Fifty-three years ago today, the United States successfully conducted the only live-fire test of the only known nuclear-armed air-to-air missile ever developed by the West. The test took place over the Nuclear Test Site located at Yucca Flats, Nevada.
The Cold War between the Soviet Union and the United States gave rise to the development of myriad nuclear weapons. Both superpowers ultimately relied on a triad of platforms, consisting of bombers, missiles and submarines, to deliver nuclear ordnance. Each side used these same types of platforms in a defensive role as well.
The United States employed land-based interceptor aircraft for defending against the Soviet bomber threat. These aircraft would go out to engage and destroy Soviet bomber groups before the latter could penetrate US airspace. The weapon of choice for taking out the bombers was the air-to-air missile.
The most fearsome of air-to-air missiles was armed with a nuclear warhead. The idea was simple. A defending aircraft would fire the nuclear-armed missile into a bevy of Soviet bombers. Detonation of the warhead would in theory destroy an entire bomber group with a single atomic blast.
The Douglas Aircraft Company produced just such a missile for the United States Air Force in the mid-1950’s. The subject missile was originally known as the MB-1 Genie (aka Bird Dog, Ding-Dong, and High Card). The type’s 1.5 kiloton nuclear device had a blast radius on the order of 1,000 feet.
The Genie measured 9.67 feet in length and had a nominal diameter of 17.5 inches. Firing weight was 822 pounds. Genie’s Thiokol SR49-TC-1 solid rocket motor had a rated thrust of 36,500 pounds. The resulting high thrust-to-weight ratio allowed the missile to quickly accelerate to the target. Genie had a top Mach number of 3.3 and a range of slightly over 6 miles.
Genie was carried by the top USAF interceptor aircraft of its day; the Northrop F-89 Scorpion, McDonnell F-101B VooDoo and Convair F-106 Delta Dart. The missile was unguided. That is, Genie was simply a point and shoot weapon. The warhead would detonate only after rocket motor burnout. This delay permitted the carrier aircraft to quickly depart the area following launch.
The only in-flight detonation of a Genie warhead occurred during the summer of 1957 as part of Operation Plumbbob. This program was series of nuclear weapons tests conducted from May to October of the subject year at the Yucca Flats Nuclear Test Site in Nevada.
At 1400 UTC on Friday, 19 July 1957, USAF Captain Eric Hutchison fired a single Genie missile from his Northrop F-89J aircraft. The missile’s W25 warhead detonated at 15,000 feet above ground level shortly after rocket motor burnout. A group of USAF officers was positioned directly below the air burst to prove that the missile could be used over populated areas. The men were reported to be unharmed.
Genie was never used in anger. Approximately 3,150 missiles were produced by the time Thiokol closed down the production line in 1963. This production run included a number of improved variants known as the MB-1-T, ATR-2A, AIR-2A and AIR-2B. Genie ultimately served with both the USAF and the Canadian Air Force. It was withdrawn from service in 1985.
Forty-six years ago this month, the United States abandoned a 7-year effort to develop a nuclear-armed, supersonic cruise missile. The joint USAF-AEC program was known as Project Pluto. The centerpiece of this program was the nuclear-fueled, ramjet-powered Supersonic Low-Altitude Missile (SLAM).
The 1950’s saw the development of myriad aircraft, missile and submarine concepts designed for delivery of nuclear weaponry over strategic distances. This developmental activity was driven by the escalating Cold War between the United States and the Soviet Union. In addition to weapons, the power of the atom was also considered for propulsion applications during this era.
SLAM was perhaps the most fearsome weapon ever conceived. The missile was designed to deliver as many as 26 nuclear bombs over the Soviet Union in a single mission. It would do this while flying at Mach 3 and less than 1,000 feet above ground level. SLAM’s shock wave overpressure alone (162 dB) would devastate structures and people along its flight path. And, as if that were not enough, the type’s nuclear-fueled ramjet would continuously spew radiation-contaminated exhaust all over the countryside.
The SLAM airframe was huge. It measured 88 feet in length, nearly 6 feet in diameter and weighed 61,000 pounds at launch. The vehicle would be fired from a ground-based launch site and accelerated to ramjet takeover speed by a trio of jettisionable rocket boosters. The nuclear-fueled ramjet was rated at 35,000 pounds of thrust.
To find its way to the target area(s), the Ling-Temco-Vought (LTV) SLAM would use a guidance system known today as TERCOM – Terrain Contour Matching. At a target, SLAM would eject an atomic warhead upwards from its payload bay. The resulting lofted trajectory gave SLAM time to depart the hot target area prior to weapon detonation. Following completion of its mission, the missile would then ditch itself by diving into a deep ocean graveyard.
The heart of the Project Pluto missile was the nuclear-fueled ramjet. An unshielded nuclear reactor, code named TORY, was devised, built and successfully tested. Testing was conducted at a special-purpose test site in Nevada. In its Tory II-C configuration, the SLAM ramjet produced over 500 megawatts of power in 5 minutes of continuous operation during a test conducted in May of 1964.
