I: STS-27
This timeline can also be found on Sufficient Velocity.
STS-27
Commander Howard “Skip” Johnson was the first to speak up. “We’re in deep shit.”
The rest of the crew of Space Shuttle Atlantis were in agreement. On the second day of mission STS-27, December 3rd 1988, an unusual request was made from Mission Control. Despite being the largest, most capable spacecraft ever built, the Space Shuttle was extraordinary delicate. A piece of debris from the booster rockets had hit the orbiter on ascent, and inspection was required. Mission specialist William Mueller positioned the robotic Canadarm’s television camera below the right wing of the craft. It was the worst case scenario. Hundreds of tiles were damaged, and any one of them could have exposed the vulnerable aluminum belly of the craft. Johnson turned on his microphone. “Houston, we are seeing a whole lot of damage on the right wing, in the chine area and back on the right wing in the tiles, sending secure TV of the damage.”
With the classified Department of Defense cargo they were carrying, an unencrypted television signal was deemed too dangerous. Each frame of the slow scan television signal was sent through a sophisticated encoder and relayed down to Houston. What followed was a few tense moments of silence.
Mueller was about to turn around and ask for a second opinion when CAPCOM¹ responded. "We've looked at the images and Mechanical² says it's not a problem. The damage isn't that severe."
Mueller was the first to object. “There must be an issue with your images, Houston, we’re seeing massive damage along the right wing in particular.”
"Houston, Will is right. We're seeing a lot of damage." Johnson had been there since the start of the program, and never had there been such damage predicted, let alone seen.
“Skip, we’ve looked it over and we’ve determined that it's not any worse than what we've seen on other flights.” A very long silence passed. Confusion, anger, and a small amount of fear was thick in the cabin. But, ultimately, they was little that could be done. There was no possibility of a rescue mission, nor could the tiles, each precision machined and applied by hand to the Shuttle in a multi-million dollar facility, be replaced on a space walk.
“Well, all right Houston, we trust your analysis, continuing with the mission.” Skip released his mike and leaned back into his flight seat. The rest seemed pleased by the answer, but he’d only made the call to avoid an argument. Maybe they were keeping it bottled up too.
Department of Defense work proved to be a needed distraction. Nestled within the stomach of the Shuttle was a National Reconnaissance Office satellite, some kind of telescope. Johnson wasn’t exactly sure what it was, but the mission specialists on the middeck spent the rest of the day preparing the payload for release. A control thruster failed soon after it was launched, but the repair spacewalk was finished quicker than estimated. The rest of the mission was devoted to some flight experiments, all classified of course. The NRO was pleased with the results, and the mission was declared a success.
Before Skip knew it, December 5th had come and gone. It was time for sleep, and after that, reentry.
Sleep was difficult, as it always is in zero-g. With no gravity to keep one to the sleeping bag, it felt like trying to sleep while paragliding. The stress of the circumstances didn't help. Johnson woke up early on December 6th, not entirely rested. He was surprised to find Mueller already awake, looking nearly paralyzed Johnson unbuckled his restraints and floated over to the mission specialist’s sleeping bag. Whispering, he asked, “What is it Will, you’re as stiff as a rod!”
Mueller’s voice was calm, but cautious. “It’s well, the reentry, commander. I’ve been anxious this last day about it. I mean, they say it’s all right, but, is it?” He started to raise his voice past a whisper. “We’ve never had a strike like this before. Could it be--”
Johnson cut him off. Hearing someone else feel just as concerned about the situation released all the stress he’d built up. He glided to the porthole and beckoned Mueller. “No reason to die all tensed up.” They were passing over the US at night. A hundred million streetlamps could be seen from that porthole, each burning with an intensity that was unreal. They were scattered across the landscape like cracks in crystal glass. You could tell which were mercury; which were sodium. One could even see the first Christmas lights of the year. It was a sight that only a select few would ever see in their lives.
It seemed like they could fly up there forever.
***
Mission Control was monitoring the reentry of Atlantis. Landing at Edwards Air Force Base, they would feel peak forces over the Pacific. Mechanical had reviewed the TV footage a few hours before the return sequence began, and from the fuzzy, low resolution footage, it seemed like a perfectly normal strike. The control center was usually quiet at this part in the flight. The flight director was sitting in his chair, watching the small Space Shuttle icon make its way on the projector screen, and waiting for any prompts from the other flight controllers. Years later, he could still recall the exact moment when it happened. 18:01:45, Central Time.
“Flight, MMACS.” ²
“What is it, MMACS?”
“I’ve lost two temperature sensors in the right wing.”
