Inside the Factory Where Robots Make Missiles

From Popular Mechanics

TUSCON, AZ-The robots are busy working the day shift.

They aren't the cutest you'll ever see, and they won't become a line of Disney toys anytime soon. These bots are just powerful arms with versatile tool fixtures attached where hands would be. Nonetheless, the engineers at Raytheon's manufacturing plant here in Arizona have named them: One is Optimus, while a smaller one is called Bumblebee. An even shorter arm is dubbed DeVito.

The robots work with smooth, almost spooky efficiency, and not just at boring, repetitive assembly line tasks. A hefty robot arm hauls a rack of parts for six Talon laser-guided rockets to an oven meant to test their endurance against extreme heat. The door of the Thermotron opens automatically just as the arm reaches it and shuts when the parts are inside. It's Pee Wee's Playhouse, but with clean rooms and pieces of deadly precision weapons.

Defense wonks complain (and rightfully so) about the inefficiencies of developing big-ticket aerospace projects. Planes, missiles, and air defense systems are plagued by cost overruns and a lethargic pace that leads to equipment in the field that is quickly outdated and in need of expensive upgrades. So how does a massive defense firm adapt to be more lean and precise?

Touring Raytheon's plant in Tucson, where some of the company's most futuristic products become reality, is an exploration of the possibilities of 21^st century manufacturing. Here in the desert, it's clear that virtual reality, 3D printing, and robotics and surveillance tech that scrutinizes work done by humans will change the defense business.

"It's more than just buying the tech," says Rigel Quinn Woida-O'Brien, a chief engineer at Raytheon working on a satellite contract for DARPA. "It's how you use it to change your (corporate) culture."

Kamikaze Space Vehicles

The products Raytheon builds here are as futuristic as the robots that build them. The Tucson operation's main focus is making missiles, and their guidance systems require some precise engineering. It's not enough that these sensitive seekers need to be created in sterile environments, but they have to be rugged enough to survive being carried by a warplane and compact enough to fit in a tight warhead.

But there's a new game in town as weapons extend into space. In Tucson, Raytheon engineers in clean-room masks and gowns work on an exo-atmospheric kill vehicles (EKVs). After being launched into space by rockets, these interceptors use fine-tuned sensors to track down incoming warheads and run into them. With thrusters and guidance systems, these kill vehicles are spacecraft in their own right-just spacecraft with a kamikaze attitude and a short lifespan.

An EKV stands about four foot, seven inches tall. The spacecraft's design is a balance of precision and brute force. They don't carry a warhead, and rely on the force of a high-speed collision to destroy an inbound warhead. Whereas most spacecraft take every step to remain lightweight, an EKV is more bulky because the extra mass makes them more lethal.

Instead of a warhead at the tip, the kill vehicle has a highly sensitive infrared telescope protected by a cryogenic cooling system. Shining a flashlight inside the sunshade causes the beam to reflect back, painfully, but reveals a small black chip, a seeker module that's part of the targeting system. "That's a view very few people get to see," says Sharon Walk, director of Raytheon's space systems operations. "Maybe just a handful. Down the barrel of the gun, so to speak."

These kill vehicles are currently stationed at air bases in Alaska and California. The United States' ability to defend itself against ICBM warheads is limited by the small number of interceptors in the field, and the fact that they can only target one warhead per launch, driving the need for improvements.

And there is a new reason to be able to redesign and adapt quickly-this year the Defense Department's chief weapons tester called for the EKVs to be redesigned after several failed tests. So Raytheon needs to improve the kamikaze spacecraft quickly and cheaply to keep the customer happy. Right now they are designing the next-generation EKVs, and are working on the design of systems that have multiple interceptors per launch.

Defense design work is a cat-and-mouse game played against the engineers of foreign powers. What's happening here is the edge of future warfare, and you can bet military planners and intelligence units in Moscow and Beijing know where Tucson is located. (The town has been under Cold War scrutiny ever since 1963, when the United States put Titan nuclear missile silos here. Those are now empty.)

