The Shockley 4-Layer Diode In 2026

The physicist William Shockley is perhaps today best known for three things: his role in the invention of the transistor, his calamitous management of Shockley Semiconductor which led to a mass defection of employees and precipitated the birth of the Silicon Valley we know, and his later descent into promoting eugenics. This was not the sum of his work though, and [David Prutchi] has been experimenting with a now-mostly-forgotten device that bears the Shockley name (PDF), after finding one used in an early heart pacemaker circuit.  His findings are both comprehensive and fascinating.

The Shockley diode, or 4-layer diode as it later became known, is as its name suggests a two terminal device with a 4-layer NPNP structure. It can be modeled as a pair of complementary transistors in parallel with a reverse biased diode, and the avalanche breakdown characteristics of that diode when a particular voltage is applied to it provide the impetus to turn on the two transistors. This makes it a voltage controlled switch, that activates when the voltage across it reaches that value.

The PDF linked above goes into the Shockley diode applications, and in them we find a range of relaxation oscillators, switches, and logic circuits. The oscillators in particular could be made with the barest minimum of components, important in a time when each semiconductor device could be very expensive. It may have faded into obscurity as it was superseded by more versatile 4-layer devices such as the PUJT or silicon-controlled switch and then integrated circuits, but he makes the point that its thyristor cousin is still very much with us.

This appears to be the first time we’ve featured a 4-layer diode, but we’ve certainly covered the genesis of the transistor in the past.

The “Tin Blimp” Was A Neither Tin Nor A Blimp: The Detroit ZMC-2 Story

That fireball was LZ37. Nobody wanted to see repeats post-war.
Image: “The great exploit of lieutenant Warnefort 1916 England” by Gordon Crosby, public domain.

After all the crashing and burning of Imperial Germany’s Zeppelins in the later part of WWI – once the Brits managed to build interceptors that could hit their lofty altitude, and figured out the trick of using incendiary rounds to set off the hydrogen lift gas – there was a certain desire in airship circles to avoid fires. In the USA, that mostly took the form of replacing hydrogen with helium. Sure, it didn’t lift quite as well, but it also didn’t explode.

Still, supplies of helium were– and are– very much limited, and at least on a rigid Zeppelin, the hydrogen wasn’t even the most flammable part. As has become widely known, thanks in large part to the Mythbusters episode about the Hindenburg disaster, the doped cotton skin in use in those days was more flammable than some firestarters you can buy these days.

That’s a problem, because, as came up in the comments of our last airship article, rigid airships beat blimps largely on Rule of Cool. Who invented the blimp? Well, arguably it was Henri Griffard with his steam-driven balloon in 1857, but not many people have ever heard his name. Who invented the rigid airship? You know his name: Ferdinand Adolf Heinrich August Graf von Zeppelin. No relation. Probably. Well, admittedly most people don’t know the full name, but Count Zeppelin is still practically a household name over a century after his death. His invention was just that much cooler.

That unavoidable draw of coolness led to the Detroit Airship Company and their amazing tin blimp. The idea was the brainchild of a man named Ralph Upton, and is startling in its simplicity: why not take the all-metal, monocoque design that was just then being so successfully applied to heavier-than-air flight, and use it to build an airship? Continue reading “The “Tin Blimp” Was A Neither Tin Nor A Blimp: The Detroit ZMC-2 Story”

Hiding A Bomb In Plain Sight

You are at war. Trains are key to keeping your army supplied with fuel, ammunition, food, and medical supplies. But, inexplicably, your trains keep blowing up. Sabotage? Enemy attack? There’s no evidence of a bomb or overt enemy attack. This is the situation the German military found itself in during World War II. As you can see in the video below, the hidden bomb was the brainchild of a member of Britain’s SOE.

The idea was to put plastic explosive inside a fake plastic lump of coal.  They hand-painted each one, and the color had to match the exact appearance of local coal. Paint and coal dust helped with that. The bomb had to weigh the correct amount as well.

The coal was safe until it got quite hot, so resistance fighters could easily carry the coal and surreptitiously drop the bomb anywhere coal is stored. Eventually, it will be put in a boiler, and at the right temperature, it will do its job. There’s some actual footage of a test in the second video below.

Continue reading “Hiding A Bomb In Plain Sight”

SpyTech: The Underwater Wire Tap

In the 1970s, the USSR had an undersea cable connecting a major naval base at Petropavlovsk to the Pacific Fleet headquarters at Vladivostok. The cable traversed the Sea of Okhotsk, which, at the time, the USSR claimed. It was off limits to foreign vessels, heavily patrolled, and laced with detection devices. How much more secure could it be? Against the US Navy, apparently not very secure at all. For about a decade starting in 1972, the Navy delivered tapes of all the traffic on the cable to the NSA.