SLAM’s nap-of-the-earth, supersonic flight profile would subject the airframe to terrific airloads, vibrations and temperatures. The Project Pluto team successfully devised structural and thermal material solutions to handle the daunting flight environment. In addition, nuclear-hardened electronics and flight controls were successfully developed.
From a technological standpoint, Project Pluto proved to be entirely viable. However, doubts about its implementation started to arise as flight testing of the nuclear-powered missile was seriously considered. Where do you flight-test a radiation-spewing missile? What happens if you can’t turn-off the reactor? What do you do if the guidance system fails? Where do you dispose of the missile after a flight test? These and other disturbing questions began to trouble program officials.
Coupled with the above practical concerns of SLAM flight testing were growing political and mission obsolesence issues. Pentagon officials ultimately deemed Project Pluto as being highly provocative to the Soviet Union in the sense that the communist super power might feel compelled to develop their own SLAM. Further, American missilery was quickly developing to the point where ICBM-delivered warheads would do the job and at a lower per-unit cost.
So it was that on Wedneday, 01 July 1964, Project Pluto was canceled after 7 years of fruitful development. While no airframe was ever built and tested, SLAM technology was applied to a host of subsequent aerospace vehicle developments.
SLAM would truly have been “The Missile From Hell” had it matured to the point of flight. Indeed, the ethical issues concerning the missile’s use were quite sobering. And, owing to Murphy’s Law and its many corollaries, the chances for unintended catastrophe were high as well. Despite the allure of this “technically sweet” solution to a national defense problem, the decision to cancel Project Pluto was ultimately the only correct course to follow.
Sixty-years ago this month, the United States launched a primitive two-stage rocket from an obscure site situated on Florida’s eastern coast. The rocket was the Army’s Bumper-WAC No. 8. The then little-known launch location has since become synonymous with American aerospace achievement. We know it today as Cape Canaveral.
The Bumper Program was a United States Army effort to reach flight altitudes and velocities never before achieved by a rocket vehicle. The name “Bumper” was derived from the fact that the lower stage would act to “bump” the upper stage to higher altitude and velocity than it (i.e., the upper stage) was able to achieve on its own.
The Bumper two-stage configuration consisted of a V-2 booster and a WAC Corporal upper stage. The V-2′s had been captured from Germany following World War II while the WAC Corporal was a single stage American sounding rocket. The launch stack measured 62 feet in length and weighed around 28,000 pounds.
From a propulsion standpoint, the V-2 booster generated 60,000 pounds of thrust with a burn time of 70 seconds. The WAC Corporal rocket motor produced 1,500 pounds of thrust and had a burn time of 47 seconds.
The first Bumper-WAC shots took place at White Sands Proving Ground (WSPG) in New Mexico. The first six (6) flights were dedicated to achieving maximum altitude. Indeed, Bumper-WAC No. 5 flew to an altitude of 250 miles on Thursday, 24 February 1949.
WSPG could not be used for the last two (2) flights which required the Bumper-WAC vehicle to remain within the atmosphere. A larger range was required to handle these missions which involved a significant amount of essentially horizontal flight. Looking beyond Bumper, it was clear that future programs would also require a much larger test range as well.
After considering a number of geographical locations within the US, the new Long Range Proving Ground (LRPG) was ultimately established in the state of Florida. The LRPG locale was hot, bug-infested and covered with sand dunes and scrub palmetto. However, the LRPG was also immediately adjacent to the Atlantic Ocean which provided a vast region over which test rockets could be safely flown.
Bumper-WAC No. 7 was supposed to be the first rocket fired from the LRPG. However, Bumper-WAC No. 8 got that honor when No. 7 experienced a glitch on the pad. No. 8 was fired at 13:29 UTC on Monday, 24 July 1950. The mission failed when the rocket motor of the WAC upper stage did not ignite.
On Saturday, 29 July 1950, Bumper-WAC No. 7 was launched from the LRPG. The mission was entirely successful. The WAC upper stage burned-out at Mach 9 and flew 150 miles downrange. The maximum sustained velocity within the atmosphere was more than 3,200 mph – a record for the time.
While the Bumper Program would fade into history, the LRPG did not. History records that the fledging test facility would develop into America’s preeminent launch complex. The military services would grow both our Nation’s missile defense and space launch vehicle capabilites there. Later, NASA would come on the scene and send astronauts first into Earth orbit and then to the Moon.
Cape Canaveral now operates in a season of decline relative to our national space effort. The fabled Space Shuttle will soon be retired. The CEV Program is slated for cancelation, leaving our country without either a national manned launch vehicle or spacecraft. Very soon, we will not even be able to go to and from our own space station. The prevailing “wisdom” is that private industry will solely provide access to space in the future. And such is to be accomplished without any national system being available as a back-up.
That we as a nation find ourselves in the predicament outlined above, is at once ironic and obscene. However, this is America and we are Americans. And, despite determined and increasing assaults from without and from within, we are still a land of liberty and opportunity. We can chose a better path.
