SpaceX Just Revealed Why Booster 20 Failed to Light 8 Raptor Engines After Starship Flight 13...

This is insane. For the first time ever, a giant starship survived that deadly splashdown. Even Elon couldn't believe it. That's a genuine milestone in SpaceX's history. But there's a catch. One problem that just won't die. The engine fault is still here. And this time, it nearly killed Booster 20 and turned the whole flight into a disaster. So, what exactly went wrong? And what did SpaceX reveal about it? Let's find out. To be honest, there has never been a flight this dramatic. This emotional. And I mean that. This one made grown adults cry actual tears of joy. Because for the first time, millions of people, you and me included, watched a giant, hollow steel ship, that's ship 40, hit the ocean and not immediately explode. Okay, yes. It was venting fire from the nose cone. But it did not blow up. Which left us with this absolutely surreal image. A steel whale, breathing fire, bobbing in the Indian Ocean. Even Elon couldn't help himself, posting on X, Starship is intact, floating in the ocean and transmitting telemetry. But that raises questions. Why was fire coming out of the nose? Why didn't it explode this time? When every ship before it did? And is SpaceX actually going to tow ship 40 home? Those are the exact questions flooding in from you guys after the flight. Even my grandma demanded I explain this one to everyone today. So don't hesitate to hit subscribe to support me. But that juicy answer, I'm saving it for a few minutes from now. Because if you clicked on this video, I know what you're actually dying to know first. What on earth happened to Booster 20? Okay, Booster 20. Let's talk about what actually happened. T plus 2 minutes, 6 seconds. The engine bay is glowing. Not warning light glowing. Visibly red. Plumbing lit up like the inside of a forge. Hold on to that image. It matters later. T plus 2, 29. Hot staging. Six engines on ship 40 slam to life while it's still bolted to the booster. A fireball punching straight down into the top of B20. And the vehicle just takes it. That's the design. Light the ship first. Shove off. Never stop thrusting. Then the booster starts its trip home. All 33 engines flare for the flip. Then the outer ring drops away. Then most of the middle. And by T plus, 250. Just three center engines are still burning. That step down is deliberate. The booster is burning off weight every second. So it needs less and less muscle. And those center engines are the ones that can pivot. The steering engines. Cut everything at once and you smear your trajectory. Step it down and you land the burn on a dime. And this boost back? Flawless. Say it plainly. Because two months ago, this exact maneuver killed Booster 19. The investigation found two culprits. Heat. Hot gas during ascent cooking components in the propulsion system. And the engine alarm settings misreading which engines were healthy. Sick engines. And a watchdog making bad calls. SpaceX changed the hardware. Rewrote the alarm logic. Built a new startup sequence. Tonight, that fix passed its exam, start to finish. When they deliver, you say so. Then B20 goes quiet. Engines off. Coasting. Falling. A 20-story steel building dropping out of the sky. Steering on grid fins alone. And here's what the plan says happens next. Pay attention to the numbers. Because they're the whole story. 13 engines light to slam the brakes. Then down to 5 to fine tune. Then 3 to touch the water. Why 13 first? Because this thing is falling at terminal velocity. And almost all of the stopping happens in those first seconds. The 13 do the braking. The 3 just do the landing. It's a semi-truck coming down a mountain. You brake hard and early at the top. So that by the bottom, you're barely rolling. Miss the braking at the top. And nothing you do at the bottom saves you. The command goes out. 8 lit. 8. 2 of the 3 center engines. 6 from the middle ring. And it didn't look like the clean staged ignition we've seen on the catches. It looks scattered. Then, seconds in, 3 of those 8 quit. Why did they quit? Nobody knows yet. And that detail is the one keeping me up tonight. Because those engines didn't fail to start. They started and then died. That points downstream of ignition. Feed. Pressure. Heat. Remember that glowing engine bay from T plus 206? Heat on ascent was half of flight 12's official root cause. I can't prove tonight's glow is connected. So B20 came down on 5 engines. And here's why 5 wasn't enough. Because I know what some of you are thinking. Flight 8 finished its landing on 3 engines and got caught by the tower. True. But flight 8 lit 12 of 13 for the braking phase first. The 3 engine finale only works because 12 already killed the speed. B20 never got its braking phase. 8 engines instead of 13, dropping to 5, meant it simply never shed enough velocity. And altitude is the one thing you can't buy back. 5 engines at the bottom of the fall is the semi-truck grabbing the brakes at the bottom of the mountain. The booster did the only thing physics allows. It hit the gulf hard. Well over its target speed. What condition it was in after that impact. Nobody's said yet. I'll cover that when the data comes out. A steel tube meeting water at that speed rarely walks away. But here's what it did do. It made it all the way down. Under control. Burn running. Grid fins steering. No fireball in the sky. March 2024. Flight 3. Booster 10 faced this same exam. Got 2 engines out of 13. And detonated at 1500 feet. Higher than the tip of the Empire State Building. B20 got 8. Held 5. And flew its whole profile to the ocean surface. Same weak joint. Radically different outcome. Which leaves the question I can't answer and can't stop asking. Were those engines flagged as unhealthy after boostback? If this had been a catch attempt. A booster flying home to a tower with people's life's