“Two of them?”
“Yes, two, one in the leading edge and another in the chine. There is no commonality.”
“No commonality.”
“Flight, GNC.” ³
“Yes?”
“We’re seeing a divergence in trim between the left and right wings. Appears to be drag induced.”
At that point, it appears that the commander knew what was happening. “Let me just tell you exactly what I think about your little analysis, MMACS. I think I have about sixty seconds to do it!” ⁴
“Atlantis, Houston, say again?”
“Flight, MMACS. We’ve lost tire pressure on the right outboard tire.”
Johnson begins an angry and tearful monologue, but becomes difficult to hear only moments after. Expects conclude afterwards that hot plasma was formed from the melting of the aluminum Shuttle frame, disrupting radio communications. What exactly he said, nobody knows.
“Uh, MMACS, Flight. There’s no commonality between the temperature sensor instrumentation and that tire instrumentation?”
“No commonality.”
“Flight, INCO,⁵ we’re not expecting such a hit on communications.”
“No onboard system config changes right before we lost data? “
“That’s correct, Flight, all looked good. We should be getting a strong signal right now.”
For the first time, everyone in the room looks up. The implications are obvious.
“Atlantis, Houston, UHF comm check.”
“We have radar tracking… multiple objects.”
“Atlantis, Houston, UHF comm check.”
“Lock the doors. Our discussions are on these official loops only. No data, no phone calls, no communication anywhere into or out!” ⁶
________
¹Capsule Communicator. A member of the astronaut corps that acts as the voice of Mission Control.
² Mechanical, Maintenance, Arm and Crew Systems. This division of Mission Control handles structural systems of the Shuttle.
³ Guidance, Navigation, and Controls Systems Engineer. Handles Shuttle navigation.
⁴ Over 700 tiles on the historical STS-27 were damaged, but the heat shielding was never breached. The real commander, Robert L. Gibson, believed that a divergence in the trim of the wing elevons would be the signal of a failing reentry, after which the orbiter would only last for under a minute. He was proven right in the Columbia disaster of 2003. Names were changed on this particular mission out of respect.
⁵ Integrated Communications Officer. Handles Shuttle radio communications.
⁶ In case of an accident, Mission Control becomes in effect a crime scene. All logs and computer states are preserved to make sure investigators can figure out what happened.
STS-27
Commander Howard “Skip” Johnson was the first to speak up. “We’re in deep shit.”
The rest of the crew of Space Shuttle Atlantis were in agreement. On the second day of mission STS-27, December 3rd 1988, an unusual request was made from Mission Control. Despite being the largest, most capable spacecraft ever built, the Space Shuttle was extraordinary delicate. A piece of debris from the booster rockets had hit the orbiter on ascent, and inspection was required. Mission specialist William Mueller positioned the robotic Canadarm’s television camera below the right wing of the craft. It was the worst case scenario. Hundreds of tiles were damaged, and any one of them could have exposed the vulnerable aluminum belly of the craft. Johnson turned on his microphone. “Houston, we are seeing a whole lot of damage on the right wing, in the chine area and back on the right wing in the tiles, sending secure TV of the damage.”
With the classified Department of Defense cargo they were carrying, an unencrypted television signal was deemed too dangerous. Each frame of the slow scan television signal was sent through a sophisticated encoder and relayed down to Houston. What followed was a few tense moments of silence.
Mueller was about to turn around and ask for a second opinion when CAPCOM¹ responded. "We've looked at the images and Mechanical² says it's not a problem. The damage isn't that severe."
Mueller was the first to object. “There must be an issue with your images, Houston, we’re seeing massive damage along the right wing in particular.”
"Houston, Will is right. We're seeing a lot of damage." Johnson had been there since the start of the program, and never had there been such damage predicted, let alone seen.
“Skip, we’ve looked it over and we’ve determined that it's not any worse than what we've seen on other flights.” A very long silence passed. Confusion, anger, and a small amount of fear was thick in the cabin. But, ultimately, they was little that could be done. There was no possibility of a rescue mission, nor could the tiles, each precision machined and applied by hand to the Shuttle in a multi-million dollar facility, be replaced on a space walk.
“Well, all right Houston, we trust your analysis, continuing with the mission.” Skip released his mike and leaned back into his flight seat. The rest seemed pleased by the answer, but he’d only made the call to avoid an argument. Maybe they were keeping it bottled up too.