Whether Cape Canaveral has seen its best days or if those that lie ahead will be better still, it is up to the citizens of the United States to determine. The responsibility and obligation to do so can neither be evaded nor avoided. If we chose rightly, Cape Canaveral’s, and indeed our beloved country’s, best days await in the future.
To both we say with deepest sentiment: “Long may you run.”
Forty-three years ago this month, USAF Major William F. “Pete” Knight made an emergency landing in X-15 No. 1 at Mud Lake, Nevada. Knight somehow managed to save the hypersonic aircraft following a complete loss of electrical power as it passed through 107,000 feet during climb.
The famed X-15 Program conducted 199 flights between June 1959 and October 1968. North American Aviation (NAA) built three (3) X-15 aircraft. Twelve (12) men from NAA, USAF and NASA flew the X-15. Eight (8) pilots received astronaut wings for flying the X-15 beyond 250,000 feet. One (1) aircraft and one (1) pilot were lost during flight test.
The X-15 flew as fast as 4,520 mph (Mach 6.7) and as high as 354,200 feet. The basic airframe measured 50 feet in length, featured a wing span of 22 feet and had a gross weight of 33,000 pounds. The type’s Reaction Motors XLR-99 rocket engine burned anhydrous ammonia and liquid oxygen to produce a sea level thrust of 57,000 pounds. The X-15 used both 3-axis aerodynamic and ballistic flight controls.
An X-15 mission was fast-paced. Flight time from B-52 drop to unpowered landing was typically 10 to 12 minutes in duration. The pilot wore a full pressure suit and experienced 6 to 7 G’s during pull-out from max altitude. There really was no such thing as a routine X-15 mission. However, all X-15 missions had one factor in common; danger.
On Thursday, 29 June 1967, X-15 No. 1 (S/N 56-6670) made its 73rd and the X-15 Program’s 184th free flight. Launch took place at 1828 UTC as the NASA B-52B launch aircraft (S/N 52-0008) flew at Mach 0.82 and 40,000 feet near Smith Ranch, Nevada. Knight, making his 10th X-15 flight, quickly ignited the XLR-99 and started his climb upstairs.
The X-15 was performing well and Knight was enjoying the flight until 67.6 seconds into a planned 87 second XLR-99 burn. That’s when the engine suddenly quit. A couple of heartbeats later, the Stability Augmentation System (SAS) failed, the Auxiliary Power Units (APU’s) ceased operating, the X-15’s generators stopped functioning and the cockpit lights went out. This was the total hit; a complete power failure.
Pete Knight was now just along for the ride. No thrust to power the aircraft. No electrical power to run onboard systems. No hydraulics to move flight controls. Even the reaction controls appeared inoperative. The X-15 continued upward, but it wallowed aimlessly in the low dynamic pressure of high altitude flight. At this point, Knight considered taking his chances and punching-out.
The X-15 went over the top at 173,000 feet. On the way downhill, Knight was able to get some electrical power from the emergency battery. This meant that he now had some hydraulic power and could utilize the X-15’s flight control surfaces. Knight next tried to fire-up the APU’s. The right APU would not respond. The left APU fired, but the its generator would not engage.
As the X-15 descended and the dynamic pressure built-up, Knight was able to maneuver his stricken X-15. He headed for Mud Lake in a sustained 6-G turn. As he leveled off at 45,000 feet, Knight instinctively knew he could now make the east shore of the Nevada dry lake. But it was tough work to fly the X-15. Knight ended-up using both hands to fly the airplane; one on the side stick and one on the center stick.
While Knight was trying to get his airplane down on the ground in one piece, only he and his Maker knew his whereabouts. The X-15 flight test team certainly didn’t, since Knight’s radio, telemetry and radar transponder were now inop. Further, the X-15 was not being skinned tracked at the time of the electrical anomaly. Just before he touched-down at Mud Lake, Knight’s X-15 was spotted by NASA’s Bill Dana who was flying a F-104N chase aircraft.
Pete Knight made a good landing at Mud Lake. The X-15 slid to a stop. After a struggle with the release mechanism, he managed to get the canopy open. Hot and soaked with perspiration, Knight somehow removed his own helmet. A ground crewman usually did that for him. But there were no flight support people at his X-15 landing site on this day.
As he attempted to get out of the X-15 cockpit, Knight pulled an emergency release. To his surprise, the headrest blew off, bounced off the canopy and smacked him square in the head. Undeterred, Knight got out of the cockpit and onto terra firma. In the meantime, a Lockheed C-130 Hercules had landed at Mud Lake. Wearily, Pete Knight got onboard and returned to Edwards Air Force Base.
Post-flight investigation revealed that the most probable source of the X-15’s electrical failure was arcing in a flight experiment system. This system had been connected to the X-15’s primary electrical bus. The solution was to connect flight experiments to the secondary electrical bus.
Reflecting on Knight’s amazing recovery from almost certain disaster, long-time NASA flight test manager Paul Bickle claimed the fete was among the most impressive of the X-15 Program. Indeed, it was Pete Knight’s clearly uncommon piloting skill and calmness under pressure that gave him the edge.