work bolted to it. Would it have been cleared to come back? We have never seen SpaceX make that call in public. So I'll make the prediction. No booster catch on flight 14. A make-a-zilla catch means trusting 13 engines to answer on command over the pad. Over the tower. Over everything they've built. After tonight, that trust isn't earned yet. Expect one more Super Heavy on the seafloor before they bring one home. It's a little late. But better slow and safe than fast and sloppy. Do you agree? If you do, drop a yes in the comments. And now, for the part you've been waiting for. That's right. Ship 40. History. Several firsts in a single flight. One hour and five minutes after leaving Texas. On the far side of the planet, west of Australia. A 15-story steel tower comes screaming out of the sky over the Indian Ocean. It just survived plasma hot enough to cut metal. It flips from belly flop to vertical. Three engines light. Then two. Then one. T plus 105 18. The tail touches the water. Heat shield splattered with white scars from the ride down. Eight seconds later, it tips over. They always tip over. 170 feet of empty steel can't float standing up. And this is the moment. This is where every ship before it died. Two months ago, Ship 39 flew almost this exact profile. Touchdown soft. Tipped. And vanished in a fireball you could see from space. We'd watched that ending so many times we stopped calling it a failure. Ship 40 tipped over. And nothing happened. The engine section vents. Boiling the ocean around it silver white. Flames crawl from the nose down the hull. A steel whale. Wrapped in fire. Rolling in the swell. And over that exact image, the SpaceX host says. Calm as you like. That is the softest flashback we have ever had with a starship there in the Indian Ocean. The crowd at Starbase is going insane. While the thing on their screen is on fire. And yeah, that fire freaked people out. Flames pouring out of the nose cone of a ship that just barely survived. But here's what most people don't know about Starship's anatomy. The nose isn't empty. Tucked up in there are the header tanks. Small reserve tanks holding the landing propellant. Liquid methane. Liquid oxygen. Kept separate from the main tanks so the landing burn always has clean, settled fuel to drink. After splashdown, whatever's left in those tanks has to go somewhere. Cryogenic methane sitting inside warm steel boils. It's a soda bottle in a hot car. Pressure climbing and climbing. So the ship vents it through relief valves. That methane hits air, finds an ignition source on a hull still hot from re-entry, and burns off. That flame isn't the ship dying. That's the ship exhaling. Now, full honesty, the way we do things here, SpaceX hasn't officially explained the venting. That's the physics read, and it fits everything on camera. If they say different, I'll correct it. But here's the part that gets me. The fire and the survival are not two separate stories. Think about what the old fireball actually was. Ship tips. Hot engine section slaps the water. Leftover methane and oxygen sloshed together inside crumpled tanks. Find the heat. Boom. That recipe needs three things. Leftover propellant. A breach to let it mix. And a spark. Every previous splashdown served up all three. Tonight, the recipe broke. Partly because this was the gentlest arrival ever. Less impact. Tanks stay sealed. Nothing mixes. And partly, this is my read, because of that very fire. Venting means the propellant was leaving the ship in a controlled burn-off instead of pooling inside, waiting. The thing that looked like danger was probably the reason there was no disaster. And the payoff is massive. Dan Hewitt said it live. First time in history, an intact starship has floated in the ocean. He called it a dream scenario, and here's why. On every previous flight, the heat shield data mostly died with the ship. The nose section breaks off and sinks fast, so engineers got a charred tail to study, while the part that matters for a ship catch went to the bottom of the sea. Tonight, all 18,000 tiles came home floatable. Hewitt said you could count the missing ones on one hand, on a flight that deliberately flew the highest max-q in starship history, specifically to beat those tiles up. They stressed it harder, and it came back cleaner. So, are they towing her home? I love this ship too, but let's do the math. She's floating west of Australia. Starbase is in Texas. That's not a tow. That's half a lap of planet Earth dragging a 170-foot steel tube that's taking on water and still burping methane. Not happening. An Australian port? Closer. And SpaceX does have a recovery team out there with drones and camera boys. They plan to get close. But every ship before this one was studied and left to sink, and SpaceX hasn't said a word about this one. I don't know. Nobody does. But, for the first time ever, the question exists at all. That's the wind. And look, while everyone's staring at the floating ship, don't let the quieter winds slip past. Because two of them are historic. 39 minutes into the flight, Ship 40 relit a raptor in space. And not the little 3-second blip they've done before. 14 seconds. That's the burn NASA has been waiting on. The maneuver that says, this vehicle can leave orbit on command. No engine relight. No Artemis. No moon. Flight 12 had to skip this test entirely. Tonight, they didn't just run it. They ran it long. That's a box checked in permanent ink. And the payload. 20 Starlink V3 satellites out the door. The first real V3s ever flown. Not simulators. The real thing. Every single one phoned home. All 20 made contact. And all 20 linked up over lasers within minutes of deployment. First try. 20 for 20. Whatever you think of SpaceX's timelines, that number deserves a hat tip. If you jumped out of your chair watching that whale wave, drop a Go Ship 40 in the comments. See you at Flight 14.