Fwd: 30 Years Since the Maiden Countdown of Discovery

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From: "Gary Johnson" <gjohnson144@comcast.net>
Date: June 30, 2014 3:04:59 PM CDT
To: "Gary Johnson" <gjohnson144@comcast.net>
Subject: FW: 30 Years Since the Maiden Countdown of Discovery

 

 

AmericaSpace

For a nation that explores
June 28th, 2014

'Silent, Except for the Wind': 30 Years Since the Maiden Countdown of Discovery (Part 1)

By Ben Evans

 

Thirty years ago, this week, Discovery prepared for her maiden voyage and the third shuttle flight of 1984. On 26 June, it brought NASA face to face with the harsh nature of launching humans into space. Photo Credit: NASA

"T-31 seconds … We have a Go for autosequence start … Discovery's computers now taking over primary control of vehicle critical functions until liftoff … "

The calm, measured tones of NASA commentator Mark Hess provided an assurance that shuttle launches had become the stuff of routine. It was 26 June 1984—30 years ago, this week—and after a false start the previous day, all seemed to be proceeding normally as the final seconds ticked away to the maiden voyage of the new orbiter, Discovery. Strapped into the flight deck were astronauts Hank Hartsfield, Mike Coats, Mike Mullane, and Steve Hawley, whilst downstairs on the middeck were Judy Resnik and McDonnell Douglas engineer Charlie Walker, flying as part of a commercial contract with NASA. Walker had been training with the crew since the previous summer, but the others had been assigned in February 1983. It had been a long 16 months.

When they were first assigned, they expected to be launched in March 1984 on a mission designated "STS-12″ to deploy the third of NASA's network of Tracking and Data Relay Satellites (TDRS-C). However, the real icing on the cake, in Mullane's mind, at least, was that they would be flying the maiden voyage of Discovery, the third shuttle orbiter, whose construction had begun under a $1.9 billion contract with Rockwell International in February 1979. Named in honor, primarily, of Captain James Cook's HMS Discovery, but also offering a nod to vessels commanded by Henry Hudson to search out the Northwest Passage, by George Nares to reach the North Pole and by Robert Falcon Scott to conquer Antarctica, the spacegoing Discovery's fabrication had begun in August 1979 and the vehicle was structurally complete by February 1983. Several months of testing followed and Discovery was finally rolled out of Rockwell's Palmdale plant in California in October, commencing an overland trek to Edwards Air Force Base, Calif., and delivery to Florida atop the Boeing 747 Shuttle Carrier Aircraft (SCA) on 9 November. Thanks to manufacturing changes to the internal structure of the airframe and the inclusion of newer thermal protection materials, including Advanced Flexible Reusable Surface Insulation (AFRSI) in place of tiles at various points on the upper wings, fuselage, payload bay doors, and vertical stabilizer fin, Discovery's dry weight of 147,930 pounds (67,100 kg) was some 660 pounds (300 kg) less than her sister ship, Challenger, and more than 4,400 pounds (2,000 kg) less than the queen of the fleet, Columbia. She was undoubtedly the most advanced orbiter yet built. "Aviators live for the day they might be the first to take a new jet into the air," Mullane wrote in his 2006 memoir, Riding Rockets, "and we were being offered the first flight of a space shuttle."

If it all seemed too good to be true, it was. It did not take long for the gremlins of misfortune to hit the mission. Within six weeks of the crew announcement, the first TDRS had been left stranded in a useless orbit, thanks to the failure of its Inertial Upper Stage (IUS) booster; and by the end of May 1983, a second TDRS had been deleted from STS-8 and a third from STS-12. According to Boeing, the prime contractor for the IUS, repairs and modifications would require at least a year. This led directly to the cancellation of both STS-10 and STS-12 … but not to the dissolution of their crews. "After many tense weeks of worry," wrote Mullane, "we acquired a new payload of two smaller communications satellites with different booster rockets. Best of all, we still retained the first flight of Discovery." Instead of a TDRS, they were given Anik-C1—also listed as "Telesat-I" in NASA's November 1983 manifest—and a military communications satellite for the U.S. Navy, known as Syncom 4-1. The two payloads could not have been more different. Anik-C1 was virtually identical to its siblings placed into orbit on STS-5 in November 1982 and on STS-7 in June 1983—a solar-cell-coated drum, mounted atop a Payload Assist Module (PAM)-D booster. Syncom was also drum-shaped, but would be carried aloft horizontally in a "cradle" and spring-ejected from the payload bay, departing "sideways," like a frisbee. In addition to Anik and Syncom, according to NASA's November 1983 and January 1984 manifests, Discovery was also to carry the OAST-1 experimental solar array, sponsored by NASA's Office of Aeronautics and Space Technology, and a Large Format Camera in the payload bay for topographical research. Under the requirements of the new and complex shuttle mission numbering system, the flight was redesignated "STS-41D."

