Ocean of Storms: A Timeline of A Scientific America
- Thread starter BowOfOrion
- Start date
Great update! Though I am curious in wondering if the Apollo-Venus flyby mission will be done ITTL seeing as the planned launch window would've been 31st October 1973.
Not sure if you've thought about it but I will be looking forward to seeing what you've got next
Not the author,but I don’t think we’ll be seeing manned interplanetary missions until about the mid ‘80s of TTL,at the earliest. A lot of time and technology is required to develop those missions. Right now,NASA has a lot on its plate with the Apollo missions,preparing for Skylab (or whatever it’s gonna be called), and early development work on the “Space Clipper”. And that’s saying nothing of an Apollo-Soyuz analogue (if any), unmanned missions of all stripes,and aeronautics.
And OP, were you thinking of James Michener’s Space when you came up with the LM callsign?
In the words of Jeff Winger: "In a way, all of you are right. Okay, what was I tuning out?"
A little more seriously though, the Apollo-Venus mission is a very interesting concept, and honestly is the kind of story that I started OoS to write. (I wanted to use this TL as a way to tell interesting stories that our reality did not provide.) Having said that, the NASA of OoS has no plans to explore Venus at this time. As my friend David Portree is fond of putting it: "There's a hell of a good world next door," and, for the moment, we're not done with it. Still, for those of you with a fondness for the Goddess of Love, as always, I would advise you to stay tuned.
It sometimes bugs me to be cagey, but I really feel that any reader would rather enjoy the unfolding story at its own pace rather than come across a spoiler, intentional or not. It does bother me though that I have outlines scripted through the present day (and a far-flung finale that I've rather enjoyed working on), though with each passing day, I risk the concepts either being done better elsewhere or at the least, being guessed in advance by some of my more dedicated readers. At any rate, such is the price I'm willing to pay for the ability to surprise you all.
With the concept that a tease can be more fun than a spoiler, I'll simply say that in the posts ahead, we'll be seeing some new hardware rolling out. You already have heard of the Clipper. In coming posts I look forward to telling you about Zeus and Pegasus.
And Kloka, to answer your last: I have a great fondness for Michener's Space and couldn't resist throwing in yet another tribute to a writer far more talented than myself. Good catch on your part.
Thanks for reading!
Some of the concepts explored in the Apollo 18 post can be expanded on more in David Portree's latest post here.
Superb update about a superb mission that I wish had have taken place IOTL.
Not to be a rivet counter, but a minor typo was noticed - the Apollo XVIII mission patch is missing the 'V'.
Otherwise, keep up the great work.
Thanks for catching that. How embarassing! Corrected now. Such is what happens when you're editing well past your bedtime.
For the record, that was entirely my error. Nixonshead has been kind enough to provide me with excellent art. The images are his, the patches are my own design (except for Apollos 7, 9, 11 and 13).
For 7 & 9 I found alternatees patch that were not used OTL. For 13, the patch worked perfectly as-is. For 11, a wonderful set of anniversary patches were designed and I took the liberty of using it, with accreditation, in the story.
Please keep counting those rivets. I appreciate anyone noticing the details I put into these things. I try to make every part of this interesting and I hope that extends to the art as well.
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I love that you've got plans to take OoS all the way to the present day.
And I imagine that anything that doesn't make it in will be fodder for whatever may come after.
Wonder how the Russians are doing ITTL? With the US doing some amazing headway with the Moon missions, I would wonder if they'd want to expand more on the Space station front much greater than OTL?
Hell, dare I say if they somehow got the N-1 to work, how about they attempt the Venus/Mars flyby missions as the N-1 was built with that in mind. A continued space race going through the 70's and maybe 80's sounds an interesting what if.
Hell, dare I say if they somehow got the N-1 to work, how about they attempt the Venus/Mars flyby missions as the N-1 was built with that in mind. A continued space race going through the 70's and maybe 80's sounds an interesting what if.
I wanted to take a moment to remember astronaut Alan Bean who passed away yesterday. His adventures and his art were and are a huge inspiration to me. It is my firm hope that the space programs of the world will always remember the beauty of space exploration.
Please take a moment to check some of the revised image credits that I've made to earlier posts. I've been in contact with some of the original artists who have requested different links be posted.
For one, please see this link, where you can actually purchase some of Ed Hengeveld's artwork. I will endeavour to make full attributions and acknowledgments wherever possible.
For one, please see this link, where you can actually purchase some of Ed Hengeveld's artwork. I will endeavour to make full attributions and acknowledgments wherever possible.
Here's hoping Bean has a more interesting career ITTL. Has he been mentioned yet?
Which will make his TTL death more noticed
(not to be mean or anything)
Anyways,ten to one he’ll probably fly again.
XIX: Shaken
Beginning in March of 1970, during the landing of Apollo 12, NASA established a vigilant, if sleepy, operation which monitored seismic activity on the lunar surface. By the summer of 1972, more than a dozen moonquakes had been observed. Geophysicists who studied the seismic records developed four categories for the disturbances.
Deep quakes were generated by activity hundreds of kilometers beneath the surface and were tidal in nature. Impact quakes were caused by meteor activity. Solar activity led to thermal quakes as different areas of the Moon were exposed to vast temperature extremes between day and night. Each of these types of quakes were mild in nature, though they could last up to an hour.
The final type of quake was rare. Only 2 were recorded in the first 24 months of observations. This type was localized, the result of activity less than 50 kilometers from the surface.
These so-called “shallow quakes” could reach up to 5 on the Richter scale and last up to 10 minutes.
On Earth, quakes of this magnitude can damage flimsy structures and are classified as a risk by the US Geological Survey…
20 November 1972
Apollo 19
Hadley Rille
MET: 229:26:35
LM Shelter Newton
“Charlie, how’s it going upstairs? You keeping the place tidy?”
“You betcha, Cap. Got the bean sprouts going. Should be interesting to see how they grow.”
“Tony’s already off comms, but he wanted me to ask about the radar.
“It’s fine. Data is being recorded. I’ve already transmitted a couple of packets. We’ll get it all.”
“Good, good. Tony’s all excited about the anorthosite. You’d have thought he’d found buried treasure,” the commander said, stifling a yawn.
Bassett could hear the yawn over the loop, “Now don’t start that. It’s catching, even over the radio.” He paused for a yawn, “You and Tony should get some sleep. Big day tomorrow.”
“Copy that. We’ll talk to you in the morning. Night night, Olympus.”
“Night night, Newton.”
Elliot See had one thought as he settled in for his tenth sleep on the Moon: Hadley Rille would be a great place for an insomniac.
If you wanted silence, there was a near-infinite supply. When the radio was quiet, the only sounds you could hear would be from the heat pump. If you had back problems, the 1/6th gravity was wonderful on your spine. Even the temperature was a perfect 70 degrees inside the LM Shelter. Sure, the hammocks they had strung up inside Newton weren’t as comfy as a mattress, but it beat sleeping on the floor of Challenger like he’d done for his first night on the Moon.
He settled into his hammock and a crooked smile came over his face.
His dreams were always pleasant when he was flying. On Gemini IX he’d dreamt of Marilyn and the kids. On the way out this time, he’d dreamt of his old squadron near San Diego. He’d been eating lunch at the Hotel del Coronado. Last night, he’d dreamed of…
The rumble was what woke him up. His vision shook and he blinked a few times but couldn’t clear it. In his sleep-induced stupor, it took his fighter-pilot instincts a couple of seconds to realize the problem. His vision was fine. All around him, the LM Shelter was ringing like a bell.
He swung his legs onto the floor and saw Tony doing the same a few feet away. He grabbed the headset and keyed VOX, “Houston, this is the Newton. We’re uh… experiencing a rattle here. Do you read?”
It was 3 am in Houston, but Jack Lousma was on CAPCOM tonight, “Roger, Newton, we copy. Can you expand on that?”
See tried to keep the panic out of his voice, though it was rising, “The spacecraft is shaking. It’s not localized. Seems to be the whole structure. It’s like we’re in a paint mixer here.”
Anthony England put a hand on the panel under the window. His other hand keyed his microphone, “It’s a quake, Houston. It’s a moonquake.”
If he hadn’t been on duty, Lousma would have simply been speechless. Mission rules, fortunately, provided him with the words to say, “Roger, Newton. We understand.”
In the MOCR, Flight Director Milt Windler began to marshall the Maroon Team. He wasted no time in starting emergency procedures, “CAPCOM, let’s get them suited up.”
Lousma shook off his surprise and spoke, “Newton, Houston. We’d like you to start suiting up now and prepare for depressurization.”
An agonizing three seconds later, See’s words arrived from Hadley Rille, “Copy, Houston. Are we calling it? Do you want us to head to Challenger?”
Lousma looked over his shoulder and saw Milt nodding, “Affirmative, Newton. We’d like you to get over to Challenger and start launch procedures.”
Putting on an EVA suit by the checklist could take the better part of an hour. And that was on Earth, with a small battalion of technicians assisting you. Even with the emergency protocols that allowed them to skip the suit checks, donning EVA gear would take at least five minutes. They’d trained for this on Earth at least three times a week for the last year.
LM Shelters were, like standard LEM cockpits, equipped with windows on only one side. The small triangular windows had a good field of view, but for half of the horizon. Newton had landed with her windows facing to the north. Therefore, the surface team of Apollo 19 had no way to see their lander Challenger, which was located 600 yards to the south.
As See got his helmet on, the shaking finally subsided. He felt a bit of relief, but that was quickly replaced with dread. Whatever had happened, it would be fatal, if not for him, then certainly for the mission. He’d spent his last night on the Moon.
A quarter million miles away, the Maroon Team’s TELMU controllers began to get a sense of the disaster which had befallen mankind’s latest ambassadors to the unknown.
“Flight, we’ve lost telemetry on Challenger.”
Windler wasn’t sure he’d heard that right, “TELMU, say again.”
“We have no telemetry from Challenger’s high gain.”
His blood ran cold, “INCO, switch to backup.”
While they did, CONTROL chimed in, “Flight, CONTROL has also lost telemetry.”
“Copy CONTROL. INCO, what have we got?”
“Flight, we’re unable to raise Challenger. Looking at a major malfunction.”
“Is this an instrumentation issue?”
“Possibly, Flight. We may have failures in the hardware due to the quake.”
Windler turned to his right, “Network, could this be a relay issue?”
“Negative, Flight. Comm checks are 5 by 5 throughout the system. And we still have a good downlink from Olympus and Newton.”
On the screen at the front of the room, the Maroon Team watched See and England make their climbs down the shelter’s ladder.
Elliot See shuffled out from Newton’s shadow and looked to the south. He took a few steps into the light and then stopped in his tracks.
“Houston, Hadley Base. Challenger has snapped. One landing leg has snapped. It looks like the ascent stage has sheared and it’s hanging off the descent. It’s… it’s pretty bad. Uh… please advise.”