Top Secret

You need a few things to make this a success. First, you need a stealthy submarine. The Navy had the USS Halibut, which has a strange history. You also need some sort of undetectable listening device that can operate on the ocean floor. You also need a crew that is sworn to secrecy.

That last part was hard to manage. It takes a lot of people to mount a secret operation to the other side of the globe, so they came up with a cover story: officially, the Halibut was in Okhotsk to recover parts of a Soviet weapon for analysis. Only a few people knew the real mission. The whole operation was known as Operation Ivy Bells.

The Halibut

The Halibut is possibly the strangest submarine ever. It started life destined to be a diesel sub. However, before it launched in 1959, it had been converted to nuclear power. In fact, the sub was the first designed to launch guided missiles and was the first sub to successfully launch a guided missile, although it had to surface to launch.

Oddly enough, the sub carried nuclear cruise missiles and its specific target, should the world go to a nuclear war, was the Soviet naval base at Petropavolvsk.

Continue reading “SpyTech: The Underwater Wire Tap”

Inside SKALA: How Chornobyl’s Reactor Was Actually Controlled

Entering SKALA codes during RBMK operation. (Credit: Pripyat-Film studio)
Entering SKALA codes during RBMK operation. (Credit: Pripyat-Film studio)

Running a nuclear power plant isn’t an easy task, even with the level of automation available to a 1980s Soviet RBMK reactor. In their continuing efforts to build a full-sized, functional replica of an RBMK control room as at the Chornobyl Nuclear Power Plant – retired in the early 2000s – the [Chornobyl Family] channel has now moved on to the SKALA system.

Previously we saw how they replicated the visually very striking control panel for the reactor core, with its many buttons and status lights. SKALA is essentially the industrial control system, with multiple V-3M processor racks (‘frames’), each with 20k 24-bit words of RAM. Although less powerful than a PDP-11, its task was to gather all the sensor information and process them in real-time, which was done in dedicated racks.

Output from SKALA’s DREG program were also the last messages from the doomed #4 reactor. Unfortunately an industrial control system can only do so much if its operators have opted to disable every single safety feature. By the time the accident unfolded, the hardware was unable to even keep up with the rapid changes, and not all sensor information could even be recorded on the high-speed drum printer or RTA-80 teletypes, leaving gaps in our knowledge of the accident.

Continue reading “Inside SKALA: How Chornobyl’s Reactor Was Actually Controlled”

Reflections On Ten Years With The Wrencher

An auspicious anniversary passed for me this week, as it’s a decade since I started writing for Hackaday. In that time this job has taken me all over  Europe, it’s shown me the very best and most awesome things our community has to offer, and I hope that you have enjoyed my attempts to share all of that with you. It’s worth a moment to reflect on the last ten years in terms of what has made our world during that time. Continue reading “Reflections On Ten Years With The Wrencher”

What One-Winged Squids Can Teach The Airship Renaissance

It’s a blustery January day outside Lakehurst, New Jersey. The East Coast of North America is experiencing its worst weather in decades, and all civilian aircraft have been grounded the past four days, from Florida to Maine. For the past two days, that order has included military aircraft, including those certified “all weather” – with one notable exception. A few miles offshore, rocking and bucking in the gales, a U.S. Navy airship braves the storm. Sleet pelts the plexiglass windscreen and ice sloughs off the gasbag in great sheets as the storm rages on, and churning airscrews keep the airship on station.

If you know history you might be a bit confused: the rigid airship USS Akron was lost off the coast of New Jersey, but in April, not January. Before jumping into the comments with your corrections, note the story I’ve begun is set not in 1933, but in 1957, a full generation later.

The airship caught in the storm is no experimental Zeppelin, but an N-class blimp, the workhorse of the cold-war fleet. Yes, there was a cold war fleet of airships; we’ll get to why further on. The most important distinction is that unlike the last flight of the Akron, this story doesn’t end in tragedy, but in triumph. Tasked to demonstrate their readiness, five blimps from Lakehurst’s Airship Airborne Early-Warning Squadron 1 remained on station with no gaps in coverage for the ten days from January 15th to 24th. The blimps were able to swap places, watch-on-watch, and provide continuous coverage, in spite of weather conditions that included 60 knot winds and grounded literally every other aircraft in existence at that time. Continue reading “What One-Winged Squids Can Teach The Airship Renaissance”