Department of Defense work proved to be a needed distraction. Nestled within the stomach of the Shuttle was a National Reconnaissance Office satellite, some kind of telescope. Johnson wasn’t exactly sure what it was, but the mission specialists on the middeck spent the rest of the day preparing the payload for release. A control thruster failed soon after it was launched, but the repair spacewalk was finished quicker than estimated. The rest of the mission was devoted to some flight experiments, all classified of course. The NRO was pleased with the results, and the mission was declared a success.
Before Skip knew it, December 5th had come and gone. It was time for sleep, and after that, reentry.
Sleep was difficult, as it always is in zero-g. With no gravity to keep one to the sleeping bag, it felt like trying to sleep while paragliding. The stress of the circumstances didn't help. Johnson woke up early on December 6th, not entirely rested. He was surprised to find Mueller already awake, looking nearly paralyzed Johnson unbuckled his restraints and floated over to the mission specialist’s sleeping bag. Whispering, he asked, “What is it Will, you’re as stiff as a rod!”
Mueller’s voice was calm, but cautious. “It’s well, the reentry, commander. I’ve been anxious this last day about it. I mean, they say it’s all right, but, is it?” He started to raise his voice past a whisper. “We’ve never had a strike like this before. Could it be--”
Johnson cut him off. Hearing someone else feel just as concerned about the situation released all the stress he’d built up. He glided to the porthole and beckoned Mueller. “No reason to die all tensed up.” They were passing over the US at night. A hundred million streetlamps could be seen from that porthole, each burning with an intensity that was unreal. They were scattered across the landscape like cracks in crystal glass. You could tell which were mercury; which were sodium. One could even see the first Christmas lights of the year. It was a sight that only a select few would ever see in their lives.
It seemed like they could fly up there forever.
***
Mission Control was monitoring the reentry of Atlantis. Landing at Edwards Air Force Base, they would feel peak forces over the Pacific. Mechanical had reviewed the TV footage a few hours before the return sequence began, and from the fuzzy, low resolution footage, it seemed like a perfectly normal strike. The control center was usually quiet at this part in the flight. The flight director was sitting in his chair, watching the small Space Shuttle icon make its way on the projector screen, and waiting for any prompts from the other flight controllers. Years later, he could still recall the exact moment when it happened. 18:01:45, Central Time.
“Flight, MMACS.” ²
“What is it, MMACS?”
“I’ve lost two temperature sensors in the right wing.”
“Two of them?”
“Yes, two, one in the leading edge and another in the chine. There is no commonality.”
“No commonality.”
“Flight, GNC.” ³
“Yes?”
“We’re seeing a divergence in trim between the left and right wings. Appears to be drag induced.”
At that point, it appears that the commander knew what was happening. “Let me just tell you exactly what I think about your little analysis, MMACS. I think I have about sixty seconds to do it!” ⁴
“Atlantis, Houston, say again?”
“Flight, MMACS. We’ve lost tire pressure on the right outboard tire.”
Johnson begins an angry and tearful monologue, but becomes difficult to hear only moments after. Expects conclude afterwards that hot plasma was formed from the melting of the aluminum Shuttle frame, disrupting radio communications. What exactly he said, nobody knows.
“Uh, MMACS, Flight. There’s no commonality between the temperature sensor instrumentation and that tire instrumentation?”
“No commonality.”
“Flight, INCO,⁵ we’re not expecting such a hit on communications.”
“No onboard system config changes right before we lost data? “
“That’s correct, Flight, all looked good. We should be getting a strong signal right now.”
For the first time, everyone in the room looks up. The implications are obvious.
“Atlantis, Houston, UHF comm check.”
“We have radar tracking… multiple objects.”
“Atlantis, Houston, UHF comm check.”
“Lock the doors. Our discussions are on these official loops only. No data, no phone calls, no communication anywhere into or out!” ⁶
________
¹Capsule Communicator. A member of the astronaut corps that acts as the voice of Mission Control.
² Mechanical, Maintenance, Arm and Crew Systems. This division of Mission Control handles structural systems of the Shuttle.
³ Guidance, Navigation, and Controls Systems Engineer. Handles Shuttle navigation.
⁴ Over 700 tiles on the historical STS-27 were damaged, but the heat shielding was never breached. The real commander, Robert L. Gibson, believed that a divergence in the trim of the wing elevons would be the signal of a failing reentry, after which the orbiter would only last for under a minute. He was proven right in the Columbia disaster of 2003. Names were changed on this particular mission out of respect.
⁵ Integrated Communications Officer. Handles Shuttle radio communications.
⁶ In case of an accident, Mission Control becomes in effect a crime scene. All logs and computer states are preserved to make sure investigators can figure out what happened.
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