Fifty-nine years ago this month, the No. 1 USAF/Bell X-5 variable-sweep-wing aircraft testbed took to the air for the first time with Bell test pilot Jean “Skip” Ziegler at the controls. The X-5 holds the distinction of being the first aircraft capable of changing its wing sweep while in flight.
The ability to change wing sweep during flight allows an aircraft to be flown more optimally throughout its flight envelope. For instance, low wing sweep enhances low-speed lift characteristics while high wing sweep reduces wave drag at high speeds. Unfortunately, these aerodynamic gains come at the price of increased structural weight and mechanical complexity.
During World War II, the Third Reich developed the Messerschmitt P.1101 aircraft which was configured with a ground-adjustable variable-sweep wing. The P.1101 was captured in 1945 by the United States as part of the spoils of war. The aircraft was subsequently transported to Wright Field in Ohio for detailed examination by American aeronautical experts.
The Bell Aircraft Corporation ultimately came into possession of the P.1101 in August of 1948 after it had been examined by the Air Force and subsequently declared as surplus by the service. After an abortive attempt to re-engine the aircraft, Bell abandoned its effort to fly the P.1101. The company then made a decision to develop a completely new variable-sweep-wing aircraft.
Bell secured a contract from the Air Force in February of 1949 to build a pair of experimental variable-sweep-wing aircraft. The new airplane joined the young X-plane family as the X-5. The tail numbers assigned by the Air Force were 50-1838 and 50-1839.
The X-5 wing sweep could be varied between 20 and 60 degrees in flight. This resulted in a wing span that varied between 33.5 feet at 20 degrees of sweep and 20.75 feet at 60 degrees of sweep. The X-5 measured 33.5 feet in length and had a gross take-off weight of 9,875 pounds. The aircraft was powered by a single Allison J35-A-17A turbojet rated at 4,900 pounds of sea level thrust.
The X-5 was a nimble aircraft. It flew as fast as Mach 0.95 and as high as 45,000 feet. In fact, the X-5 was used at various times as a chase aircraft in support of other flight test programs at Edwards. On the other hand, the X-5 was less than docile in terms of handling qualities. It was particularly unruly in a spin.
On Wednesday, 20 June 1951, the No. 1 X-5 (50-1838) took-off from Edwards Air Force Base on its first contractor flight. This aircraft would eventually accumulate 153 flights, the last of which occurred on Tuesday, 25 October 1955. A dozen men from Bell, USAF and NACA flew the X-5 during that period. The last man to fly the X-5 was none other than Neil Armstrong.
While the No. 1 X-5 (50-1838) survived the flight test program, the No. 2 aircraft (50-1839) did not. The aircraft first flew on 10 December 1951 and was lost following an unrecoverable spin on Wednesday, 14 October 1953. USAF Major Raymond Popson lost his life when he was unable to eject from the stricken aircraft. The flight was Popson’s first and last in the X-5. It is not clear how many flights 50-1839 made during its service life.
The Bell X-5 provided a wealth of performance, stability and control and handling qualities data relative to variable-sweep-wing flight. The aircraft served as the progenitor to a number of famous operational aircraft including the General Dynamics F-111 Aardvark, Grumman F-14 Tomcat, and Rockwell B-1B Lancer.
The surviving X-5 (50-1838) is currently on display at the United States Air Force Museum at Wright-Patterson Air Force Base in Dayton,Ohio.
Fifty-seven years ago this month, NACA test pilot A. Scott Crossfield piloted the United States Navy/Douglas D-558-I transonic research aircraft on the last of the type’s 230 flights. The flight was conducted on Wednesday, 10 June 1953 at Edwards Air Force Base, California.
Flight near and beyond the speed of sound is characterized by large variations in flowfield density. Variable density flow is known as compressible flow. A key compressible flow phenomenon is the formation of shock waves. These fluid dynamic flow features are the result of locally supersonic flow being deflected or turned.
As every aircraft has a distinct shape, it also has its own distinct shock wave system. The topology and strength of this 3-dimensional shock wave system significantly affects aircraft flight performance, stability and control, handling qualities, airframe buffet characteristics and airloads.
Following World War II, the United States initiated a sustained flight research effort in the realm of transonic and supersonic flight. In league with the US military and the National Advisory Committee For Aeronautics (NACA), the American aeronautical industry designed and built a variety of aircraft used to conduct flight research during the 1940’s and 1950’s. These experimental aircraft were the first of the fabled X-planes.
In June of 1945, the Douglas Aircraft Company was awarded a contract by the United States Navy (USN) to build a total of six (6) flight research aircraft. These vehicles would be used in a two phase flight research program. Phase I was devoted to transonic flight testing while Phase II would investigate supersonic flight. The Phase I aircraft was known as the D-558-I Skystreak while the Phase II airplane was called the D-558-II Skyrocket.