As he paused, the first images came in. Tony England was standing behind See with the camera and the sight he recorded would forever haunt the minds of the men in mission control that day.
It was horrifying. The ascent stage of Challenger had wrenched off of the descent stage. The shudder of the ground had translated into the structure and, had it gone on any longer, likely the ascent stage would have completely fallen off and impacted the surface.
Commander See had to wait for much longer than the standard three seconds before hearing the reply. “Roger, Hadley Base. Stand by.”
20 November 1972
The White House
Washington, DC
38° 53′ 52″ N 77° 02′ 11″ W
Thanksgiving was always a busy week for the White House Communications Office.
There was a presidential proclamation for Thanksgiving, the presentation of the turkey (complete with a reprieve!) and various events for the first family before they would depart for Hyannis Port on the 22nd.
The 22nd of November was not a great day to be a Kennedy. In Sorensen’s mind, the less he dealt with President Kennedy this week, the better it would be for both of them. Neither men wanted to recall the worst week of their lives, which had occurred exactly 9 years ago. So, for the past few days, Ted Sorensen had stayed in his office, working on the second inaugural address.
Evelyn had been kind enough to bring him his second cup of coffee just before sunrise. At this point, his desk was pretty well covered over with drafts of the inaugural. He had only just recovered from the whirlwind of the campaign and hadn’t had time to catch his breath in the past couple of weeks.
The president would be up in the residence for another hour or so. Because of this, he was surprised to hear the phone ringing. Even on a Tuesday, at this early hour, the White House was still quiet. He wondered who could be calling.
Evelyn poked her head inside his door a moment later, “Mr. Sorenson, it’s Mr. Paine from NASA.”
“Put him through.” What the heck is going on?
He picked up the receiver, “This is Ted Sorensen.”
“Mr. Sorensen, this is Tom Paine in Houston.”
“Yes, Mr. Paine. How can I help you?”
“I’ve been trying to reach the president.”
“The president is not in the office yet. Is there something I can help you with? I can pass along any message as soon as he comes down.”
Paine sighed, “This is not something that can wait…”
Five minutes later Ted Sorensen hung up the phone. Without hesitating, he walked to the file cabinet in the back corner of his office and used the small key on his ring to unlock the lowest drawer.
In the front of the cabinet were a few manila folders, common to every office in the civilized world. Behind those were a few red folders marked with ominous labels like “Cuba”, “Russia”, “Vietnam”, and “Invasion”. Behind those were black folders. They carried labels like, “Hurricane”, “Bombing”, and “Assassination”. Sorensen thumbed through a few of the black folders before finding the one he was looking for.
A moment later, Ted Sorensen headed up to the White House Residence, carrying a black folder marked “Lunar Disaster.”
20 November 1972
Manned Spacecraft Center
Houston, TX
29° 33’ 47” N 95° 05’ 28” W
“GC, Flight. Have security seal this room. No one in except MOCR personnel.”
“Copy, Flight.”
Milton Windler blew out a long breath. He watched as the controllers around him slowly turned their focus to him. He’d been wearing the headset for four hours now and it still seemed the strangest thing in the world to pull it off his head.
He stepped to his left, standing beside his console so that the guys in the trench could see him more easily. He wasn’t sure why that was important, but it felt important.
His voice was louder than usual, not out of anger or shock, but just because this was a big room and he wanted to make sure that everyone could hear him without the help of the electronics.
The MOCR was church-quiet as he began to speak.
“Okay guys. It’s going to take a bit for the other teams to get here. Everyone take a second, catch your breath and unclench.”
“When I was learning to fly fighters, they made us go through survival training. I’m sure a bunch of you have done similar things. I had this instructor, real mountain-man type of guy. He’d shaved the beard because we were in the service, but he was just an axe and a flannel shirt away from being a lumberjack.”
“Anyway, he told me something that has stuck with me at times like this. People who die out in the wilderness, it’s not usually a bear that eats them, or falling and hitting a rock or anything like that. That’s just how it looks at the end. People who die in the wild, die because they didn’t think hard enough. They panic. They run. They use up every resource they have except the one that will do the most good,” he said, tapping his temple to complete the thought.
“Here’s where we are. We have two astronauts on the surface, breathing and in good shape. No broken bones, no asphyxia. They even have a safe place to sleep. What they do not have is a functioning LEM. That’s okay though, because, in our infinite wisdom,” he smiled, “we saw fit to send them up there with the LRF.”
There were a few murmurs but they died almost instantly.
“Now I’m here to tell you, we are the luckiest guys drawing a NASA paycheck right now, because we know what to do and how to do it. We know how to get an LRF configured for an orbital escape. We know how to transfer astronauts into a CSM in spacesuits. We know how to launch, how to rendezvous, how to dock, how to do everything we have to do to bring our boys home.”
“The only difference between this time and all the rest is that it’s going to require us to prepare more and to work harder. And if you can’t tell from looking at me, my confidence is high because I don’t know of any group that works harder and prepares better than the people listening to me right now.”
He started with the trench, “Guidance, Retro, Control, FIDO. You are going to prepare a precise timeline for the launch. It takes 8 minutes to get an LRF from surface to orbit, we are going to have instructions for throttle settings and attitude angles for every single second of the trip up. See and England are going to know those numbers before they ever sit on top of that engine. Up in the Endeavour, Bassett is going to know exactly what to do and when to do it to make the rendezvous. You’ll have as much time as you need, but I want it fast. I don’t know if we’re going to have aftershocks, but I’d like to be gone before we find out.”
“TELMU, EECOM. You’re going to have data ready to go for exactly how much life support the suits will have at any given minute on the ride up. You’re also going to be backing up every calculation these guys put out and double-checking their work.”
“Network, INCO, you’re going to make sure that the hour before launch and the 3 hours after it have some of the smoothest, clearest communications in the history of Apollo. Work it out and don’t tell me how you did it. I believe in you.”
“Procedures, you’ve got the fun job. You’re going to coordinate with CAPCOM for the LRF construction, and you’re going to be helping these guys,” he said, pointing to the Guidance group, “with anything they need.”
“CAPCOM, you’re going to be the calm and clear voice of God that guides these guys back to Endeavour.”
“Surgeon… you’re going to stay out of everyone’s way.”
That got a laugh.
“Tough and competent. Let’s be about it.”
20 November 1972
Apollo 19
Hadley Rille
MET: 238:15:56
In its escape configuration, a fully assembled LRF has a mass of around 150 kilograms before fuel was added. That translates to around 380 pounds on Earth, but only about 63 pounds on the surface of the Moon. Despite the low-weight, Elliot See still asked for help from his LMP in turning the thing around. He wanted to be ginger with this thing considering his life depended on it.
“There you go. Gonna use the ridge over there for alignment. Set her down on the tarp now. Nice and easy.”
The surface team of Apollo 19 lowered their ramshackle flying couch to the surface. The landing gear was of no use, so the entire structure rested on a cylinder that surrounded the engine.
Tony England pointed towards the Challenger, still sheared precariously in half. “Ready for the hard part?”
“Yeah. Let me grab the hoses.”
See went to the back of the rover and pulled out a couple of hoses that were part of the LRF’s equipment. He handed one to Tony and took the other for himself. Each attached their hose to a different fuel tank on the LRF.
Together, both men traipsed over to the ship that had brought them here, the hoses uncoiling behind them as they walked.
“Ascent or descent?” Tony asked.
“Gotta be ascent. If they’d cracked, we’d have seen the outgassing.”
“Are you sure?”
“Pretty sure. If not…”
He didn’t finish the thought. The end of that sentence was “it won’t matter anyway,” and there was an unwritten rule that said mission commanders aren’t allowed to even flirt with despair.
“Okay, you got the hammer?”
“Yeah. Vance, tell me one more time about the tank?”
Vance Brand’s voice came through from Houston three seconds later. “Sure Elliot. We’ll start with the main fuel. That’s the spherical tank, port side. The disconnect is…” he paused to consult with one of the Grumman engineers, “Aft, towards the interior. Punch through in the rear and you should see it. Don’t go in too deep. Are you going to be able to reach that?”
“Copy, Houston. Stand by. I’m climbing up now. Gonna make a hole here.” See used the claw of his hammer to puncture the panel in front of him.
He winced as he scratched out a large hole. Busted or not, this was still his ship. He loved it as a rider might love a horse. But this horse was lame, and he needed a ride.
He peeled back the panel and found the valve on the side of the tank. It was a quick operation to connect the end of the hose and start the transfer to the LFR’s fuel tank.
The oxidizer was next. It was located on the starboard side, but the mechanics were the same. As he punched the second hole, he wondered, vaguely, if there was a chance they could have used Challenger anyway. Sure, it was inherently unstable now, but technically her ascent engine might light. Still, he’d rather ride a flying couch than a twisted rocket. Tony started the siphon and he climbed down.
It was strange that he didn’t feel a great sense of panic. There was a certain rational calm that informed his movements. It was the comfort of the checklist. The warm security blanket of having a plan. See was Navy and had been trained in how to handle situations beyond his expectations. He looked at Tony, monitoring the oxidizer transfer.
Tony wasn’t military. He’d been flight-trained, but he was a geologist at heart. He was also really young. He had turned 30 earlier this year. That youthful energy had served him well in his training and Elliot hoped that the bulletproof feeling that he himself had had throughout his twenties would still be with his LMP today. This was a good time to feel like everything was going to be fine.
“Okay, Houston. We’re topped off and sealed. Disengaging the hoses now. Stand by,” Tony called over the radio.
“Copy 19. Plenty of time. Take it easy.”
Half an hour later, they sat in Newton’s cramped quarters, a space not much bigger than Challenger’s interior. They had a few minutes to themselves as Houston was overseeing the undocking of Olympus and Endeavour.
As Charlie went through the undocking sequence, the surface team settled in for a nice lunch. They ate hardy. There was no way they could get through 4 days of food in one sitting, but they chose the choicest bits and ate all they pleased.
Still in the hard suits, but with helmets and gloves off, they ate an extravagant last meal on the Moon.
See asked, “Did you pick out a rock? The rock?”
England nodded and reached over to pick up a sample bag, “Yeah. Sample number 19145. Twinning in the texture. Likely anorthosite. Should be a good one. Almost worth it right there.”
The commander took the bag from the geologist and put the sample in his suit pouch. It would be the only treasure that they returned from the surface.
See grimaced, “I’m sorry we couldn’t take them all Tony.”
“It’s okay. I figure we’ll leave the bags somewhere gathered. We might not be the last ones to come out here.”
“Sure. That spot near the flagpole, where we put the greeting cards. That’ll be fine. Should be safe from the rocket blast.”
England nodded. They chewed in silence for a moment.
