Photo of the Nedelin disaster © 2001 by Anatoly Zak, courtesy of Russian Space Web.com

Editor’s note: This is the second part in “Astrostan”, a series of posts on the historical and social importance of the Space Program in Kazakhstan.

A note about the image from Russian Space Web.com:

As the first flash of fire burst into the air over Site 41, automated camera systems clicked on and caught on camera what few Soviet citizens would learn about until the collapse. A still frame from this film shows survivors of the inferno running toward the edge of the launch pad with their clothes burning. Traces of smoke on the ground mark places where burning bodies fell.

Disasters of the Soviet Space Program

This week I’ll be guiding you through the less well-known areas of the Soviet Space Program.  That’s a statement that requires qualification, as precious few aspects of the Soviet Space Program are ‘well-known.’  First woman/man/dog in space = well-known.  Various cosmonaut accidents, real and imagined cries from space, launchpad disasters, and trajectory misfires litter the space age landscape.  These are the stories that flesh out our heroes and define our villains – like the Bondarenko disaster that saw a not-yet-famous Gagarin stoically standing a deathwatch over his fallen comrade.  This is not a thinly veiled attempt to defend NASA by throwing mud at RKA (Roskosmos), but a general movement towards dissemination of information about Baikonur.  Let’s take this one in steps.  These are tender topics, and I aim to treat them with the respect they deserve.  This isn’t going to be a comprehensive look at every mistake and tragedy of the Soviet Space Program, but rather a focused look at Baikonur.  That being said, I’m going to start with a misfire-turned-propaganda-victory that showcases the spin expertise of the Soviet government.

Luna misfire

The Luna series of satellites launched by the Soviet Union starting in 1958 had a rocky start.  The first four met with failure at various points in their flights, and as such went unadvertised to the world.  The stated goal of the project was to put a man-made object on the moon, something that would hopefully transmit some useful information back to Earth.  The Soviets eventually succeeded, but not before their most successful failure, Luna 1, also known as Мечта (Dream) landed in the history books.

Like the other satellites, she was aimed at the moon.  However, a miscalculation sent her hurtling past the moon in a near-hit trajectory a mere 6000 km above the surface.  This actually proved to be a blessing in disguise, as the satellite reported back information garnered from an array of technology, including a magnetometer to measure the magenosphere, as well as a Geiger counter and micrometeorite detector.  Since the program operated in such secrecy, it was instead placed in propaganda as the first man-made planet!  The reason being that, instead of being the first man-made object on the moon, it ended up in a helio-centric orbit between the Earth and Mars.  I assume it floats on still today.

Nedelin Disaster

Not truly a ‘space race’ disaster, it remains the most horrifying accident ever to take place on a launch pad, at least to my knowledge.  Best to start from the beginning…

Baikonur began, as mentioned in the first part of the series, as a test site for rockets of a different nature; proto-ICBMs and other types of missiles.  This is no different from NASA, of course – the Space Race was a very convenient cover to provide funding for war technology the war weary republics of the 1950s were unlikely to approve.  In any event, unlike the United States, with its very public launch site at Cape Kennedy, Russia had the ultra-secretive and isolated Baikonur, which was able to serve double duty as the door to space and the home of countless ICBMs.

In 1960, after Sputnik but before Gagarin’s date with destiny, during the fall testing of the R-16 ICBM, slow progress and lack of results led the Strategic Rocket Forces Marshal to personally oversee the missile’s construction and testing.  Mitrofan Ivanovich Nedelin, along with lending his name to the disaster that happened under his command, was also one of the first of the victims.  Marshal Nedelin was  already a Hero of the Soviet Union, thanks to service in World War II, though I’m afraid there is very little chance that it was his remains that filled the urn placed in the Kremlin Wall Necropolis, as will become clear.

On October 24, progress continued apace, and to push the men at Baikonur, Nedelin took a personal hand in the matter.  According to the tale told by the few survivors, he actually set up a chair close by the rocket, to better oversee the action.

Let it be known that rocket science is just like it sounds – rocket science.  There are a million things that can go wrong, and it just so happens that a switch was switched, forgotten, and then switched back at just the worst tragic moment.  The switch initiated the second stage of the rocket, which instantly ignited the primary stage as well.  I’ve heard competing stories, but the footage I’m about to link is either an automatic surveillance camera or the camera of a bystander. Long story short, so I sadly am able to link to actual footage of the holocaust that ensued.  This link is NOT for the faint of heart.

Total dead – 125 if you believe Wikipedia, though again, there are reports ranging from 60 to 150. Those closest to the rocket were more or less vaporized, and many of the victims only later succumbed to their burns. In addition, the rocket fuel was a type referred to as “Devil’s Venom,” so that those who managed to escape the inferno by jumping into blast wells were found asphyxiated by the noxious fumes.

The monument that was built after the public admission of the tragedy is visited by RKA officials before any manned launch. Unlike other Soviet tragedies, there was little political aftermath, as it was decided that “the guilty had already been punished.” If consigning the unfortunate dead to anonymity for more than thirty years isn’t punishment, one hates to consider what the alternative discipline might have been.

Baikonur Roof Collapse

This is a story that didn’t get enough play, and when it did, it was pretty cold.  Take this story, for example – it’s mention of the end of the Buran program, the lack of funding that led to no maintenance on the hanger, the destruction of so much valuable equipment…  it fails to mention the lives lost.

So, what happened?  Well, let’s back up.

Baikonur, as the primary home of the Russian Space Program, was the home and storage facility for the last gasp of the Soviet Space Race, the back-engineered Space Shuttle wannabe, the Buran.  Its only flight was an incredible success, and what’s more, fully automated, and thus unmanned.  However, after the fall in 1991, Buran’s funding dried up, and it was put into indefinite storage in a humongous hanger.

The building, like most of the former Soviet Union, went without any repairs or regular maintenance.  The 70-meter roof was said to sag noticeably under the weight of snow, but there was little to be done about it.  Until the spring of 2002, when a crew of Kazakh repairmen climbed up, only to come crashing down to their deaths.  Seven men died that day, and each family was given 50,000 tenge as way of apologizing for the dangerous work environment, which seems like a lot of money, until you convert it into dollars – a little more than $300.  Kazakhs pass unnoticed in many of these Baikonur stories, except as backward shepherds leading camels and sheep between launchpads, or as possible terrorists because of their “ethnic ties” [!!!] with the Chechens.  James Oberg seems like a high quality journalist when it comes to covering the Russian space program, but perhaps he should fact check when he moves out of his specialty.  [I certainly tried to do that with writing this article, anyway]

Kazakh Satellite Malfunction

This hardly counts as a tragedy or space disaster, but it will serve as a gentle bookend for this depressing chapter in Astrostan.  Kazakhstan’s first and only satellite in space made waves in 2006.  Sadly, nothing gold can stay.  Though it launched with a twelve-year mission and an expected ten-year guaranteed lifespan, in 2008 the satellite went incommunicado.  The satellite had been launched with high hopes, with more to follow, four total before 2020.  I still remember the iconic shot of Putin and Nazarbaev standing together, heads tilted up in that classic watch-it-go pose.  The satellite is due for burial-at-sea in space, according to RIA Novosti, and it was that story that actually planted the seed for this series of posts in my head.

Stay tuned -

Next up: Baikonur: Past and Future – Part III
Real versus Perceived Effects of the Space Program