The USN/Douglas D-558-I Skystreak measured 36-feet in length and had a wingspan of 25-feet. The straight-winged aircraft weighed a bit over 10,000 pounds and was powered by an Allison J35 turbojet rated at 5,000 pounds of sea level thrust. The aircraft was single place and employed ground take-off. Three (3) copies were made; BuAer tail numbers 37970, 37971 and 37972.
Later painted white to improve visibility, each Skystreak was originally painted a stunning red. This led to the type’s nickname of the “Crimson Test Tube”. Other nicknames included the “Flying Stove Pipe” and the “Supersonic Test Tube”. This last moniker is misleading in that the aircraft could only go slightly supersonic and only in a dive.
Along with its D-558-II companion, the D-558-I helped write the book on transonic aircraft aerodynamics. The D-558-I Skystreak acquired vital flight data relative to aircraft stability and control, handling qualities, airframe buffet and airloads. Those data are used to support aircraft design efforts down to the present day.
Pilots reported that the D-558-I exhibited generally favorable handling qualities. However, the Skystreak had its share of peculiar transonic aerodynamic attributes as well. Wing drop due to asymmetric shock-induced separation was one such phenomenon. Reduced control effectiveness and severe lateral-directional oscillations, both due to shock wave-induced flow separation at high Mach number, were exhibited as well.
Beyond 0.94 Mach number, the D-558-I experienced a phenomenon known as “Mach Tuck”. This condition is attributable to an aftward shift in the aircraft transonic center-of-pressure location as the pressure pattern over the aircraft changes with Mach number. This is equivalent to an increase in nose down pitching moment. Taken to extremes, the “Mach Tuck” flight condition is unrecoverable due to an exceedance of pitch control authority.
Approximately 15 men flew the D-558-I Skystreak 230 times between April of 1947 and June of 1953. One aircraft and one pilot was lost during the type’s flight research program. NACA test pilot Howard Lilly died and aircraft 37971 was destroyed when a J35 turbojet compressor blade failed during take-off on Tuesday, 25 November 1947.
Today the surviving aircraft are publically displayed in tribute to the Skystreak’s contributions to aeronautics. Tail No 37970 is displayed at the Naval Air Museum in Pensacola, Florida while Tail No. 37972 can be viewewd at the Carolinas Avaiation Museum in Charlotte, North Carolina.
Forty-four years ago this month, NASA astronauts Thomas P. Stafford and Eugene A. Cernan became the 7th two-man Gemini crew to orbit the Earth. Known as Gemini 9A, the mission was the 13th manned spaceflight flown by the United States.
The Gemini Program was absolutely critical to the success of America’s lunar landing effort. A total of 10 Gemini missions was flown during a 20-month period between 1965 and 1966. Gemini demonstrated the key capabilities of rendezvous and docking, orbital maneuvering, long duration spaceflight and extra vehicular activity.
Each Gemini mission had its share of difficulties which arose and had to be overcome during flight. Gemini 9A was arguably the most ill-fortuned and technically frustrating of the series. Mission goals included rendezvous and docking with an Agena Target Vehicle (ATV), maneuvering the combined Gemini-Agena combination and demonstration of the first manned rocket pack; the United States Air Force Astronaut Maneuvering Unit (AMU).
The original Gemini 9 prime crew was Elliot M. See and Charles A. Bassett. However, both men died on Monday, 28 February 1966 as they attempted to land their T-38 aircraft during a rain storm in St. Louis, Missouri. The Gemini 9 back-up crew of Stafford and Cernan somehow managed to land their T-38 aircraft during that same storm. The men were appointed as the prime crew with the devastating loss of See and Bassett.
On Tuesday, 17 May 1966, an ATV was launched ahead of Gemini 9. The Agena vehicle never made it to orbit due to a problem with its Atlas booster. McDonnell engineers hurriedly conceived and built a substitute for the ATV known as the Augmented Target Docking Adapter (ATDA). While Stafford and Cernan could rendezvous and dock with the ATDA, they could not change their orbital path since the ATDA had no propulsion system.
With the loss of the ATV and the introduction of the ATDA, Gemini 9 now came to be known as the Gemini 9A mission. The ATDA was successfully fired into orbit on Wednesday, 01 June 1966. However, the ATDA’s nose shroud had failed to jettison. Thus, Gemini 9A would not be able to dock with the ATDA.
The launch window for Gemini 9A was only 40 seconds on the day that the ATDA was launched. That window came and went when computer problems arose at a most inopportune moment. Having been denied the opportunity to launch, Stafford and Cernan unstrapped and waited to fly another day.
On Friday, 03 June 1966, Gemini 9A lifted-off from LC-19 at Cape Canaveral, Florida. Lift-off time was 1339 UTC. Within 5 hours, the crew caught up with the ATDA. What they saw did not inspire hope. The ATDA’s shroud indeed had not jettisoned properly. Commander Stafford radioed to Mission Control: “It looks like an angry alligator out here rotating around.”
The Gemini 9A crew asked for permission to use the nose of their spacecraft to nudge the recalcitrant shroud from the ATDA. Permission denied. The Gemini spaceraft might be damaged. How about performing an EVA and having Cernan cut the shroud attachment lanyards? No way. Sharp-edged debris might pierce Cernan’s EVA suit.