Tony finally acknowledged the elephant in the module, “Are they going to get the wives…”
“No. We’re not doing that. It’s not going to be like that. We’re not going to have a poignant moment with a hundred million people listening in. We’re certainly not going to do it while we’ve got this going on. We’re going to launch this sucker. We’re going to make orbit. We’re going to meet up with Endeavour and we’re going to go home. That’s it.”
The subject did not come up again.
An hour later, with recharged and fully loaded PLSS packs, they began their final moonwalk. Tony checked the tape that held the launch timeline to his forearm. They’d done pre-flight checks before lunch. And now the only limiting factor was fuel and oxygen, so they wasted no time.
Surface suits could hold 8 hours of oxygen. From the time they sealed themselves up inside Newton and began depressurization, they were on the clock.
See checked his watch and gave one last look at the tarp that they’d spread out under the LRF. He tamped down his nerves and helped Tony climb into the right-hand seat.
“Not much of a cockpit, huh?” Tony said, helping See get settled in.
He was right. There was an 8-ball and a throttle for his left hand, and an RCS hand controller for his right. That was it. No altimeter. No computer. Never again would seat-of-your-pants flying be such a literal thing. See suppressed a grin. Charles Lindburgh must be somewhere laughing his ass off.
“Charlie, talk to me.”
Bassett called down from 60 miles up, “Coming up on you now. I’m over the horizon and I can see Hadley. By the clock, we’re two minutes out. I’ve got eyes on the radar and the AGC is ready for input.”
“Roger that. Houston, I’d like a clock check and a go for launch.”
“Copy 19. Clock check has you at seven fifteen thirty on my mark…. mark. We’re going around the room now. Standby.”
The clock check was a radio-friendly way to ask about the available life support. See and England had been in the suits for forty-five minutes so far. Lunar orbits were roughly 2 hours in length. It would take the first orbit to get the rendezvous data for Endeavour to maneuver. On their second pass, they should be close enough to try a transfer. If that failed, they’d have one more shot before diverging orbital mechanics and a lack of oxygen would make them a semi-permanent orbiting monument to the hubris of mankind.
“LRF, you are go for launch. We have your countdown at one minute thirty-five seconds on my mark…. mark.”
See noted the time on his watch. Ten minutes from now, the fuel tanks would be dry and whatever good he could do would have been done.
With twenty seconds to go, See let a bit of sentiment out, “Tony, Charlie, whatever happens, I couldn’t have asked for a better crew.”
A beat passed in silence.
“Three. Two. One. Launch.”
After ten days at one-sixth gee, suddenly feeling two was a shock. From the right-hand seat, Tony called the ascent.
“Ten seconds. Fifteen. Start pitchover.”
“Pitching over.”
The 8-ball rolled about 30 degrees and wobbled slightly as he brought her back to stable. There were no natural factors to create control problems, but he was still at the mercy of a rocket engine that, in an ideal scenario, would never have been used.
The Moon shifted underneath them and their momentum swung from purely vertical to gain a bit of horizontal. See watched Hadley Rille fall away under their feet.
“Coming up on one minute, we’ll move into 45 degrees.”
“Just give me the mark.”
Tony England paused, checking his watch. “Now. Forty-five degrees.”
See pulsed the RCS and felt the couch rock under him. “This’ll make a heck of a carnival ride when we get back to Earth.”
The acceleration increased as the LRF lost fuel weight on its ascent. For See, a Gemini veteran, it was a fairly smooth ride. England would not recommend it at all. And he’d have given anything for a bit of hull plate between him and infinity.
“What’s my clock, Tony?”
“Three minutes… mark. Two more until the next pitch.”
“Okay. Charlie, you seeing us?”
“Negative, having a hard time seeing you against the surface. Checking the radar now. It’ll be easier when you clear the horizon.”
“Copy. Stay on it.”
The five-minute pitchover was just as sharp as the first. To go from 45 degrees to seventy-five was enough to turn your stomach, but for both astronauts, it brought them, almost literally, face to face with the lunar surface as it sped by underneath them. The view was that of a rock wall the size of heaven itself as it slid down their sightline. Earth at their back, their rescue ship behind and above them, they stared into the face of a gravity well that desperately wanted them back, at the cost of their lives.
Most of the early escape studies highlighted the problem that See now confronted. Without a guidance system, the most sophisticated flyers of NASA would still have to contend with rudimentary controls and dependence on visual cues for flight references. Alignment, altitude, and velocity were the biggest factors of this game. The goal was to have a perilune above zero.
It wasn’t a trivial matter. In early simulator runs, 64% of launches ended with impact on the lunar far side by astronauts whose first instinct was to thrust too far up and not enough over. In the simulators at JSC, it had been a game, with a hundred dollars of prize money for the first man to beat it. Here over the Marsh of Decay, the prize was life itself.
At six minutes, See flattened out their trajectory completely. They rode the rocket couch face down and flat-out, getting as much orbital velocity as possible. One hundred and thirty-three seconds later, the engine sputtered and stopped. They were out of fuel.
“Houston, LRF. Be advised, launch complete, fuel exhausted. Bassett! Give me good news!”
“Got you on radar boss. You’re clear of the horizon. Making a second sighting now. Got another minute or so before I’m over top. Clear line.”
“Good to hear. How’s the orbit?”
He had expected to hear from Endeavour, but instead, word came from Houston, “LRF, orbit achieved! Apoapsis at 59 nautical miles. Inclination 25 degrees.”
“What’s my low point?”
“We’re checking.”
“Charlie?”
“AGC’s on it boss.”
“Houston? What’s my periapsis, over?”
“Stand by.”
This isn’t good. If they could calculate apoapsis and inclination, then they should also have his periapsis as well. The only reasons not to tell him were if they weren’t sure, or if the answer was less than zero.
Bassett delivered the verdict, “Elliot, it’s six miles.”
“Six miles!”
“Roger that.”
“Hell, I’ll reach out my hand and grab another rock as we pass by! Are you sure?”
“Radar got three hits before I came overhead. First one wasn’t overly clean, but that’s what the AGC has.”
See took a deep breath, a luxury in his current predicament. There was no point in any more discussion for it. The cold equations would not change for anything. Certainly not a pissed-off pilot from Texas.
He resumed his radio decorum. Back to business, “Endeavour, time to intercept?”
“Still chewing on it. Let me get back to you after the burn.”
With nothing else to do, and to stop the slightly sickening images of the lunar surface scrolling in front of his eyes, See tilted the LRF to a nose-forward pose, with the engine bell pointed at the Moon and his eyes pointed at the horizon, in the direction of travel. He saw Tony’s hand finally release the support strut and relax.
“Houston, LRF. Can you confirm our parameters and give us a clock check please?”
Vance’s voice came through a few seconds later, “LRF, clock check is six hours, forty-two minutes, mark. We are double-checking on those parameters for you.”
See put on his best stoic voice. “Roger that.”
20 November 1972
The White House
Washington, DC
38° 53′ 52″ N 77° 02′ 11″ W
The president and Mrs. Kennedy had been watching the situation, much like the rest of America, on television for most of the day. In the Roosevelt Room, the President had watched See and England building the LRF, during a briefing on new Cabinet appointments for the upcoming term.
Shortly after the launch, he pulled Ted Sorensen aside.
“Mr. President?”
“Ted, make arrangements with the networks tonight. I’d like 15 minutes at 9 pm. It’ll be over with by then, right?”
Sorensen nodded, “Yes, sir. One way or another.”
They both gave a small wince and Kennedy nodded. There were very few good avenues of conversation in the midst of a crisis.
“You’ve prepared a second speech, I assume?”
“Yes, sir. We’ve got one for if everything goes well.”
“I’ll take a look at that, next chance you get.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll have it brought over shortly.”
“Ted, what you did with the other… the black folder. My God.”
Sorensen was silent. This was his least favorite part of his duty.
Kennedy noticed his discomfort, “How many of those do you have?”
Sorensen grimaced, “Too many, sir.”
Kennedy nodded, “Of course.”
A beat passed between them. Sorensen decided to unburden himself, “Ten years ago, another President Kennedy asked me to write a speech for the end of the world. I… I wasn’t able to…”
Kennedy nodded, letting the man speak.
“I didn’t want to have anything like that crop up again. They’re there if you need them, sir. But I truly hope I never have to show you another one.”
“I understand.”
“Thank you, sir. I’ll arrange that time with the networks.”
“Thank you, Ted.”
20 November 1972
Apollo 19
Callsign: Endeavour
MET: 243:15:56
Charles Bassett took his last deep breath before sealing his helmet. He reconfirmed the airflow through the umbilical and then started depressurizing the Endeavour.
“Starting to depressurize. I’ll let you know when the hatch is open.”
Many miles below him, Elliot See heard his message and replied, “Charlie, did you know you’re setting the manned altitude record right now?”
Bassett smiled as he watched the pressure gauge falling, “Didn’t really think about it, boss.”
“You are. Al and Farouk had it over the far side on 14. Think they got up to one hundred miles over the farside.”
“You’re right then. I’ve got them beat. This intercept orbit clears one-fifty easy.”
“Farthest ever from Earth. How’s the view?”
“Black, same as yours.”
“Roger that.”
From his seat next to See, Tony England was content to let the two old friends talk. They had a camaraderie that could only be born from multiple spaceflights with each other. It was comforting in a way, considering that his life would depend on their interactions, but he also felt a gulf between he and they that would never fully be bridged.
Below See and England, the lunar night made the far side a blank black canvas that was all the more haunting for its lack of stars, and its proximity.
Their orbit, such as it was, could not be affected by their actions anymore, but the mass concentrations under the lunar surface would eventually make folly of all the advanced calculations and fancy flying that had gotten them here.
England was very familiar with the effect that mascons could have and he reasoned that, if Charles couldn’t rendezvous with them in Endeavour, then in less than a year their corpses would return to the lunar surface at high speed, and make a very impressive crater when they arrived. He figured, if it was later photographed, it would be named for them. He comforted himself with the idea that black humor was replacing blind panic.
For all of his commander’s confidence, England had barely been able to stifle the fear that had hit as soon as he’d seen Challenger’s crippled chassis. He’d always acknowledged that being an astronaut meant confronting, and, in an honest assessment, cheating death. Still, it had always been abstract and ethereal.
Now it had very definable qualities.
There were times during his training, even during the flight, where he’d truly questioned if this had all been worth it.
Elliot tapped his arm and pointed to a spot on the horizon. He saw the Earth rising over the surface.
Okay, fine. It had all been worth it.
20 November 1972
Apollo 19
Altitude: 54 Nautical Miles
MET: 244:37:56
“Charlie, I’m not seeing you.”
“I’m scanning. Hang on. Track should have you at 5 left, 5 down. Houston, can you confirm?”
