way to a docking with Tiangong 6, and it was joined in early fall by the first tanker to fly. The departure stage had launched carrying almost 9 tons of propellant, requiring 24 more to reach capacity for a lunar orbital mission with a Shenzhou and tug. The first tanker transferred six tons of this deficit, and another three flights would complete the task during the remainder of the year. Two LEO flights of the Shuguang-D/tug combination tested the tug's ability to function as a service module for the capsule and for the combined spacecraft to dock to Tiangong for assembly of completed mission stacks. The Chinese may have lacked the capability for heavy single launches possessed by the Americans or the Russians, but they were demonstrating that with ingenuity, such capacity could be rendered unnecessary. Moreover, the flight rate required was a benefit, enabling high-rate production of Long March cores, second stages, and boosters, with corresponding decreases in construction costs. The lunar lander was still more than three years from flight, but the spring of 1989 found China ready for its first lunar-orbital mission. While China prepared for their first mission to really operate in lunar space, nations around the world were making knee-jerk reactions to the biggest shock since Sputnik...

 

[e of pi]

Moving right along, here's the next part as we look at the plans made in reaction to Shenzhou's public debut. The first step of making plans, of course, is getting over...

Part 18: Moon Shock

The sudden Chinese announcement of their lunar ambitions, with the Shenzhou 1 mission already launched and carrying its crew of two around the moon, came as a massive surprise to the world. Initial reactions were disbelief and shock, turning to amazement as it became clear that the mission was real. Subsequent tests of their departure stage, tanker, and tugs over the remainder of 1988 and early 1989 proved that they had, in fact, managed the herculean task of developing many of the critical components of a lunar program in almost complete secrecy. Shenzhou 1’s historic flight came with the American Shuttle was still grounded. With ESA waiting on the American flight of Freedom for the launches of their first space laboratories and the Soviets still working on Buran and Mir, it seemed as though the Chinese might be well on the way to upstaging the world. Responses would be debated around the world, with the most critical ones happening on the campaign trail and the White House as Vice-President George Bush worked to win his way to the White House.

Reagan’s administration had staked many of its claims of “Morning in America” on a notion of American exceptionalism and programs to stake claims to power the world could not match: Space Station Freedom, Star Wars, and the 600-ship Navy. In the aftermath of the Atlantis disaster, some within NASA had suggested that it might be good to establish some kind of new aspirational goal for the agency. Born partly out of Reagan-era nationalism and dreams of Apollo, these plans had begun to simmer with studies of Shuttle-derived heavy lifters, new plans for the moon, or even missions to Mars. Bush, as Vice-President, had NASA as part of his portfolio, and the role fit. Bush, like LBJ for JFK, was far more interested in civilian scientific spaceflight for its own sake than the President he served. On the campaign trail, Michael Dukakis was quick to criticize such notions, arguing that they would be wasteful flag-waving, over-reacting to a Chinese program that was little more than propaganda. Though it was certainly true--in fact, the Chinese landers under development were actually less capable than Apollo--his argument that the moon was “been there, done that” and that money could be better invested in programs and projects with more real value to the American people were poorly received. In contrast, Bush pointed to the Shenzhou flight and the Ride Report, produced the previous year in the aftermath of the Atlantis investigation as evidence that bold action was required. The nation needed to match and exceed Chinese achievements to retain its position of leadership in space, carrying on the Reagan legacy of standing up to communism around the world. The triumphalism resonated with an undercurrent of American culture, and though a relatively minor part of his greater platform, a renewed space program nevertheless was on the agenda as the Bush-Quayle ticket swept to victory.