Making the best of the situation, Stafford and Cernan moved away from the ATDA and then rendezvoused with it again. They did this a number of times to gain practice. They also performed stationkeeping with the ATDA to learn the nuances of that flight mode.
Cernan’s much anticipated EVA with the AMU took place on Sunday, 05 June 1966. That particular experience deserves an article all its own. Suffice it to say that things did not go well. Working outside the spacecraft was much more physically demanding and functionally non-intuitive than expected.
Cernan found that any movement of his limbs resulted in unwanted reactions on his body. It was exceedingly difficult to remain still and perform useful work. He had to continually fight to maintain body position. Further, the Gemini spacecraft did not have enough hand-holds. Cernan’s exertions were such that his heart rate peaked at 195 beats per minute. Perspiration fogged his visor. Now he was blind.
Cernan struggled to get to the AMU which was stored in the Gemini’s aft adapter. He prepared the unit for free-flight, but continued to labor. He ultimately came to the conclusion that free-flying the AMU was infeasible on this mission. Dishearted and still blinded by the perspiration-induced fog on his visor, Cernan managed to safely return to the spacecraft cabin and secured the hatch. Total EVA time was 128 minutes.
Stafford and Cernan completed their demanding mission with reentry and splashdown in the Atlantic Ocean on Monday, 06 June 1966. They excuted a computer-controlled entry and landed less than one-half mile from the prime recovery ship; the USS Wasp. Official mission elapsed time was 72 hours, 20 minutes and 50 seconds.
It is worth noting that Gemini 9A, like all Gemini missions, was a test flight. The ATDA and AMU experiences were certainly frustrating, but not without merit from a learning standpoint. That learning was put to good use as evidenced by the accomplishments of Gemini’s 10, 11 and 12.
Rendezvous, docking and orbital maneuvering with the ATV all went extremely well on the last trio of Gemini missions. And on Gemini 12, the most vexing of early manned spaceflight problems was solved; that of EVA. Indeed, with the aid of techniques and equipment developed from Gemini 9A lessons-learned, one Edward E. “Buzz” Aldrin convincingly demonstrated the feasibility of an astronaut performing meaningful work in space.
Seventy-five years ago today, pioneering rocket scientist Robert H. Goddard and staff fired a liquid-fueled rocket to a record altitude of 7,500 feet above ground level. The record-setting flight took place at Roswell, New Mexico.
Robert Hutchings Goddard was born in Worcester, Massachusetts on Thursday, 05 October 1882. He was enamored with flight, pyrotechnics, rockets and science fiction from an early age. By the time he was 17, Goddard knew that his life’s work would combine all of these interests.
Goddard was a sickly youth, but spent his well moments as a voracious reader of all manner of science-oriented literature. He graduated in 1904 from South High School in Worcester as the valedictorian of his class. He matriculated at Worcester Polytechnic and graduated with a Bachelor of Science degree in physics in 1908. A Master of Science degree and Ph.D. from Worcester’s Clark University followed in 1910 and 1911, respectively.
Goddard spent the next eight years of his life working on numerous propulsion and rocket-related projects. Then, in 1919, he published his now-famous scientific treatise entitled A Method of Reaching Extreme Altitudes. In that paper, the press glommed on to Goddard’s passing mention that a multi-staged rocket could conceivably fly all the way to the Moon.
Goddard was roundly ridiculed for his fanciful prognostications about Moon flight. The New York Times was especially derogatory in its estimation of Goddard’s ideas and accused him of junk science. A Times editorial even criticized Goddard for his “misconception” that a rocket could produce thrust in the vacuum of space.
Even the U.S. government largely ignored Goddard. This scornful treatment to which Goddard was subject hurt him profoundly. So much so that he spent the remainder of his life alienated from the denizens of the press as well as the dolts of governmental employ.
Despite the blow to his professional reputation, Goddard resolutely pressed on with his rocket research. Indeed, after more that five years of intense development effort, Goddard and his staff launched the first liquid-fueled rocket on Tuesday, 16 March 1926 in Auburn, Massachusetts. The flight duration was short (2.5 seconds) and the peak altitude tiny (41 feet), but Goddard proved that liquid rocket propulsion was feasible.
Goddard’s liquid-fueled rocket testing would ultimately lead him from the countryside of New England to the desert of the Great South West. With financial support from Harry Guggenheim and the public backing of Charles Lindbergh, Goddard transfered his testing activities to Roswell, New Mexico in 1930. He would continue liquid-fueled rocket testing there until May 1941.
On Friday, 31 May 1935, experimental rocket flight A-8 took to the air from Goddard’s Roswell, New Mexico test site at 1430 UTC. Roughly 15 feet in length and weighing approximately 90 pounds at lift-off, the 9-inch diameter A-8 achieved a maximum altitude of 7,500 feet (1.23 nautical miles) above the desert floor. Only a flight in March of 1937 would go higher (9,000 feet).
