One Small Step Read online

  Jerry was almost asleep in the Spektr Module. He unstrapped himself, asking: “Is it serious?” Ewald rushed into the Kristall Module to get more oxygen masks. “It’s serious. It’s serious.” Tsibilyev and Linengar entered the Piroda Module to get more fire extinguishers but could not get them off the wall. So they moved to the Kvant 2 Module to get an extinguisher from there. Korzun was still fighting the fire and screaming for more extinguishers. By this time Lazutkin had reached the Soyuz and closed the hatch so that the smoke did not prevent their means of escape. By now the Kvant Module was dark and smoke filled, but Korzun knew he must go back and fight the flames, which now appeared as an ominous glow through the thick fumes. This time he flipped the extinguisher to “water” and pointed the jet at the base of the hissing, spluttering flame. All too soon the extinguisher failed. “I need more,” he shouted.

  All Mir crews trained for an emergency evacuation. Lazutkin was preparing a Soyuz in case they had to abandon the space station. Valery Korzun, Aleksandr Kaleri and Reinhold Ewald’s escape lay on the other side of the flame and smoke, in the shape of the second Soyuz craft. No one had reached it yet. If they had to escape, it was their only hope. Korzun kept the water jet on the flame. Thankfully it started shrinking. Through the smoke, the flame subsided. Slowly the smoke started to clear as Mir’s air conditioning took over. Mir’s wall was found to be badly scorched, but the hull was still intact. Linengar was succeeded by Michael Foale, who had to face his own crisis on Mir.

  Unwelcome Trip to Mir

  In the summer of 1995 Michael Foale had been a member of Shuttle mission STS-63, Discovery’s first rendezvous with Mir. About this time two of NASA’s proposals for Mir astronauts, Scott Parazynski and Wendy Lawrence, were rejected as being unsuitable; one was too tall and the other was too short. Foale did not particularly want to go to Mir. He had in mind a trip to the International Space Station that was being planned. But while on a business trip to Star City he was told by someone that they had heard he would be coming to train there in a few weeks. “Huh?” was his reply, before he became, in his own words, “pretty angry.” Although he did not know it, NASA had agreed to send him to Mir. He arrived at Mir on May 17, 1997, on the Shuttle Atlantis. Later, when commenting on Mir, he said diplomatically: “The condition of Mir is not the same as the Space Station.” Some Americans have said it smelled like a musty wine cellar, others that it smelled of sweat. There are cables and air ducts everywhere. Once on board, Foale was taken to see the site of the fire. No doubt he hoped that nothing like that would happen during his stay.

  Coming in Too Fast

  Six weeks into Foale’s mission, it was decided to test a new control system for docking an unmanned Progress supply spacecraft. To do this they undocked a Progress already attached to Mir and backed it off, intending to use the new system to bring it back. When the Progress was about 4.4 miles (7 km) away, Tsibilyev took over manual control. He fired its thrusters to slow the approach. Although he was watching on a television screen, the Progress was approaching from below and he could see it against the Earth’s clouds. Foale, holding the laser rangefinder, tried to see it from Kvant, but still could not make it out. Nobody could see the Progress, which was now 1.6 miles (2.5 km) distant.

  It seemed to be coming in too slowly. It was only two minutes from the docking. It should have been visible by now. Tsibilyev put the brakes on, preparing for a hold point 400 meters (1312 ft.) away. Where was it? Suddenly Lazutkin saw it emerge from behind a solar panel. It was big. Too big and too close. It was heading for base block. At 150 meters (492 ft.) away Lazitkin shouted a warning: “It’s coming in too fast.” It was moving along the station, passing Kvant. Lazutkin shouted: “It’s moving past. Find Foale, get into the ship [the Soyuz].” Then Tsibilyev shouted: “Oh Hell,” as he realized that a collision was inevitable.

  The Progress crumpled a solar panel as it impacted. Mir shuddered. Then it struck the Spektr Module before rubbing along the side of Mir and moving away into space, tumbling end over end. The master alarm sounded. The hull had been breached, and Mir was leaking. Foale felt the pressure drop in his ears. Pressure was down to 600 millibars. At 540 millibars you can lose consciousness. The leak was in Spektr, and Lazutkin was gathering up the cables that entered the module and prevented its hatch from closing. The pressure was falling. They had to get the Soyuz craft ready. Things were getting frantic. They could not get Spektr’s hatch to close, so Foale and Lazutkin went to search for a replacement hatch door.

  After the collision, Mir was spinning at about a degree a second. Ground Control was concerned, asking them what was the spin rate. Foale moved quickly to the window and held his thumb against it, looking to the stars beyond to estimate a rough spin rate, which he relayed back down to the ground. They had to stop the spin, and that involved firing Mir’s maneuvering thrusters in so-called “blind mode.” They activated what they thought were the correct set of thrusters, and Mir ceased spinning. But they knew they had to start Mir slowly spinning in the correct manner again, so that the solar panels would remain pointing toward the Sun as it orbited the Earth. If they could not achieve this they would run out of power. But no one had been trained to do it. Then they lost all power and contact with the ground.