STS-41D, in its original mission incarnation as "STS-12," was tasked with the deployment of a Tracking and Data Relay Satellite (TDRS). However, problems with the Boeing-built Inertial Upper Stage (IUS) booster in 1983 caused this payload to be dropped from the manifest. Photo Credit: NASA

" … T-15 seconds and counting … "

Losing their TDRS payload was disappointing to the astronauts, particularly Mullane and Resnik, who would have taken the lead role in its deployment. They had spent a great deal of time at Boeing's plant in Seattle, learning the intricacies of the IUS. "At the contractors' factories, we also did some 'widows and orphans' appearances," wrote Mullane, referring to NASA's deliberate attempt to present a human face on manned space exploration and hence raise awareness of the deadly consequences of mistakes, "passing out Maiden Voyage of Discovery safety posters to the workers."

" … 10 … "

By the early summer of 1984, as Ghostbusters smashed cinema box offices across the world, the shuttle seemed to be prospering. The Manned Maneuvering Unit (MMU) "jet backpack" had been tested in February and Solar Max had been triumphantly repaired in April. Six more missions were scheduled before the end of the year and, on 4 June, Discovery's three main engines were test-fired in readiness for her first launch. The juggling of payloads remained a serious issue, though, and at some stage between the January and May 1984 manifests Anik-C1 was removed from 41D and rescheduled for another flight early the following year. Anik was a PAM-D payload and the failure of this booster to deliver two satellites into orbit in February had led to delays until the definitive cause could be identified and corrected. Hank Hartsfield's crew were left with a relatively spacious seven-day flight to deploy the Syncom 4-1 and run the Large Format Camera, OAST-1, and a series of middeck experiments. (In fact, OAST-1 operations would dominate the mission, with the first deployment of its mast on Day 3 to test its performance and structural dynamics. The camera, too, would be operated on its payload bay truss throughout the flight.)

After 41D, the rest of the 1984 manifest remained largely unchanged, although the numbering system was adjusted slightly. Mission 41E aboard Challenger, previously scheduled for July, would have carried Ken Mattingly's STS-10 crew on a long-delayed assignment for the Department of Defense, but this had been cancelled earlier in the year, due to the IUS difficulties. Next up after 41D, therefore, would be STS-41F in August, aboard Challenger; Karol "Bo" Bobko's seven-day flight would deploy a record three satellites—a second Syncom (4-2) and a pair of PAM-D payloads known as SBS-4 and Telstar-3C—as well as a retrievable astronomy platform called "SPARTAN." Then, in early October, Bob Crippen would fly Columbia on mission 41G to deploy the Earth Radiation Budget Satellite (ERBS) and operate a payload for NASA's Office of Science and Terrestrial Applications. Another mission previously on the 1984 manifest (STS-41H, commanded by Rick Hauck) was cancelled, and the first pair of "51-series" flights were scheduled for November (STS-51A) and December (STS-51C).