Robert Goddard was ultimately credited with 214 U.S. patents for his rocket development work. Only 83 were awarded in his life time. His far-reaching inventions included rocket nozzle design, regenerativley cooled rocket engines, turbopumps, thrust vector controls, gyroscopic control systems and more.
Goddard died at the age of 62 from throat cancer in Baltimore, Maryland on Friday, 10 August 1945. Many years would pass before the full import of his accomplishments was comprehended. Then, the posthumously-bestowed recognition came in torrents. In 1959, Congress issued a special gold medal in Goddard’s honor. The Goddard Spaceflight Center was so named by NASA in 1959 as well. Many more such bestowals followed.
Perhaps the most meaningful of the recognitions ever accorded Robert Hutchings Goddard occurred 24 years after his passing. It was in connection with the first manned lunar landing in July of 1969. And it was poetic not only in terms of its substance and timing, but more particularly in light of the source from whence the recognition came.
A terse statement in the New York Times corrected a long-standing injustice. It read: “Further investigation and experimentation have confirmed the findings of Issac Newton in the 17th century, and it is now definitely established that a rocket can function in a vaccum as well as in an atmosphere. The Times regrets the error.”
Thirty-seven years ago this week, astronauts Pete Conrad, Joe Kerwin and Paul Weitz became the first NASA crew to fly aboard the recently-orbited Skylab space station. Not only would the crew establish a new record for time in orbit, they would effect critical repairs to the space station which had been seriously damaged during launch.
Skylab was America’s first space station. The program followed closely on the heels of the historic Apollo lunar landing effort. Skylab provided the United States with a unique space platform for obtaining vast quantities of scientific data about the Earth and the Sun. It also served as a means for ascertaining the effects of long-duration spaceflight on human beings.
A Saturn IVB third stage served as Skylab’s core. This huge cylinder, which measured 48-feet in length and 22-feet diameter, was modified for human occupancy and was known as the Orbital Workshop (OWS). With the addition of a Multiple Docking Adapter (MDA) and Airlock Module (AM), Skylab had a total length of 83-feet.
Skylab was also outfitted with a powerful space observatory known as the Apollo Telescope Mount (ATM). This unit sat astride the MDA and was configured with a quartet of electricity-producing solar panels. The OWS had a pair of solar panels as well. The entire Skylab stack weighed 85 tons.
The Skylab space station (Skylab 1) was placed into a 270-mile orbit using a Saturn V launch vehicle on Monday, 14 May 1973. Upon reaching orbit, it quickly became apparent that all was far from well aboard the space station. The micro-meteoroid shield and solar panel on one side of the OWS had been lost during ascent. The other OWS solar panel was stuck and did not deploy as planned.
With the loss of an OWS solar panel, Skylab would not have enough electrical energy to conduct its mission. The station was also heating up rapidly (temperatures approached 190 F at one point). The lost micro-meteoroid shield also provided protection from solar heating. Sans this protection, internal temperatures could rise high enough to destroy food, medical supplies, film and other perishables and render the OWS uninhabitable.
NASA engineers quickly went to work developing fixes for Skylab’s problems. A mechanism was invented to free the stuck solar panel. A parasol of gold-plated flexible material, deployed from an OWS scientific airlock, was then fashioned and tested on the ground. This material would cover the exposed portion of the OWS and provide the needed thermal shielding.
The onus was now on the Skylab 2 crew of Conrad, Kerwin and Weitz to implement the requisite fixes in orbit. On Friday, 25 May 1973, the Skylab 2 crew and their Apollo Command and Service Module (CSM) were rocketed into orbit by a Saturn IB launch vehicle. They quickly rendezvoused with Skylab and verified its sad condition. It was time to get to work.
The first order of business was to try to free the stuck solar panel. As Conrad flew the CSM in close proximity to Skylab, Kerwin held Weitz by the feet as the latter leaned out of the open CSM hatch and attempted to release the stuck solar panel with a pair of special cutters. No joy in spaceville. The solar panel refused to deploy.
The Skylab 2 crew next attempted to dock with Skylab. They tried six times and failed. The CSM drogue and probe was not functioning properly. The crew had to fix it or go home. With great difficulty, they did so and were finally able to dock with Skylab. The objective now was to enter Skylab and deploy the parasol thermal shield.
With Conrad remaining in the CSM, Kerwin and Weitz sported gas masks and cautiously entered Skylab. The temperature inside of the OWS was 130 F. Fortunately, the air was found to be of good quality and the pair went to work deploying the thermal shield through a scientific airlock. The deployment was successful and the temperature started to slowly fall.
It would not be until Thursday, 07 June 1973 that the stuck solar panel finally would be freed. On that occasion, Conrad and Kerwin donned EVA suits and spent 8 hours working outside of Skylab. Their initial efforts with the cutters were unsuccesful.
Undeterred, Conrad and Kerwin improvised and were able to cut the strap that restrained the solar panel. Then, heaving with all their might, the pair finally freed the solar panel. In obedience to Newton’s 3rd Law, as the solar panel deployed in one direction, the astronauts went flying in the other. Happily, they were able to collect themselves and safely reenter the now adequately-powered Skylab.
