![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
The "morning" after...
Jun. 17th, 2004 01:04 pmAlthough I felt fatigued, ultimately, sleep did not come to me last night, so shortly before I was due to leave with Olga F. and John P. for the Khrunichev Telecom offices in the Polyet Hotel, I took a cool shower and tried to snap myself into some semblance of alert.
On the way out the door of the Fili, I was called on my radio by an ILS vice president who would be appearing on the screen as part of the U.S. coverage of the launch. Among the items we talked about was the use of the word "nominal" (or, rather, the overuse of that word) in the original script. I agreed to tweak the script again, with pleasure, since I, too, was of the opinion that there were way too many occurrences of the word in the original.
I did most of the edits in the 3rd floor office where John and Olga had set up shop, among a bunch of Telecom engineers and computer displays. Their job, as I understand it, was to stay abreast of the status of the Breeze-M/Intelsat-10 unit as the upper stage performed several burns that changed the configuration of the orbit.
Then I went upstairs to acquaint myself with the setup with which I would be working. Here's a photo of my sound engineers and some of their equipment:
Like a lot of things in this country, it may not look like much, but it gets the job done. Here's a shot of me making some last-minute notes to the script, after having done a run-through of the edits I had introduced in the office downstairs. This little nook, by the way, served as both "green room" for me (notice the comfy sofa) and broadcasting studio (something to sit on, a level place for my notes, and a speakerphone on an ironing board).
We had arrived at the Polyet two and a half hours prior to liftoff, and if it weren't for the changes I made to the script, I'd say we would be pretty much ready to roll about half an hour after arrival. With the changes, make that an hour or so.
With nothing to do, the eyelids get heavy. An orange soda did nothing for me. I was called upon to help troubleshoot a problem getting the video feed halfway across the world. Eventually, though, the minutes on the countdown clock hit single digits, and I got ready to do my thing, which was to provide interpretation of scripted announcements from the "bunker" launch control center.
Said announcements are supposed to commence at T minus 60 seconds with words to the effect of: "Live coverage of the launch is commencing," but no such announcement was made. Despite the fact that I'd previously heard other voice traffic from the bunker, I wondered what I would do if no announcements came through the speaker.
The good news was that upon main engine ignition, the right announcement came out of the speaker; the bad news was that I started the gig a little off balance, and by the time I was saying "We have ignition," the rocket had already lifted off.
A few seconds later, a dull roar started to envelop us from the direction of the launch pad, which is 7 kilometers away. As the roar faded and the rocket became a pinpoint of light on the video monitor in front of me, I continued to echo the announcements from the bunker concerning the progress of the flight... "combustion chamber pressure is within specified limits"... "flight status is good"... "pitch, yaw, and roll are nominal"... until the ten minute mark. By this time, the image on the video monitor had switched from the scene outside to an animation of what was happening with the vehicle.
I went downstairs to rejoin John and Olga, and to make sure my job was finished for the evening. I stuck around long enough to hear that the Breeze-M upper stage had successfully completed its first burn, which converts the vehicle's initial suborbital trajectory into an orbit around the earth.
So as I stepped out of the Polyet, I mused about how I'd traveled twice to this place to work on a launch campaign, and although I'd seen launches of several other rockets, I still hadn't seen one of ours go up. (I'm not complaining... just musing, okay?) Then I happened to look up in the sky and was greeted by the sight of the Proton's exhaust plume -- distorted by winds and contaminated with a tinge of hydrazine -- floating high in the otherwise cloudless sky above me, catching the rays of the soon-to-be-rising sun:
Anyway, after a stop at the Proton Club (to view the aftermath of the VIP reception) and an early breakfast, I got back to the room and fell into bed. I managed to get a few hours sleep this morning, believe it or not.
Daylight is burning. I need to eat lunch and get ready to go out to the pad to help get the umbilical racks out of the vault, and I have less than an hour to do that.
Cheers...
On the way out the door of the Fili, I was called on my radio by an ILS vice president who would be appearing on the screen as part of the U.S. coverage of the launch. Among the items we talked about was the use of the word "nominal" (or, rather, the overuse of that word) in the original script. I agreed to tweak the script again, with pleasure, since I, too, was of the opinion that there were way too many occurrences of the word in the original.
I did most of the edits in the 3rd floor office where John and Olga had set up shop, among a bunch of Telecom engineers and computer displays. Their job, as I understand it, was to stay abreast of the status of the Breeze-M/Intelsat-10 unit as the upper stage performed several burns that changed the configuration of the orbit.
Then I went upstairs to acquaint myself with the setup with which I would be working. Here's a photo of my sound engineers and some of their equipment:
Like a lot of things in this country, it may not look like much, but it gets the job done. Here's a shot of me making some last-minute notes to the script, after having done a run-through of the edits I had introduced in the office downstairs. This little nook, by the way, served as both "green room" for me (notice the comfy sofa) and broadcasting studio (something to sit on, a level place for my notes, and a speakerphone on an ironing board).
We had arrived at the Polyet two and a half hours prior to liftoff, and if it weren't for the changes I made to the script, I'd say we would be pretty much ready to roll about half an hour after arrival. With the changes, make that an hour or so.
With nothing to do, the eyelids get heavy. An orange soda did nothing for me. I was called upon to help troubleshoot a problem getting the video feed halfway across the world. Eventually, though, the minutes on the countdown clock hit single digits, and I got ready to do my thing, which was to provide interpretation of scripted announcements from the "bunker" launch control center.
Said announcements are supposed to commence at T minus 60 seconds with words to the effect of: "Live coverage of the launch is commencing," but no such announcement was made. Despite the fact that I'd previously heard other voice traffic from the bunker, I wondered what I would do if no announcements came through the speaker.
The good news was that upon main engine ignition, the right announcement came out of the speaker; the bad news was that I started the gig a little off balance, and by the time I was saying "We have ignition," the rocket had already lifted off.
A few seconds later, a dull roar started to envelop us from the direction of the launch pad, which is 7 kilometers away. As the roar faded and the rocket became a pinpoint of light on the video monitor in front of me, I continued to echo the announcements from the bunker concerning the progress of the flight... "combustion chamber pressure is within specified limits"... "flight status is good"... "pitch, yaw, and roll are nominal"... until the ten minute mark. By this time, the image on the video monitor had switched from the scene outside to an animation of what was happening with the vehicle.
I went downstairs to rejoin John and Olga, and to make sure my job was finished for the evening. I stuck around long enough to hear that the Breeze-M upper stage had successfully completed its first burn, which converts the vehicle's initial suborbital trajectory into an orbit around the earth.
So as I stepped out of the Polyet, I mused about how I'd traveled twice to this place to work on a launch campaign, and although I'd seen launches of several other rockets, I still hadn't seen one of ours go up. (I'm not complaining... just musing, okay?) Then I happened to look up in the sky and was greeted by the sight of the Proton's exhaust plume -- distorted by winds and contaminated with a tinge of hydrazine -- floating high in the otherwise cloudless sky above me, catching the rays of the soon-to-be-rising sun:
Anyway, after a stop at the Proton Club (to view the aftermath of the VIP reception) and an early breakfast, I got back to the room and fell into bed. I managed to get a few hours sleep this morning, believe it or not.
Daylight is burning. I need to eat lunch and get ready to go out to the pad to help get the umbilical racks out of the vault, and I have less than an hour to do that.
Cheers...