Bassett peered out of window one and saw nothing but the Moon and the void. He shifted his position to get as much of the window in front of him as he could. He looked all around but could not spot the tiny LRF.
“Endeavour, Houston. We are recalculating based on the latest data. Stand by.”
“Recalculating? Guys, just tell me where to look. Do I need to stick my head out of the hatch?”
Charlie shifted to window two and made another scan. He was actually considering moving to the open hatch to stick his head out when he saw his target.
“Oh, God.”
See was quick to reply, “What is it Charlie?”
“I can see you, boss. You’re about 55 right and 10 down.” The LRF was not nearly where he’d been expecting it. It was 55 degrees off the nose of Endeavour and ten degrees below his horizon line.
“Distance?”
“Radar is working. Hang on…. Damn. Twenty-two miles.”
“Twenty-two miles? You can’t make that. You don’t have the fuel to translate that much now.”
“You’re right. That’s too far. We’ve got to do this again.”
“Get the radar locks.”
“Already on it.”
“Manual says you need three for reliability.”
“I’m going to get six. I’ve got the time. Coming up on your left now. Can you see me?”
“Affirmative. There you are. See us waving?”
“Yeah, actually. Clear as a bell.”
“It’s weird isn’t it?”
“Yeah. Third ping coming back now. Houston, are you getting the new numbers?”
“Affirmative, Endeavour. We’re seeing it.”
“Houston, Endeavour. I need a new burn parameter. Need it quickly.”
“We’re on it.”
“Fifth ping is in. I’ve got you guys now.”
“What went wrong do you think?”
“First time around one of the pings wasn’t solid. Remember? We were getting bounce back from the surface.”
England chimed in, “Between that and the mascons…”
Bassett came back on the line, “You’re off the horizon now. I’ve got black sky all around you.”
“Okay. Okay. We’ll be coming around again. Can I get a EVA clock check Houston?”
“LRF, Houston. We have your clock at five hours, twelve minutes, thirty-seven seconds. Mark.”
“Copy, Houston. Endeavour, make this next one count. One more shot at this. We’re going to get it right this time.”
“I won’t let you down boss.”
“Okay. Securing for another orbit.”
See and England watched Endeavour’s SPS light for the new transfer orbit. The adjustment was much smaller than the first, but it still took Endeavour far enough out that they lost sight of each other just before loss of signal with Earth. Without line of sight, Endeavour couldn’t relay the suit signals to Houston. For a few moments before crossing over to the far side, See and England were alone with each other, and their thoughts.
“So long Earth, we’ll be back.”
20 November 1972
Apollo 19
Altitude: 7 Nautical Miles
MET: 245:42:16
Having done it once before, See and England were able to enjoy their second high speed, low altitude pass over the farside. The orbital velocity brought them down fast, but the thrill of knowing that the maneuver wouldn’t be fatal meant it just made for an incredible orbital roller coaster now.
As they cleared the perilune and began their ascent, England used the privacy offered by two thousand miles of radio-intercepting rock to ask See what had been on his mind.
“Elliott, how are you this calm?”
“What do you mean?”
“Ever since the quake, you’ve been eerily steady. No panic, no fuss.”
“Well, part of that is training…”
“Hell, I’m trained and I’m still wound pretty tight. I’ve seen pilots under stress. This is beyond that.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Why aren’t you scared?”
The silence returned for a beat.
“Because we’re flying.”
“What? We weren’t flying when the ground shook underneath us…”
“Yeah, we were.”
“Huh?”
“We’re on a mission. We just walked on the Moon. I’m pissed we had to get out of there, but that’s the way it goes.”
“I don’t get it…”
“You know what I’m scared of? I’m scared of the drive out to Ellington.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I don’t want to die in Houston traffic or from choking on a hot dog at the Astrodome. There are a lot of bad ways to go out, but flying isn’t one of them. If I’m in the air, if I’m up here, I’m right where I want to be. We strapped ourselves to a bomb the size of a building and we had to go through six different kinds of hell for the privilege. My eyes are open. There are a lot of things that can kill you, but I’m doing exactly what I want to be doing right now. We touched the sky. We went beyond it. We put our feet on the Moon. That’s immortality. And the price of that is that sometimes it kills you. Ironic, yeah? I don’t want to die, nobody does. But if I go out doing this, there will be a smile on my face because this is an amazing way to live and it’s not a bad way to die.”
England had no response.
“But hey, we’re not going to die. Charlie’s gonna scoop us up this time. We’ll be fine.”
20 November 1972
Apollo 19
Altitude: 57 Nautical Miles
MET: 247:03:06
“Got you in my sights now boss. Right on the line. Two left, flat on the crosshairs.”
“Glad to hear it. Took you long enough.”
“Hey, none of that. Of the two of us, I’m the only one flying a perfectly good spacecraft.”
“You ready for us to turnaround?”
“Might as well. Houston, can you confirm orbital tracks?”
“Endeavour, Houston. We confirm your orbital paths. Estimate closest approach at one minute out, with a rendezvous window of ten minutes.”
“That’s deadstick?”
“Affirmative, Endeavour.”
“Do we have a go for docking?”
“Affirmative, Endeavour. You are go for docking.”
Charles Bassett looked over his shoulder at the open hatch above him. He felt like an honest-to-God space cowboy. Flying over the Moon in an open-top on a rescue mission.
“How’s she look to you, boss?”
“Absolutely beautiful, Charlie. Putting you at about 50 feet. Agree?”
“Close enough. Do you want to use the pole?”
“Yeah, but let’s close first. I honestly think we can get by without it.”
“Copy that.”
Bassett puffed the RCS to bring Endeavour in line with the front of the LRF. The drogue on the forward part of the couch gave him a good target to aim at. He could clearly see Elliott pulsing the RCS to bring the little flyer to a stable attitude.
“Closing at half a foot per second. Twenty seconds out.
Like long-lost aged lovers, the LRF and the Apollo CSM closed on each other with a steady yet inexorable motion. The LRF’s drogue was armed with a mating system that could latch on to the mothership for just this situation. When the click of the clamp sent a ripple through the frames of both vessels, Charles Bassett made the call that the whole world had been waiting to hear.
“Houston, Endeavour. We have capture.”
20 November 1972
The White House
Washington, DC
38° 53′ 52″ N 77° 02′ 11″ W
Ted Sorensen reviewed the speech for the fifth time in the last hour. It was a tight five minutes, celebrating the safe rescue of the astronauts and calming the collective nerves of the nation. Ironically, he’d spent far less time preparing this one than the one that would not be used. In the current times, the ability to give bad news was more important than the celebration of good news.
President Kennedy emerged from the portico holding the black folder. Sorensen thought it odd. He approached the Commander-in-Chief with the speech that had been loaded onto the teleprompter.
“Sir, the copy for tonight’s address.”
Kennedy, all smiles, took the manila folder and set it down on the table by the couch. “Thanks, Ted, but I think I’m just going to use the other one.”
“Sir?”
“It was a beautiful piece of work, Ted. Be a shame to let it go to waste,” Kennedy smiled and patted Ted's shoulder.
“But sir…”
Kennedy had already moved behind the Resolute Desk and sat down. Looking at his watch, he realized just how little time was left and moved to the side. At the other end of the Oval, a cameraman counted down from ten and pointed at the president.
“Good evening, my fellow citizens. The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away. Words that I have spent a lifetime coming to terms with. But tonight, we can rejoice, for what once was lost has been found. We celebrate the safe rescue of astronauts See and England and we are incredibly grateful for the skill of NASA’s engineers, the bravery of the astronauts and the grace of God in the safe return of our bold adventurers. While the mission is not yet complete, we can take a moment to delight in the fact that they have passed the moment of greatest danger and will soon be on their way back to the blue skies and green hills of planet Earth. We wish them well on their voyage home and will greet them warmly when we see them again.
The conquest of space must and will go ahead. That much we know. That much we can say with confidence. While the dangers of space travel will never truly abate, the sacrifices we make to know ourselves and our place in the universe are the privilege of a people who have the ability to achieve their dreams.
Now, as we approach this national day of Thanksgiving, we have one more item to add when sharing that which we are thankful for. The gifts of God’s bounty and God’s grace have certainly shined down upon the United States of America, and in the coming months and years, we will do our utmost to see that every American shares in those gifts. Hold close your children and take heart that America’s promise of today will light the future of tomorrow. God bless you all and God bless America. Good night.”
22 November 1972
Manned Spacecraft Center
Houston, TX
29° 33’ 47” N 95° 05’ 28” W
Thomas Wheaton shuffled the last pages of paperwork into a small pile on the right side of his desk. It had been an exhausting day, and he was looking forward to getting back home. He had relatives coming in from all over for Thanksgiving tomorrow and he debated if the chaos at his home in Timber Cove would be better or worse than the chaos he’d dealt with since yesterday.
He’d arranged interviews for Milt and Gene and Glynn and half a dozen astronauts and just as many of the controllers. The networks were wrapping up their coverage out in front of the space center and the Times would be running a long lead story about the escape and how it was pulled off.
He rubbed his head and sighed. Nineteen was going to be a great story that would garner attention for the rest of the year. Lunar landings were dramatic once again and he anticipated that the agency would have no problem marshalling public interest in Apollo 20’s landing early next year.
As he gathered his briefcase and checked his pockets, Richard, his second-in-command of the public affairs office, came in holding a folder.
Richard smiled when he spotted Thomas, “Glad I caught you.”
Thomas shook his head and kept moving, “That makes one of us. Look, whatever it is, it can wait until Monday. I’m going home. So should you.”
“This is a quick one.”
“I don’t want a quick one. I don’t want any one. I want some damn turkey.”
“They brought over the new logo.”
Thomas stopped moving. That got his attention. Upper management had been asking about a new logo for a while now. He’d been curious what would be submitted. He reached out and Richard put the folder in his hand.
Image Credit: NASA
He frowned, “What the hell is this? They know we’re a space program and not a bait shop, right? Damn thing looks like a worm.”
Richard looked crestfallen, “It’s modern. It’s the style of the 1970’s.”
Thomas rolled his eyes, “No way. Stick with the meatball. It’s classic. We’re gonna be flashy enough over the next few years. This looks like someone got lazy trying to write 4 letters and just gave up halfway through.”
Richard sighed, “So, your verdict is…”
“No way. I’m sick of this whole logo thing in the first place. We nailed it the first time back in ’57. The length of this discussion has been way out of proportion to my interest in it.”
His lieutenant nodded, not feeling strongly enough to fight about this. “Anything else?”
“Yeah, the blackboard in the bullpen. Cross out the name Challenger. It’s bad luck now. We’re not gonna use that on any of the Clippers.”
“Good call. Enjoy the turkey. I’ll see you Monday.”