Skylab 2 went on to spend 28 days in orbits; a record for the time. This record was quickly eclipsed by the Skylab 3 and Skylab 4 crews which spent 59 and 84 days in space, respectively. Skylab was an unqualified success and provided a plethora of terrestrial, solar and human factors data of immense importance to space science. These data played a vital role in the design and development of the ISS.
Skylab was abandoned following the Skylab 4 mission in February of 1974. The plan was to reactivate it and raise its orbit using the Space Shuttle when the latter became operational. Unfortunately, a combination of a rapidly deteriorating orbit and delays in flying the Shuttle conspired against bringing this plan to fruition. Skylab reentered the Earth’s atmosphere and broke-up near Australia in July of 1979.
Forty-one years ago this week, Apollo 10 set sail for the Moon on a mission that would see American astronauts fly within a mere 8 nautical miles of the lunar surface. This historic flight cleared the way for the first manned lunar landing just 2 months later.
The infamous Apollo 1 fire in January 1967 resulted in a 21-month suspension of manned spaceflight operations for the United States. By the time the first post-Apollo 1 flight occurred in October 1968, a scant 14 months remained for fulfillment of the national goal to land men on the Moon and return them safely to the Earth by the end of the 1960’s.
Not a few held the position that the lunar landing goal could not be achieved by the end of the decade. Some went so far as to say a successful lunar landing would never occur. Space program opponents had a field day. As always, these ever-present naysayers averred that the US should be spending its money on more “socially-important” programs.
Despite the undercurrents of pessimism and vacillation, NASA resolutely pressed forward. In October of 1968, the Apollo Command Module was thoroughly tested in Earth orbit during Apollo 7. Then, in December of 1968, the mighty Saturn V launch vehicle placed the crew of Apollo 8 in lunar orbit. Finally, the Lunar Module was successfully flight-tested by the Apollo 9 astronauts in March of 1969.
Incredibly, each of the key Apollo flight hardware had been individually tested during 3 missions that were flown over the course of 5 months. Now it was time to test them together. Enter Apollo 10. The purpose of Apollo 10 was to fly to the Moon and do everything short of an actual landing. Apollo 10 was thus a complete dress rehearsal for Apollo 11 sans the landing.
On Sunday, 18 May 1969, Apollo 10 lifted-off from Cape Canaveral’s LC 39B at 16:49 UTC. The crew consisted of Mission Commander Thomas P. Stafford, Command Module Pilot John W. Young and Lunar Module Pilot Eugene A. Cernan. Riding on 7.5 million pounds of first stage thrust, the Saturn V accelerated, went through 2 staging events and arrived in Earth orbit 12 minutes after lift-off.
Following systems checkout, the Saturn IVB third was re-ignited to start the translunar injection (TLI). Apollo 10 entered lunar orbit almost 76 hours after launch. The astronauts later circularized their orbit at 60 nautical miles and then rested in preparation for the next day’s lunar landing rehearsal.
At a mission elapsed time of 98 hours, the Apollo 10 Command and Lunar Modules undocked and separated from one another. Stafford and Cernan crewed the Lunar Module and while John Young flew alone in the Command Module. Over the next 18 hours the Lunar Module crew flew all the flight maneuvers and executed all the procedures associated with a lunar landing.
As planned, Stafford and Cernan did not land on the Moon. The closest approach to the lunar surface was approximately 8 nautical miles. The view was great and thoughts about landing were in the crew’s minds. In actuality, the Apollo 10 Lunar Module was not configured for a lunar landing. Had the crew attempted such, they would have been doomed.
The Lunar Module’s return to rendezvous and dock with the Command Module was unremarkable with the exception of staging. The crew mistakenly left the Abort Guidance System (AGS) in AUTOMATIC rather than ATTITUDE HOLD. At separation of the Ascent and Descent Stages, the Ascent Stage wildly gyrated and flirted with gimbal lock.
The crew quickly discovered the AGS switch position problem and brought the vehicle back into control. But it was pretty hairy there for a few moments. As Stafford and Cernan worked to steady their steed, both astronauts articulated their surprise and concern with the dire situation using colorful and interesting language not typically associated with refined behavior.
Happily, the trip back to Earth was nominal. Apollo 10 landed at 16:52 UTC in the Pacific Ocean on Monday, 26 May 1969. Their mission had been highly successful. The way was now clear for an actual lunar landing attempt. That opportunity came just 2 months later. History records that men landed on the Moon and safely returned to the Earth in July 1969.
John Young returned to and landed on the Moon as Commander of Apollo 16 in April of 1972. He went on to command the first Space Shuttle mission (STS-1) in April of 1981. Gene Cernan was Commander of Apollo 17 in December 1972 and was the last man to walk on the Moon. Tom Stafford never returned to the Moon. However, he served as Apollo Spacecraft Commander for the ASTP mission in July of 1975.
