Bayard & Holmes
~ Jay Holmes
The Russian TU-144 jet, a.k.a. the Konkordski, was the Soviet version of the French/British Concorde. In Part One, Explosion of the TU-144, we looked at the apparent events at the 1973 Paris Air Show when the TU-144 exploded, killing its crew and eight French citizens. Part Two, Where Andrei Tupolev Sat, discussed the brilliant Russian engineer behind the TU-144, Andrei Tupolev. Today, we look at the rest of the story.
With the United States out of the SST competition due to costs and increased political resistance, the French/British team felt confident that they would be able to corner the market for SST aircraft for at least ten years. The French and British were vaguely aware that the USSR was developing an SST, but they were certain that the USSR was two to three years behind the Concorde development project.
In 1963, a British delegation led by UK Aviation Minister Julian Avery visited the USSR and was given a very limited tour of Russia’s aviation industry.
One of the things the Soviets showed them was a model of the future TU-144. Avery and his team decided that the model looked like an all out copy of what was then the early version of the Concorde design.
When Avery returned to the UK, he immediately warned the French and British that they obviously had been penetrated by spies. This begs a question. Why would the warning even be required? Would the French and British not have assumed that the Concorde project was a target for the Soviets?
Soviet KGB agent Sergei Pavlov was ostensibly the head of the Aeroflot’s French operations, but he was, in fact, in charge of Soviet espionage for aviation in France. The French Intelligence Service placed Pavlov under more extensive and skillful surveillance.
Before long, Pavlov was observed collecting tire samples from a French airport employee. The French and British decided that, rather than arrest Pavlov, they would turn or “double” his French contact and feed him bad information. The degree to which the planted bad information affected the Tu-144 project can probably be accurately estimated by the British and French intelligence services, but if they have done so they are not yet talking publicly about it. In 1965, the French arrested and deported Pavlov, taking from him a complete copy of the blue prints for the Concorde landing gear.
While the obvious assumption is that the USSR spied on the Concorde in order to copy the design work, their actual goals were a bit more complex.
Tupolev was under enormous pressure from the Soviet government to move quickly and to conduct a successful test flight before the Concorde did. The Tupolev firm had become famous for being able to put up a working aircraft for testing and early production, and then later refining out the problems that had been missed or ignored in development.
To Western engineers, this might seem like a risky strategy, but Andrei and Alexi Tupolev lived in a different world.
The political climate in the USSR in the late 1960s was marked by much of the same urgency and desperation that had defined the USSR during World War Two. For Tupolev, beating the Concorde was more important than refining the best design. The Tu-144 needed to be flown as soon as possible, and the design could be finished later for a production run.
In the summer of 1968, the Soviets received intelligence that the Concorde would undergo its first test flight in early 1969.
The Tupolev design team went into overdrive. Engineers and technicians slept at the assembly area and worked with little sleep. In December of 1968, the TU-144 flew a successful test flight. The Soviets had been able to fly the first Mach 2 airliner in history.
The Kremlin was overjoyed. Andrei Tupolev and the lead engineer, his son, Alexi, had achieved a great dream. Andrei’s expertise at redesigning hastily produced aircraft would undoubtedly help get the Tupolev “fixed” prior to production, but in the meantime they had struck a blow for the reputation of the USSR. When a few months later the Concorde made its first test flight, some of the publicity value had been lost to the TU-144s earlier flight, but the test pilots had a more “finished” product.
By the time of the 1973 Paris Air Show, the British and French likely felt more than the usual Cold War hostility to the TU-144 project. If the Soviet espionage showed in the general design of the Tupolev-144, the British and French anger about the aircraft was just as obvious.
The Concorde team was warned that a Mirage III would be in the air, waiting to intercept the TU-144 to photograph the deployed canards in flight. Naturally, the TU-144 crew was not told of the Mirage III.
The Tu-144 had its exhibition time cut in half at the last moment. Now, the TU-144 team would be flying a suddenly shortened flight plan with a control system that had been modified the night before.
At a reception the previous evening, Russian pilot Mikhail Koslov had made it clear that he intended to “push the envelope” the next day, and that he would out-fly the Concorde no matter what. At the last minute, Soviet copilot Valery Molchanov agreed to carry on board a French TV crew’s camera and film the cockpit during the exhibition flight. It seemed like a great opportunity to further the PR mission of the TU-144. The variables for creating an accident were quickly stacking high.
Here is what I suspect happened:
When the Mirage III came into position to photograph the canards of the TU-144, the pilot, Koslov, was either startled into an evasive maneuver, or, for purposes of an impressive show, simply pushed the envelope further than the airplane could go. Both possibilities are accepted by people who know much more about flight than I do. Both possibilities lead to the same result.
During the sudden maneuver, the air pressure to the engines suddenly dropped off, and some or all of the four engines stalled. The sudden change in velocity of the aircraft may have caused the heavy TV camera to strike the flight controls, complicating the pilots’ attempts to save the plane.