Deep quakes were generated by activity hundreds of kilometers beneath the surface and were tidal in nature. Impact quakes were caused by meteor activity. Solar activity led to thermal quakes as different areas of the Moon were exposed to vast temperature extremes between day and night. Each of these types of quakes were mild in nature, though they could last up to an hour.
The final type of quake was rare. Only 2 were recorded in the first 24 months of observations. This type was localized, the result of activity less than 50 kilometers from the surface.
These so-called “shallow quakes” could reach up to 5 on the Richter scale and last up to 10 minutes.
On Earth, quakes of this magnitude can damage flimsy structures and are classified as a risk by the US Geological Survey…
20 November 1972
Apollo 19
Hadley Rille
MET: 229:26:35
LM Shelter Newton
“Charlie, how’s it going upstairs? You keeping the place tidy?”
“You betcha, Cap. Got the bean sprouts going. Should be interesting to see how they grow.”
“Tony’s already off comms, but he wanted me to ask about the radar.
“It’s fine. Data is being recorded. I’ve already transmitted a couple of packets. We’ll get it all.”
“Good, good. Tony’s all excited about the anorthosite. You’d have thought he’d found buried treasure,” the commander said, stifling a yawn.
Bassett could hear the yawn over the loop, “Now don’t start that. It’s catching, even over the radio.” He paused for a yawn, “You and Tony should get some sleep. Big day tomorrow.”
“Copy that. We’ll talk to you in the morning. Night night, Olympus.”
“Night night, Newton.”
Elliot See had one thought as he settled in for his tenth sleep on the Moon: Hadley Rille would be a great place for an insomniac.
If you wanted silence, there was a near-infinite supply. When the radio was quiet, the only sounds you could hear would be from the heat pump. If you had back problems, the 1/6th gravity was wonderful on your spine. Even the temperature was a perfect 70 degrees inside the LM Shelter. Sure, the hammocks they had strung up inside Newton weren’t as comfy as a mattress, but it beat sleeping on the floor of Challenger like he’d done for his first night on the Moon.
He settled into his hammock and a crooked smile came over his face.
His dreams were always pleasant when he was flying. On Gemini IX he’d dreamt of Marilyn and the kids. On the way out this time, he’d dreamt of his old squadron near San Diego. He’d been eating lunch at the Hotel del Coronado. Last night, he’d dreamed of…
The rumble was what woke him up. His vision shook and he blinked a few times but couldn’t clear it. In his sleep-induced stupor, it took his fighter-pilot instincts a couple of seconds to realize the problem. His vision was fine. All around him, the LM Shelter was ringing like a bell.
He swung his legs onto the floor and saw Tony doing the same a few feet away. He grabbed the headset and keyed VOX, “Houston, this is the Newton. We’re uh… experiencing a rattle here. Do you read?”
It was 3 am in Houston, but Jack Lousma was on CAPCOM tonight, “Roger, Newton, we copy. Can you expand on that?”
See tried to keep the panic out of his voice, though it was rising, “The spacecraft is shaking. It’s not localized. Seems to be the whole structure. It’s like we’re in a paint mixer here.”
Anthony England put a hand on the panel under the window. His other hand keyed his microphone, “It’s a quake, Houston. It’s a moonquake.”
If he hadn’t been on duty, Lousma would have simply been speechless. Mission rules, fortunately, provided him with the words to say, “Roger, Newton. We understand.”
In the MOCR, Flight Director Milt Windler began to marshall the Maroon Team. He wasted no time in starting emergency procedures, “CAPCOM, let’s get them suited up.”
Lousma shook off his surprise and spoke, “Newton, Houston. We’d like you to start suiting up now and prepare for depressurization.”
An agonizing three seconds later, See’s words arrived from Hadley Rille, “Copy, Houston. Are we calling it? Do you want us to head to Challenger?”
Lousma looked over his shoulder and saw Milt nodding, “Affirmative, Newton. We’d like you to get over to Challenger and start launch procedures.”
Putting on an EVA suit by the checklist could take the better part of an hour. And that was on Earth, with a small battalion of technicians assisting you. Even with the emergency protocols that allowed them to skip the suit checks, donning EVA gear would take at least five minutes. They’d trained for this on Earth at least three times a week for the last year.
LM Shelters were, like standard LEM cockpits, equipped with windows on only one side. The small triangular windows had a good field of view, but for half of the horizon. Newton had landed with her windows facing to the north. Therefore, the surface team of Apollo 19 had no way to see their lander Challenger, which was located 600 yards to the south.
As See got his helmet on, the shaking finally subsided. He felt a bit of relief, but that was quickly replaced with dread. Whatever had happened, it would be fatal, if not for him, then certainly for the mission. He’d spent his last night on the Moon.
A quarter million miles away, the Maroon Team’s TELMU controllers began to get a sense of the disaster which had befallen mankind’s latest ambassadors to the unknown.
“Flight, we’ve lost telemetry on Challenger.”
Windler wasn’t sure he’d heard that right, “TELMU, say again.”
“We have no telemetry from Challenger’s high gain.”
His blood ran cold, “INCO, switch to backup.”
While they did, CONTROL chimed in, “Flight, CONTROL has also lost telemetry.”
“Copy CONTROL. INCO, what have we got?”
“Flight, we’re unable to raise Challenger. Looking at a major malfunction.”
“Is this an instrumentation issue?”
“Possibly, Flight. We may have failures in the hardware due to the quake.”
Windler turned to his right, “Network, could this be a relay issue?”
“Negative, Flight. Comm checks are 5 by 5 throughout the system. And we still have a good downlink from Olympus and Newton.”
On the screen at the front of the room, the Maroon Team watched See and England make their climbs down the shelter’s ladder.
Elliot See shuffled out from Newton’s shadow and looked to the south. He took a few steps into the light and then stopped in his tracks.
“Houston, Hadley Base. Challenger has snapped. One landing leg has snapped. It looks like the ascent stage has sheared and it’s hanging off the descent. It’s… it’s pretty bad. Uh… please advise.”
As he paused, the first images came in. Tony England was standing behind See with the camera and the sight he recorded would forever haunt the minds of the men in mission control that day.
It was horrifying. The ascent stage of Challenger had wrenched off of the descent stage. The shudder of the ground had translated into the structure and, had it gone on any longer, likely the ascent stage would have completely fallen off and impacted the surface.
Commander See had to wait for much longer than the standard three seconds before hearing the reply. “Roger, Hadley Base. Stand by.”
20 November 1972
The White House
Washington, DC
38° 53′ 52″ N 77° 02′ 11″ W
Thanksgiving was always a busy week for the White House Communications Office.
There was a presidential proclamation for Thanksgiving, the presentation of the turkey (complete with a reprieve!) and various events for the first family before they would depart for Hyannis Port on the 22nd.
The 22nd of November was not a great day to be a Kennedy. In Sorensen’s mind, the less he dealt with President Kennedy this week, the better it would be for both of them. Neither men wanted to recall the worst week of their lives, which had occurred exactly 9 years ago. So, for the past few days, Ted Sorensen had stayed in his office, working on the second inaugural address.
Evelyn had been kind enough to bring him his second cup of coffee just before sunrise. At this point, his desk was pretty well covered over with drafts of the inaugural. He had only just recovered from the whirlwind of the campaign and hadn’t had time to catch his breath in the past couple of weeks.
The president would be up in the residence for another hour or so. Because of this, he was surprised to hear the phone ringing. Even on a Tuesday, at this early hour, the White House was still quiet. He wondered who could be calling.
Evelyn poked her head inside his door a moment later, “Mr. Sorenson, it’s Mr. Paine from NASA.”
“Put him through.” What the heck is going on?
He picked up the receiver, “This is Ted Sorensen.”
“Mr. Sorensen, this is Tom Paine in Houston.”
“Yes, Mr. Paine. How can I help you?”
“I’ve been trying to reach the president.”
“The president is not in the office yet. Is there something I can help you with? I can pass along any message as soon as he comes down.”
Paine sighed, “This is not something that can wait…”
Five minutes later Ted Sorensen hung up the phone. Without hesitating, he walked to the file cabinet in the back corner of his office and used the small key on his ring to unlock the lowest drawer.
In the front of the cabinet were a few manila folders, common to every office in the civilized world. Behind those were a few red folders marked with ominous labels like “Cuba”, “Russia”, “Vietnam”, and “Invasion”. Behind those were black folders. They carried labels like, “Hurricane”, “Bombing”, and “Assassination”. Sorensen thumbed through a few of the black folders before finding the one he was looking for.
A moment later, Ted Sorensen headed up to the White House Residence, carrying a black folder marked “Lunar Disaster.”
20 November 1972
Manned Spacecraft Center
Houston, TX
29° 33’ 47” N 95° 05’ 28” W
“GC, Flight. Have security seal this room. No one in except MOCR personnel.”
“Copy, Flight.”
Milton Windler blew out a long breath. He watched as the controllers around him slowly turned their focus to him. He’d been wearing the headset for four hours now and it still seemed the strangest thing in the world to pull it off his head.
He stepped to his left, standing beside his console so that the guys in the trench could see him more easily. He wasn’t sure why that was important, but it felt important.
His voice was louder than usual, not out of anger or shock, but just because this was a big room and he wanted to make sure that everyone could hear him without the help of the electronics.
The MOCR was church-quiet as he began to speak.
“Okay guys. It’s going to take a bit for the other teams to get here. Everyone take a second, catch your breath and unclench.”
“When I was learning to fly fighters, they made us go through survival training. I’m sure a bunch of you have done similar things. I had this instructor, real mountain-man type of guy. He’d shaved the beard because we were in the service, but he was just an axe and a flannel shirt away from being a lumberjack.”
“Anyway, he told me something that has stuck with me at times like this. People who die out in the wilderness, it’s not usually a bear that eats them, or falling and hitting a rock or anything like that. That’s just how it looks at the end. People who die in the wild, die because they didn’t think hard enough. They panic. They run. They use up every resource they have except the one that will do the most good,” he said, tapping his temple to complete the thought.
“Here’s where we are. We have two astronauts on the surface, breathing and in good shape. No broken bones, no asphyxia. They even have a safe place to sleep. What they do not have is a functioning LEM. That’s okay though, because, in our infinite wisdom,” he smiled, “we saw fit to send them up there with the LRF.”
There were a few murmurs but they died almost instantly.
“Now I’m here to tell you, we are the luckiest guys drawing a NASA paycheck right now, because we know what to do and how to do it. We know how to get an LRF configured for an orbital escape. We know how to transfer astronauts into a CSM in spacesuits. We know how to launch, how to rendezvous, how to dock, how to do everything we have to do to bring our boys home.”
“The only difference between this time and all the rest is that it’s going to require us to prepare more and to work harder. And if you can’t tell from looking at me, my confidence is high because I don’t know of any group that works harder and prepares better than the people listening to me right now.”