Clad in their blue flight suits, the STS-41D crew included America's second female astronaut, Judy Resnik. Photo Credit: NASA

So it was that the 41D crew arrived at the Kennedy Space Center (KSC) in Florida in a fleet of four T-38 jets on the afternoon of 22 June 1984, with liftoff anticipated three days later. They circled over the launch complex and alighted on the runway of the Shuttle Landing Facility (SLF). Flying, relaxing, spending time with family members, and running through checklists consumed their final hours on the planet. On the morning of the 25th, they suited up—Mullane jokingly offered Resnik an emery board to do her nails during ascent—and headed out of the Operations and Checkout Building for the pad and Discovery. "The pad was eerily deserted," Mullane wrote. "A vapor of oxygen swirled around the [main engine] nozzles. A flag of more vapor whipped from the top of the [External Tank] beanie cap. Shadows played upon that fog … "

Hank Hartsfield and Mike Coats were the first to board Discovery, followed by Mullane on the flight deck and Resnik and Walker on the middeck; the last to be strapped in was Steve Hawley, seated behind and between the commander and pilot in his role as the flight engineer. During the wait, Walker recalled being asked to help verify the integrity of a pressure seal. The countdown continued … until a problem was detected with Discovery's backup General Purpose Computer (GPC), which failed to synchonize with its four primary cousins. The clock was stopped to permit troubleshooting, but when it became clear that the problem could not be solved, the crew were notified that the launch would be scrubbed and rescheduled for the next day, 26 June. After more than two hours lying on their backs, against the hard aluminum frames of their seats, it was not welcome news that they would be forced to endure the same discomfort tomorrow.

Darkness still covered KSC when the crew repeated the time-honored ritual in the small hours of the following morning. "The van starts out slowly," Charlie Walker told the NASA oral historian of his journey to the pad. "We wind our way through the parking lot and out onto the access road to the pad. There's this police escort, of course, in front of you, with lights flashing and everything, so you feel like you're on top of the world already … Then we arrive out at the launch pad and, at the base of the pad, security waves you on. You don't have to show all your badges and everything this time; they know who you are. At the bottom of the crawlerway, you can get the view … the first time we'd really seen it clearly without the rotating service structure around it and so it's an awesome experience, knowing that you're going to ride this thing into space and there's your spaceship waiting for you out there. Go up the ramp, the police car leading the way, and you just get to the top of the ramp, and the thing that I noticed first was really different … was that there was like only one or two other people there. Now, every other time you've been out there, there's dozens and dozens of people all around and conversation going on; but now it's silent, except for the wind, maybe some seabirds now and then. As you get up closer to the vehicle, you begin to hear the vehicle. You begin to hear the shuttle and the External Tank."

Months of training had reached their climax; they were really going to fly today.

Or were they?

 

Copyright © 2014 AmericaSpace - All Rights Reserved

 

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AmericaSpace

For a nation that explores
June 29th, 2014

'Like Drowned Rats': 30 Years Since the Maiden Countdown of Discovery (Part 2)

By Ben Evans

Close-up view of Discovery's three main engines, still exhibiting evidence of scorching from their momentary ignition on 26 June 1984, in the wake of the shuttle program's first Redundant Set Launch Sequencer (RSLS) abort. Photo Credit: NASA

" … We have a Go for main engine start … "

The preparations proceeded remarkably smoothly for the second attempt to launch Shuttle Discovery on her maiden voyage, STS-41D. As described in yesterday's AmericaSpace history article, a problematic backup computer had been replaced and tested and showed no discrepancies. The countdown moved crisply: built-in holds at T-20 minutes and T-9 minutes were passed and, at 8:39 a.m. EDT, with five minutes to go, Pilot Mike Coats reached down and switched on Discovery's three Auxiliary Power Units (APUs). The trio of hydraulic pumps hummed perfectly to life. "The meters showed good pressure," recalled Mike Mullane, who was seated directly behind Coats. "Discovery now had muscle." The computers automatically commanded a final series of checks of the main engines and the elevons on the wings. With two minutes to go, the astronauts closed their visors. Commander Hank Hartsfield shook Coats' hand and wished them all good luck, reminding them to stick to their training and keep their eyes focused on the instruments. Thirty-one seconds before liftoff, the Ground Launch Sequencer (GLS) handed over primary control of the countdown to the shuttle's computers. In the darkened middeck, Judy Resnik and Charlie Walker clasped hands. The Solid Rocket Boosters (SRBs) underwent their final nozzle steering checks, and at 10 seconds a flurry of sparks from hydrogen burn igniters gave way to a familiar low-pitched rumble. 

