Bill Kerman, revered astronaut on the Kerbal Space Program (famed for his expert work in his role as 'The One on the Left'), marches into the mess hall of Mission HQ with a look of grim determination on his face."Gentlemen, don't be so hasty to celebrate yesterday's success."Two minutes earlier, Bill's two co-pilots, Bob and Jebediah, had opened the first of a cool six-pack and were laughing over a game of poker. The day had been one of intensity - the KSP was in its early stages, but the most recent mission was a milestone which none of them had expected to achieve with so few problems.Iron Man Mode II was a fine ship and had taken them on a flawless sub-orbital flight. It flew like a dream, and was a great foundation for the white coats in engineering to build upon. One day it would take them to the moon, and the odds were looking better than they did when the Program was first announced... So why was Bill being so up-tight?"C'mon, Bill. Sit down, have a beer," pleaded Bob. "We'll have a quiet one then be up fresh and early for tomorrow's training."Bill grunted. "There is no training tomorrow..."Bob and Jeb slowly lowered their cards, eyeing Commander Bill quizzically."The Russians are putting the heat on," he continued. "Tomorrow, we're going orbital."-----
In reality, of course, none of that happened. My three Kerbal pilots have probably spent the time between my last blog post and this one drawing on the walls with crayons and drooling. None of the game literature backs this up, but I'm sure they are mentally retarded. Severely mentally retarded, in fact. I mean, just look at them:
But not to worry. I'm in charge of designing the space craft, and I'm in control of it when that countdown reaches zero. Heck, I'm in charge of starting the countdown. I am the countdown. I'm master and commander, and I'm gonna get these retards into an eliptical orbit around the planet and back safely.
In addition to that, I've also been tasked with delivering a satellite into orbit. Granted, it's a mission I've given myself since there's no real point to the game, but it's one I'm going for with full gusto nonetheless.
The first order of the day is building upon the Iron Man Mode rocket which served us so well last time. Its stability and thrust were nigh-on perfect; it's difficult in the Kerbal Space Program to create something which walks this fine line, since too much power can make the rocket untameable, whereas too many guidance systems and stabilising fins weigh it down to the point where it's no longer powerful.
But the issue now is that I don't have enough fuel to get me orbital. I will have to keep the ratio between weight, thrust and stability just right as I tack on what I hope will be enough tanks to get me into orbit. Oh, and I've got a heavy and awkward satellite balanced on top. Here's what I come up with:
Since we're in Iron Man Mode, there is no such thing as a test flight - this is either going to work, or it won't.
And if it doesn't, I'll have three irretrievably dead Kerbals on my hand... and I'm sure someone will be pissed if I smash that multi-million dollar satellite into smithereens.
I quickly make sure the rocket separation stages are in the right order, but other than that, I don't even do a countdown.
No fear.
Just go.
Good start, good start. Nothing explodes which shouldn't, it goes vertically up at a healthy rate of knots and the stack seems fairly relenting to my control.
One thing I didn't really consider, which I should have done since I fell afoul of it before starting the blog, is that the side boosters might overheat the main column. In fact, forget 'might' - the side boosters are overheating the main column.
I have no option but to reduce the thrust. This naturally results in a lack of speed, but it shouldn't be long before the side boosters run out of juice. At which point I can eject them, then carry on space-ward at full throttle.
Oh balls. I've accidentally made it so that I can't eject the side boosters without ejecting the entire first stage.
So for the first few thousand meters I can't go at full power. For the next few thousand meters, I can go at full power but have to carry some heavy, empty boosters along for the ride. What an excellent design.
Anyway, onwards and literally upwards. At 15,000 metres I ditch the first stage and shortly afterwards begin to tilt the rocket. If you're interested in rocket science at all, and I know you're as psyched about it as I am, there's a point at which you need to start trading vertical speed for horizontal speed (otherwise you'd go straight up and straight back down, as opposed to around the planet). If you're really interested in rocket science, I have a chart above my desk which shows the horizontal speeds needed at which altitudes in order to achieve orbit. Email me, I'll send you a copy.
So with two fuel tanks left I start to make my way across the planet, ever widening my trajectory arc to the point where I'll be falling past the planet. The definition of an orbit is pretty much the same as Terry Pratchett's tip about flying - 'jump, then try to miss the ground'.
It goes well, until at some point it stops going well. That point coincides with the moment I run out of fuel.
Awww... I was so close to making it around the planet.
Well, no worries. I'll just come back down with the satellite in one piece, and try again with a rocket I didn't design while drunk. Right? Wrong. I can't come back with the satellite in one piece because I designed this rocket while drunk, and herein lies the rub: the satellite is blocking my guys' capsule parachute.
So I hopelessly eject the millions of dollar's worth of equipment into the aether. I kinda hope the simple act of blasting it away from the ship will get it high enough to achieve orbit while I float back down. Kinda works? I mean, it does fly upwards to such an extent that I lose sight of it above me after a few minutes.
The Kerbals look disappointed at the mission's outcome. Actually, they look like they don't know what day of the week it is, but I'm certainly disappointed. I try to console myself with the fact that it's not a total failure unless the mission objective isn't met and the crew dies, so I prepare for a safe splash-down in the ocean.
And that's that. We decouple from the final rocket, let loose the parachute and float homeward. Once we make it back, I learn from the mission log that the satellite also hit the ocean about a minute before us, except it was going roughly twenty times the speed and assumedly shattered into a trillion pieces when it touched down.
Sorry to whoever paid for that thing.
Safely home, we head back to the design room. Aside from the piss-poor rocket placement decisions, the main issue with that flight was the lack of fuel, so I need to tack on a few extra tanks. Not only do I need to give this enough juice to get us into orbit, but I need to ensure there's enough fuel to get back out of it; since this blog will only end if the astronaut team explode to death or fatally crash, the last thing I want to do is to write endlessly about their capsule floating around the planet until the end of time.
More fuel. This should do it:
... no, sorry. That's completely ludicrous. Let's tone it down a bit:
Jolly good. Just as I'm about to launch ignition I realize that I haven't put the satellite on top: I've heard that a really important prerequisite to successfully putting a satellite into space is to make sure you have a satellite to put into space, so that's worth bearing in mind I think.
Having placed the satellite on top of the party mobile, I head back out onto the launch pad and get myself psyched up for what will hopefOHSWEETBABYJESUS!
For completely unknown reasons (I didn't touch a damn thing - I swear!) the rocket falls to pieces right on the launch pad before we even go into lift-off. The large orange tanks in the first stage topple like a game of Giant Jenga played by Stevie Wonder, and the entire thing keels over like an Essex slag during happy hour at Yates'.
Sorry, I tend to write similes when I'm panicking. But seriously:
Aaaargh!
In case I didn't quite emphasize my thoughts on this matter enough, allow me to repeat:
AAAAAAAARGH
OH THE HUMANITY!
The rocket slams into the launch pad and explodes into its composite parts, and I watch in horror as the parts list on the left of the screen rapidly becomes a sea of red: first stage engine - destroyed. First stage fuel tanks - destroyed. Decoupler - destroyed. Small second stage rocket - destroyed. On it goes, right up to the final fuel tank under the crew capsule.
Is this the end of the KSP Iron Man Mode blog?
Is there any way our intrepid Kerbals can survive this surely fatal destruction?
There's only one way to find out...
TUNE IN NEXT WEEK TO FIND OUT THE ULTIMATE FATE OF OUR DOOMED ASTROnah it's okay they're absolutely fine.