Though other nations could certainly dream of doing the same, the Americans were the only nation with both the budget and technical skill to match the Chinese. For ESA, the ongoing refinement of the Ariane family and their work on Hermes and their Columbus module for Space Station Freedom were pushing the limits of European space budgets to the limit. Unlike the Americans, Soviets, or Chinese, Europe had never led in space, and thus was unwilling to make the kinds of substantial investments which would be necessary to match the now-expanded first tier of space programs. Though they expressed interest to NASA in being involved in programs which might follow on from Freedom, the ESA lacked the resources and political support which would be necessary to go to the moon on their own in any significant capacity. Indeed, whether with the just-introduced Ariane 4 or the in-development scalable hydrolox Ariane 5, simply launching Hermes around the moon would require multiple flights to put the necessary mass into orbit. As the other second tier program, Japan placed more national pride on their technical advancements, including their space program, and had made major investments in developing their own native launch capacity. Their economy had grown explosively throughout the 80s, and seemed to be on track to eclipse the United States. They, too, were preparing modules for launch to Freedom and developing a native-built medium launcher, the H-II. Debates had long raged about the value of a Japanese manned program, and it seemed in 1989 like they might naturally be on track to fund one. Still, a full lunar program would require years of development and massively increased spending on spaceflight.

The Soviet response to Shenzhou 1 was surprising to many in the West--their Soyuz capsule, after all, was rumored to have been originally developed as a lunar capsule, and their Proton rocket was capable of placing substantial payloads into lunar trajectories. With Energia-Buran, the Soviets had their own Shuttle and a native heavy lift option. Thus, some Russian engineers suggested that the Soviets were actually better placed than the Americans to match the Chinese goals: simply sticking a Soyuz on a Proton could match Shenzhou 1, and Glushko had already been promoting the concept of Energia as a launcher for lunar or Mars missions. Unfortunately, though the engineers were willing, the Soviet system was weak. Gorbachev's efforts to reform the USSR’s government with glasnost and perestroika were instead opening gaping cracks in the Soviet’s hold on their satellite states, and the explosion of the Chernobyl reactor in 1986 had cast doubts on the reality of Soviet technical prowess. With the Soviet economy coming apart at the seams, Russian space reality would fail to live up to Soviet space dreams. Simply launching Mir and testing Buran would prove to be the limits of their space ambitions. If any coordinated reaction to China would come, it would have to come from the Americans.

As the Bush and Reagan teams worked through the transition ahead of the former’s inauguration, one minor detail was passed to NASA’s Administrator and leadership: how to turn the campaign rhetoric into action. The problem was deciding the best goals for the space program, the best ways to achieve those goals effectively and safely. Even more important for a campaign that had promised “no new taxes” was how to do it all without breaking the bank. However, the question hovered how long the Chinese would give the Americans to work out their response...

So did anything important happen there at all?
Some did! Ameria wants to make a plan for the moon, ESA and Japan would like to go but don't have some of the critical technology, and the Soviets have the technology but no money and a certain lack of political capital to be spent as Russia sorts itself out.
So some people plan to make plans?
...Okay, yeah, light update. The next one is crunchier and should be soon.

 

[e of pi]

So, now that the shock has worn off, how to go about matching China, and how's Shenzhou doing in its quest for the moon? I hope they aren't having too many...

Part 19: Teething Issues

While the world watched their progress and debated how to react, the Chinese pushed forward with the next phases of their lunar plans. After five preparatory flights to launch and fuel a departure stage, the first lunar orbital Shenzhou flight was ready. The Shenzhou 2 crew launched February, 1989 on a Long March 2D rocket, carrying a Shuguang-D mounted to a fueled tug stage which would serve for lunar orbit injection and earth return. Their first stop was Tiangong 6, where they made rendezvous and docked to the station, then worked with the station's crew to make a final inspection of their ship and the fueled departure stage. With everything in order, both the departure stage and Shenzhou 2 separated from the station, before Shenzhou 2 docked in turn to the departure stage's port and conducted its trans-lunar injection burn. After seven months on orbit and multiple fueling missions required to fill it, the depleted departure stage was cast loose on a heliocentric trajectory. Shenzhou 2 successfully entered lunar orbit several days later, and spent three days observing the surface before making a safe return to Earth.

China had demonstrated its full ability to send crews to the moon and return. However, they lacked a key piece of a lunar landing mission: their lander program was suffering serious delays. The lander had received lower financial priority and access to technical resources during the key development of the departure stage and tug, with the assumption that its development could take place after the revelation of the lunar program but before public acknowledgement of the landing goals. However, as soon as China announced Shenzhou 1's launch, international press and policymakers immediately guessed their ultimate goal. Moreover, the other aspects of the Chinese lunar program were relatively simple modifications of existing spacecraft like the Chang'e probes, Shuguang-D, the departure stage derived from Long March 2C's upper stage and the Tiangong 6 assembly and fueling station. The lander was something wholly new.