  To get Mir spinning again they decided to use the working thrusters on one of the docked Soyuz craft. Foale suggested they should fire them in translation mode (usually used for moving the spacecraft) and not rotation mode (used for rotating it). Firing the thrusters in translation mode would have the greatest effect in turning Mir. But it was still risky, and in any case Foale would be the first to admit that he was not a Mir expert. If they were wrong or made a mistake, they could run down the Soyuz’ fuel supply and jeopardize its use as an escape option. In the end they decided to fire a Soyuz thruster to see what effect it had on Mir’s orientation. But there was a problem, and it could be a big one.

  Chasing the Sun

  It was impossible to disconnect the Soyuz from Mir’s power supply, and then activate the Soyuz, if Mir’s power supply was dead. Fortunately, Tsibilyev had disconnected Soyuz just before Mir’s power failed, which meant he could operate its thrusters. Tsibilyev fired the thrusters and Foale observed the effect from the window. Slowly they worked out an effective procedure. To restore power to Mir they had to turn its solar panels toward the Sun, but it was orbital night. They looked at the darkened Earth. Where would the Sun rise? Then they saw some faint light streamers on the horizon. Foale said: “Looks like we need to get the station over there.” By trial and error they tried to turn Mir in the right direction. They looked at the batteries; they were charging. It seemed that they had done it. Now they had to get the systems in the base block working—especially the carbon dioxide scrubbers, as carbon dioxide levels had been increasing.

  After power and some semblance of order were established they organized a sleeping pattern. Someone had to be on watch at all times, but the rest needed to sleep. They would achieve nothing, and make mistakes, if they were too tired. They had to move dead batteries from the dead modules and charge them up in the base block, keeping a set of charged batteries in case they lost solar power again. After about 30 hours they had the base block working again, and after 48 hours, to their relief, the toilet, too.

  A week after the collision—a week that was spent getting the power supply sorted—Ground Control suggested they undertake an “internal spacewalk” into the Spektr Module to assess the damage. They could certainly do with the power from Spektr’s solar panels, which was routed through the module. It seemed that only one of the four panels had been damaged by the collision. They needed the power from the other three. Engineers on the ground were working on a design for an adapter to be built into a hatch, which would allow electricity to be cabled out.

  The crew prepared the spacesuits and worked on the procedures for the repair. In the meantime another Progress craft came up, this time docking successfully using the standard control system. It carried some much
appreciated mail, as well as supplies and equipment for the internal spacewalk.

  Into Another Spin

  During the preparations it was assumed that two Russians would carry out the internal spacewalk. However, Tsibilyev developed a heart murmur, which resulted in Michael Foale being given the role of undertaking the spacewalk in a Russian spacesuit. Before the spacewalk could proceed, about 100 cables running through the base block to Kvant 2 had to be disconnected so that the internal hatches could be closed. Some of the cables were connected to the gyroscopes that controlled Mir’s orientation. Only two days before the planned spacewalk one of the cables was disconnected out of sequence, causing Mir to go into a big tumble as the gyroscopes spun down. Technically, it was a more serious power-down situation than the one that followed the collision.

  A Rushed Choice of Crew

  At this point mission controllers realized that they had been pushing the crew too hard, and they were also worried about Tsibilyev’s mental condition. They decided that the internal spacewalk would be performed by the next crew, whose arrival was brought forward a week, shortening the crew overlap time and canceling the flight of an ESA astronaut due to visit Mir.

  The next crew, Mir Expedition 24, arrived, composed of Anatoli Solovyov and Pavel Vinogradov. In subsequent weeks they performed the internal spacewalk, although they were unable to completely restore the power. Foale then made an exterior spacewalk to assess damage. The leak was never fixed.

  The night before they left Mir it is reported that Tsibilyev and Lazutkin stayed up late autographing and stamping stationery, photographs and letters to take back home to sell. Foale estimated that they only had about two hours sleep and that it was an irresponsible thing to do.

  The End of Mir

  After the emergencies, the US Congress considered whether the Americans should abandon the Mir collaboration program out of concern for the astronauts’ safety, but NASA Administrator Dan Goldin chose to carry on. In June 1998 the final US-Mir astronaut, Andy Thomas, left the space station aboard the Shuttle Discovery.

  The 39th, and final, manned mission to Mir was Soyuz TM-30, launched in April 2000. Given sufficient resources Mir could perhaps have been patched up and helped to continue, but Russia’s commitment to the International Space Station and its limited resources meant that it had to be canceled. Mir was brought back to Earth on March 23, 2001, near Fiji.