The kill vehicles aren't the only space-based programs housed in Raytheon's Tucson facilities. In late December, DARPA awarded a $1.5 million contract to Raytheon to develop small satellites that could beam real-time overhead images to troops, so Raytheon is now using clean rooms to build small satellites, too. This small sat trend is seen as the way forward for space infrastructure, and virtually every launch firm and defense company is adapting to prepare for this.

For Raytheon's missile systems unit, the project marks a new kind of challenge. For one thing, this is their first build that requires solar panels. No other spacecraft they ever designed was expected to live long enough to need onboard power.

Inside the CAVE

The first stop for any new system that aspires to the factory floor is the Fusion Innovation Lab. This is where new stuff-usually bought off the shelf from another vendor-is adapted for aerospace use. Those robotic arms I saw are common on automobile factory floors, but here in a missile factory, they must prove they can do some pretty delicate tasks.

DeVito lives in the prototype lab. The robot is programmed to perform a demo for visitors: Its vision system identifies the correct lens for a missile seeker, then the bot uses a vacuum cup to pick it up and install it with the correct orientation. The arm moves to its toolkit, detaches the vacuum appendage, and attaches a thin adhesive injector. The arm has 360 degrees of freedom. It reaches angles only a contortionist could access if humans were doing the job.

The rise of 3D printing has bolstered the art of prototyping. Aerospace engineering requires some intricate pieces that are hard to make with traditional machining. A 3D printer can do overnight what used to take days. With the barrier to experimentation so low in terms of time and cost, there's no reason not to try new things.

Raytheon is also embracing is immersive design, using virtual reality headsets to design not only equipment but also the architecture of its plants. There are parts of the Raytheon factory that resemble Hollywood special effects stages. In one room, models can use suits with motion capture sensors to create 3D avatars of people. Raytheon isn't making a new Planet of the Apes movie here. These spots can be used design workspaces, develop construction best practices, and come up with new ways to make easy repairs in the field.

The jewel of Raytheon's virtual reality efforts is called the Cave Automatic Virtual Environment, or just CAVE for short. It's a stage ringed by screens that display stereoscopic 3D and augmented-reality images. Donning glasses with antennae that tell the system where your face is aimed, a viewer can fly through the layout of a new missile factory, coordinating the ballet of robots, humans, and hardware. This is important whether you're setting up a new plant or adapting an existing one to accommodate a new government contract. Even better, Raytheon can put suppliers and customers inside the VR to show them how it plans to get the work done.

The same strategy applies to Raytheon's engineers, who can "fly through" a missile and manipulate what they see, making it easier to avoid engineering mishaps ("hey, your wiring is too close to that optical sensor!") or to fit more electronics into a tight space, like a missile nosecone. "We've had software engineers find mechanical problems," says Kendall Loomis, Kendall Loomis, manager of the Immersive Design Center. "In here, we can iterate while we talk, 3D print overnight, and MacGyver as we go."

The Perfect Factory

On the factory floor, the robot arms are passing components between manufacturing and test cells. No forklifts or cranes are involved. The operating area around the mechanical arms is a human-free zone. Devices called "light curtains" cause an automatic shutdown if anything crosses the invisible beams. This is a safety mechanism: Where humans and machinery coexist, it's good to have boundaries.

But even where people work, technology is ever-present. Raytheon's tools won't work if they are not set to the appropriate torque. Logistical systems track every part and tool. Routine feats, like packaging EKVs for export to the Pentagon inside environmentally controlled containers, are treated as events and end with relieved applause. Rigid checklists are the norm.

"Everyone here is worried about being perfect," says Walk.

You need only look at the Small Sat Assembly Cell, where engineers install parts of the small DARPA satellites, to know that's true. Stepping into the work area is like walking onto a sound stage. There are cameras and microphones everywhere recording the workers' every move. Sensors record the temperature and humidity. If anything goes wrong and flaws turn up during quality control tests, these are the forensic trails that will determine the cause and speed up a fix.

To many, this work environment might sound oppressive. But engineer Bryce Garbo shrugs, and delivers the best epitaph for the work being done at this 21^st century factory. "It's weird, " he says. "But you get used to it."