A lunar lander required an entirely new design for a mission totally distinct from any the Chinese had attempted before. It had been hoped to launch the test versions early in 1991, but even with a relatively simple design (designed entirely in China, though it bore a rough resemblance to the design of the Soviet LK), issues arose. The problem of landing on the moon and returning to orbit within the mission's mass margins proved more complex than expected. Worse, an issue with their initial engine design and selections forced an overhaul of the entire propulsion system in the summer of 1989. Though the brutal suppression of student protests in Tiananmen Square that month proved the regime didn't lack force to apply, it became clear that no matter the pressure and threats, the lander was running a minimum of a year behind schedule. The lander's task was simply too different from what had gone before, too complex, and too critical to the lunar mission to be kludged together from other spacecraft.

While the Chinese wrestled with the unexpected if unsurprising issues with their lander, the Americans were leading an international program on the road China had reopened. In his campaign, Bush had called for an expansion of NASA's goals, with an implication of a new generation of lunar missions, expanded unmanned flagships, and perhaps preparations for manned mars flight. Upon his election, the president ordered a 90-day study to investigate the best options for achieving these goals, and the funding that was required. The price tag for all three was mind-boggling: $400 billion in additional space spending spread over twenty years [1]. The study met with shock at the White House, and Bush directed the same team to recommend what could be achieved on the funding Congress could reasonably be expected to front: perhaps an increase of 40 to 50%, with a priority to be placed on lunar missions if a choice was forced.

The "Exploration Report," as it came to be known, came back with a positive, but complex answer: a lunar mission was possible, but with certain caveats. If no more than the expected funds could be realized, Mars missions had to tabled for the moment--perhaps justifiably, as more than half of the projected $400 billion original total was set aside for Mars mission development and flights. However, even with this concession, a cash-conscious lunar mission would require compromises. The earlier estimates had specified a new, large in-line Shuttle-derived heavy lifter to be developed, which would be capable of lofting payloads of over 100 metric tons. However, operating this in parallel with Shuttle itself would require pad modifications and duplicated production infrastructure. The vehicle itself would also be more costly to develop. Instead, the recommended program would call for a "sidemount" heavy, essentially the "Shuttle-C": a vehicle which replaced the Shuttle orbiter on the STS stack with a disposable engine pod and a large payload fairing. Shuttle-C could be operated off the same pads, handled in the same VAB cells, and produced on the same production line as crewed Shuttle missions. If an Earth-orbital assembly of the mission was accepted, this vehicle's 70-ton payload would suffice for lunar missions and would be substantially faster and cheaper to develop than the larger in-line vehicle.

However, while the launcher could be compromised, the remaining pieces of the architecture could not: the earth departure stage, the earth return capsule, and the lunar lander itself. While the US had the RL-10 engine which could serve for the EDS, new large-diameter tanks would be required. The Apollo capsule and LM lander were decades out of production, and were also unsuited for the 4-person crews the Exploration report envisioned. Developing these vehicles would be expensive and time-consuming. The capsule in particular would be a key pacing item. As NASA circulated the proposals among key Congressional committee chairs, however, a potential solution emerged. The ESA had already been redeveloping their Hermes capsule to seat three astronauts in its descent module as a Freedom lifeboat. They proposed a joint mission: they would provide a lunar variant of their Hermes capsule with an enlarged orbital module which would launch aboard the American Shuttle-C with an American lander. In exchange for providing the capsule, European astronauts would form joint crews on the lunar missions. While unappealing to nationalists in Congress, many of these nationalists were also the strongest budget hawks, and the adoption of Hermes and the compromise of Shuttle-C were key to getting the new Artemis program approved. By 1990, Shenzhou officially had a challenger in a new race to the moon.

[1] The OTL total was $500 billion. With Space Station Freedom's PSM up and flying, and much of the development complete, less is required for its budget, so the overall total is lower.