" … seven, six, five … we have main engine start … "

Inside Discovery's cabin, the astronauts felt the immense vibration as turbopumps awoke, liquid oxygen and hydrogen flooded into the engines' combustion chambers and they roared to life … and then, suddenly and shockingly, were arrested by the blaring sound of the master alarm. Something had gone badly awry. "Then there's this grinding," remembered Walker. "I cannot describe it. It sounded like … imagine in your mind the hand of God comes out of the sky, reaches down and twists the launch tower and structure outside the vehicle. It sounds like the place is being ripped apart!" Two of the main engines—No. 2 and 3, closest the aft body flap—had blazed to life, but the No. 1 engine, directly at the "top" of the pyramid, had failed to ignite. "The vibrations were gone," wrote Mullane in his 2006 memoir, Riding Rockets. "The cockpit was as quiet as a crypt. Shadows waved across our seats as Discovery rocked back and forth on her hold-down bolts." From the pilot's seat, all Coats could hear was the screeching of disturbed seagulls outside. Two red lights on the instrument panel indicated that the No. 2 and 3 engines had indeed shut down, but the indicator for the No. 1 engine remained dark.

Instantly, Coats, whose responsibility as pilot was to monitor the engines during ascent, jabbed his finger onto the button to shut it down. The status indicator did not change; it remained dark. Downstairs, Walker's eyes were focused intently on the procedures for "Mode 1 Egress," the instructions for opening the side hatch and evacuating the vehicle. Meanwhile, on the roof of the Launch Control Center (LCC), the astronauts' families were watching the unfolding drama … and they were perplexed both by what they could see and what they couldn't. "A thick summer haze had obscured the launch pad," wrote Mullane. "When the engines had ignited, a bright flash had momentarily penetrated that haze, strongly suggesting an explosion. As that fear had been rising in the minds of the families, the engine-start sound had finally hit … a brief roar." The sound echoed off the walls of the gigantic Vehicle Assembly Building (VAB) and was gone. Within seconds, it became clear what had happened.

An ominous cloud of smoke billows away from Pad 39A in the seconds after a problematic Main Engine Start. Photo Credit: NASA

" … we have a cutoff … we have an abort by the on-board computers of the orbiter Discovery … "

Over the intercom, the astronauts heard the worrisome words "RSLS Abort," meaning a "Redundant Set Launch Sequence." This pointed inevitably to a main engine problem, which had forced their automatic shutdown by the General Purpose Computers (GPCs). Intuitively, the crew knew that safeguards existed to prevent the SRBs from igniting—if that had happened, it would have killed them all—but they also knew that only a few seconds existed on the countdown clock. "A couple of seconds in the world of electronics is a lifetime," said Mullane, "and I'm sure that all the safety devices had rotated to prevent [the solids] from igniting … but in the back of your mind, you're thinking What happens if those ignite?" The situation was by no means under control. As if the indication that the No. 1 engine might still be burning was not enough, Launch Control now told the crew that there was a fire on the pad and the suppression equipment had been activated.

The decision over whether to unstrap and make an emergency evacuation of the orbiter was now in the hands of Discovery's commander, Hank Hartsfield; downstairs, on the middeck, Judy Resnik had unstrapped and was peering through the window in Discovery's side hatch. She could see no fire. The astronauts would have to run across the access arm to a set of seven baskets which would whisk them from the pad to safety. Listening to the communication loop, Hartsfield elected to sit tight. It was a decision which probably saved their lives. Hydrogen burns "cleanly," invisible to the human eye, and it had already begun to ignite combustible materials on the pad surface. Subsequent inspections would reveal scorched paint all the way up the launch pad structure, as far as the crew access arm. "The flame may have been as high as the cockpit," Mullane continued, "but … we would not have seen it. We could have thrown open the hatch and run into a fire." Years later, Walker would praise Hartsfield for not having ordered a Mode 1 Egress that day. In his conversations with the launch director after the abort, Hartsfield realized that a lot of doubt also existed over the reliability of the slide-wire baskets and that had informed their judgment to keep the crew aboard the orbiter.