The pilot forced the TU-144 downward in order to gain airspeed with which to restart his engines. He only had four thousand feet of altitude with which to work, and after getting some or all of the engines running he attempted to pull out. The attempted abrupt climb exceeded the structural limits of the TU-144, and she broke up.
The explosion before hitting the ground was not unusual.
The TU-144 was fueled with highly volatile JP-6 fuel. There would have been plenty of heat in the disintegrating wing root and the engine compartment to ignite the vapor that formed from the fuel being released into the fast moving air. Fuel + Oxygen Pressure + Heat = Fire. The more you have of any one of these factors, the less you need of the other two factors. The oxygen pressure was high, and the fuel vapor was close to ideal so the ambient air temperature, itself, might have been enough to provide enough heat for ignition. No other bomb was needed.
The accident investigation report never mentioned the Mirage III. The black box flight data recorder was supposedly never recovered. This strikes my non-aviation mind as comical. Two aviation engineers agree with me that the accident in question should not have vaporized the black box.
The French and Soviets seemed to cooperate in a cover up. So what was covered up?
The Soviets wanted the flight crew blamed. They were trying to sell a plane not a flight crew. The French government did not want to be blamed by its French political opponents or the French public for the eight dead French civilians. The French and the Soviets (with UK acquiescence) made a deal and jointly accepted the least uncomfortable explanation for the accident.
In the aftermath, many theories surrounding the Paris Air Show incident, the Tupolev Design, and the Mirage III’s impact on the accident have been interpreted differently by a variety of observers. It’s often easy to know someone’s political views by listening to their analysis of this and other events.
Claims have been made that the Mirage, or possibly even two Mirages, purposely flew in front of the TU-144’s intake, intentionally causing two of her engines to stall. As one of our readers has already pointed out, the French could have taken down the TU-144 without instigating a crash over a populated area. If they were going to purposely cause a crash for the TU-144, they likely would have done it while the plane was en route to Paris, and not at the Air Show.
Many Russians and Soviet sympathizers will quickly point out that the TU-144 was very different from the Concorde, and, therefore, was not a copy. It was, in fact, very different.
The TU-144 wing design was simpler than the Concorde’s on the original Tu-144, but it was changed on later models. The braking system on the TU-144 was primitive compared to the Concorde’s brakes. The hydraulic system in the TU-144 was completely unlike that of the Concorde. The Concorde used a very clever cooling system the Tu-144 did not have. The exterior noise level of the TU-144 was lower than the Concorde’s, but the noise in the passenger space was almost unbearable.
The Russians’ claim that the TU-144’s earlier first flight proves it is not a copy is nonsensical, but it’s the sort of thing that the average journalist or college freshman might believe. The TU-144 was not a copy of the Concorde, but the Tupolev design team benefitted from the Soviet espionage successes against the Concorde.
In 1977, four years after the TU-144 crash in Paris, Soviet agent Sergei Fabiew was arrested by the French intelligence services. He had been working without diplomatic cover, and the French convinced him to cooperate.
Fabiew was able to deliver cypher codes to the French that he should have destroyed long before his capture. He was obviously hedging his bets and had no desire to return to the USSR. The French were able to use the old cyphers, along with cryptology information from the Americans and the British, in order to decipher old messages from Moscow to Fabiew. It was clear that Fabiew’s claim of having provided the KGB with full sets of plans for the Concorde was not just boasting. He had gotten every bit of the Concorde at every step of the way. From who? How could the French not know at this point?
Occasionally, perhaps when the wine has flowed freely at lunch, a few French writers and journalists opine that the US government banned the Concorde from US skies out of jealousy for the Concorde, and, therefore, destroyed the future of the Concorde at its inception. No. The US aviation industry would have faced the same supersonic transport flight restrictions so they didn’t bother developing it. Furthermore, the French had originally planned a continental version of the SST, and it was the British who insisted on a transatlantic capable SST.
The Concorde went on to break the transatlantic speed record in 1999.
That commercial flight record still stands. It was retired from service in 2003 after passenger demand dropped due to growing safety concerns, rapidly climbing maintenance costs, and escalating fuel costs all combined to make it unprofitable to operate.
The Tu-144? It was quickly relegated to cargo duty due to cabin noise, inadequate cabin cooling problems, Aeroflot’s dislike for the plane’s safety, and maintenance concerns.
On May 12, 2001, Alexei Tupolev died. The Konkordski, stolen or not, lives on. IN 1996 The US government funded a NASA project to operate the last TU-144 as a test bed for supersonic flight testing.
The espionage surrounding the Concorde was part of a much larger effort by both East and West to remain informed about their enemies’ flight capabilities. Those efforts stretched around the globe from hangars in Seattle to banks in Macao and Switzerland and points in between, and would require a voluminous book to describe en totem.