The tiny rocket motors critical to the Saturn V
As absolutely everyone expected, building a rocket with multiple stages that need to fire in sequence is hard. Literally rocket science. But I thought the complications were pretty neat. There are two different ways to try to get around some of these complications, one predominantly used by the American space program, and one mostly by the Soviet.
First off, even in the Space Age, Newton is hanging around with his pesky first law: Things that are moving will stay moving, unless acted on by an outside force. In a vacuum, outside forces are in short supply, so a rocket had better have brought its own force.
In the case of rocket staging, this applies when you want to separate a lower rocket stage from the upper. If you just cut the engines and separate the two, the lower half will just keep following along. You’ve got to give it a kick to get it to a safe enough distance to start up the motors on the upper stage.
So one of the ‘hidden’ features on the Saturn V is a series of retrorockets. They’re angled upwards on the various stages, and they fire to push a dropped stage down and away. Some are so well-hidden you probably won’t see them in a museum. In fact, it was hard to even find a real photo of them instead of a diagram.
(I was very happy to find a Saturn V model I have includes these rockets)
At the very bottom of the Saturn V, the S-IC stage are conical fairings around the engines. Hidden beneath these are eight solid-propellant rockets that will fire when the S-IC is dropped. There’s no port for them to fire through: They literally blast through the skin of the fairing. It goes into the atmosphere anyways, it won’t need aerodynamics where it’s going.
The next hard part of staging is related. Most main rocket motors use liquids for fuel like hydrogen and oxygen. Those two quite like to be in gaseous form when pressure and temperature allow, and the engines won’t work when fed a gas. On the ground, it’s easy enough: Liquids are more dense, so they’ll be at the bottom of the tank where the pickups are.
But in zero/microgravity, there’s nothing telling the liquid where to be. Acceleration could do the trick in pushing it backward, but oh no, you just dumped your source of acceleration behind you, and you couldn’t start up the next motor until it was dropped. You’re just coasting right now and no acceleration is pushing the liquid down.
Meet the ullage motor. These look like little downward-facing rockets around the outside of a stage. After stage separation, they’ll fire to provide the kick to push the liquid fuel to the bottom of the tanks so the next stage can start successfully.
Anyways, that’s how the American space program preferred to do it. It’s complex and adds a lot of plumbing and electrical wiring to get this stuff to work. But how about the Soviet space program? They had a pretty clever (or un-clever) way to solve both problems at once. (This method also got used by American rockets like the Titan II)
Just light the upper stage while the lower stage is still attached and firing! That’s the reason for the latticework holding stages together instead of a solid interstage. The lower stage is providing the acceleration to start the upper, and then when it cuts off, you dump it and your upper stage propels you away from the lower. You do get an exhaust plume going straight onto the lower stage that has to go out those gaps.
Oh, and sometimes the stages don’t separate when you have that rocket firing. It happened on Soyuz 18a in 1975, going to the Salyut 4 space station. The lower stage didn’t detach and the entire rocket spun wildly out of control. The capsule at the top of the rocket managed to detach and make back to Earth, putting the cosmonauts through 21.3 g loading. They were so far off course they thought they might have landed in foreign territory, so they burned their documents and experimental data.