He started with the trench, “Guidance, Retro, Control, FIDO. You are going to prepare a precise timeline for the launch. It takes 8 minutes to get an LRF from surface to orbit, we are going to have instructions for throttle settings and attitude angles for every single second of the trip up. See and England are going to know those numbers before they ever sit on top of that engine. Up in the Endeavour, Bassett is going to know exactly what to do and when to do it to make the rendezvous. You’ll have as much time as you need, but I want it fast. I don’t know if we’re going to have aftershocks, but I’d like to be gone before we find out.”
“TELMU, EECOM. You’re going to have data ready to go for exactly how much life support the suits will have at any given minute on the ride up. You’re also going to be backing up every calculation these guys put out and double-checking their work.”
“Network, INCO, you’re going to make sure that the hour before launch and the 3 hours after it have some of the smoothest, clearest communications in the history of Apollo. Work it out and don’t tell me how you did it. I believe in you.”
“Procedures, you’ve got the fun job. You’re going to coordinate with CAPCOM for the LRF construction, and you’re going to be helping these guys,” he said, pointing to the Guidance group, “with anything they need.”
“CAPCOM, you’re going to be the calm and clear voice of God that guides these guys back to Endeavour.”
“Surgeon… you’re going to stay out of everyone’s way.”
That got a laugh.
“Tough and competent. Let’s be about it.”
20 November 1972
Apollo 19
Hadley Rille
MET: 238:15:56
In its escape configuration, a fully assembled LRF has a mass of around 150 kilograms before fuel was added. That translates to around 380 pounds on Earth, but only about 63 pounds on the surface of the Moon. Despite the low-weight, Elliot See still asked for help from his LMP in turning the thing around. He wanted to be ginger with this thing considering his life depended on it.
“There you go. Gonna use the ridge over there for alignment. Set her down on the tarp now. Nice and easy.”
The surface team of Apollo 19 lowered their ramshackle flying couch to the surface. The landing gear was of no use, so the entire structure rested on a cylinder that surrounded the engine.
Tony England pointed towards the Challenger, still sheared precariously in half. “Ready for the hard part?”
“Yeah. Let me grab the hoses.”
See went to the back of the rover and pulled out a couple of hoses that were part of the LRF’s equipment. He handed one to Tony and took the other for himself. Each attached their hose to a different fuel tank on the LRF.
Together, both men traipsed over to the ship that had brought them here, the hoses uncoiling behind them as they walked.
“Ascent or descent?” Tony asked.
“Gotta be ascent. If they’d cracked, we’d have seen the outgassing.”
“Are you sure?”
“Pretty sure. If not…”
He didn’t finish the thought. The end of that sentence was “it won’t matter anyway,” and there was an unwritten rule that said mission commanders aren’t allowed to even flirt with despair.
“Okay, you got the hammer?”
“Yeah. Vance, tell me one more time about the tank?”
Vance Brand’s voice came through from Houston three seconds later. “Sure Elliot. We’ll start with the main fuel. That’s the spherical tank, port side. The disconnect is…” he paused to consult with one of the Grumman engineers, “Aft, towards the interior. Punch through in the rear and you should see it. Don’t go in too deep. Are you going to be able to reach that?”
“Copy, Houston. Stand by. I’m climbing up now. Gonna make a hole here.” See used the claw of his hammer to puncture the panel in front of him.
He winced as he scratched out a large hole. Busted or not, this was still his ship. He loved it as a rider might love a horse. But this horse was lame, and he needed a ride.
He peeled back the panel and found the valve on the side of the tank. It was a quick operation to connect the end of the hose and start the transfer to the LFR’s fuel tank.
The oxidizer was next. It was located on the starboard side, but the mechanics were the same. As he punched the second hole, he wondered, vaguely, if there was a chance they could have used Challenger anyway. Sure, it was inherently unstable now, but technically her ascent engine might light. Still, he’d rather ride a flying couch than a twisted rocket. Tony started the siphon and he climbed down.
It was strange that he didn’t feel a great sense of panic. There was a certain rational calm that informed his movements. It was the comfort of the checklist. The warm security blanket of having a plan. See was Navy and had been trained in how to handle situations beyond his expectations. He looked at Tony, monitoring the oxidizer transfer.
Tony wasn’t military. He’d been flight-trained, but he was a geologist at heart. He was also really young. He had turned 30 earlier this year. That youthful energy had served him well in his training and Elliot hoped that the bulletproof feeling that he himself had had throughout his twenties would still be with his LMP today. This was a good time to feel like everything was going to be fine.
“Okay, Houston. We’re topped off and sealed. Disengaging the hoses now. Stand by,” Tony called over the radio.
“Copy 19. Plenty of time. Take it easy.”
Half an hour later, they sat in Newton’s cramped quarters, a space not much bigger than Challenger’s interior. They had a few minutes to themselves as Houston was overseeing the undocking of Olympus and Endeavour.
As Charlie went through the undocking sequence, the surface team settled in for a nice lunch. They ate hardy. There was no way they could get through 4 days of food in one sitting, but they chose the choicest bits and ate all they pleased.
Still in the hard suits, but with helmets and gloves off, they ate an extravagant last meal on the Moon.
See asked, “Did you pick out a rock? The rock?”
England nodded and reached over to pick up a sample bag, “Yeah. Sample number 19145. Twinning in the texture. Likely anorthosite. Should be a good one. Almost worth it right there.”
The commander took the bag from the geologist and put the sample in his suit pouch. It would be the only treasure that they returned from the surface.
See grimaced, “I’m sorry we couldn’t take them all Tony.”
“It’s okay. I figure we’ll leave the bags somewhere gathered. We might not be the last ones to come out here.”
“Sure. That spot near the flagpole, where we put the greeting cards. That’ll be fine. Should be safe from the rocket blast.”
England nodded. They chewed in silence for a moment.
Tony finally acknowledged the elephant in the module, “Are they going to get the wives…”
“No. We’re not doing that. It’s not going to be like that. We’re not going to have a poignant moment with a hundred million people listening in. We’re certainly not going to do it while we’ve got this going on. We’re going to launch this sucker. We’re going to make orbit. We’re going to meet up with Endeavour and we’re going to go home. That’s it.”
The subject did not come up again.
An hour later, with recharged and fully loaded PLSS packs, they began their final moonwalk. Tony checked the tape that held the launch timeline to his forearm. They’d done pre-flight checks before lunch. And now the only limiting factor was fuel and oxygen, so they wasted no time.
Surface suits could hold 8 hours of oxygen. From the time they sealed themselves up inside Newton and began depressurization, they were on the clock.
See checked his watch and gave one last look at the tarp that they’d spread out under the LRF. He tamped down his nerves and helped Tony climb into the right-hand seat.
“Not much of a cockpit, huh?” Tony said, helping See get settled in.
He was right. There was an 8-ball and a throttle for his left hand, and an RCS hand controller for his right. That was it. No altimeter. No computer. Never again would seat-of-your-pants flying be such a literal thing. See suppressed a grin. Charles Lindburgh must be somewhere laughing his ass off.
“Charlie, talk to me.”
Bassett called down from 60 miles up, “Coming up on you now. I’m over the horizon and I can see Hadley. By the clock, we’re two minutes out. I’ve got eyes on the radar and the AGC is ready for input.”
“Roger that. Houston, I’d like a clock check and a go for launch.”
“Copy 19. Clock check has you at seven fifteen thirty on my mark…. mark. We’re going around the room now. Standby.”
The clock check was a radio-friendly way to ask about the available life support. See and England had been in the suits for forty-five minutes so far. Lunar orbits were roughly 2 hours in length. It would take the first orbit to get the rendezvous data for Endeavour to maneuver. On their second pass, they should be close enough to try a transfer. If that failed, they’d have one more shot before diverging orbital mechanics and a lack of oxygen would make them a semi-permanent orbiting monument to the hubris of mankind.
“LRF, you are go for launch. We have your countdown at one minute thirty-five seconds on my mark…. mark.”
See noted the time on his watch. Ten minutes from now, the fuel tanks would be dry and whatever good he could do would have been done.
With twenty seconds to go, See let a bit of sentiment out, “Tony, Charlie, whatever happens, I couldn’t have asked for a better crew.”
A beat passed in silence.
“Three. Two. One. Launch.”
After ten days at one-sixth gee, suddenly feeling two was a shock. From the right-hand seat, Tony called the ascent.
“Ten seconds. Fifteen. Start pitchover.”
“Pitching over.”
The 8-ball rolled about 30 degrees and wobbled slightly as he brought her back to stable. There were no natural factors to create control problems, but he was still at the mercy of a rocket engine that, in an ideal scenario, would never have been used.
The Moon shifted underneath them and their momentum swung from purely vertical to gain a bit of horizontal. See watched Hadley Rille fall away under their feet.
“Coming up on one minute, we’ll move into 45 degrees.”
“Just give me the mark.”
Tony England paused, checking his watch. “Now. Forty-five degrees.”
See pulsed the RCS and felt the couch rock under him. “This’ll make a heck of a carnival ride when we get back to Earth.”
The acceleration increased as the LRF lost fuel weight on its ascent. For See, a Gemini veteran, it was a fairly smooth ride. England would not recommend it at all. And he’d have given anything for a bit of hull plate between him and infinity.
“What’s my clock, Tony?”
“Three minutes… mark. Two more until the next pitch.”
“Okay. Charlie, you seeing us?”
“Negative, having a hard time seeing you against the surface. Checking the radar now. It’ll be easier when you clear the horizon.”
“Copy. Stay on it.”
The five-minute pitchover was just as sharp as the first. To go from 45 degrees to seventy-five was enough to turn your stomach, but for both astronauts, it brought them, almost literally, face to face with the lunar surface as it sped by underneath them. The view was that of a rock wall the size of heaven itself as it slid down their sightline. Earth at their back, their rescue ship behind and above them, they stared into the face of a gravity well that desperately wanted them back, at the cost of their lives.
Most of the early escape studies highlighted the problem that See now confronted. Without a guidance system, the most sophisticated flyers of NASA would still have to contend with rudimentary controls and dependence on visual cues for flight references. Alignment, altitude, and velocity were the biggest factors of this game. The goal was to have a perilune above zero.
It wasn’t a trivial matter. In early simulator runs, 64% of launches ended with impact on the lunar far side by astronauts whose first instinct was to thrust too far up and not enough over. In the simulators at JSC, it had been a game, with a hundred dollars of prize money for the first man to beat it. Here over the Marsh of Decay, the prize was life itself.
At six minutes, See flattened out their trajectory completely. They rode the rocket couch face down and flat-out, getting as much orbital velocity as possible. One hundred and thirty-three seconds later, the engine sputtered and stopped. They were out of fuel.
“Houston, LRF. Be advised, launch complete, fuel exhausted. Bassett! Give me good news!”