  TIMELINE

  1994 6 February Sergei Krikalev becomes the first cosmonaut to fly on the Space Shuttle (STS-60), when it approaches the Mir Space Station

  1995 16 March Norman Thagard becomes the first astronaut to be welcomed aboard Mir

  May Mir is reconfigured to receive the US Space Shuttle

  29 June Space Shuttle docks with Mir, becoming the biggest manmade satellite to orbit the Earth

  1996 22 March The Shuttle STS-76 blasts off for Mir. Among the crew is astronaut Shannon Lucid, the first woman to live on the station

  1997 23 February Crew of Mir experience a severe fire on board

  25 June A Soviet Progress supply craft collides with Mir while docking, causing Mir to lose cabin pressure and spin out of control

  2000 4 April The final manned mission to Mir, Soyuz TM-30, is launched

  2001 23 March Parts of the Mir space station are visible as they burn out on entry into the Earth’s atmosphere

  “Off-scale low”

  END OF AN ERA

  STS-107—THE FINAL FLIGHT OF COLUMBIA

  2003

  Columbia began its return to Earth at the completion of STS-107 on February 1, 2003. It was its 28th flight, and its last. It had been launched almost 16 days earlier on a wide-ranging science mission to study the Earth’s atmosphere and microgravity. About 82 seconds after launch, when Columbia was at an altitude of 20,116 meters (66,000 ft.), a suitcase-sized piece of thermal insulation foam broke off from the external tank’s bipod foam ramp section and struck the leading edge of the spacecraft’s left wing.

  The impact with the large piece of insulation material is believed to have created a 15–25 cm (6–10 in) hole in the Space Shuttle’s wing. It was not the first time that foam had fallen from this area; it had happened on at least four previous Shuttle flights. As Columbia entered its second orbit around the Earth, mission controllers reviewed video taken of the launch and concluded that it was nothing unusual. The following day higher resolution video revealed that the foam had struck the wing, but the extent of the damage, if any, was not possible to determine. Engineers wanted to use secret spy satellites to take a look at Columbia in orbit, but NASA officials deemed this unnecessary. Another engineer was so concerned that he requested that an astronaut visually inspect the area, but again his request was declined. In total, three requests for in-orbit imagery of Columbia were turned down. The subsequent accident report revealed that the concerned engineers found themselves in the position of having to prove that the Shuttle was unsafe—a reversal of the usual requirement of proving that a situation is safe.

  The official crew photograph from mission STS-107 on the doomed Space Shuttle Columbia.

  Countdown to Disaster

  2:30 a.m. Eastern Time: the Entry Flight Control Team began their shift in Houston’s Mission Control Center. At handover, there were no issues raised that were out of the ordinary. They went through their checklists; it was a reentry like any other. The weather at the Kennedy Space Center in Florida was good.

  8:00 a.m.: Flight Director Larry Cain polled Mission Control for a go/no go for reentry. A few minutes later the capcom notified the crew that they were go for the de-orbit burn. Commander Rick Husband and Pilot William McCool fired Columbia’s two OMS engines. Flying upside down and tail first over the Indian Ocean at 175 miles (282 km) altitude, they were on their 255th orbit. The 2-minute, 38-second burn slowed them sufficiently to begin their entry into the atmosphere. They were now committed. There was no turning back.

  After the burn Husband turned Columbia around and pitched its nose up so that the heat-resistant tiles on its belly would face the brunt of reentry friction.

  8:44 a.m.: Columbia reached the so-called Entry Interface at 121,920 meters (400,000 ft.)—the point at which the first signs of the atmosphere are evident. They were passing over the Pacific Ocean.

  8:48 a.m.: a sensor on the left wing’s leading edge showed strains higher than those recorded on previous Space Shuttle reentries, but the data was stored on the onboard flight recorder and not transmitted to the ground controllers. For them, the reentry was normal, but that was about to change.

  8:49 and 53 seconds a.m.: Columbia, traveling at Mach 24.5, made a preplanned turn to the right to adjust its rate of descent and heating. Sixty seconds later it entered the 10-minute-long period of peak heating, when thermal stresses are at their greatest. It was nearing the Californian coastline. Wing leading edge temperatures now approached 1450 °C. The speed had dropped slightly to Mach 23. Columbia’s altitude was 70,400 meters (231,000 ft.). Observers reported sighting debris being shed from Columbia. Flares were seen in the superheated air surrounding the Space Shuttle.

  8:54 and 24 seconds a.m.: the Maintenance, Mechanical and Crew Systems Officer informed the Flight Director that four hydraulic sensors in the left wing were “off-scale low,” indicating that the sensors had failed in some way. As Columbia crossed into Nevada airspace at 69,190 meters (227,000 ft.), witnesses reported seeing the start of a series of bright explosions. Wing leading edge temperatures were now at their maximum—1650 °C.

  8:56 and 30 seconds a.m.: Columbia was over Arizona and starting another turn.

  8:59 and 15 seconds a.m.: pressure readings were lost from both left wing landing tires. At this time Rick Husband had been trying to say something. The Flight Director told the capcom that they did not understand Columbia’s last transmission. Seventeen seconds later Husband was heard to say: “Roger, uh, bu…” He was cut off mid-word. Observers could see that Columbia was breaking up, but as yet Mission Control saw no sign of any serious tr
ouble.

  9:05 a.m.: observers saw smoke trails and debris falling in the sky over Texas.

  9:12 a.m.: the Flight Director declared a contingency, which meant the loss of the vehicle. Search and Rescue teams were alerted. He issued an instruction to lock the doors. No one was allowed in or out. Flight controllers were told to preserve all the mission data for the investigation that would follow. They all knew the crew was dead.