At the press site, Mark Hess' commentary continued: "We have an indication two of our fire detectors on the zero level; no response … They're side by side, right next to the engine area … The engineer requested that we turn on the heat shield firewall screen between the engine valve and Discovery's three main engines … "

From the flight engineer's seat, Steve Hawley injected a spark of humor into the proceedings. "Gee," he said, in his thick Kansan drawl, "I thought we'd be a lot higher at MECO!"

There had been a Main Engine Cutoff, but not at the edge of space; Discovery remained firmly shackled to Earth. T-zero had not been reached and so the SRBs had not been commanded to ignite. Hawley's joke "broke the ice and got everybody laughing," said Mike Coats, but did little to dissipate a pervasive sense of gloom that their mission had been aborted just four seconds before liftoff. Gloom is often associated with bad weather and rain, and when the 41D crew finally saw the light of day and made their way out of the orbiter, they did so in a torrential downpour … not of rain, but of the waters of the fire suppression system. The entire gantry was soaked, drips from every pipe and platform, the white room ankle-deep in water. As Mike Coats walked out of the elevator at the base of the pad, it was like walking beneath a waterfall. "We got completely soaked to the skin," he explained years later. "Then we got in the astronaut van, which was air-conditioned and very cold. As we were driving away, there's a window in the back of the van and all of us were looking back at the shuttle on the launch pad, shivering and soaking wet, like drowned rats."

The crew of STS-41D boasted the commercial industry's first astronaut, Charles Walker. He is pictured at top left (next to Judith Resnik). At bottom, crew members Mike Mullane, Steve Hawley, Hank Hartsfield, and Mike Coats smile for the camera. Photo Credit: NASA

As well as being cold, wet, and disappointed, the crew was also exhausted. "After a launch abort," Mullane told the oral historian, "you could take a gun and point it right at somebody's forehead, and they're not even going to blink, because they don't have any adrenaline left in them; it's all been used up." Mike Coats took his wife and children to Disney World, where, later that afternoon, they found themselves, ironically, queuing for the Space Mountain ride. Replacement of the troublesome main engine would require a return to the VAB and that prompted a delay until August 1984 at the earliest; Discovery was destacked and returned to the Orbiter Processing Facility (OPF) by 17 July.

The lengthy down time forced NASA to make a number of uncomfortable decisions about the schedule for the remainder of the year. "Payloads were stacking up," Mullane wrote. "Every day a communications satellite wasn't in space meant the loss of millions of dollars of revenue to its operators." The focus was on combining the payloads of two missions into one and deleting the other from the manifest, thereby providing for the minimum distortion of the launch schedule and maintaining NASA's commitment to its commercial customers. Mission 41F had been due to launch on 9 August and was cancelled; its entire payload—with the exception of SPARTAN—would be shifted onto 41D.

Since 41F included the second Syncom (4-2) military communications satellite as part of its payload, that also ended up on 41D, with peculiar the result that the second numerical Syncom actually launched ahead of the first. (Syncom 4-1 was ultimately launched in November 1984.) Hartsfield's crew retained the Office of Aeronautics and Space Technology's OAST-1 payload, but lost the Large Format Camera, which moved onto Mission 41G, the dedicated Earth resources flight, in October. In Steve Hawley's mind, training for this change was not a big deal, for the crew had already spent months working on OAST-1, Syncom deployment procedures, and deployment procedures for the Payload Assist Module (PAM)-D booster. By early August, Discovery was back on Pad 39A, with launch anticipated at the end of the month. With the SBS-4, Telstar-3C, and Syncom 4-2 communications satellites and OAST-1 in her payload bay, she would be carrying the heaviest load—at 41,180 pounds (18,680 kg)—ever taken into orbit by the shuttle at that time.

It would be an ambitious mission—a mission which a future AmericaSpace article will explore in greater depth. It would also inaugurate a remarkable career for Discovery, which, in time, would earn its place as the leader of NASA's shuttle fleet and accomplish a string of phenomenal successes in our exploration of the frontier of space.

 

Copyright © 2014 AmericaSpace - All Rights Reserved

 

 

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