“Got you on radar boss. You’re clear of the horizon. Making a second sighting now. Got another minute or so before I’m over top. Clear line.”
“Good to hear. How’s the orbit?”
He had expected to hear from Endeavour, but instead, word came from Houston, “LRF, orbit achieved! Apoapsis at 59 nautical miles. Inclination 25 degrees.”
“What’s my low point?”
“We’re checking.”
“Charlie?”
“AGC’s on it boss.”
“Houston? What’s my periapsis, over?”
“Stand by.”
This isn’t good. If they could calculate apoapsis and inclination, then they should also have his periapsis as well. The only reasons not to tell him were if they weren’t sure, or if the answer was less than zero.
Bassett delivered the verdict, “Elliot, it’s six miles.”
“Six miles!”
“Roger that.”
“Hell, I’ll reach out my hand and grab another rock as we pass by! Are you sure?”
“Radar got three hits before I came overhead. First one wasn’t overly clean, but that’s what the AGC has.”
See took a deep breath, a luxury in his current predicament. There was no point in any more discussion for it. The cold equations would not change for anything. Certainly not a pissed-off pilot from Texas.
He resumed his radio decorum. Back to business, “Endeavour, time to intercept?”
“Still chewing on it. Let me get back to you after the burn.”
With nothing else to do, and to stop the slightly sickening images of the lunar surface scrolling in front of his eyes, See tilted the LRF to a nose-forward pose, with the engine bell pointed at the Moon and his eyes pointed at the horizon, in the direction of travel. He saw Tony’s hand finally release the support strut and relax.
“Houston, LRF. Can you confirm our parameters and give us a clock check please?”
Vance’s voice came through a few seconds later, “LRF, clock check is six hours, forty-two minutes, mark. We are double-checking on those parameters for you.”
See put on his best stoic voice. “Roger that.”
20 November 1972
The White House
Washington, DC
38° 53′ 52″ N 77° 02′ 11″ W
The president and Mrs. Kennedy had been watching the situation, much like the rest of America, on television for most of the day. In the Roosevelt Room, the President had watched See and England building the LRF, during a briefing on new Cabinet appointments for the upcoming term.
Shortly after the launch, he pulled Ted Sorensen aside.
“Mr. President?”
“Ted, make arrangements with the networks tonight. I’d like 15 minutes at 9 pm. It’ll be over with by then, right?”
Sorensen nodded, “Yes, sir. One way or another.”
They both gave a small wince and Kennedy nodded. There were very few good avenues of conversation in the midst of a crisis.
“You’ve prepared a second speech, I assume?”
“Yes, sir. We’ve got one for if everything goes well.”
“I’ll take a look at that, next chance you get.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll have it brought over shortly.”
“Ted, what you did with the other… the black folder. My God.”
Sorensen was silent. This was his least favorite part of his duty.
Kennedy noticed his discomfort, “How many of those do you have?”
Sorensen grimaced, “Too many, sir.”
Kennedy nodded, “Of course.”
A beat passed between them. Sorensen decided to unburden himself, “Ten years ago, another President Kennedy asked me to write a speech for the end of the world. I… I wasn’t able to…”
Kennedy nodded, letting the man speak.
“I didn’t want to have anything like that crop up again. They’re there if you need them, sir. But I truly hope I never have to show you another one.”
“I understand.”
“Thank you, sir. I’ll arrange that time with the networks.”
“Thank you, Ted.”
20 November 1972
Apollo 19
Callsign: Endeavour
MET: 243:15:56
Charles Bassett took his last deep breath before sealing his helmet. He reconfirmed the airflow through the umbilical and then started depressurizing the Endeavour.
“Starting to depressurize. I’ll let you know when the hatch is open.”
Many miles below him, Elliot See heard his message and replied, “Charlie, did you know you’re setting the manned altitude record right now?”
Bassett smiled as he watched the pressure gauge falling, “Didn’t really think about it, boss.”
“You are. Al and Farouk had it over the far side on 14. Think they got up to one hundred miles over the farside.”
“You’re right then. I’ve got them beat. This intercept orbit clears one-fifty easy.”
“Farthest ever from Earth. How’s the view?”
“Black, same as yours.”
“Roger that.”
From his seat next to See, Tony England was content to let the two old friends talk. They had a camaraderie that could only be born from multiple spaceflights with each other. It was comforting in a way, considering that his life would depend on their interactions, but he also felt a gulf between he and they that would never fully be bridged.
Below See and England, the lunar night made the far side a blank black canvas that was all the more haunting for its lack of stars, and its proximity.
Their orbit, such as it was, could not be affected by their actions anymore, but the mass concentrations under the lunar surface would eventually make folly of all the advanced calculations and fancy flying that had gotten them here.
England was very familiar with the effect that mascons could have and he reasoned that, if Charles couldn’t rendezvous with them in Endeavour, then in less than a year their corpses would return to the lunar surface at high speed, and make a very impressive crater when they arrived. He figured, if it was later photographed, it would be named for them. He comforted himself with the idea that black humor was replacing blind panic.
For all of his commander’s confidence, England had barely been able to stifle the fear that had hit as soon as he’d seen Challenger’s crippled chassis. He’d always acknowledged that being an astronaut meant confronting, and, in an honest assessment, cheating death. Still, it had always been abstract and ethereal.
Now it had very definable qualities.
There were times during his training, even during the flight, where he’d truly questioned if this had all been worth it.
Elliot tapped his arm and pointed to a spot on the horizon. He saw the Earth rising over the surface.
Okay, fine. It had all been worth it.
20 November 1972
Apollo 19
Altitude: 54 Nautical Miles
MET: 244:37:56
“Charlie, I’m not seeing you.”
“I’m scanning. Hang on. Track should have you at 5 left, 5 down. Houston, can you confirm?”
Bassett peered out of window one and saw nothing but the Moon and the void. He shifted his position to get as much of the window in front of him as he could. He looked all around but could not spot the tiny LRF.
“Endeavour, Houston. We are recalculating based on the latest data. Stand by.”
“Recalculating? Guys, just tell me where to look. Do I need to stick my head out of the hatch?”
Charlie shifted to window two and made another scan. He was actually considering moving to the open hatch to stick his head out when he saw his target.
“Oh, God.”
See was quick to reply, “What is it Charlie?”
“I can see you, boss. You’re about 55 right and 10 down.” The LRF was not nearly where he’d been expecting it. It was 55 degrees off the nose of Endeavour and ten degrees below his horizon line.
“Distance?”
“Radar is working. Hang on…. Damn. Twenty-two miles.”
“Twenty-two miles? You can’t make that. You don’t have the fuel to translate that much now.”
“You’re right. That’s too far. We’ve got to do this again.”
“Get the radar locks.”
“Already on it.”
“Manual says you need three for reliability.”
“I’m going to get six. I’ve got the time. Coming up on your left now. Can you see me?”
“Affirmative. There you are. See us waving?”
“Yeah, actually. Clear as a bell.”
“It’s weird isn’t it?”
“Yeah. Third ping coming back now. Houston, are you getting the new numbers?”
“Affirmative, Endeavour. We’re seeing it.”
“Houston, Endeavour. I need a new burn parameter. Need it quickly.”
“We’re on it.”
“Fifth ping is in. I’ve got you guys now.”
“What went wrong do you think?”
“First time around one of the pings wasn’t solid. Remember? We were getting bounce back from the surface.”
England chimed in, “Between that and the mascons…”
Bassett came back on the line, “You’re off the horizon now. I’ve got black sky all around you.”
“Okay. Okay. We’ll be coming around again. Can I get a EVA clock check Houston?”
“LRF, Houston. We have your clock at five hours, twelve minutes, thirty-seven seconds. Mark.”
“Copy, Houston. Endeavour, make this next one count. One more shot at this. We’re going to get it right this time.”
“I won’t let you down boss.”
“Okay. Securing for another orbit.”
See and England watched Endeavour’s SPS light for the new transfer orbit. The adjustment was much smaller than the first, but it still took Endeavour far enough out that they lost sight of each other just before loss of signal with Earth. Without line of sight, Endeavour couldn’t relay the suit signals to Houston. For a few moments before crossing over to the far side, See and England were alone with each other, and their thoughts.
“So long Earth, we’ll be back.”
20 November 1972
Apollo 19
Altitude: 7 Nautical Miles
MET: 245:42:16
Having done it once before, See and England were able to enjoy their second high speed, low altitude pass over the farside. The orbital velocity brought them down fast, but the thrill of knowing that the maneuver wouldn’t be fatal meant it just made for an incredible orbital roller coaster now.
As they cleared the perilune and began their ascent, England used the privacy offered by two thousand miles of radio-intercepting rock to ask See what had been on his mind.
“Elliott, how are you this calm?”
“What do you mean?”
“Ever since the quake, you’ve been eerily steady. No panic, no fuss.”
“Well, part of that is training…”
“Hell, I’m trained and I’m still wound pretty tight. I’ve seen pilots under stress. This is beyond that.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Why aren’t you scared?”
The silence returned for a beat.
“Because we’re flying.”
“What? We weren’t flying when the ground shook underneath us…”
“Yeah, we were.”
“Huh?”
“We’re on a mission. We just walked on the Moon. I’m pissed we had to get out of there, but that’s the way it goes.”
“I don’t get it…”
“You know what I’m scared of? I’m scared of the drive out to Ellington.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I don’t want to die in Houston traffic or from choking on a hot dog at the Astrodome. There are a lot of bad ways to go out, but flying isn’t one of them. If I’m in the air, if I’m up here, I’m right where I want to be. We strapped ourselves to a bomb the size of a building and we had to go through six different kinds of hell for the privilege. My eyes are open. There are a lot of things that can kill you, but I’m doing exactly what I want to be doing right now. We touched the sky. We went beyond it. We put our feet on the Moon. That’s immortality. And the price of that is that sometimes it kills you. Ironic, yeah? I don’t want to die, nobody does. But if I go out doing this, there will be a smile on my face because this is an amazing way to live and it’s not a bad way to die.”
England had no response.
“But hey, we’re not going to die. Charlie’s gonna scoop us up this time. We’ll be fine.”
20 November 1972
Apollo 19
Altitude: 57 Nautical Miles
MET: 247:03:06
“Got you in my sights now boss. Right on the line. Two left, flat on the crosshairs.”
“Glad to hear it. Took you long enough.”
“Hey, none of that. Of the two of us, I’m the only one flying a perfectly good spacecraft.”
“You ready for us to turnaround?”
“Might as well. Houston, can you confirm orbital tracks?”
“Endeavour, Houston. We confirm your orbital paths. Estimate closest approach at one minute out, with a rendezvous window of ten minutes.”
“That’s deadstick?”
“Affirmative, Endeavour.”
“Do we have a go for docking?”
“Affirmative, Endeavour. You are go for docking.”
Charles Bassett looked over his shoulder at the open hatch above him. He felt like an honest-to-God space cowboy. Flying over the Moon in an open-top on a rescue mission.
“How’s she look to you, boss?”
“Absolutely beautiful, Charlie. Putting you at about 50 feet. Agree?”
“Close enough. Do you want to use the pole?”
“Yeah, but let’s close first. I honestly think we can get by without it.”
“Copy that.”
Bassett puffed the RCS to bring Endeavour in line with the front of the LRF. The drogue on the forward part of the couch gave him a good target to aim at. He could clearly see Elliott pulsing the RCS to bring the little flyer to a stable attitude.
“Closing at half a foot per second. Twenty seconds out.
Like long-lost aged lovers, the LRF and the Apollo CSM closed on each other with a steady yet inexorable motion. The LRF’s drogue was armed with a mating system that could latch on to the mothership for just this situation. When the click of the clamp sent a ripple through the frames of both vessels, Charles Bassett made the call that the whole world had been waiting to hear.
“Houston, Endeavour. We have capture.”
20 November 1972
The White House
Washington, DC
38° 53′ 52″ N 77° 02′ 11″ W
Ted Sorensen reviewed the speech for the fifth time in the last hour. It was a tight five minutes, celebrating the safe rescue of the astronauts and calming the collective nerves of the nation. Ironically, he’d spent far less time preparing this one than the one that would not be used. In the current times, the ability to give bad news was more important than the celebration of good news.
President Kennedy emerged from the portico holding the black folder. Sorensen thought it odd. He approached the Commander-in-Chief with the speech that had been loaded onto the teleprompter.
“Sir, the copy for tonight’s address.”
Kennedy, all smiles, took the manila folder and set it down on the table by the couch. “Thanks, Ted, but I think I’m just going to use the other one.”
“Sir?”
“It was a beautiful piece of work, Ted. Be a shame to let it go to waste,” Kennedy smiled and patted Ted's shoulder.
“But sir…”
Kennedy had already moved behind the Resolute Desk and sat down. Looking at his watch, he realized just how little time was left and moved to the side. At the other end of the Oval, a cameraman counted down from ten and pointed at the president.
“Good evening, my fellow citizens. The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away. Words that I have spent a lifetime coming to terms with. But tonight, we can rejoice, for what once was lost has been found. We celebrate the safe rescue of astronauts See and England and we are incredibly grateful for the skill of NASA’s engineers, the bravery of the astronauts and the grace of God in the safe return of our bold adventurers. While the mission is not yet complete, we can take a moment to delight in the fact that they have passed the moment of greatest danger and will soon be on their way back to the blue skies and green hills of planet Earth. We wish them well on their voyage home and will greet them warmly when we see them again.
The conquest of space must and will go ahead. That much we know. That much we can say with confidence. While the dangers of space travel will never truly abate, the sacrifices we make to know ourselves and our place in the universe are the privilege of a people who have the ability to achieve their dreams.
Now, as we approach this national day of Thanksgiving, we have one more item to add when sharing that which we are thankful for. The gifts of God’s bounty and God’s grace have certainly shined down upon the United States of America, and in the coming months and years, we will do our utmost to see that every American shares in those gifts. Hold close your children and take heart that America’s promise of today will light the future of tomorrow. God bless you all and God bless America. Good night.”
22 November 1972
Manned Spacecraft Center
Houston, TX
29° 33’ 47” N 95° 05’ 28” W
Thomas Wheaton shuffled the last pages of paperwork into a small pile on the right side of his desk. It had been an exhausting day, and he was looking forward to getting back home. He had relatives coming in from all over for Thanksgiving tomorrow and he debated if the chaos at his home in Timber Cove would be better or worse than the chaos he’d dealt with since yesterday.
He’d arranged interviews for Milt and Gene and Glynn and half a dozen astronauts and just as many of the controllers. The networks were wrapping up their coverage out in front of the space center and the Times would be running a long lead story about the escape and how it was pulled off.
He rubbed his head and sighed. Nineteen was going to be a great story that would garner attention for the rest of the year. Lunar landings were dramatic once again and he anticipated that the agency would have no problem marshalling public interest in Apollo 20’s landing early next year.
As he gathered his briefcase and checked his pockets, Richard, his second-in-command of the public affairs office, came in holding a folder.
Richard smiled when he spotted Thomas, “Glad I caught you.”
Thomas shook his head and kept moving, “That makes one of us. Look, whatever it is, it can wait until Monday. I’m going home. So should you.”
“This is a quick one.”
“I don’t want a quick one. I don’t want any one. I want some damn turkey.”
“They brought over the new logo.”
Thomas stopped moving. That got his attention. Upper management had been asking about a new logo for a while now. He’d been curious what would be submitted. He reached out and Richard put the folder in his hand.
Image Credit: NASA
He frowned, “What the hell is this? They know we’re a space program and not a bait shop, right? Damn thing looks like a worm.”
Richard looked crestfallen, “It’s modern. It’s the style of the 1970’s.”
Thomas rolled his eyes, “No way. Stick with the meatball. It’s classic. We’re gonna be flashy enough over the next few years. This looks like someone got lazy trying to write 4 letters and just gave up halfway through.”
Richard sighed, “So, your verdict is…”
“No way. I’m sick of this whole logo thing in the first place. We nailed it the first time back in ’57. The length of this discussion has been way out of proportion to my interest in it.”
His lieutenant nodded, not feeling strongly enough to fight about this. “Anything else?”
“Yeah, the blackboard in the bullpen. Cross out the name Challenger. It’s bad luck now. We’re not gonna use that on any of the Clippers.”
“Good call. Enjoy the turkey. I’ll see you Monday.”
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I just want to say, before going further, while this may or may not be the best chapter of Ocean of Storms, it is certainly the one I have most been looking forward to. I hope it is as much fun to read as it has been challenging to write.
For more information on the LESS/LRF escape systems see the following articles:
Paul Drye's article which first brought the concept to my attention.
Brian Benchoff's article which outlines the procedures.
David Portree's article on Lunar Flying Units.
My thanks to all of these writers for their research.
For more information on the LESS/LRF escape systems see the following articles:
Paul Drye's article which first brought the concept to my attention.
Brian Benchoff's article which outlines the procedures.
David Portree's article on Lunar Flying Units.
My thanks to all of these writers for their research.
That was fascinating and quite tense. While it wasn't as tense as the one for Apollo 13, it still really did the job well and bravo. Will be interesting to see what NASA might do in the wake of the rather... unique event of the moonquake damaging the LM Taxi and requiring the use of the LFU.
Interestingly enough,on his (her?) blog,OP mentions the possibility of a similar rescue (but with Apollo 28) forming the framing story of the first act of an alternate history novel idea of his (hers?).
Now that that’s out of the way,this was a pretty cool installment. I’m guessing that in this world Elliott and Charlie became astronauts later than in OTL,as I can’t see Elliott See waiting a decade to fly to the Moon.
I always upvote Challenger as a spacecraft name,and I’m guessing we’ll see a Clipper named Endeavour down the line. And speaking of that:nice in-joke,OP,having the Endeavour rescue the Challenger’s crew.
It’s crazy to think that in just 3 years NASA has already gone from the first lunar landing to the first lunar rescue.
And Tony England gets to go to the Moon! Will Don Lind and Story Musgrave be getting their own missions soon?
PS. This music feels relevant to the rendezvous scene:
Now that that’s out of the way,this was a pretty cool installment. I’m guessing that in this world Elliott and Charlie became astronauts later than in OTL,as I can’t see Elliott See waiting a decade to fly to the Moon.
I always upvote Challenger as a spacecraft name,and I’m guessing we’ll see a Clipper named Endeavour down the line. And speaking of that:nice in-joke,OP,having the Endeavour rescue the Challenger’s crew.
It’s crazy to think that in just 3 years NASA has already gone from the first lunar landing to the first lunar rescue.
And Tony England gets to go to the Moon! Will Don Lind and Story Musgrave be getting their own missions soon?
PS. This music feels relevant to the rendezvous scene:
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For the record, I'm a guy, so feel free to use male pronouns. The blog post presented a prototype of the idea that became Ocean of Storms. This concept has been swirling around in my head for years now.
When I was in the fifth grade, I wrote a story where NASA used the space shuttle to carry up Apollo CSM's and lunar modules and then used them to fly to the Moon. (I was a too young to realize that a CSM's SPS wasn't equipped to make a TLI and TEI burn, which to be honest, made the story much more fun to write.) In that story, the Apollo numbers were carried over and Apollo 28, launched in the distant year 2000, carried astronauts to the lunar surface. The LEM, after arriving in lunar orbit, was unable to dock with the CSM and so, needing to return, the 2 spacecraft each made their own TEI burns. (Again, I was 10 years old, so the physics didn't quite work out.) On their way back to Earth, the problem was discovered: Magnets which were part of the design of both spacecraft (don't ask) had their magnetic fields aligned in a way that repelled the craft as they tried to dock. The LEM was able to do a 180-degree roll to dock with the CSM, at which point, just a short time before entry interface, the moonwalkers transferred themselves and their samples for a safe splashdown in the Pacific.
That was my first sci-fi story and I wrote it more than 20 years ago. Suffice it to say, while my methods have improved, my dreams have stayed very true to that initial vision. As much as Ocean of Storms is a love letter to the visions of the 1960's and American potential to do great and beautiful things, Ocean of Storms is my apology to my 10-year-old self for not making that first story into reality.
When I was in the fifth grade, I wrote a story where NASA used the space shuttle to carry up Apollo CSM's and lunar modules and then used them to fly to the Moon. (I was a too young to realize that a CSM's SPS wasn't equipped to make a TLI and TEI burn, which to be honest, made the story much more fun to write.) In that story, the Apollo numbers were carried over and Apollo 28, launched in the distant year 2000, carried astronauts to the lunar surface. The LEM, after arriving in lunar orbit, was unable to dock with the CSM and so, needing to return, the 2 spacecraft each made their own TEI burns. (Again, I was 10 years old, so the physics didn't quite work out.) On their way back to Earth, the problem was discovered: Magnets which were part of the design of both spacecraft (don't ask) had their magnetic fields aligned in a way that repelled the craft as they tried to dock. The LEM was able to do a 180-degree roll to dock with the CSM, at which point, just a short time before entry interface, the moonwalkers transferred themselves and their samples for a safe splashdown in the Pacific.
That was my first sci-fi story and I wrote it more than 20 years ago. Suffice it to say, while my methods have improved, my dreams have stayed very true to that initial vision. As much as Ocean of Storms is a love letter to the visions of the 1960's and American potential to do great and beautiful things, Ocean of Storms is my apology to my 10-year-old self for not making that first story into reality.
Hell, add a third STS carrying a trans-stage and you would have your Apollo 28. I hope that 5th grade teacher recognized your effort.